“Yeah, Laz; it is bullshit, because let’s be honest here. I’ve done nothing to you--nothing to earn your scorn and your cold shoulder. Yeah, I’m not careful with my actions or words, and the more time I spend with Ari, the more I am learning what to say or not to say around him. But even if I slip up, it is never, ever my intention to hurt him in any way. Why isn’t that clear to you, yet?” Nia blew air from between her lips so sharply she nearly blew the delicate little firefly from her own fingers. “Yeah, it’s a lot to ask to invest in someone’s good character. Takes time and energy. But you know what’s an even bigger waste of time and energy? Investing in loathing someone for no good reason except that you need someone to blame for every time your master’s mood dips, or he sulks because someone said the colour blue looks good on someone other than him.”
She couldn’t help but grin a little at that last comment. Sure, Ari had been a little petty, but something about it had also been so endearing. Seeing his vulnerabilities reassured her that she wasn’t the only one with her heart on the line. “Believe me, as fun as it is to hate me, it’ll serve you a lot more to give me a chance. Try to see what I’m doing right than everything I’m doing wrong. Hey, you might be surprised by how much good I can do.”
It seemed that this strange obsession the golem had with bringing her down had more to do than being driven by stubborn self-righteousness. There was something about the way Laz viewed herself and her existence that she insisted she had to embody every dark shadow that Ari did not want to face. That if Ari loved the Master Alchemist, his golem had no choice but to hate her. And it was by far the most absurd that Nia had ever heard of anyone viewing their own existence. Not only absurd, but… just plain wrong. Of that, she was certain, and she wasn’t someone who was particularly well versed in the existential crises that golems experienced.
Fortunately, Nia didn’t have to put her neck on the line by telling her as much. Overhearing their conversation, Sylvie butted in to share her own opinion, in that Laz was, in so many words, wrong. But the young Canaveris girl wasn’t simply trying to spare anyone’s feelings; she made several good points. In fact, Nia couldn’t have said it better herself (and she certainly couldn’t have said it any more tactfully). Ari had intended for Laz to simply be a friend; not a shadow of himself, or a vessel to bear the burdens of everything Ari did not want to admit to himself. The golem was as much an individual in Ari’s eyes as Nia was. And perhaps… Sylvie was right. That all of this, the animosity and hatred, had less to do with Nia, and more to do with Lazuli struggling to find meaning for herself. As it turned out… she somehow found it best in making an enemy of Nia. At least, up until now, where upon Ari’s request, she no longer had any leave to continue down that path. And the Ardane woman couldn’t help but notice… the notion of letting it go did make Laz appear a little bit lost.
“Sylvie’s right. Completely and totally. But, if you don’t wanna believe her, then ask yourself this, Laz.” Putting the delicate little firefly down, Nia planted her hands on her hips. “Do you really think that Ari, Aristide Canaveris, renowned artist and powerful earth mage, is only capable of crafting a mere shadow of himself? Come on, Lazuli; do you really believe that when Ari breathed life into you, it was only to make you a yes-man… er, woman? Something to represent all of the dark in him so that he could only shine in his own light? Do you really, honestly think him so vapid as that?” The shock that registered on Laz’s face was enough to reassure Nia that her words were getting through to the golem; she already knew the answer, before Lazuli so much as opened her mouth to reply. Laz worshipped the very ground that Ari walked on and saw him free of almost all fault. To admit that he was so starved for creativity that he could only create an extension of himself from clay, as opposed to something--someone else--entirely unique and beautiful in their own way, would be admitting that she thought less of Ari than she was letting on. And Lazuli would sooner crumble to dust than admit to that.
All that said, Lazuli’s inquiry wasn’t unfounded; what, exactly, would their friendship entail? Nia hadn’t really sat down to think about it much, because the entire notion of befriending Laz felt as absurd to her as it did to the golem. Did they even have anything in common? “I know you have interests that stem from more than just wanting to please Ari. Or doing work on behalf of him.” She nodded to the growing pile of tiny fireflies that had stained Laz’s fingertips with glitter. “What about you? If you had no attachments or obligations to Ari, who would you want to be? What would you want to do, to pursue? Come on, Laz. You’re more your own person than you even realize. Anyway--I will have to leave a little earlier, if I want to meet up with Elespeth in time. You’re welcome to come along, Laz; if you’re going to stalk me while I’m exercising, you might as well do it out in the open. But--” She stuck out an accusing finger in the golem’s direction. “You don’t get to judge. You’re not the one busting your ass off trying to build muscle. At least I’m trying--and, I’m making progress. That’s what counts.” Besides, I knew you wouldn’t tell Ari you saw me throw my guts up, she almost wanted to add. Because that would just upset him--and then you’d have no one but yourself to blame for getting him so upset.
“But, for now, I am here to work--and Sylvie, I’m gonna need your help. No offense, Laz, but these are supposed to change at human contact, not golem contact. Sylvie will be part of my trial and error; something tells me that Nico wouldn’t have much of an interest.” If Ari’s nephew heard her, he didn’t indicate as much, absorbed as he was in his painting. “And I do mean trial and error. This feat is all new to me, but if it's possible, I’ll find a way.”
She wasn’t kidding or exaggerating where it came to errors. One after one, Nia tampered with the tiny fireflies, manipulating them alchemically a little bit at a time, and handing them carefully off to Sylvie with a pair of long tweezers to test her handiwork. More often than not, they crumpled into dust upon contact; or, they contracted tightly into a hard ball. The closest she got to achieving transformation from firefly to flower was that a few flattened out, almost to the shape of flower petals, before turning to dust. By the time Nia decided it was time to call it quits and return to the drawing board to figure out the kinks, Sylvie’s hands were as full of glitter as Laz’s.
“Well, at least that was only about… seventy fireflies that won’t see the light of day. Good thing there are still hundreds more--and you don’t tire out the way us humans do, right, Laz?” She grinned teasingly at the golem behind her, who continued to craft fireflies with the remaining sheets of mica. “I’ll get this right before we set our float out to see the world. I want all of Galeyn, D’Marians included, to be as enchanted by fireflies as I am.”
Wiping her own glitter-coated hands on the front of her tunic, the Master Alchemist nodded at the golem, who no doubt had been rolling her eyes behind her back each and every time her attempts to tamper with the fireflies yielded only failure after failure. “Still want to stalk me all the way down to the training grounds to judge how badly I’m doing? Who knows what Lady Rigas plans to put me through today, but my body is still sore from yesterday. Hope you’re as strong as you were before, because if today is anything like yesterday, I’m going to need someone to carry me back inside the villa.”
Lazuli did accompany Nia back to the Canaveris villa, where Elespeth was waiting for her outside, in the same spot as yesterday. When her green eyes fell upon Lazuli, however, confusion clouded her face. “Nia. And who’s…?”
“Oh, this is--was--Lazarus. Now she’s Lazuli. Same stubbornness, different body, and still not convinced she likes me. But!” Nia clasped her hands in front of her. “For Ari’s sake, we’re making an effort to get along. She’s gonna spot me and pretend like she’s not silently judging just how out of shape I am.”
“So she’s… you’re…” The former knight looked Lazuli up and down. Was it true what Nia said? Had Ari really reconstructed the massive golem’s body into something more graceful and lithe? She still stood tall and had an air of foreboding about her, in such a way that suggested it would not be wise to pick a fight with her. So it really was the same person who had been adamant on throwing her out of the D’Marian settlement the day Alster had both summoned and banished the Serpent to try and prove a point, and then disappeared? “That’s… unexpected. But I suppose this is what I should expect from such a capable earth mage as Lord Canaveris. Well,” she gestured with her hands, palms up, “You are welcome to accompany us, Lazuli, although aside from ridiculing Nia on how poorly she is out of shape, I am not sure there is much more to be had for you in training. I imagine your body is already constructed to be its very best.”
To Lazuli’s credit, if she did cast judgement on Nia for how hard it was for her to lift the heavy stones Elespeth had set out for her, or to keep up with the Arvanian woman’s pace when sprinting, she did it just as Nia had predicted she would: silently. Of course, it was difficult to gauge whether Laz was truly judging, or if she was simply existing; ever since she had reintroduced herself in her new female form, her face more often than not had a rather constant air of disapproval, no matter the mood that she happened to be in. By the end of the hour (and at least the Master Alchemist had made it the entire hour--and without vomiting!), her legs felt like jelly, and it hurt to lift her arms above her head; but progress was progress, and Elespeth at least appeared impressed with her efforts.
“Well? What’s your feedback?” The Ardane woman asked Laz as she and Elespeth accompanied her back to the villa, in case she stumbled on her tired legs. “Is that improvement for you? Considering this is day two and I haven’t trained like this is the first time I have ever trained so hard, I’d say I’m exceeding my own expectations.”
Even Elespeth, who--Hadwin was right--was also well known to not reserve her biased judgment whenever she had a strong opinion, appeared to smile a little. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d make it a full hour today. But then, I wasn’t convinced you wouldn’t give up in five minutes, yesterday. You’re full of surprises, Ardane.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Flushed in the face and still out of breath, Nia put one clammy hand on Elespeth’s shoulder, the other on Lazuli’s, and smirked that typical unapologetic smile. “Just wait until the celebrations are launched. Neither of you are ever gonna doubt me again in any capacity when you see how fucking amazing our float is going to be!”
Confident though she was in her skills (not to mention her problem-solving skills), as the next couple of days passed, the Master Alchemist was well aware that she still had far to go, not only in terms of her physical fitness, but with regard to the fireflies. She was getting close--oh, was she ever. A few hundred more fireflies had to be sacrificed for the sake of practice, trial, and error, but to her astonishment, Lazuli did not appear to be put off as one by one, her tiny firefly creations became victims of alchemy. She only wanted to help, in place of Ari who was still doing other necessary work in his workshop, and it didn’t appear to annoy her that Nia’s mishaps required her to start over again and again, revitalizing the scraps of mica (those which could be reused and recycled) and returning them to their delicate little bug forms. It did not appear to hinder the integrity of them, and to Nia’s credit, she had succeeded in finally having the little inanimate critters change their shape to a tiny flower upon contact with Sylvie’s hand. The trouble was, they crumbled almost instantly, instead of retaining their form for even a handful of seconds before succumbing to dust. Still more kinks to be worked out--but she was close, so close, and she still had a handful of days to perfect the little fireflies and their transformations before the big show began.
The important thing was, at the end of the day, she was improving: mentally, emotionally, physically, and in terms of working out the alchemical kinks with regard to her float. However, she hadn’t forgotten about Hadwin’s request, and frankly, as agreeable as Elespeth had been (and she had to admit, Lazuli wasn’t as bad she her plea for a truce for Ari’s sake), it would be nice to have someone else feel the burn the same way she did when exercising. So one afternoon a few days later, as she left the workshop early, she circumvented Elespeth temporarily and headed straight for Hadwin’s room in the villa instead. It came as no surprise that the faoladh seemed pleased to see her, considering how damn bored out of his skull he must be. “Hey, you. Any chance you’re feeling less like shit today and are up for a little exercise? Better make up your mind fast, because I’m already late having come to get you first, and Elespeth does get a little pissy about tardiness.”
Agreeing upon their trial friendship did not in any capacity make Laz suddenly agreeable, and listening to Nia’s brash tones as she explained, nay, hammered into her face about how she was so innocent and it that it was all Laz’s fault for brewing animosity between them in the first place almost made her rescind her bid for mutual cooperation simply out of spite. Oh, you find me so repugnant for my attitude? She almost wanted to sputter. Fine. Let me continue to meet your expectations and remain surly and annoyed by your every move.
But that wasn’t what Ari wanted—nor Sylvie, for that matter. Whether she made decisions of her own accord or simply reacted to some hidden font of affront buried beneath Ari’s prim and proper surface was a distinction she’d reserve for another time, perhaps at night when everyone slumbered and she, who never slept, could concentrate on parsing the sensical from the nonsensical. At present, however, it infuriated her to hear the Ardane woman discuss, at length, affairs she had no business trying—and failing—to understand.
“Ardane—Nia—,” she corrected, hiding the bare of her teeth from the attempt at civility, “it is not necessary to wrap your head around the nuances in the relationship between Ari and me. It is not as simple as you’ve made it out to sound. For one, Ari did not create me. As of today, I am 336 years, 342 days, 7 hours and 45 minutes old, exceeding his lifespan and the lifespan of his parents. Yes, his wish for a friend ‘elevated’ me from a position of mindlessness to a position where I was able to experience a full range of cognizance, an event none can argue happened without his influence. Therefore, it’s not so easy to separate the wisher from his wish. And as is the fleeting and ephemeral nature of wishes, Ari was not consciously aware of what he was doing when he essentially prayed me into life. None can say for certain, not even himself, what manner of magic birthed me into existence. Of course I don’t believe he’s vapid,” she planted one hand over her hip, suppressing the urge to kick Nia for the implied accusation. “But he also wasn’t in full control of the situation. If you were to ask him about how he awakened me, so to speak, he would not have a clear answer to give. To the layperson, it looked like a miracle. But I know there has to be an explanation; we just don’t know what that explanation is. So please refrain from your know-it-all input when it’s clear that you don’t know it all. No one does. Not you, not I, and not Ari. Also,” the luminous purple of her gently glowing eyes deepened in color, almost appearing black, “you are doing a fine job of thinking Ari vapid, yourself, if you believe he was sulking based entirely on your careless comment about a color. You know well that is not the case, but your gleeful oversimplification of his insecurity hints at your ignorance and disrespect.”
