15

The night of the performance finally arrives, and although it's rained for days during rehearsals, opening night is fine and clear, with a warm breeze that carries the scent of orange blossoms and frying sweets from the courtyard into the theater.

You're early, of course, making sure that everything runs as smoothly as it did in the dress rehearsal. The only misfortunes are ordinary ones it's hard to attribute to a curse. Someone has ripped her costume. Someone else has misplaced a prop sword. But everything is in readiness by the time the audience is seated, and you take up a place in the wings where you can see without being seen.

"Look, Osberht!" Diar says, twitching aside one of the curtains.

You look out into the semicircle of the house, the sunset fading in the sky above, the lamps already lit and shining brightly to help patrons find their seats. The royal seats right down front are filling. It's the Raven and both his sons.

As usual, Cenone is wearing solid black, while Liathar is in tones of russet and rose and Falathar in dark blue. Liathar is talking to someone, while Falathar smiles and seems to be getting a good look at the scenery prepared for the opening scene. You have to admit the icy cliffs look spectacular, just waiting for the King of Icemere to walk onstage and go into his opening monologue. Beside you, Joran is nervously adjusting his regal crown and muttering his lines under his breath.

Diar points out other notables in the crowd. Mirabel, the celebrated diva, is here, exquisitely dressed and chatting with her neighbors. Ezren, one of the senior scholars at the University, is here as well, regarding the stage with interest. And several critics have made appearances tonight, ready to review your next production.

You rub the copy of the playbill you have folded in your pocket for luck. You're going to need it tonight.

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