No amount of cultural and language lessons (and extensive conversations with Sinead in Cerean) really could have ever prepared Ultana for the actual ordeal that was a Cerean diplomatic gala. It was one thing to know in theory that Cerean culture was egalitarian between the sexes, and that the Cerean monarch was female, and that any number of the Cerean government were, likewise, female. It was quite another to sit in a mixed social gathering where there weren't even separated tables of gender-appropriate dishes, or spaces for men to retreat from the women and have their private conversations, or vice-versa. No, everybody was all mixed together and even though she was supposed to be here to present a version of her own home that was palatable to Cerean sensibilities, she couldn't help but be glued to Hugh's side just for the overwhelming unfamiliarity of it all.
If Sinead were here, that would be easier. She could shadow her instead. But Sinead, for some political reason, had not been invited, and so she was stuck with only her niece and few other Thollan women for allies, and she figured it would look bad if they all congregated together like a flock of frightened chickens and made no effort to socialize.
Even so, she was finding it impossible to peel herself off of Hugh, who was chatting away with some Cerean dignitary -- male -- blithe and charming as ever.
Seamus came around, returning from circulating through the room, and caught her elbow, bending to say in Thollan: "You don't have to stay by him the whole time here, you know."
Ultana blushed. "Yes. Theoretically. But..." a nervous glance around the room. What if one of the Cerean men talked to her? The thought made her a little queasy.
"Just pretend the men aren't here," he told her. "Introduce yourself to someone just like you would at a party back home."
And just how am I supposed to pretend the men aren't here when they're everywhere?
Ultana bit the inside of her cheek and scanned the room. A small group of Cerean women congregated by one of the drink tables. She asked Hugh to excuse her, then took several steadying breaths, sank into her familiar, high-headed, straight-backed posture, and glided over to the table to get a refill on her own cup.
Glass full, as she passed the group, she stopped -- as if just noticing for the first time, shot the nearest member a smile, and said: "Oh that color you have on tonight is so beautiful. You must give me the name of your tailor. I've been looking to have some Cerean clothes made while I'm here! The weather is so different that it's only practical."