“Oh, Laz—I thought we were past all the animosity.” Sylvie, who lit with joy to see the two women attempt to set aside their differences and get along, deflated when the golem opted to fixate on the negative traits, the exact things Nia suggested she exchange in favor of the positive. “Instead of focusing so much on this tense little tête-à-tête, why don’t we, say, compliment Nia on her hard work or offer our appreciation for her helpful perspective with polite and grateful remarks to show that there are no hard feelings?”
Laz, who grimaced as though she were in physical pain, despite having no pain receptors to feel such a sensation, clamped out the words that would placate Sylvie the most. “I am trying, but it’s difficult to manage this conversation when I don’t lik—“
“—When you don’t know the person to whom you’ve agreed to befriend, yes?” Sylvie finished helpfully, her eyes twitching an ever-so-subtle warning at Laz. “Miss Nia broaches a wonderful point. Surely, there must be a whole bevy of activities you enjoy doing when Uncle Ari and the whole of this villa retires for the evening, and you are left to your own devices. Do not be shy in revealing some of these interests!”
Laz’s frown doubled, duplicating the one carved across her mouth with the one forming over her brows, but it seemed to have more in common with concentration than in contempt. Her hand wound around her chin, thus proving her countenance as one deep in thought. “I blend into the walls and watch the wall opposite me, reading the striations and searching for fault lines, if any. Sometimes I extend my hearing and listen to people talking behind those walls, if that option is viable.”
Sylvie, smiling politely, gained a few extra lines of effort in her expression. “That is—great! Great.” Her voice pitched up to a higher than usual melody. “Certainly a start. Who does not enjoy people watching?! And I for one cannot begrudge anyone the fascination of observing the wonderful patterns and specimens of stone agglomerated within our rock-dominant fortress! Well, we shall revisit this discussion later, but,” she turned to the twin workstations and the piles of stacked mica in comparison to the buckets filled with finished fireflies, “I do find it in our best interests to continue our work here, so—consider me at your service!”
Laz, who slid into her workhorse persona, was thankful for the repetitive tedium of mass-producing firefly after firefly, relieved not to be facing what had inevitably become an uncomfortable and untenable situation between her and Nia. On paper, nay, on the thinnest of parchments, they were allies, but when it came to playing the part assigned for her and accepting their friendship, albeit a barebones friendship more in common with a snake and mongoose, she struggled to provide any measure of civility. Just when she had it in her head that she could view Nia as an equal, her brashness would go and rub her the wrong way, and it took everything just to refocus her inexhaustible energies on firefly production. Luckily for the golem, she found it easy to clamp her mouth shut and say nothing. She said nothing for the duration of their time together at the cavern workshop, allowing Sylvie to do most of the talking, and she said nothing during her training session with Elespeth Rigas, except to deliver a few polite words of greeting to the wife of their former rival. Afterward, she was content to mutely watch the proceedings between trainer and trainee for the next hour, standing by in case Nia required her impressive strength—which hadn’t changed in scope just because she shed her male skin in favor of a female one—until the Ardane woman asked for her opinion regarding the progress she’d made thus far. Admittedly, Laz looked upon her exhausted, sweaty form, eyes lining in confusion.
“Why ask me at all?” The perplexity jarred the fluidity in her voice like two stones rubbing together, rough and coarse and full of sparks. “I don’t have lungs, or the need to breathe. Not having that basis of comparison, I wouldn’t know if you’re improving or declining.” But that wasn’t entirely true. Aware of the effort Nia put forth last night, it wasn’t completely unknown to her how acutely Nia toiled and travailed, heedless of her frail and weak body. Not only that, but,” she shrugged one shoulder, “it’s only the second day. Don’t you think you are being a little too hasty in your assessment?”
Sylvie’s face floated in her head, the memory of her advice manifesting in chopped-up words: Compliment. Appreciate. Polite. Grateful…
“Nonetheless,” she amended, accepting Nia’s sloppy arm around her pristine shoulder despite the initial urge to shake it off, “if you continue to make the same strides as you’ve made tonight, then there is the possibility of a favorable result. …Don’t get a big head about it, though,” she hurried, quick to bury the slightest indication of a compliment as soon as she uttered it. “As soon as you think about how well you are doing, you will lose your momentum and your motivation. I stand by my assertion; congratulations are too soon. I will congratulate only a finished product.”
It didn’t take any convincing on Nia’s part to sway Hadwin into enthusiastic cooperation. The moment she swept through the door and uttered the words ‘join’ and ‘little exercise,’ he was on his feet and throwing on his day clothes in a blur of fervent energy, as sprightly as a puppy about to go for a walk.
“Fucking finally!” he shouted, grabbing Nia’s arm after barely slipping on his boots, not even bothering to secure them. The loose buckles slapped and clanked against suede as he rushed outside with his companion, masking the fact that he held her not out of excitement (although that was certainly a factor), but for balance.
“I’ve never been more ready!” he howled, galumphing ahead of Nia and dragging her along, by nature of their arm link. “After three days of waiting, I thought you’d forgotten about me! I was so tempted to spring out of here myself, but Bron’s been watching me like a hawk and so has Tes.” True, they’d taken him out on small outings; strolls around the courtyard for fresh air, primarily, but nothing too physically taxing or intense. Tonight would mark the first night in…well over a month, that he’d embark on something more involved than a gentle run—sans the aid of alchemist-created drugs, at least.
“Elly!” On arrival, Hadwin half-trotted over to the ex-knight, who was probably wondering why Nia had shirked her punctuality and arrived late—until her gaze caught on her wolfen guest. He flung himself at Elespeth, bumping his forehead against hers, a greeting that had more to do with a headbutt than a ‘hello.’ “Damn, it’s like I haven’t seen you in ages! Better not have been causing trouble at the palace without me!” His mouth split into a grin so wide, he could engulf Elespeth whole, but it also glinted with genuine joy at seeing a woman he now considered a friend. “Yeah, yeah, we’re tardy and all; you can blame it on me if you’d like. But I’m also hoping you can fit one more person on your roster ‘cuz I’m here for the fun and games!” He aimed a wink at his to-be trainer. “It’s all good, too; Nia here signed off on it and everything, so you can torture me to your heart’s delight.”
A nearby snort alerted Hadwin to the other, quieter member of their party. Swerving, he checked out the new face on the not-so-new presence, taking in her look from top to bottom. “Lazuli, right? Well well,” his appraising stare softened, “gotta say, you really took one hell of a turnaround, and it definitely suits you better. Got a certain glow about you that wasn’t there before. Anyway,” he tilted his head at the golem, “you here to watch me flounce around, too?”
Lazuli, as well, gave the faoladh an appraising stare, as if trying to gauge the man’s sincerity in his previously uttered words, but belief gave way to suspicion, especially when some of his mannerisms reminded her of Nia’s most annoying traits. So instead of greeting Hadwin back, she glared and said nothing in response.
“About the reception I expected.” Unaffected, he laced his fingers together and raised his connected arms overhead in a stretch so big, his spine arched backwards. A satisfying series of cracks rang throughout the clear night air. “Well then, let’s get this party started, yeah?”
“Oh no. No, no, no. I forbid your involvement in this particular matter.”
A sigh, struggling to sound patient but at the cusp of failing, escaped from Ari’s mouth. “Lady Chara, if you would allow me the opportunity to—“
“—Not interested,” she turned from the Canaveris lord, in a physical expression of her noncompliance. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Giving up trying to convince the stubborn Chara Rigas to budge, Ari turned his beseeching eyes to Lilica, who was also a firm presence in the council chambers and potentially, the most important figure to sway. “Your Majesty, I do not mean to step on anyone’s toes here, but if you would please assure your advisor that I am not deliberately planning on supplanting her position as organizer for our surprise matrimonial event, that would be most grand.”
“And please inform the Lord of Stella D’Mare,” Chara’s voice spat with derision, “that he needs to kindly step aside on his multitudinous projects lest the entire kingdom of Galeyn thinks poorly of the monarchy for being unable to manage our own affairs. How many pies are you looking to stick your greedy little fingers into, Lord Canaveris? Do you expect us to remain always in debt to and beholden to you and your kingdom for offering a string of services that we are too resource-starved to reject?”
“Our kingdom,” Ari corrected, helpfully. “Is Stella D’Mare not your home, as well? I thought it was well understood that the reason we are working in concert with each other is to provide a united front as a countermeasure to prevent further discord between Galeynians and D’Marians. As it stands, you will find that my request is not so objectionable or unseemly.” He again looked to Lilica, the more reasonable personage in the room. “I only wish to contribute to Lord and Lady Rigas’s ceremony in a significant way, both to express my apologies for the bad blood I perpetrated in the past and to show gratitude for Lord Rigas’s role in saving my life.”
“In other words, you wish to oust me from the committee and run the event yourself,” Chara curled her fingers around the edges of the grandiose table, about to push away from her seat and thus, the proceedings.
“No, of course not, Chara.” Ari rose in conjunction with her, carefully balancing the steps towards placating her without acceding to her whims and handing her the victory. “You are the main arbiter for this event. However, considering that Lord and Lady Rigases are, well, Rigases and citizens of Stella D’Mare, would it not be more meaningful to accept small D’Marian influences in the decor, the menu, and in, I daresay, the outfits?”
“And you think that I, a Rigas and, as you so quickly pointed out before, a D’Marian, am not equipped to tackle this endeavor alone? That I would be so lost without your humble guidance?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Chara.” Quickly abandoning his fraying patience, Ari thrust the silver-tipped butt of his cane on the marble floor, a sharp clang of a sound to establish order, similar in scope to a judge banging a gavel on his pulpit. Goodness, he hoped Nia was faring much better sweating herself silly to Elespeth’s daunting calisthenics regimen at the villa! “Does it not occur to you that other people are interested in contributing to the success of this ceremony? Or are you so self-involved that you want to reap all the praise and accolades for a job well done, despite the fact that you will never be able to claim credit one hundred percent? Keep in mind, this is the brainchild of Nia Ardane and not your idea, to start. Why must you make this process so difficult when others are not, despite what you may believe, opposing you out of some imagined malignance? Why can you not understand that I am here to work with you, not retaliate against you as some petty act of revenge in response to our sordid history?!”
His raised voice, and the barb of his exacting words, did something rather unexpected. They caused the no-nonsense Chara to flinch. Instead of storming away from the table in protest, she retreated from it as though burned. “…Do what you like,” she muttered, quietly slipping through the doors, and out of the council chambers.
“My apologies, your Majesty.” Ari turned stiffly to face the Galeynian queen. “I did not intend to bring personal matters into this discussion. Perhaps we should revisit this matter on the morrow, when we have all had some time to decompress?” As they adjourned the meeting, the Canaveris lord exited, switching positions on his cane and heavily favoring one leg over the other.
His flare-ups were worsening in frequency, triggered by even the smallest of stressful encounters. Whatever tolerances he’d built up over the last several decades were fast proving ineffective as he steadily began losing the resistance to his insidious malady.
Flinging aside his pride yet again, he found himself knocking on Isidor’s door for the second time that week.
When Aristide Canaveris had sent a request to hold a rendezvous at the palace, with regard to the planning and eventual execution of what would be a surprise ceremony for a proper wedding for Alster and Elespeth Rigas, Lilica hadn’t thought twice of the possibility of accepting D’Marian help for what was very much a D’Marian celebration. Considering the tremendous amount of work that still had to go into the celebrations that would encapsulate the entirety of Galeyn, the Queen, while she was loathe to admit it for fear of worrying those close to her or disappointing otherwise, was very much overburdened with everything involved in bringing cheer to this bereaved kingdom and its people. Help of any sort, from anyone, was not only appreciated, but desperately needed. So eager was she to jump at the opportunity to recruit more help that it didn’t even occur to her the dynamic that it might create, considering the only other person who was involved in this particular affair.
It was as though the atmosphere in the council chamber dropped from warm and inviting to freezing and ambivalent the moment Lord Canaveris stepped inside. While the Galeynian Queen couldn’t claim that relations with the Canaverises had historically been warm and agreeable (with Aristide, particularly), and it hadn’t been very long that she’d begun to hold him in a favourable light, whatever apprehension she had where it came to working with him was nothing compared to the frigid reception he got from Chara. The Rigas woman practically turned to ice the second he set foot in the room--and Lilica couldn’t help but feel responsible. For fear that Chara would altogether abandon the project if she knew that the Tenebris daughter had accepted the help of a Canaveris, she’d purposely neglected to mention exactly whom they would be meeting with. Too late, she realized she’d made a terrible mistake.
The bickering began almost immediately, but to Aristide’s credit, the Canaveris lord attempted to keep the tone civil, professional. It was no surprise, really, that it was Chara veered it in another directly entirely. She wasn’t ready to be civil with Aristide, not even where it came to working collaboratively toward a common goal. It had been foolish for Lilica to think this might run smoothly… “Please--might we all speak with civility on this matter?” The Galeynian Queen raised her hand instead of raising her voice. Contributing to this unraveling chaos would only make a hypocrite of her. “Chara… I accepted Lord Canaveris’s help in order to manage the growing list of details that keep cropping up in this particular endeavour. Nevermind every other nook and cranny of this kingdomwide celebration which was, I’ll admit, my idea… we are overburdened. You and I in particular. Wouldn’t it be foolish not to take a helping hand when we are in need?”
