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.Small but comfortable rooms were found for the adventurers in the servant's wing.Their hostess insisted they attend the wedding, though it was obvious to Alias that she did so only because it would be awkward to ask them to leave.Gratitude for the service they'd just rendered was the last thing on Lady Leona's mind.She had given Alias the distinct impression that, in her opinion, fighting a dragon was a snap compared to planning a wedding for three hundred people.More suitable attire was found for the female guest—a sky-blue strapless gown with leggings and a capelet.One accessory had been added, a pair of arm-length, fingerless gloves, no doubt supplied to cover up her "affliction."Alias was uncomfortable in the gown, despite the good fit and excellent cloth.She felt naked without her armor, and she kept tripping over the skirt.You'd think I'd never worn a dress in my life, she chided herself the third time she'd neglected to lift the hem and stepped on it.After all, I wasn't born in armor.As far as her unreliable memory could recollect, she had worn dresses before becoming an adventurer.Even after she took up the sword, she'd risked teasing from the male members of her party and allowed herself the luxury of a more feminine wardrobe while she stayed in town.That thought reminded her of her purpose in remaining here.Dimswart had uncovered information on the sigils, but wouldn't have time to review it with her until after the wedding.She scanned the crowd anxiously for the father of the bride, hoping that he might have a moment to give her some clue, something that would make the wait, in this warm tent full of frivolous people, bearable.Dimswart was mingling through the crowd, looking as jolly as a trader who has deceived the tax collector.When Alias spotted him, he was lending a friendly ear to a gathering of his daughter's friends, no doubt hearing a saintly version of the bride's last night of freedom.Shrieks and giggles emanating from the bride's quarters had kept Alias awake into the small hours of the morning.Yet, the bride looked fresh as morning, and though she was important enough to warrant a seat, she would not stay in it.Instead, she roamed the tent and the lawn in her white gown, with the crest of her upswept hair bobbing like peacock feathers.Nothing holding that girl up but the stays in her bodice, and nothing keeping her moving but nervous energy, Alias thought.The bride, Gaylyn, had greeted everyone, even taken a moment to thank Alias for all her help.It was doubtful she knew exactly what Alias had done, since she'd greeted many people with the same platitude, but she seemed in earnest.She'd go far in court, Alias decided, even without help from her new in-laws.The groom, Lord Frefford Wyvernspur, towed along by his new bride, sparkled almost as brilliantly, dressed in the green and gold of his family, the Wyvernspurs of Immersea.The wedding was the social event of the season and, in a spirit of festive goodwill, the imported nobility bumped elbows against the local hoi palloi.His Majesty, Azoun IV, remained in court in Suzail on the advice of the court wizard, Vangerdahast.However, a number of lesser Cormyrian lords and ladies were present to benefit from meetings and conversations with the heads of rising Suzail merchant households and local freeman leaders.Alias caught a glimpse of swirling crimson and white on the far side of the tent.Akabar's head poked above the press of shorter Cormyrians.Tired of being a stranger among so many, she decided that even the foreigner's company would be preferable to standing alone.Elbowing her way through the crowd, she caught fragments of conversation."Well, if you ask me," said one bass voice, "they should have had a cleric of Ilmater there.God of endurance, suffering, and perseverance."Alias gave a derisive snort.Considering the confusion caused by having four clerics at the marriage ceremony, a fifth might just have helped start a jihad.The swordswoman recalled the moment when both the bishop of Chauntea and the patron of Oghma stepped forward at the same time to offer the blessing.For seven heartbeats the priest and priestess stood, staring stonily at each other until the male bishop bowed deeply and surrendered the floor."If you must know," a disconnected whisper confided, "we dressed in blackface and wrote filthy slogans on the side of the citadel.Horrible, horrible things about Princess Tanalasta and a centaur."A strong political statement, Alias thought sarcastically."Go ahead, Giogi," a slurred female voice encouraged some unseen gentleman."Do your impression of His Majesty.Giogi does the most on-target imitation, you can just close your eyes and picture the old stuffed codger
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