Alex will check with Lillian but he's guessing she'd prefer the dancing to the imperial tradition she's probably attended more impressive versions of elsewhere.

She's a bit sad to miss the baking contest, but the dancing does indeed sound far more attractive. 

Then Alex will start explaining some of the common dances. While they're walking he'll also raise another topic, "What's it like being an imperial mage? Do most of you travel with guards or is that a sign of your achievement?"

"Well, most full magi go about with an entourage, albeit a smaller one when not on active duty. Officially it's in recognition of valuable services to the Empire, and unofficially it's on account of a few too many stabbings. Historically speaking, of course. I wouldn't dream of suggesting that anyone important had been assassinated in the last, oh, five years or so.

"As an Imperial magus, I answer first to the Imperator and second to the Petronian Order of which I am a member, through which most of my duties are discharged. The Order of Dreams, in turn, owes certain duties to the Empire, and is 'empowered and required to teach and employ sufficient magi to fulfill those duties.' Seasons of service to the Empire are assigned to magi like myself on the basis of individual specialization, seniority, service record, and a frankly unwholesome amount of internal politics. 

"When I'm not on official assignment, my time is my own. I spend some of it traveling to amuse myself and practice my Art, and some getting acquainted with the delights of Imperial high society. Since of course the Empire is more than capable of taking care of its own, I of course take no special comfort from the fact that a great many officials would be deeply disappointed to be deprived of my services." 

Those are some very specific denials. Alex isn't quite hopeless enough to ask about them though. "Does the Order of Dreams specialize in magic like yours then? Or is it a wider umbrella?"

"Everyone specializes a little bit differently, but most of my fellow Dreamers work with the senses in some manner or other. We're a relatively new and small Order; most of the others cover broader interests. The Order of Aetherics, at the other extreme, houses specialists in all four elemental Forms and various combinations."

"Interesting, you said there were a lot of politics involved is it harder or easier to navigate that being from a newer order?"

"Hard to say, really, I've only ever been in the one. There's some tension with the Order of Device, since Dreams broke off from them. Very different creative visions, you know, despite shared influences. That's the way it is, sometimes, with those who rightly ought to be our friends and collaborators. It's a problem that plagues all the Orders, tragically." 

"Are the orders competing for resources then? I would guess that's part of the source of tension."

"Quite. Budget, status, stocks of vis, laboratory space, research time and materials... there's only so much to go around these days, and without a Primor Magnus to keep everyone in line, the loudest squabblers win."

"Ma'am, I'm not sure it's wise to say all that —"

"Come now, it's nothing he couldn't pick up in any city in the Empire with half an hour's asking. Gods forbid the Veiled or the Secretary's agents should learn that there's politics in Petronian Orders." 

"I'm aware that closer to the capital politics becomes more all encompassing and more pointed. Anyway I've satisfied my curiosity for the moment and we're just about there."

"Oh, good, I can't wait to see the..." 

"...politics."

On the road just north of the green, several dozen men and women in Miezan dress, at least a dozen of whom are armed, surround a cart of supplies and a purple-robed man riding a white horse. They appear to be mid-conversation with several of the dance organizers on the green; the would-be dancers have turned to stare at the scene, murmuring amongst themselves. 

"Oh, fiddlebricks, that looks like a Cog."

That's concerning. "What's a Cog?"

"Order of Cognizance. Self-proclaimed purest of the Orders, Imperial ritual-keepers, metamagic experts, inventors of certamen, blah blah blah. Direct line of apprenticeship to Petronus himself, as they are quite keen to remind everyone they ever meet. Insufferable windbags, really. Their only redeeming grace is that they rarely extract themselves from their studies long enough to bother the rest of us. 

"This one's probably out looking for Gifted youngsters, that's one of their jobs, you know. Wonder who he offended to be sent this far from the capital. Erm, no offense. I think it's quite lovely here, but the Cogs don't get out much if they can help it." 

"I see. I wonder what they're hoping to do with the festival grounds."

"I doubt it's a dance." 

"We could still turn back and enjoy the baking competition."

"Yes, I suppose we ought." And, dryly, "Maybe if we ignore him, he'll go away." 

Back through the eastern gates, the streets are bustling all the way to the square. Just off the main thoroughfare, merchants have set up stalls selling fabric, jewelry, and a dozen other things. There's a small mob around one stall selling charms and talismans said to ward off witchcraft; its members fall silent when Lilian passes by.

The smell of fresh-baked bread wafts from large ovens, whose contents converge with fruits, meats, and cheeses on overloaded trestle tables lining several blocks. 

"I'm guessing those don't do much," he says in a wry tone.

"Hmm? Oh, the charms. Not as a general rule, no."