If Chara heard a single word she said, she did not indicate as much in her tone or her demeanor. Her issue was not with fact Lilica had accepted more help on this particular project; it was specifically that she had accepted Aristide’s help. And despite all the prior talk of water under the bridge and moving forward working together harmoniously… Chara Rigas just wasn’t ready. “Chara, please… Lord Canaveris has a point.” She almost reached for the blonde woman’s hand to offer a reassuring squeeze, but feared that Chara had already sunk far too deeply into her own toxic resentment that she’d flee at a single touch. “It was Nia Ardane who approached us with this request in the first place. Of course word would make its way to Aristide eventually. But having his help in no way diminishes the integrity of what you can do for Alster and Elespeth. Even Nia knows that; after all, you were the first one she sought out, were you not?”
Sadly, it didn’t matter what she said, or what Aristide said--or, rather, it did matter what he said, for it was his words that at last incited the Rigas woman to vanish from the room altogether. Not in anger… but defeat.
“It… isn’t your fault.” The chthonic mage sighed deeply in her own defeat, and raked a hand through her hair. It had been some time since the Gardeners had deemed her significantly recovered to such an extent that she needn’t remain in the sanctuary, but the residual fatigue had yet to dissipate. Lilica was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel entirely herself again, after what she had done to remove Locque from Galeyn (and from this world) forever. “I accepted your offer to help without consulting Chara. I… did not mention that it was you with whom we would be meeting. That was my mistake. Please,” she stood from her seat before he could leave, “forgive my short-sightedness. We do need your help, Lord Canaveris. I will speak with Chara. I see no reason why we cannot work together toward a common goal that will only bolster relations between D’Marians and Galeynians; something desperately needed, after Nia’s trial.”
After he left, Lilica immediately sought out Chara, not only in hopes of amending the working relationship between her and Aristide Canaveris, but to do her own due diligence and acknowledge her own grave mistake in neglecting to mention he would be contributing to this project. She ultimately found the proud, blonde woman in their shared chambers, sitting upon the bed. Her shoulders and posture were slouched; she was not angry. She was… empty. Defeated. Because Lilica had dared to interfere with something that Chara had been taking very seriously, into her own hands. And Lilica… well, she should have known better. “Don’t be angry with Aristide. Be angry with me.” The Galeynian Queen took a seat next to her, folding her hands on her lap. “When he reached out and offered his help, I didn’t hesitate to accept; we’re so overburdened not only with this task, but everything else involved with lifting this kingdom’s spirits--which was my grand and overly-ambitious idea to begin with. And… I’m sorry. That I didn’t tell you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just wasn’t thinking at all.” Unfolding her pale hands, she tentatively rested one on Chara’s knee.
“If I am being honest… I don’t think the two of us can pull this off alone. But I had no right to think that you would be ready to sit down and work with someone with whom you share a painful past. So, while I do believe we could greatly benefit from what Lord Canaveris has to offer… if you do not feel comfortable working alongside him, then I will see that he is not involved--I mean what I say.” Finally, she said something that caught Chara’s attention and turned her gaze to look her in the eye. “Really. If you are asking me to choose between your involvement and Aristide’s, then of course I would choose you. Anyone in their right mind would have you in mind as a first choice when it comes to organizing a celebration--a wedding, in particular. Think about it; even Nia Ardane sought you out before her own love interest. So, as much as I do believe that Lord Canaveris does merely mean to make amends to us and to Alster and Elespeth Rigas, and I hope you will change your mind… we will only proceed in a way which you feel comfortable. I don’t need to tell you,” her lips turned upward at the corners. “I really cannot do this without you. Any of this. You’re the trailblazer, Chara. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with any of this the way I trust you.”
With the little time that remained to develop and build their float, Isidor had been working fairly exhaustively with Alster most days, and today was no exception. So when Aristide knocked on his door, for once there was no answer not because he was ignoring the caller, but because he simply was not there. Fortunately, Isidor Kristeva might have been elusive, but not entirely difficult to track down, and Lord Canaveris didn’t have to travel far on a bad leg to find the Master Alchemist just outside of the workshop where his and Alster’s float was coming together.
“Lord Canaveris--I can only imagine two reasons as to why you might be here.” Isidor raised his eyebrows, and tucked the colourful, silk-like material shaped curiously like flower petals into one of his pockets. “Either you are unabashedly spying on my and Alster’s progress, which I understand is very bad manners where it comes to friendly competition, or…” His dark eyes trailed to Aristide’s cane, and then his leg, and the way he seemed to drag and left it rather than nimbly walk upon it. “Why don’t we head over to the infirmary? It’s closer than my chambers. I’m sorry you had to walk so far.”
Since there was no rush, Isidor accompanied the Canaveris lord to the infirmary at a leisurely pace. Aristide was very accomplished in hiding his discomfort, borne of years upon years of suffering the complications of his unique condition in secret, but even Isidor could make out the strain around the corners of his eyes, and the exhaustion in every breath he drew and expelled. While Nia was improving, according to everyone surrounding her and checking in on her, this man was headed quickly in the opposite direction, and growing worse. “May I?” WIth Aristide’s nod of approval, Isidor lifted the hem of Ari’s Ari’s well-hemmed pants from the ankle. Smooth stone spanned halfway up his shin and, after further investigation, down as far as the heel of his foot. Not nearly as serious as the last time the Canaveris lord had sought alchemical aid from someone other than Nia, but he could only imagine how uncomfortable and cumbersome it must have been. “Might I ask what caused this current predicament?”
As soon as the earth mage mentioned Chara Rigas, Isidor let out a quiet sigh and a half-smile. “You know, I’m surprised I’m one of the few who haven’t happened to fall under the fire of Her Majesty’s fierce and intimidating advisor.” He commented as he placed his palms against Ari’s petrified flesh and began to go to work. “I’m the sort of person who would surely get under her skin and trip into her line of fire. Perhaps I’ve just become that good at hiding. I don’t mean to be a harsh judge of character, and honestly, I really have no right to judge anyone’s character, but I think the only person whose blood pressure does not rise in her presence must be Queen Lilica, herself. You know…”
The Master Alchemist’s brows knit together in both concentration and thought. “Lately, it has crossed my mind that I’ve demanded a lot of pressure be put on Nia Ardane to have her ready and capable of lifting your curse when the time comes. But, even if she is on track to rapid recovery, that has nothing to do… with how you continue to decline.” Isidor looked up over his spectacles. The defeat in Ari’s dark eyes was all the confirmation he needed. No one knew their mortality better than the individual, themself.
“I realize this is a tall order, and I can already anticipate the answer you are going to provide, but… Barring dreams, over which you have little control, if it happens to be stressful situations that trigger these, perhaps now is the time that you minimize your involvement in triggering events. I don’t mean that you abandon your role as D’Marian head; some situations and responsibilities just cannot be avoided. But if your involvement in certain aspects of the upcoming festivities is doing this to your body… perhaps it would be wise to reconsider your role? Or… at least avoid those which involve Chara Rigas.”
Of course, he expected the very Canaveris pride with which Ari responded: that he was not someone to abandon a cause, and reassured the Master Alchemist that Queen Lilica herself had promised to talk Chara down from her vitriol the next time they met. While not ideal… Isidor really couldn’t blame him. After all, he couldn’t simply stop living his life for fear of flare-ups here and there, and there were two very capable Master Alchemists readily available to tend to him. Not even a curse would come between a Canaveris and their sense of responsibility and accomplishment, though.
“Well, it’s just a thought. But still worth consideration, once the festivities are over.” Isidor sighed, and finally removed his hands from Ari’s leg. Not a trace of stone remained, inside or out. “Wait here--I’m not finished with you. I’m not sending you back to the D’Marian settlement empty-handed.”
Standing and dusting off his knees from where he’d been kneeling, Isidor disappeared from the infirmary and returned moments later with a tiny bottle containing a clear tonic. “I wish I could tell you I’ve concocted something to stop your flare-ups altogether, but we’ll have to settle for mitigating them. Here.” He placed the tiny bottle into Ari’s gloved hand. “I want you to take this prior to engaging in anything that you even vaguely anticipate will cause you physical or mental stress--be it Chara Rigas, other political meetings, or even a conversation or turn of events that isn’t proceeding as you’d hoped. It slows the release of stress hormones, so with any luck, if you can stop your body from working itself up into a flare before it happens. Certainly not fool-proof, but at the very worst, it’ll make you feel a little bit less high-strung. Reasonable enough?” The Master Alchemist adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think that just because I have Nia on a tight regime, I don’t also have expectations for you, Lord Canaveris. Miss Ardane seems to finally be doing a fair job of looking out for her health; I hope you can do the same for yourself.”
Just days away. The parade and all other festivities were finally just a couple of days away, and while the float and almost all of the details were finished, with only some finessessing and tidying up the line remaining, Nia was still struggling to make headway on the only other request that Ari had made of her: befriending his stubborn, golem protector. While Lazuli’s scathing comments were fewer and further between, the golem appeared only to be tolerating Nia’s presence, in the workshop, at Ari’s side--no matter where she happened to be. No topic of conversation interested enough to even attempt a conversation, and more often than not, the Master Alchemist felt as though she was talking to a wall. Maybe her suspicions were right, and Lazuli had no interests, aside from just existing to observe and…
Wait. Existing… maybe there was something there.
“You know, I don’t blame you. Not putting in much effort to be a friend to someone you don’t like, I mean.” Nia spoke up as the golem accompanied her to the training grounds one afternoon where she would once again meet with Elespeth, following their time in the workshop. Somehow, Laz seemed to think that forcing herself to be in Nia’s company from time to time was enough, but it didn’t fool Ari, or Sylvie, and it certainly didn’t pull the wool over Nia’s eyes. “Maybe I haven’t given you much of a reason to want to try, other than stating it’s Ari’s wish and all. So let me step up the game; let me give you a reason to want to like me. Will you give me that chance? I think you’ll at least want to hear what I have to say.”
Pausing in step, Nia turned to face Laz and clasped her hands behind her back. Her mouth twitched into a knowing grin. “Ari wants you to be your own person; and I think, deep down, so you do. I think you want an identity exclusive to your relations to Ari and the Canaverises. But I can imagine, in your current form, you’re most definitely presented with limitations. Let’s be honest, here: you can walk and talk and see and hear and have feelings and all, but can you feel anything? Can you eat and enjoy good food, or the smell of flowers in the spring? Have you ever found pleasure--real, physical pleasure--being with a person? I’m not asking you this to be an asshole; I want to present you with an opportunity. What if… you could still be you, and also be everything you’re not? What if you could experience life like a human, and not like a sentient hunk of clay?”
Realizing her vagueness might cause the golem to lose interest, Nia unclasped her hands and held them, palms-up, in front of her, baring the silvery runes that caught the sunlight at just the right angles. “When all is said and done, when I’m deemed healthy enough and when Ari is free of his curse… why don’t you let me make it worth your while to be friends with a Master Alchemist, hm? I can make all of that happen for you. I can make you… as human as you want to be. I can help you experience everything you currently aren’t able to experience--at no cost to what you’ve currently got going for you. Y’know, strength, longevity, and all. What do you say?” She clasped her hands in front of her with hope. “No strings attached. It’ll take time, of course; way longer than it took for Ari to reconstruct your body to your liking. But… I can do it. If you want it--if you’ll let me. If, y’know… it’ll give you a reason to want to make this--” she gestured to the empty space between them, “work for us. Or for you, specifically. Think it over, at least. If it’ll give you a reason to see past my ‘uncouth’ behaviour.” She couldn’t help but chuckle, because honestly, it wasn’t untrue. “But becoming your true, own person… that’s important to Ari. And to you, too, I think. I want to help, as much or as little as you’d like. If you’ll let me.”
It was a petty, unprofessional thing, to stand up and walk out of a meeting between two rulers of their respective nations, even if one of them was her lover and the other, a former, faux-inamorato. Chara understood how she belittled an important guest, hence violating whatever sacred rules of hospitality he swore by (and were Aristide a more severe personage, he would demand reparations for the insult). Not only that, but she made a surprise celebration for her dear cousin and his wife about herself—and perhaps even more mortifying, Aristide was the one to notice and publicly call her out on her behavior!
The most infuriating part was that he was correct! She was making it about herself, for a number of reasons, but the most important of which had little to do with the Canaveris lord, aside from him getting in her way and mucking up her meticulous plans and calculations. As she sat on her side of the ornate bed, alone in the suite shared by her and Lilica, Chara inserted her hand beneath the mattress and slid out a silken, purple bag. On the surface, it looked like a normal, albeit elegant little piece of fabric, but Chara had warded it with magic to open only at the prise of her fingers untying the drawstrings. Gently, she upended the bag, and its contents, into her hand, feeling the cold, circular metal press over her palm. A ring stared back at her, braided rose-gold studded with diamonds. At its center, a shape, resembling a flower, unfurled its sapphire-set petals to reveal a cluster of opal gems, reflecting iridescent greens and pinks under the bioluminescent lanterns of the chandelier light overhead. A precious heirloom gifted to her by Lysander, which once belonged to her mother, Chara kept it in a special place, and for a special purpose, ever since.
