The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One. G.D. Falksen
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“Very,” Korbinian said.
“Well, if you are going to be scandalous, I hope you have the good sense to make it something interesting. Otherwise it would be a waste of everyone’s very important time.”
Korbinian tilted his head and made a great show of being deep in thought for a few moments.
At length he said, “We eat meat during Lent.”
“Well that is of no great importance,” Babette said. “So does my family, and so do many of our neighbors.”
“We are Catholic,” Korbinian said, no doubt referencing the holy fast.
Babette ignored his meaning.
“That is a fault easily forgiven,” she said. “I am as well, as is my father. My grandfather is not, of course, but he is English and therefore above reproach. Most of the fine people assembled here tonight are Catholic, at least in name, as is the Pope himself, who would never be foolish enough to follow a scandalous religion.”
Babette snapped her fan open and began cooling herself in triumph. “So as you can see, Catholicism does not suffice as scandal. Please try again.”
Korbinian drew himself up and took a deep breath, fighting to conceal a smile.
“We were very nearly excommunicated once,” he said proudly.
Babette’s ears perked up. That was interesting.
“On what grounds?”
“For opening our university to women,” Korbinian said.
Now that was very interesting.…
“Why would you do such a thing?” Babette asked.
Korbinian shrugged.
“It was during the Thirty Years’ War,” he said. “All the men were out fighting.”
“That sounds most unseemly,” Babette said. “Most unseemly indeed.”
It also sounded rather promising.
“You needn’t worry,” Korbinian said. “There was nothing improprietous about it. The women were all relatives, and they all dressed as men while on the university grounds. The sanctity of knowledge was preserved, and the scandal was kept in the family.”
“And do they dress as men still?” Babette asked.
“Often, yes. It’s no longer required, but it’s all in good fun isn’t it?”
Babette countered with a repeat of the question: “Is it?” She continued, “Still, that seems hardly decent grounds for excommunication.”
“It is slightly more complicated than that,” Korbinian said. “An Italian cousin who attended the University of Fuchsburg to study divinity apparently went to Rome and passed herself off as a man for many years. She successfully became a cardinal and was very nearly elected Pope. She would have succeeded as well, had she not been found out.”
“The Church took exception?” Babette was not surprised.
“The Pope took exception. She would have beaten him for possession of the Holy See.”
Babette covered her mouth with the fan to conceal a titter of laughter.
“But surely that is a thing of the past,” she said. “And a scandal of the past is something of little consequence. Your family may be eccentric, but quite acceptably so, I have no doubt.”
She sighed in disappointment. It was exaggerated of course. This was the most fun she had enjoyed without the company of a book in some time.
Korbinian leaned down until he and Babette could look at one another eye to eye. Babette took a breath and smelled his scent. It was pleasing and exotic, not like the stench of perfume or the smell of wet horses that permeated the likes of Alfonse, Claire, and their ilk. Korbinian smelled of roses and jasmine, lemon and orange, rosemary and smoke.…
Babette caught herself as she began to drift away on her thoughts.
“Would you believe,” Korbinian said, “that my own mother is a great khan who rules over a kingdom in Asia?”
Babette looked at him very seriously and replied, “No, I would not.” She paused. “Does she?”
“Upon the name of our Lord, she does,” Korbinian said. “She sends chests of silk and opium home each year for my birthday.”
“How thoughtful of her,” Babette said.
Well, he certainly sounded sincere, she thought.
“Baron von Fuchsburg,” she continued, “it seems to me that you are a peculiar character possessed of an eccentric and not altogether respectable lineage, and that you have a talent for implausible stories about your family. I rather suspect that I should not be speaking to you. I am certain that my father would not approve.”
“I have been told that fathers seldom approve of me,” Korbinian said.
“This comes as no surprise.”
“I have also been told,” Korbinian continued, “that this is one of my most desirable qualities.”
“And are you possessed of many desirable qualities?” Babette asked.
“Enough that I am satisfied,” Korbinian replied.
“It is rare that a man is satisfied with himself,” Babette said. “It speaks well of you.”
“I am glad that you approve,” Korbinian said, “but I have a confession to make.”
“Oh?” Babette asked, so intrigued by the curious statement that her lips formed a perfect little O as she spoke. She quickly hid her mouth behind her fan again. Had Korbinian noticed? How foolish had she looked?
If Korbinian had noticed anything odd, he gave no indication. His eyes were still fixed upon Babette’s.
“I fear,” he said, “that I have shown very poor manners tonight. Upon arrival I have sought out the most beautiful woman in the room, addressed her without introduction, spoken candidly to her without any respect for decorum or polite conversation, and all before I have even introduced myself to our host.”
Babette nodded firmly and said, “Shameful, Baron von Fuchsburg. Your conduct has been nothing short of shameful.”
“Have I terribly offended you?” Korbinian asked, grinning wickedly.
“No,” Babette answered. “Not in the slightest.”
“In that case,” Korbinian said rising up to his full height and extending his hand, “perhaps you would be kind enough to join me for the next dance. I have no doubt that you have many suitors for the evening, but you see, the next dance a waltz, and you have not danced the waltz until you have danced it with a German.”
Babette felt her breath catch again at the invitation. Her heart pounded almost painfully. She really shouldn’t.… Not with a man to whom she had not actually been properly introduced. What would Father say?
All the more reason to do it.
She stood and snapped her fan shut, letting it dangle from her wrist. She placed her hand in Korbinian’s and felt the energy in his long, elegant fingers.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said, “for you to show me how a German dances.”
Chapter Three
Despite his better judgment, William loved his son. But James Varanus was of an especially nervous nature that often set William on edge. Put simply, James fussed. He fussed about everything. He fussed about the furnishings. He fussed about meals. He fussed about the servants and about what the neighbors would think—regarding