"Perhaps not more pleasant but critically important," you say. "Have you heard the stories of the Queen of Pomona, that her child, or her children, escaped her death at the Raven's hands?"
"I have heard the stories that the babes were smuggled out of the palace after her death in battle, because her servants feared that my father would hold some grudge against innocent children," Liathar says, sounding indignant at the very idea. "It's likely little more than literary license, a romantic idea invented by poets and playwrights. No offense."
"None taken. But it happens to be true. One of the children survived and is actually here at the palace tonight."
"You?" Liathar asks in startlement, looking you up and down with new eyes.
"Not me," you say. "A young man named Salar. He wants to find out the truth about his mother's death. It would mean a great deal, I think, to hear it from you."
"He is certainly owed that much," Liathar says. He gives Cenone a quick, guarded glance, and you're certain in that moment that Liathar cannot entirely deny Cenone's ruthless nature. "It would be best if my father were not distracted by this matter tonight. And Falathar…also shouldn't be distracted. Bring the young man to meet me when the musicians begin to play the slower songs. The Rose Room, I think," Liathar says, indicating a room off the gallery above.
"I will," you say, and hope that Salar will agree to this plan as well.
The musicians are still playing with undiminished vigor. The partygoers who don't intend to dance have retreated to the upper gallery or to graze among the decimated offerings of the refreshment tables. Servants are pouring iced lemon water for the thirsty dancers, although many are still asking for wine.
Falathar is leaning against the wall to one side of the ballroom, apparently declining various offers to dance politely but firmly. He casts glances over his admirers' shoulders, still distracted by watching Liathar and Cenone.
Cenone has actually arisen from his chair and is dancing with an elderly woman with one arm, by her military bearing probably a veteran of Cenone's campaigns. Liathar is talking to Pell, or at least trying to talk to Pell. Pell appears determined to converse with some of the other young nobles at the ball.
As you watch, Liathar offers his hand deliberately to Pell, and Pell's expression brightens as the two of them proceed out onto the floor. It's probably not coincidental that they're on the opposite side of the ballroom from Cenone. They take a turn around the floor, a stiff and perfunctory dance, before Liathar leads Pell off the floor to the refreshment table. You're not certain which of them felt it was better to retreat before the Raven saw them, or whether it was a mutual decision.