Yes, she was using the backdrop of a wedding ceremony to further her own ends. Yes, she wanted no outliers, least of all the extravagant Aristide Canaveris, ruining her perfectly orchestrated moment where she would lower on one knee and propose to the Galeynian queen for her hand in matrimony. Yes, she realized such an act might eclipse Alster and Elespeth’s special day. Yes, it was selfish, and yes, she could withhold until another, less self-serving time. And yet…how much longer was she going to wait? As of next week, Alster and Elespeth would have two marriages to their name, whereas Chara and Lilica, who met at the same time as the reconstituted newlyweds, had nothing to show for their devotion and love, save for a bed and the same living quarters.
No one else knew what she was intending to do, and she’d rather keep it that way—which meant cruelly eliminating Aristide’s interference from the equation. Until, at least…he made a point she just couldn’t refute. In hurting that man so profoundly, and having the ugly details resurface for two individual nations to react to and analyze, didn’t it make sense, in her guilty conscience, to believe that every query or request from Aristide Canaveris was an opportunity for him to enact his well-deserved punishments? Despite his repetitious assurances that he intended never to overstep their professional relationship, Chara knew it was only an act of politesse on his part. In truth, they had never reconciled their differences…and perhaps never would.
The sound of a door opening in the adjacent living quarters shook Chara out of her dredge of thoughts, and she hurriedly returned the ring to its pouch, stashing it back into its hiding space beneath the mattress in the nick of time. Lilica entered the bedroom, her face a study in apology and concern. Bracing herself for the verbal breakdown of what she caused, Chara took in a breath and let her partner say her peace.
“I will not be angry with you, Lilica. I refuse to be angry with you. For that matter, I cannot be rightly angry at Aristide.” Sighing, she turned to face Lilica. “I was out of line earlier. It deserves rementioning, but….Aristide, through no fault of his own, brings out the worst in me. Clearly, the man must be mad to willingly place himself in front of my warpath on a semi-consistent basis, but it is likely his strong sense of duty and responsibility that prevents him from completely turning to stone in my presence. …I tend to have that effect on people. Not just him.” In spite of herself, she managed a small, lopsided smirk of a smile. “While I appreciate your vote of confidence, Lilica, it is unnecessary to stroke my already overinflated ego. When it comes to organizing a spectacle, few to none can outmatch me.” To help sell her performance, she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, radiating peak arrogance. If only you knew exactly what I have been planning.
“I will speak with Lord Canaveris, before he leaves,” she said, on a more serious note. “If he can appear before me, facing my wrath with great equanimity and willpower, then,” her fingers twisted in the bedsheets, hesitating, “then so will I. It is pointless to have a rival outclass me on human decency. I can be a decent person!” Her last statement, more an outburst than a declaration, startled even her. Who was she trying to convince? Herself? Lilica?
There is a chance you might not agree to my proposal, Lilica, she drifted back through the well of unpleasant thoughts. As I am, hot-heated, combative, petty, and uncompromising…will you seriously want me around if I continuously make your life as a sovereign more challenging and difficult? If you have to always talk me down from my moods?
“We…do need him,” she admitted, offsetting her spirited shout with a tone more even and level-headed. “Not only does he have almost exclusive access to the finest tailor in Stella D’Mare, but his aesthetic eye and reputation as a gourmand will elevate the pomp of this ceremony to respectable proportions. So, no need to worry, Lilica.” Plastering on another smile, she planted a quick and apologetic kiss on her lips. “I shall work with him.” Her blue eyes glittered, a caveat shining to the surface. “On my terms, of course.”
“I assure you, Master Kristeva, I would never go to such lengths, and certainly would never stoop so low as to boldly investigate in person. I take my vows of honor seriously, whether they pertain to a friendly competition, or to matters more grave and pressing.” Sure enough, from the moment he stepped within the vicinity of Isidor and Alster’s workshop, Ari kept his eyes respectfully averted and refused to shift them until they were far removed from the sensitive location. Despite his stone-generated hobble, the Canaveris Lord carried himself with a stateliness that counteracted his sluggish pace, a deliberate and carefully curated swagger that came so naturally to him nowadays, it hadn’t occurred to him to cease the act. Everyone now knew about his condition. Why hide beneath stylish ministrations when they consistently drained his finite energies? All in a bid to appear unruffled, and to exude the picture of health and wellness? He wasn’t fooling anyone at this stage, least of all, Isidor. Yet, he continued to proceed towards the infirmary as if he were about to attend a delegation inside and needed to make an entrance befitting his title and stature.
Sweeping his long coattails aside, he sat down on an infirmary bed and propped up his affected leg so that it pointed in Isidor’s direction. This time, he surrendered the necessary blood from the tip of his little finger, a compromise in lieu of extracting from his palm or his forefinger, essential areas he required to remain unmarred for as long as he was in the midst of an active sculpting project. For the duration of the stone reversion process, Ari also reminded Isidor to save some detritus shavings for Alster, who wanted to create a trio of talismans alarming any who possessed one to the onset of a flare-up.
“Consider yourself most fortunate. Chara Rigas is no trifle.” In light of their tumultuous history together, along with the fact that her presence alone was enough to cripple him, he spread his lips into an amused smile. Massaging some of the circulation into his newly-healed leg, he removed it from the cot, lowered the hem of his pants, and slipped back on his shoe. At hearing Isidor state both the obvious and the uncomfortable, Ari’s smile faded, and whatever uplift crinkling his eyes with mirth dropped, sagged, and darkened. “Would that I could eliminate stressful situations from my life; alas, by willfully choosing my path as Canaveris Head and Lord of Stella D’Mare, I have invited such high-pressure factors to disrupt any chances of a largely peaceful existence. Not that I regret my stance, but I admit that it takes a toll on a body already ragged and compromised from a preexisting condition. Needless to say,” he pulled one glove carefully over his bandaged hand, taking care not to agitate his tender finger, “I am doing my part in preventative care, much as my busy position allows. In following alongside Nia’s regimen, I am resting and eating well. While I cannot accompany her in partaking of rigorous exercise, I rarely sit idle, and live a rather active lifestyle. Please realize, Isidor,” his gloved hands wrung together, squeezing out the tremors currently wracking his arms, “I am doing my level best. That is all I can do, at present.”
Feeling curiously chilled, and dizzy, Ari remained seated for a little while longer to recover his senses while Isidor wandered off to fetch him something. Upon the alchemist’s return, he presented a tonic made to preserve homeostasis by dampening mental stressors and maintaining stable blood pressure, free from dangerous levels of spiking. “Ah, I daresay this little tonic is precisely what I need,” he effused, plucking the small bottle from Isidor’s hands. “Is this amount for one dose, or will a tiny sip suffice to reap the effects? And are they instantaneous, or must I wait a little while before I notice any changes? At any rate, thank you, Isidor. For everything.” Feeling well enough to rise from the bed, Ari did so, turning towards the Master Alchemist with a respectful bow. “And please, call me Ari. It feels…strange to have you refer to me as anything else,” he frowned, remembering his conversation with Alster a few days ago. You were not dreaming, but experiencing a different existence, the Rigas lord had conveyed. An alternate world, where you and Isidor were brothers.
“Forgive me for coming to you with another request so soon after you fulfilled the last, but this one requires no effort on your part, I hope.” Rising from his bow, Ari, suddenly bashful, stared at the drawn curtains of the infirmary window in place of his subject. “My chances for a full recovery rank higher, much higher, than Nia’s projected survivability rate—so you posit. I have every confidence in her success. Yet…hypothetically, should she succumb before completing the procedure, and the preservation of my life rests in your and Lord Rigas’s hands alone,” his dark, determined eyes finally rested on the Kristeva alchemist, “please focus first on your survival, Isidor. Not mine. If I am good as dead, and Nia will not return, then I see no need to drag any other lives with me when I should just accept…that perhaps, I am simply meant to die.” He glanced downward, at the small vial and its honeyed liquid resting in the crook of his hand. “This is not to say that I will cease fighting; only that, if the situation turns dire for us, please abort immediately, and leave me to my fate. Can you promise me that you will desist, if the variables do not play in my favor?” Despite his grim words of finality, Ari ended them with a genteel smile. “It is too much to ask a response of you straightaway. I shall grant you some time for a proper, well-thought response. Good night, Isidor, and thank you again. While my debt of gratitude to you is too large to repay in full, I shall nonetheless endeavor to clear those debts posthaste.”
Bidding Isidor farewell, Ari turned to leave on his uninhibited feet, but didn’t get far to his carriage before encountering one more obstruction at the front entrance.
He paused in his step, immediately popping open the cork of Isidor’s tonic and bringing the rim to his lips. “Lady Chara.”
The polarizing woman crossed her arms over her chest. “Hm. It isn’t like you to carry swill on your person. Have I seriously driven you to drink?”
“Close to it,” he quipped, little concerned about his borderline rude remark, when Chara was yet again responsible for causing him pain. “It is a pick-me-up of sorts, yes. Now excuse me a moment while I divulge.” Tilting the vial ever so slightly forward, he sampled a tiny sip, immediately wishing it tasted as the honeyed color implied it would taste, instead of bitter and bilious. “Now that I am adequately dosed—to what do I owe the pleasure of your alluring company?” He said, dripping with sardonic rancor.
But he quickly paused in doling out his subtle vitriolic concoctions when Chara’s expression…shifted, eyebrows furrowing in a bold display of guilt and uncertainty. “Ari…I am choosing to trust you, both as an apology for my previous actions and because…I need your help. Please,” she shuffled her legs together and fidgeted girlishly, and the absurdity of her present condition confounded him to the extent where he fought not to openly gawk, “will you help me?”
If Laz could summarize the last several days into one word, it would be this: annoying. Between making yet another set of fireflies to toss into Nia’s growing pile of rejects and withstanding both she and Hadwin Kavanagh as they barked and howled and huffed and puffed during Elespeth Rigas’s training sessions, the golem was about ready to disappear into the walls again, where none but Ari would locate her. Of the bit of good news that occurred, the Canaveris float was nearly at completion. With the addition of Ari’s enormous, sculpted hibiscus flower centerpiece, which Nico had already painted to gleaming perfection, the final component to be added was, naturally, Nia’s contribution. If the Master Alchemist couldn’t handle something so seemingly simple, then how would she ever succeed in saving Ari’s life in her overambitious and grandiose procedure?
Speaking of overambitious and grandiose…
“You want to make me…human? More human-like?” A white eyebrow of incredulity flew up on her clay-smooth features, wrinkling the surface almost imperceptibly. “When you’ve hardly figured out how to transform a firefly into a flower and Ari’s survival lies predominantly in your hands?” Aside from her initial skepticism, however, and her requisite bluntness, Laz had to admit; the idea sounded appealing. What if she could breathe in the perfumes of the earth, eat her fill of the delicious Canaveris food her empty vessel rumbled for in longing, and experience the sensuous pleasures of the body? The possibility of being more than a sentient hunk of clay who thought and observed, but rarely experienced, except secondhand from her psychic connection to Ari?
“And how do you propose to do this?” Humoring Nia, Laz planted one hand on her hip as she followed her ‘companion’ out of the villa, en route to Elespeth’s training grounds. While knowing her way around the D’Marian settlement to assume the role in their duo as leader and guide, it had always been second nature to trail behind others, and not walk alongside as their equal, even at Ari’s insistence. I’d like to know your strategy, and hear concrete proof, aside from the empty promise that it can be done. Also, I’d like to know why.” Her purple eyes seemed to hum with their ever-glowing light as she dissected the woman before her. “Yes, I realize it’s to satisfy your promise with Ari. But beyond that…you don’t wish to be my friend at all. Let’s be honest with each other.” Outside, the warm night breeze lifted her platinum hair, still bound in a long tail that trailed past her back. Since gaining a head of long, luxuriant locks, she never knew what to do with her hair, or with her sense of style, or with anything not already arranged by Ari. “So why do you want to help me? For the recognition? Ari’s praise? My compliance? It can’t be that you truly want to get to know about me. Not…not when there’s nothing there.” She patted her stomach, and its hollow contents. “Not without Ari.”
While Isidor might have been slow in his underdeveloped social prowess, and was not particularly quick when it came to appropriate responses, the reclusive Master Alchemist was, if nothing else, a good listener. So he listened objectively to Lord Canaveris’s concerns, and his subsequent request with regards to the success of his future procedure. It wasn’t unsound, what he wanted, and inexperienced with his own feelings as he was, Isidor did understand that this request came more from the heart than the head. But… perhaps that was the problem. “I’m not a very romantic person. Though I can follow the desire to follow after Nia if she doesn’t make it, if the two of you are as in love as you claim to be. It’s difficult… to think about life without the person you love.” That, he did have experience with. And he’d be lying if he denied the fact he hadn’t smiled quite the same way since Tivia had vanished.
“But if it really is the well-being of me or of others that concerns you, Lor--Ari, I mean… then I’m afraid all I can tell you is this.” The Kristeva alchemist straightened his back and clasped his hands in front of him. “The only instance in which I would allow you to die, should everything go wrong, is if there is no feasible way for me to save you, and your quality of life would be greatly impeded if you were left to live. Were Nia to perish in her attempt to neutralize your curse, then it would be up to me to step in and see if I can finish what she started. And, should I fail… then all three of us would perish. However, rest assured it would end with me. Alster’s life would not be at risk; no one else’s would. This is a risk that all Master Alchemists assume in these instances… including the one who saved your life in the first place. However…”
A small sigh passed Isidor’s lips, and as he went to adjust his spectacles, instead he removed the vision-correcting apparatus altogether and propped them atop his head, and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “I was rather… dramatic in the way I relayed the risks to your mother. Yes, Nia will be putting herself at risk, and so will I, to a lesser extent, but… I do not become involved with projects that I anticipate are going to fail. Nia and I have come far with working out the kinks in our plan, and Alster has been doing his own research on the magic component. What I told Lady Canaveris weeks ago no longer applies. Nia is growing stronger, we are finalizing the best way to proceed… and I highly expect that the worst to occur will mean a good deal of bed rest to follow, for you and for Nia. As of now, that is my honest and professional forecast.”
Isidor propped his glasses back on his face and offered Ari a meager, albeit genuine smile. “I apologize if that is not the answer you wanted to hear, Ari, but I’m afraid death is simply out of the question. Nia won’t let it happen; neither will I. Now, if there is nothing else you require of me,” he made his way to the doorframe, and cast a sly glance over his shoulder, “I must return to my duties constructing my winning float with Alster. Don’t be too sore when you lose.”
Nia tried to resist the urge to roll her eyes--tried, and failed, and blew air through her lips. Did the golem have to make every conversation a demand for Nia to prove herself? “You do realize that Master Alchemy spans any and all matter, both organic and inorganic? I’ve never met someone like me or Isidor who’s been absolutely proficient in everything. It just so happens that inorganic matter is not my speciality. Too bad Is didn’t have the firefly idea first; he’d absolutely kill at it. Rocks, metals, ores--that just so happens to be his thing. The matter that he’s most comfortable working with. Unfortunately for this parade spectacle, it’s not my forté. However…” The Master Alchemist raised her eyebrows and jabbed her index finger in Lazuli’s direction, just a few inches short of touching her (she wasn’t stupid, afterall, and didn’t quite trust the tall, intimidating woman not to break off her finger).
“However, lucky for you, organic matter happens to be my forté. Now, I’m not gonna lie, I’ve never turned a golem entirely human before. It will be a first. Then again, so will be removing Ari’s curse. But, if you’re asking if I think I can be successful? You’d better believe it!” The confidence in Nia’s smile couldn’t be feigned. She clasped her hands together with a loud clap! and sized Lazuli up from head to toe. “Not to say it won’t be one hell of a process. It would all have to happen from the inside out, saving your sense of pain and pleasure for the very last, or else you’ll be in a hell of a lot of discomfort throughout the change. And you might have to be off your feet for a time, since your brand new human organs would be developing inside of you, but no need to worry: I wouldn’t think of attempting this before Ari’s out of the woods and no longer at the mercy of his curse. And, unlike working on humans… since you were technically born of magic, there’s really no chance that you won’t survive. Now that’s one hell of a perk, isn’t it? Worst case scenario, we keep trying ‘til we get it right, at no risk to you. But I do mean it when I say I can do it--and with a hell of a lot less trial and error than those damn fireflies.”
Was it enough that she could offer Ari’s devoted servant and friend a chance to experience life to its very fullest, however; no, that would be far too easy. Lazuli still had a bone to pick with the Ardane woman, and if she couldn’t find fault with her, then she would pull from the ether to fabricate a reason not to get along. This was becoming exhausting, to say the least, but if Nia didn’t try… Well, she didn’t want Ari to be disappointed in her efforts. But, more than that, Nia was not willing to back down from a challenge, no matter how difficult Laz made it. She’d managed to get through to Alster and, even more impressive, his judgemental wife who no longer had a bone to pick with her. She’s even earned Nadira Canaveris’s favour, and while she couldn’t claim that Isidor Kristeva saw her as a friend, he no longer appeared nauseated to be in her presence. She could--and would--get through to Lazuli. But not for the reasons that Laz assumed.
“You’re right; well, you’re sort of right. No one gets something for nothing. Even the most selfless people who never ask for anything in return want to feel good about themselves in the end, right? And I’m not a selfless person, Laz--I won’t pretend to be. If I’m being honest, though, I don’t think that it will matter to you. It seems like nothing I say is anything that you find meritable, but if you want a reason…” The Master Alchemist dropped her hands to her side and turned away from the golem, resuming her stride toward the training grounds where she’d meet Elespeth. “Aside from the fact that you’re important to Ari, who is important to me… I’ve spent way too much time running and running, all alone, with more enemies than allies. And even when I had allies, or people who weren’t out for my blood, I didn’t have friends. I’m an extrovert, Laz; I need people in my life. More specifically, I need people in my life that don’t think I’m the scum of the earth. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, and neither of you, so it’s in both of our best interests to work this out. And if you can’t possibly find a way to like me for being my jovial, charming self, then what other option do I have but to make myself useful to you? Give you a reason to try and get along with me that isn’t simply because it happens to be Ari’s wish.”
Nia’s smile was gone by the time she finished speaking. Much though she’d tried to keep it light, she’d ventured into delicate territory that made her feel more vulnerable around Laz than she wanted. “Ari is my home. Whether he’s here, or in Stella D’Mare, everything and everyone around him is my home, too, ‘cause my last home put a price on my head. And that means that you… you’re part of my home, too. And I’m real tired, Laz. I’m tired of having it out with you. I’m even more tired of you having it out with me. I don’t expect you to like me for who I am, so at least give me a chance to earn your respect for what I can do for you. Honestly, that’s kinda how it goes for Master Alchemists. It’s more profitable to oppose us, so we’ve really gotta give you a reason to choose otherwise, yeah? If I'm being honest…”
She trailed off momentarily as they approached the training grounds. Neither Elespeth nor Hadwin was there yet; either she was early, or they were late. “Aside from Ari… I feel as though Hadwin is the only other person who isn’t constantly expecting me to prove myself. But considering my ties to Locque… I really can’t expect that of everyone, including you. So… there you have it. That’s my reason.” Nia spread her arms in a gesture that said this is all I’ve got. “I wanna help you because I can’t think of any other reason you would want to get along with me. And because I want life to go nice and smoothly for the both of us. I really hope that explanation suffices, because otherwise, I’m all out of reasons. So… what do you say? Will you give me a chance? Like I said, unless someone interferes with the magic that brought you life, there’s basically no chance you won’t make it through alchemical transmutation. You’ve honestly got nothing to lose.”
“There’s… there has to be some mistake. I don’t understand.”
Time was up, and finally, the sun crested the horizon on the first day of the festivities that were to ensue throughout the week in Galeyn, beginning with the parade.Sigrid had no problem with the majority of duties that Lord Canaveris had tasked her with, regarding the celebrations and everything leading up to them; after all, she had offered herself as a means to help out in any way he saw fit. Were it not for the fact that she’d asked for nothing in return, save for the opportunity to redeem herself to him and to the D’Marians, the former Dawn Warrior was practically an employee of the Canaveris estate. Be that as it may, she’d had no intention to refuse anything asked of her… until just now. When an attendant advised her that she would be required to attend the ball that evening, after the parade ended.
“Ah… no, no mistake. I was sent to confirm your help during the celebrations; the masquerade ball is on this list.” The young woman furrowed her brows and looked over the piece of parchment in her hand, wondering if she had made a mistake and misread. “Here; perhaps you can confirm for yourself?”
She handed the parchment over to Sigrid, who grabbed it with anxious hands and scanned the list. Everything on the list were tasks that she had readily agreed to, that was for certain; everything save for the first item. “What does that even mean, though? ‘Attendance at the masquerade’? What does Lord Canaveris specifically need of me at a ball, of all things?”
“I’m… afraid I can’t answer that. I don’t know; I was just asked to confirm.” The young maidservant shrunk a little bit at the overwhelming anxiety and displeasure practically emanating from the blonde warrior. “Perhaps you can have Lord Canaveris himself clarify? He is in his workshop putting the final touches on his parade float.”
Sigrid didn’t need an invitation; someone was going to give her an explanation, and if it came from anyone, it might as well be Lord Canaveris himself. Turning on her heel, she hurried out of the villa, and made directly for Ari’s workshop. She didn’t quite make it into the Canaveris lord’s sacred space of creation before she happened to run into his niece, at which point the blonde warrior had to hold back a sigh. There was no way she’d get away from the jovial girl without putting up with some of her incessant chattiness… “Ah… Sylvie. Is your uncle busy? I imagine he’s sparing no time, getting ready for the parade this afternoon and then the masquerade ball later, but I was hoping I could have a quick word with him…”
She knew the answer before Sylvie could utter a word: Ari was very involved in finalizing the finishing touches on whatever planning remained, and he wasn’t having any audience unless it was absolutely an emergency. If only the man knew just how much this weighed on her as an emergency… “Alright. Well… perhaps you can inform him that I will find a substitute to stand in for my attendance at the masquerade, tonight. I…” Sigrid almost choked on her own words at the way Sylvie struggled not to let her face fall. This couldn’t be real… So the young Canaveris girl was really that hurt over the fact that not attending the ball meant she wouldn’t be wearing that suit that Sylvie had the tailor make according to her custom measurements? If her words were to be believed, then that really was the case.
And what would Ari think if he found out she’d brought his niece to tears over something like this?!
“Oh, it’s just… I don’t have a mask to match the suit. And this is a masquerade, isn’t it?” Sigrid’s smile trembled, and her hand gripped that piece of parchment with more force than was necessary. “I just wouldn’t fit in with all of the… mystique. But, rest assured, I am sure that there will be ample opportunities to wear it in the future?”
Unfortunately, her excuse gave Sylvie room to formulate her own solution. And wouldn’t she know it, the talkative little Canaveris girl promised she’d have a matching mask for her that very evening! What more could she say now?! “...perfect. I guess… that… solves the problem.” It was all she could do not to choke on her words as Sylvie retreated with a smile to go and make good on her promise. Well, that was that: Sigrid had no excuse not to attend the ball that evening, however much she abhorred the idea of a party, and nothing short of divulging exactly why she was so averse to the idea to Lord Canaveris himself would change that; and, given the opportunity… she wasn’t sure she could divulge it even to him.
But what she wanted to know was… who put the idea in Ari’s head to have her at the masquerade in the first place? It wasn’t as if--
“...oh he didn’t.” Sigrid’s nostrils flared with a nauseating mixture of anger and betrayal. She knew exactly whose brainchild this was… and she was going to make him answer for it.
Having significantly recovered, Hadwin could no longer be found in his room for a good part of the day, and tracking him down wasn’t easy since he was running around making up for lost time. Perhaps anger gave Sigrid a keener sense of tracking, because within the next half-hour, she found the scoundrel faoladh snooping around the villa alongside Teselin, supposedly killing time before he was to train with Elespeth and Nia in an hour’s time.
“You.” Sigrid’s voice reverberated off of the walls of the corridor, and she jabbed a finger in Hadwin’s direction. “I know it was you. You got my obligated to attend this ball, tonight.” As if she needed to provide proof, she shoved the parchment listing all of her duties--with the masquerade at the top--in his face.
“I don’t know how you managed it. But somehow, after I told you I wouldn’t be attending, Lord Canaveris has it as one of my top priorities. All because I turned you down and won’t be your bodyguard? That’s damn low! I thought you wanted to repair this bridge, Hadwin.” She glared, and snatched the parchment back. “Not burn its remnants!”
“Sigrid, is it… really so bad? To go to the ball for a little bit this evening?” Teselin asked, a little timidly given the ire Sigrid was emanating. “We’re all going to be there--me, Hadwin, Bronwyn… even Alster and Elespeth. Both Haraldur and Vega plan to attend later in the evening when the twins are asleep with a nursemaid to keep an eye on them. And you’ve had that beautiful suit made--”
“Right. That suit. Made to fit me specifically…” An idea began to unfold in the former Dawn Warrior’s mind, and her eyes widened. “...unless it doesn’t fit. Can’t expect me to attend a ball without an outfit, right?” Unapologetically, Sigrid grabbed a handful of pastries from a serving tray nearby. The staff were already prepping and plating foods for the very ball she planned not to attend. “Good thing this estate is never at a loss for food. You think I can’t pack enough into my gut to be too bloated to wear that suit?” She stared Hadwin down, taking a large bite out of the sweet pastry, and with a full mouth, concluded, “Just watch me, wolf!”
It was most definitely not the answer Ari wanted to hear, and if it hadn’t been for the verbal sword clash between him and Chara from before, he’d have had a bigger emotional response to Isidor’s concluding remarks. In place of a spirited retort, however, Ari’s voice darkened, deflated, into barely-glimmering wisps in the night. It was a voice that accentuated the lines of exhaustion scoring his eyes and the ever-so-slight slump in his otherwise noble bearing. Transferring his glance downward, towards the leg no longer burdened by its stony weight, he hummed out a dejected sigh.
“You do not have to try so hard to save me, Isidor. It is as you say. One Master Alchemist has already sacrificed his existence to keep mine afloat. I shall not be the singular reason behind the extinction of your profession, much though you might prefer all Master Alchemists to surrender their lives to eradicate their ‘stain’ upon this land. Those are not my sentiments, and if I misread your misgivings in relation to your unwitting field of study, forgive me. At any rate, I must add that you misunderstand the nature behind my request.” His shielded eyes closed for a moment, scrounging up the courage to impart a difficult and rather incongruent conclusion he’d made regarding Isidor Kristeva, a man Ari hardly knew in this life and who he had, until recently, despised. “I ask you not to proceed in the event of Nia’s departure not because I choose to follow her into death. Let me be clear,” he slid a hand over his chest, “I am a romantic, yes, but I am also a pragmatist, and the latter informs the former that dying for love, against my own lover’s fervent wishes, is, frankly, foolish, and makes a mockery of all her hard work. Not to mention, I have absolutely no desire to die. No; I ask you to abort because I do not wish for you to die.” Despite the relative calm in which he relayed his confession, the levelness in his tone spiked towards the end, betraying his emotion. “Please do not inquire as to my broader reasons; they will make no sense. …Nothing has spared me a thread of rationality for the week since…since,” the dream, he thought, but did not offer aloud. He hoped his reference would go without saying, even when considering Isidor’s social ineptitude and difficulty reading between the lines. “Therefore, should these series of events come to pass and you find yourself the sole Master Alchemist available to finish my procedure, and the odds are stacked severely against you—do not continue.” A fierce but brief protectiveness flashed in his dark eyes, gone within a blink.
“If you are so confident in a runaway victory between all involved parties, then honoring my request should not reap any consequences for either you nor I. It is but a contingency in the very unlikely event of a worst-case scenario. Be that as it may—I would like from you verbal confirmation that you shall be the one to survive me. You. So,” he offered a hand for shaking, not a gesture the touch-averse Canaveris lord made for just anyone. “Will you promise me this, Isidor? And are you willing to shake my hand, and form a contract as ironclad as the Canaveris float that will surely claim first prize at the parade?” To counteract some of his previous intensity, Ari scrubbed on a small smile. Alas, so as not to overlook the unshaken-for promise, he waggled his fingers to bring attention back to his still-empty hand. Inane as it seemed, Ari, who never had a younger brother in this life, wanted dearly to prevent the potential pain of losing yet another…brother?
But we are not related. We never existed as such. As we are, we have nothing.
And yet…
He couldn’t abide in a world where he lost Nia and Isidor.
Perhaps I really am an unconscionable romantic…
Suspicious by nature (and whether ‘nature’ meant borne from Ari or from some other factors altogether was a different story), Lazuli watched Nia carefully for any gesture, any tic, any insincere speech that would incriminate her, but oddly, she found none. Not that Laz excelled at this part of human behavior. A golem wasn’t typically made as the epitome of kindness or of a trusting persuasion. Usually, they were created as tools of protection, of war, and Laz was no exception. At her base, at her core, her purpose was to defend against assailants, and prevent dangerous individuals from inching too close to her master for comfort. It didn’t matter that Ari had inadvertently awakened Laz to a broader, multifaceted lifestyle rife with decisions beyond the requisite ‘obey,’ ‘protect,’ and ‘fight,’ when those three actions were so embedded into her being, that doing anything less seemed like a betrayal, a violation, of her original creators’ credo.
Then again…
Her original creators had molded her into the shape of a man. She was intended to be a man, intended never to change and yet here she was, actively defying her purpose by choosing not to conform by their standards when she felt differently. So differently, in fact, that remaining as she’d been ‘intended’ caused her great discomfort, but for no real reasons she could quantify. Her body was too big, her voice all wrong. The arrangements were off, as though her clay flesh wasn’t smoothed on just right, and jutting out in all the worst places. She’d lived that way, knowing no better, for over three hundred years, plus several decades under Ari’s awakening influence, which eventually posed the question: As I am now, am I operating at my best, most optimal capacity?
The more Nia spoke, the more Laz felt an itch inside her empty body, yearning for more things to make it whole, optimized, and even more wildly changed from its original design and purpose. In truth…hadn’t she abandoned her golem functions long, long ago, and continued to do so in pursuit of something greater? To optimize her living potential, she didn’t need to remain as a suspicious, taciturn defender against aggressors and a weapon of destruction—although she wouldn’t abandon those useful features so easily, either. She could be other things, too. She could be…human, and actually embody human aspects that made her a woman, as well, instead of representing them aesthetically.
“Ardane, you are, regrettably, very convincing. Fine,” she conceded, as if it pained her to agree with someone she barely tolerated. “We’ll do it your way. Whenever the opportunity presents itself to you, that is. You will also need to obtain Ari’s permission and his cooperation. Only he has full knowledge of my body and its inner workings. You will need to work alongside him—though I suppose that poses no problem to you at all,” she smiled without any humor.
“In the meantime…” she wound some of her silvery-white hair around her hand, looking at it, then at Nia’s perfectly plaited locks, all woven into an intricate bun, “perhaps I may even allow you to…play with my hair or some such. Or,” her gaze shot skyward, avoiding Nia’s expression at all costs; it was the closest Laz could reach to bashfulness without experiencing the human equivalent of flushed cheeks and clammy hands, “I understand you know how to…paint one’s face. With rouge and lipstick, kohl, and powders for the eyes. I trust that Ari can do this for me just fine, but he is too busy to bother with such a request.” Her implication being: Such work is above the busy Lord of Stella D’Mare. She refused to compliment Nia. What would be the point if it only engendered more embarrassment? “So if that is something you would like to do,” she gestured vaguely at herself, “then…I will make some allowances.”
It hadn’t been an easy week since Hadwin started his training with Elespeth and Nia, but it was by leaps and bounds one of the better weeks he’d experienced in months. He wasn’t deluded into thinking he’d achieve full-body autonomy in just a few days of intensive exercise, but nonetheless, he was impressed by his speedy progress. Now that he more or less flushed out the lingering aftereffects of the serum from his system, he no longer felt restricted by vertigo or afflicted by a presiding muscular feebleness that made simple movement feel like living underwater—but neither did the remnants of the serum entirely…go away.
He felt it react most prominently whenever his training regimen focused on feats of speed, be it thrusting his body into kicking and punching repetitions or taking a few laps around the field beside the Canaveris villa designated as their training grounds. During these exercises, he’d gain a surge, a spurt of energy, and find himself going beyond what his recovering body could handle. The taste of bitter almond returned on his tongue along with the memory of punching the lights out of the creep who accosted Teselin. Then came the rage, the tunnel vision, the elevated heart rate, flashes of a forest glade drenched in blood and gore, his teeth ripping into Rowen’s ribcage to crush her heart, the curses screamed into his ear…It never lasted long, and the recovery period spanned in the seconds, rather than an additional week of bedrest and another series of injections.
Fortunately, Nia determined that he was fine and not in need of a second round of loafing around in seething boredom for an intolerable period of time. All the same, it remained a curiosity that, for a faoladh who could quickly metabolize substances of even the greatest of potency, elements of the serum still affected him. Marginally, but the influence was undeniable—and perhaps, irreversible.
As long as its remnants didn’t cripple him yet again, though, he was unbothered by this minor shift in his biology. After all…hadn’t he wanted Rowen to take something from him upon her death? Pieces of his health, and sanity…they were hers to keep. A tribute and a trade, to keep her cloying, spectral fingers from prodding too deeply into his waking, conscious mind. His offering seemed enough to placate the vengeful spirit of his sister, considering he hadn’t seen her shadowy form or heard her deleterious diatribes since he’d flown headlong into an active lifestyle again. And, if he had it his way from here on out, he intended on staying active.
Outside of exercise, Hadwin volunteered himself to assist the overwhelmed and understaffed Canaveris kitchens as a pastry chef, but only at a provisional basis, contingent upon his recovering dexterity and ability to stand in less-than-ideal conditions for long stretches at a time. His stints in the kitchens would last an hour, maybe two, but by the end of the week, he was doing four to five-hour shifts, an exponential improvement that couldn’t come at a better time, if he wanted to make good on his promise to construct one hell of a wedding cake for Elespeth and Alster’s ceremony.
The morning of the parade and masquerade ball, Hadwin was released from kitchen duty early in preparation for another training segment with Elespeth and Nia. In observation of the spate of events about to take place that evening, they elected to move the workout hour to an earlier slot. And so, to kill time, Hadwin and Teselin roved around the Canaveris villa in search of the labyrinthine undercity and its impressive network of caverns and tunnels. Seeing as its best access point was in the ballroom, the ballroom was where they ended up, taking in the elaborate decorations and the vast aromas of decadent foods.
It would’ve been a fun use of their day—if Sigrid hadn’t barged in to air her grievances with him.
“Come again?” Hadwin turned from the banquet table and raised an eyebrow at the blonde warrior, regarding her as if she had a few screws loose. “Don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re—oh, that?!” Clarity lit his eyes, and he punched the flat of his hand in response, playing along, as always, to whatever script—or lack thereof—he drafted in his head. “Hells, Siggy, I wasn’t trying to stick it to you or anything. I was just commenting to Ari before that it would be a damn shame not to have you go when it means the world to his sweet niece to see you attend. Did you even know she made us all masks to wear for tonight? Fucking stitched them herself, using the same color scheme and materials as our outfits. It was supposed to be a surprise, but seeing as you wanna bail and y’know, break her lonely little heart into a thousand little pieces,” he shrugged noncommittally, “that’s on you.” He was spinning no lies, either. Little Sylvie, anticipating Sigrid’s cagey behavior and decision to skip out of the festivities, deviously planned her own web build entirely out of guilting others into getting her own way. She had a bright future ahead of her as a fellow schemer of his caliber—though, to be fair, it wasn’t all an act on her part. Sylvie Canaveris desperately wanted a life outside her family, and once she found her non-Canaveris targets, her ‘projects,’ there was little she wouldn’t do to keep them in her sights, even if she had to play the victim, let loose some waterworks, and go crying to her uncle for support.
When Sigrid devised her own highly ineffective plan to bloat herself silly on pastries, as if they’d really balloon her weight in mere hours and render her suit unwearable, it took a great deal of restraint not to lose it in a fit of raucous laughter, considering the specific tray she chose to attack.
“Glad you’re enjoying those pastries, Siggy. You really flatter me, y’know.” He looked into her challenging eyes and grinned wickedly. “Nothing warms a baker’s heart more than to see his creations devoured with so much gusto.”
“You think you’ve won, but those pastries of yours are so dense and stuffed full of cream that overindulging in too many of them will make any healthy person sick to their stomach.” Bronwyn Kavanagh converged on the party of three, filling in a vacant space beside Sigrid, a strategic placement to demonstrate which side she defended, and it definitely wasn’t his. Excellent. He could feel the chemistry and camaraderie bubbling up between her and Sigrid already! “By all means, keep eating them, Sigrid. You’ll vomit in the bushes in no time.”
“Still playing up that ‘call in sick’ angle, hmm, Bron? And I thought you were the honorable one who did things by the book.” While they were at it thieving goods from the table before the event proper even began, Hadwin plucked a piece of cheese from a charcuterie arrangement and nibbled on the ends. Oh would he have preferred a drink, craved one after a long and relentless dry period (forced sobriety was not a good look for him), but it was far too early in the day for their release.
Bronwyn crossed her arms and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Not when you’re involved, Hadwin. Everywhere you roam, you stink of ill-hatched plots and rotten eggs. If Sigrid doesn’t want to go, why the hell are you forcing her to—oh.” She made the mistake of meeting his gaze, of reading his intentions via her unreliable Sight, and her whole face turned russet red. Without realizing it, she scooted away from Sigrid and averted her eyes from the other woman.
“Guess you’re not so slow on the uptake after all, eh?” Hadwin aimed a conspiratorial wink at his sister.
Before she could say anything in response, still flummoxed and confused by her brother’s meddlesome bad habits, another figure insinuated themself into the conversation.
“Ah, I hope I am not interrupting this most spirited conversation!” Sylvie Canaveris rounded on the scene, hands clutching a large, decorative purse. “Oh, and please refrain from sampling tonight’s banquet,” she delivered a polite yet cautionary glance at both Hadwin and Sigrid. “While you are my uncle’s guests, we must set a good precedent—difficult as it must be to abstain from this delightful panoply!”
“My bad, Syl,” Hadwin waved around his half-eaten piece of cheese. “I mean, I take it you don’t want this back though, right?” He sought Sigrid’s attention through his periphery. Guess you’re shit out of luck now, huh? His golden eyes intuited, triumphant.
Sylvie blew out a mock sigh of exasperation, though her eyes crinkled with amusement. “I suppose I shall allow you to finish what you’ve purloined—but no more! Now,” she lovingly patted the purse, “I must soon depart with Uncle Ari and the float to the palace and help set up some odds and ends so that it is seaworthy, so to speak. We cannot have an unstable vessel on the long stretch of parade route from there to the villa, after all. But before I take my leave of you,” she unfastened the clasps of her purse and lifted the opening flap, “I have something for the four of you. How fortuitous that you have all gathered together in one spot; it saves me the trouble of having to search for each of you individually.”
She hesitated in pulling out the contents from her purse, hand trembling with a bit of trepidation. With an encouraging smile from Hadwin, she recovered her nerves and fetched out four small bundles wrapped delicately in crepe paper and cinched closed with silken ribbons, each of which matched or complemented the colors of the recipients’ masquerade outfits. “This is to thank you all for humoring me on our shopping outing together. I understand that the majority of you did not wish to go, but went along anyway to spare me hurt feelings. I really appreciate allowing me the pleasure of your company. It is not often that I am given the opportunity to become acquainted with such wonderful and larger-than-life individuals as yourselves. And, well,” she shuffled her feet awkwardly, “it would be an honor if you were to wear these masks at tonight’s event. Please do not open them yet or share the designs with each other,” she smiled secretively. “By far the most entertaining part of a masquerade ball is to ‘mask’ your true identity such that even your closest comrades might have difficulty discerning you in a crowd. You shall also be outfitted with cloaks should you wish to further conceal your anonymity. Of course, I will be able to locate you with relative ease—and,” she tilted her head at the faoladh siblings, “a canine nose may also serve you advantageously. Nonetheless, it is a rather fun game, if you would like to play along.” Wasting no further preamble, she handed out the color-coded bundles to the four people present.
“Aw kid—you’re a real treasure, you know that?” Hadwin cooed, accepting his gift with a grateful bow and flourish, which the impressionable Sylvie responded to with a giggle and a blush. “Ain’t she?” He aimed the comment at Sigrid and Bronwyn specifically, daring them to say otherwise.
Bronwyn spared Sigrid a regretful glance, knowing the two had soundly been defeated, and there was no getting out of it for the blonde warrior unless she planned on trampling on Sylvie’s heart—and losing Ari’s favor as a result. “Hadwin’s right,” she strained out a smile, always hating that teeth-grating combination of sounds and phonemes. “You’re really too kind, Sylvie. Thank you so much; I mean it. I’ll wear this with pride tonight.” And in a way, Bronwyn did mean it. When was the last time anyone had given her a gift? Consider her won-over—and subsequently beat into submission by the watertight ploy of raw, bleeding sincerity.
“...no, you needn’t explain. I understand.” Whatever feeble smile Isidor wore dissolved quickly as Ari proceeded with the real reason for his request. He never would have guessed it actually had nothing to do with Nia and not wanting to live in a world without her; the love that existed between those two individuals was one which he could hardly comprehend. But that wasn’t it. This decision was devoid of ‘love’, at least for the other Master Alchemist, and relied heavily on… guilt. On the fact that the Canaveris lord did not want to be solely responsible for the deaths of multiple people who were trying to save his life.
Some might have considered his request honourable; but not to Isidor. What was the point of all the research, the time, the effort they would contribute to saving this man’s life if he didn’t see merit in the risks that both Master Alchemists would take to secure it?
“It’s a heavy burden to bear, being a survivor. One that I am sure your love interest has also shoulders every day of her life, being the only surviving member of her family after watching them all cut down. I’m sure you can see how Nia overcompensates for that guilt, in the way that she offers herself and her unique skill set to anyone who might find it useful. But at the end of the day--that guilt doesn’t go away. And that’s not even accounting for the guilt she’s compartmentalized at the back of her mind from everything she has had to do to become a Master Alchemist.” Isidor only chose to use Nia as an example, knowing full well that Ari would listen and understand, but Nia’s experiences wasn’t the point he wanted to make. Not exactly.
Sighing heavily through his nose, Isidor blinked slowly as he stood to his full, tall height. “I also know what that guilt feels like--in both senses. I’ve done unspeakable evil onto innocent people, and please, do not spare me with the excuse that I was forced by Zenech’s hand. Yes, he commanded it, but I still did it, Ari. It being, I’ve killed people--plain and simple. Their lives ended at my hands, time and again. And when I had the chance to escape? I was a coward, and as a result, my only friend was killed. I don’t mean to unload all of this because I want you to pity me, Ari, but I need you to understand… where I am coming from. And to understand exactly what you are asking me, by making me promise, should all end poorly with Nia, that I… I let you die.”
Isidor didn’t know what he was feeling in that moment. Was it sadness? Anger? Betrayal? Somehow, it felt similar to what he’d felt when he’d unloaded all of his feelings on Nadira Canaveris, more and more until he was sure he’d hurt her. Except, this time, he did not want to hurt the subject of his attention. On the contrary… he wanted him to live, and to be well. “I already carry that burden every day. To such an extent that for years I somehow managed to forget that I was directly to blame for Zenech’s death, and since the faoladh so unceremoniously reminded me, I suppose I’ve taken to the same tactics as Nia: give and give until maybe, just maybe, someday I can forgive myself. And that is why I cannot let you die, Ari. Not only because I do not wish that of you, but more selfishly, because I cannot handle any more blood on my hands, however indirectly. So I’m afraid… this is the only answer I can give you.”
The Master Alchemist stared at Ari’s hand, all too aware that verbal contracts held just as tightly as those which were written and signed. He couldn’t promise the Canaveris lord what he wanted, and hopefully, Ari now understood that it had nothing to do with obstinacy, and everything to do with both his regard for the earth mage, and the fact that his already tortured heart and mind could not be reponsible for another death. As long as he lived… he could not let his alchemy, however indirectly, take another innocent life.
Reaching for Ari’s gloved hand, he met the Canaveris lord’s dark eyes with his own. “No one is going to die during this procedure--not you, not me, and not Nia. No one will shoulder any guilt or grief. And that is a promise. So I hope… that you can forgive me. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…” He released Ari’s hand and took a respectful step back. “I hope that you can believe in Nia and her skills enough to believe me. She’s far more suited to this procedure than even I would be. Failure… just isn’t on the table.”
“Oh no, you knew exactly what you were doing, because you and your uncanny Sight knew that I don’t want to attend the ball. Don’t try to play innocent, because the look doesn’t suit you.” Sigrid seethed, but kept her rage contained to the greatest extent that she possibly could under the circumstances. Already, nearby serving staff were turning their heads, some of them even backing away and finding excuses to find other tasks beyond the banquet table. Not a good look for someone who was trying to convince the D’Marian public that she wasn’t a threat… But any residual patience she had left had been used up in the presence of Sylvie Canaveris, just moments before. “But what’s worse? You know exactly why I have no interest in attending a dancing event. You know, and yet you pull this?”
Had she known it had been Hadwin who’d baked the pastry she very unceremoniously stuffed into her face, the former Dawn warrior might have chosen an alternate fattening treat from the banquet table. But, sugar was sugar and fat was fat, and despite that she had the sort body and active lifestyle that tended to keep the weight off, anyone could become too bloated to fasten the buttons on their coat or trousers with a little too much food. Someone even chose to back her up: Bronwyn, predictably, decided to oppose her brother, likely out of camaraderie with Sigrid for the fact that they both had their own, personal hang-ups with Hadwin. And, as awful as it sounded, perhaps making herself sick on rich, sweet pastries wasn’t such a bad idea. Even Sylvie couldn’t reason to guilt her into attending any such event if she was physically ill!
“If I’ve learned anything,” The blonde warrior mentioned, after taking another large bite of the pastry, “it’s that ‘playing by the book’ gets you nowhere with people who play underhanded tricks. Right, Bronwyn?” But when she turned to the faoladh woman, seeking confirmation, Bronwyn curiously wouldn’t meet her eyes. In fact, she wouldn’t even look at her, which sent Sigrid’s mind spiraling into what she possibly could have said to insult her.
But Teselin did not miss the strangely knowing look Hadwin shot in his sister’s direction, and lightly nudged his arm. “Hadwin… If you did set up Sigrid to attend an event she doesn’t want to attend, what were your intentions?”
Hadwin never had the opportunity to answer. Just as tensions were really beginning to rise, one of the young Canaverises entered the room and their conversation, and the atmosphere transitioned from loaded and heavy to somewhat phrenetic. “What can I say… stress causes me to eat impulsively.” Sigrid murmured, almost too low for anyone to hear, before shoving the remainder of the pastry into her mouth. A bold-faced lie, but at this point, the intimidating blonde woman had really stopped caring.
Contrary to popular belief (or perhaps it had been their fault for underestimating Sylvie’s skills of observation in the first place), the young Canaveris girl was evidently well aware that the only person who’d been at all interested in attending the masquerade was Hadwin himself. As such, crafting a mask for an event that only one of the four actually wanted to attend wasn’t exactly the best peace-making gift… but, it was like Hadwin said: they couldn’t upset Sylvie, lest Ari deem them wholly ungrateful guests and kick them out. While Bronwyn and Sigrid were barely able to feign appreciation, Teselin, at the very least, couldn’t help but feel touched by the gesture. Ultimately, she knew Sylvie always meant well, even if her actions were not always well-received. “You did all this for us? Thank you, Sylvie. I’ve never attended a masquerade, so…” The young summoner looked down at the carefully wrapped mask, which she had been instructed not to reveal, eager as she was to take a peek at it. “I think I’ll feel better knowing that most of the people there won’t recognize me. Isn’t that right, Sigrid?” She flashed a smile at the former Dawn warrior, who looked like she was contemplating her dire fate, the way she stared at her own wrapped mask. “Remember, almost no one will know who you are. It’ll be good to hide behind a mask for anonymity.”
“Of course. This mask solves all my problems. No reason I shouldn’t attend, now.” Sigrid could scarcely feign relief, let alone appreciation, for the young Canaveris girl’s gift. She was still seething beneath the surface at Hadwin’s betrayal, on top of feeling a little hurt that Bronwyn, who had been so supportive just moments ago, suddenly appeared as though she wanted to avoid her. Knowing that nothing good would come of lingering in this crowd, the blonde warrior turned and, mask in hand, made to leave.
“Sigrid…” Teselin narrowed her eyebrow out of concern. “Where are you going…?”
The only response she received was that during Sigrid’s retreat, where the tall woman didn’t even look over her shoulder. “To dig a hole. Crawl in it. Hope that Hadwin’s pastry was poisoned. Something like that.” The volume of her words lessened as she grew further and further away, gradually disappearing out of sight, presumably to sulk in whatever way she saw fit.
Desperate to save face, knowing that Sylvie’s feelings might be easily hurt, Teselin was quick to break the uneasy silence that followed the former Dawn warrior’s retreat. “Sigrid has no ill intent, I promise.” She tried to reassure the Canaveris girl, lest she walk away broken-hearted (and, worse, complain about the event to Ari). “She is just… very shy when it comes to grand parties and dances. In fact, I heard that when she was in Eyraille, Her Highness, Vega Sorde, had to order guards to escort her to a party to ensure she would attend at all--n-not that I recommend that tactic, in this case! That could well be very damaging. I only mean to assure you not to take it all too personally. She’s overwhelmed, but…” Teselin placed a reassuring hand on Sylvie’s arm. “I am sure, as soon as she sees the mask you made her, and how it complements her new outfit, attending this ball will feel far less daunting. I just know it.”
For the first time, Nia couldn’t believe her luck, or the sudden progress she had made with regard to Ari’s stubborn golem friend. Not only had Lazuli agreed to accept Nia’s service (gradually, of course, over a period of time), but she’d even gone so far as to ‘request’ her help to make her look presentable for the festivities that were to occur that evening. There wasn’t a chance in the world that she was going to turn down the opportunity to do what was possibly one of her favourite female bonding activities, which was playing with rouges and kohl and whatever semblance of glimmer she could apply to one’s eyelids. After she’d met all of her commitments that day, in terms of training with Elespeth, eating her meals, and seeing to Hadwin, the Master Alchemist sought out Lazuli to make good on her promise to make the golem really feel like she was part of the population of women.
It wasn’t difficult to find her, for wherever Ari might be (which, currently, was his workshop, preparing to transport his float to the palace), Lazuli was never far. Nia found her nearby, and put on her most cheerful smile, figuring if it didn’t brighten the tall, white-haired woman’s day, then she’d still feel good smiling in spite of her. “Ah, Lazuli! Just who I was looking for. Listen: are you still interested in putting every other woman to shame by being the most beautiful woman in the room?” The golem appeared visibly perplexed by the offer, so Nia offered to clarify: “You know… When you asked if I could ‘paint your face’? I’m not currently tied up in any obligations right now, so unless you really think Ari needs you to be his shadow this very moment while he clearly has everything under control? Come on.” She gestured toward the villa with a hand over her shoulder. “It won’t take long. I’ve got a lot of experience making girls look their absolute best before formal affairs.”
She half-expected Lazuli to decide otherwise, and claim she’d made a mistake to ever ask for Nia’s help. But to the Master Alchemist’s surprise, when she made to return to the villa, the golem was on her heels, following. For whatever reason, having won Lazuli over--even just a little--made Nia feel giddy, like she had just accomplished the impossible. Well, almost; accomplishing the impossible meant she also had to get her hands on rouge, kohl, and everything else required to get the job done. Fortunately… she had an idea as to just where she might find it all.
“Hey--sorry, excuse me. Would you do me a favour?” She pulled one of the serving staff aside in the highway, much to their chagrin, as they appeared to already be busy with other tasks. “It’d reeeeeally mean a lot--please? I need you to go and ask Lady Canaveris if she wouldn’t mind if I borrow some of her cosmetic products? No, not for me; I can’t make my own face look presentable if my life depended on it. It’s for Lazuli.”
While the young man appeared a little perturbed to be doing anything Nia asked (she had yet to truly win over Ari’s staff), he did make good on her request, and promptly returned to tell her that Nadira granted her full access to whatever she needed. “Perfect! And thank you so much. Hey, Lazuli--lets get you gussied up, hm?”
Of course, of all Canaverises, Nia knew that Nadira would have the largest variety of colours and products at her disposal, given how the Canaveris matriarch did indeed put a good deal of effort into always looking at the top of her game. Given just how many products she had, however, it made the most sense to simply do up Lazuli’s face and hair in her chambers--which were, if it were even possible, more lavish than the suite she and Ari shared. “Alright, have a seat! Anything in particular you’re hoping for? Or do you trust my judgment? I like to think I’m a pretty good judge when it comes to finding the right colours for people. And believe me, I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Now, the question was, how did she make someone who already appeared perfect and fiercely beautiful on the outside look even better? It was a challenge the Master Alchemist was eager to take on, and after sorting through Lady Canaverises colours, she ultimately chose a combination of frosty lilacs and violets to accent Lazuli’s eyelids, touched her cheeks with a hint of dusty rose, and lined her eyes with thin lines of kohl to make them stand out all the more. Given her already chiseled face, she opted not to add any contouring to her cheeks or nose, lest it make the golem appear more like a statue, and Nia wanted to capitalize on whatever softness Lazuli’s firm face portrayed.
She didn’t stop with the cosmetics, either. She’d taken note how Lazuli admired her hair from time to time, and the way she styled it, and while the golem’s long, white locks cascaded down her shoulders and back in an elegant fashion, it didn’t hurt to try something new. “Now this is coming together. I don’t think you’re going to be disappointed.” The Master Alchemist mentioned as she dabbed colour on Lazuli’s lips. “You’ll be a sight at the parade and the masquerade ball. Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch! I think you’ll amaze even Ari. I might not be able to paint or sculpt, but I can sure play up peoples’ best features. If he asks, feel free to drop my good name.”
Lazuli appeared confused, and asked why Nia couldn’t simply tell him herself, considering how she and Ari were all but joined at the hip whenever they were within several feet of one another. Nia looked up from all of the products strewn across Nadira’s vanity stand and shrugged. “C’mon, Laz… you can’t really think it would be a good idea for Galeyn to see me partaking in these celebrations, right? I’d dampen all their joy just being there. I’m supposed to be working off a sentence; I’m still a prisoner. And besides, I can’t make myself up the way I made you up. Dunno why, but for as long as I can remember, regardless of what I can do for anyone else’s face, my own face betrays me. I just make a mess of it. But--hey, you know what? I don’t mind at all. Honestly, this kinda reminds me of… old times. Real old times.” Nia wiped all of the glitter and pigment from her hands onto her hips and straightened up. Her smile wasn’t bright, but rather, nostalgic. “I used to get my sister all ready for formal events that my family would bring her to. She was the star; I was always left behind, but it didn’t bother me. Celene would come back and tell me all about it, and I was always just relieved she had a good time. Been an awful long time since I got anyone ready for an important event… This is honestly more than I can ask for, so…”
Her smile broadened and, at risk of Laz flinging her off, she rested her hands on her shoulders. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll even disguise myself as serving staff and sneak in to glance at the masquerade; you never know just what I’m able to pull off!”
Upon Sigrid’s hasty departure, Sylvie watched after the moody blonde warrior, fretting at the hem of her gown. “Will she be alright? Goodness, I never imagined attending a ball was tantamount to torture, but perhaps I am in the minority opinion. I hope I did not cause her too much offense. I just thought,” she stared at her purse, now empty of the gifts she distributed, “it might improve her disposition and help ease her troubles for an evening. She always appears so forlorn and lost. I suppose I wished to demonstrate that there exists a D’Marian who finds her faultless and blameless for the tragedy that occurred here by her unwitting hand.”
Teselin’s attempt to smooth the waters regarding Sigrid’s unceremonious exit lifted some of Sylvie’s malaise, encouraging out a small, albeit appreciative smile. “Thank you, Miss Teselin. While it is refreshing to hear of her history regarding events of this nature, it nonetheless makes me feel terribly for my short-sighted gestures. I certainly do not intend on exacerbating her relationship with my uncle through my harmful antics.”
“I second what Tes said,” Hadwin closed in on Sylvie’s other side, bookending her with another reassuring pat on the shoulder. “All these gloomy types are the same. They’re always gonna fight you for dragging them out of their black lakes of self-pity, but if you leave ‘em alone, they’ll stagnate too much, you’ll never be able to fish ‘em back out when the water’s too fetid and murky to reach and yank ‘em free. You’re doing that bleak-ass woman a favor, forcing her back on her feet. Believe me, she’s of the ilk who always needs a push to get her going anywhere. No worries, besides.” He thumped on his chest proudly. “All her heat’s trained squarely on me, so you’ll escape her ire scot-free, kiddo.”
Having successfully been dissuaded of being complicit in Sigrid’s current state, Sylvie, cheer returning anew, threw on a revitalizing smile as she bade the trio a hearty farewell, with promises to locate everyone that evening during the ball. The moment she exited, en route to the float where her uncle was diligently working, Hadwin’s gaze linked with Bronwyn’s, in response to a question she’d never asked, but was most definitely thinking.
“If you’re actually able to see what I’m up to, then you know I’ve got good intentions, Bron. Wouldn’t have glimpsed anything, otherwise.”
But the still-flustered faoladh woman tossed her head at him, unconvinced. “Good intentions for you—which in any other head would read differently. But we all know that everything good you do comes out skewed.”
“Sure, that’s always been my MO, but everyone knows that. So tell me something I don’t know. C’mon, Bron,” he elbowed her in the arm, cajoling, “give me a reason to smile today, yeah?
“Something to smile—are you kidding me?! You’re always smiling and goofing off! Far as you’re concerned, you don’t need a reason! How will—“ she clamped her tongue. For the second time that day, she looked at her brother. Really looked at him. At the haggard lines around his typically lively eyes, the strain it took to keep them from sliding off his face, and that ever-present hauntedness, which somehow expanded its territory by appropriating large swathes of land on the surface where anyone who stared long enough could see. He was trying. Trying so hard to surmount his madness and reconstruct whatever semblance of Hadwin-grade normalcy he could obtain. Unfortunately, no medicine did quite the trick to vault him back on his feet than to flirt around in the private affairs of others.
“So what do you want from me, huh!?” Her fingers pressed on the crepe paper encasing her gift, crinkling its exclamation in unison with its handler. “What’s going to make you happy?”
“You’ll find, Bron, that we’re both on the same page, here.” And at his knowing smirk, her feverish flush returned with a vengeance—because he was right. The damned bastard was right!
Bronwyn found Sigrid a few minutes later in the courtyard. The blonde warrior hadn’t gotten too far on her own, particularly because there weren’t too many other places for her to go outside the Canaveris villa that wouldn’t treat her existence with contempt at best and outright hostility at worst.
“Sigrid,” Bronwyn called after her in a gentle cadence in case she was deep in thought and truly didn’t want to be bothered. “I’m sorry…about what he did,” she began, eyes trained to the ground, too nervous to check Sigrid’s expression. Would she see fury directed not only towards Hadwin, but at her, as well? Or would the mere graze of eye contact create another overheating sensation, assaulting her cheeks with its pesky fervor she couldn’t banish whenever she shared Sigrid’s vicinity? “This is going to sound like I’m excusing his behavior—and I’m really not—but I know what he’s up to and it’s not entirely because he’s being an ass. It’s,” she hesitated. Bronwyn couldn’t tell Sigrid the whole truth, so she elected for a different, but just as truthful take, “it’s for Sylvie. Hadwin’s grown fond of her, and he knows it means a lot to have everyone attend—especially you, because it’s Sylvie’s wish to see your spirit uplifted. Yours, specifically. That’s what she told us, after you left. I’m not…I don’t want to go, either, but maybe we don’t have to see this as a loss, but as a challenge. Hadwin’s expecting us to hate it, and he’ll make our lives more insufferable if we resist every step along the way. But, if we, I don’t know, if we put on a completely over-the-top act and pretend to love every moment of this evening to the most ridiculous, exaggerated proportions, I really think we stand the chance of annoying the tar out of him. I mean, think about it. He hates it when he’s not in on the joke.” She forced out a laugh and hoped it sounded convincing. After all, what she was about to propose really would put her in league with Hadwin, insofar as she was enabling his scheme by aiming to deceive the very person the scheme was meant for. “So let’s get him back by denying him the punchline, and make his time at this ball absolutely miserable. It shouldn’t be too hard for us to accomplish. If nothing else…well, there’ll be plenty of alcohol for us to drink.”
As expected, Lazuli was, indeed, not far from the mouth of the cavern, where the Solstice float contained within was in the midst of becoming transport-ready. Having completed her duties, which involved a lot of heavy lifting and securing loose pieces through sheer compressing force, the golem, who neither broke a sweat nor needed a break, stood by on an as-needed basis, but upon Nia’s arrival, and Ari’s insistence that she attend to the Master Alchemist above all else, Laz complied without fuss. Yet, neither did she want to appear too eager for Nia’s gussy-up session. The Ardane woman was all smiles as they headed for Nadira Canaveris’s bedchambers, skimming the skies like an elated bird distracted by its own song. Laz loomed behind her like a cat about to pounce. Knock her out of the sky, bat her around for a bit, she thought, neutrally. There’s no harm done if I toy with her.
“I am already the most beautiful woman in the room,” she began, not to brag, but to state a pure, unerring fact. No real, flesh-and-blood woman could hold a candle, after all, to a golem sculpted by Ari, who simply didn’t know how to create something grotesque or ugly. She was ready to go on about how this little venture into beautifying a literal work of art was wholly unnecessary, like painting over and defacing a masterpiece, and suggested it as a joke at Nia’s expense, but that clearly wasn’t true. Laz wanted this. Wanted it even more, in fact, the more Nia gushed, on and on, in companionable relish, using inclusive terms and treating her so easily as one among the ranks of other women. Just like that, and this nuisance of a person was chatting her up like the cosmetic ritual they were about to engage in was so commonplace and normal that it required no preamble. She simply acted like the process of painting a golem’s face was no big deal. A golem who, up until a few days ago, looked nothing even approaching a standard woman. Something about Nia’s breezy, effortless acceptance was…not at all reprehensible, as before. Annoyingly, Laz couldn’t find it in her to despise Nia Ardane anymore. At least, not with the same self-righteous fervor as before.
Once they were allowed access into Lady Nadira’s chambers, Laz dutifully sat where Nia instructed her to sit. Hunching her statuesque form to appear in frame of the vanity mirror, she followed Nia’s hands as they collected pigment pots, thin, bristle brushes and tiny wands with horsehair tips twisted to firm and precise points. “I will leave it to your…expertise,” Laz hesitated, still too careful to fling around her praise so carelessly.
In an attempt to play along by human methods, she closed her eyes throughout the entire grooming process and refused to open them until Nia fully completed her task, trying to see if delaying gratification would help her to feel a more pronounced sense of surprise when she viewed the finished product all at once.
She very nearly broke her stone-still formation when Nia’s idle chatter managed to rub her the wrong way. Well then, it didn’t take very long at all to become annoyed by her anew. Was the alchemist woman really so dense?
“Ardane,” Laz attempted with a level, albeit frustrated air, mindful of the precision work required to enhance her already indelible and enviable features, “do you not realize why Ari chose to host a masquerade in place of a standard ball? No, I suppose not—so I’ll spell out the answer. He did it for you.” She furrowed her brows ever-so-slightly. “He did it so that the two of you could dance freely, without scrutiny. Under the cover of anonymity, you would be safe to celebrate, and spared from any heated stares or vitriol from the general populace. It was important to him that you enjoy the festivities without having to look over your shoulder in fear of discovery—so do not even think of pulling a no-show when he worked so hard to include you. Also, you mustn’t forget; he wants you on the float. For maintenance, and you know well what that means.” She wasn’t going to spell it out again. Ari would be requiring a hefty amount of concentration to animate so many golems and moving components at once, and the ensuing strain of juggling so much magic could overstress his body and cause a poorly-timed flareup (or several). Therefore, Nia’s role for the parade was already predetermined, and too important to skip.
A span of minutes elapsed in relative silence (at least on Laz’s end), until Nia declared her labors finished and bade her client open her eyes. As she did so, the mirror and her reflection coming into view out of the once shuddered darkness, she caught one look of the figure translated in glass before her, and stared. Yes, her eyes were painted in frosty edges, and their shape redefined by kohl, and her plush lips glossy in a shade of wine-dark red, and her cheeks daubed with added hue, but it was not each individual part she admired, but the entire picture. Along with the elaborately braided half-ponytail crisscrossing her head like a silver-white sculpted crown, Laz looked downright regal, but more importantly, Nia somehow coaxed out her more human-like features, resulting in something, no, someone warm, living, and breathing. Soft, not angular. Supple, not petrified. In that moment, she could forget she was a sentient statue in the shape of a woman, and truly believe she was a human woman.
“I…suppose this will do,” she managed, but didn’t sound at all convinced by her casual approval. Assuredly, Nia would not be fooled. “You really have had ample experience in learning your craft. In a sense, I am,” she tried not to make a face when she was trying to relate…for some reason, “the same as you. I am not quite sure how to handle myself. Before the change,” she indicated her current appearance, “I did not have to worry so much about looking presentable. My duties and responsibilities are many, but as chief valet to Ari, I too, have often assisted in preparing him for the day ahead—most especially when his mobility is affected by a flareup and he requires additional aid. For him, I have robed and disrobed him accordingly, styled his hair, and applied some paints on his face and kohl around his eyes, as instructed. Should you desire the same level of…attention,” her tongue stumbled on the appropriate words as her eyes firmly looked away from Nia, “I can assist you tonight, too.”
A sudden knock on the door startled both Nia and Laz out of their clumsy attempts to bond (though Laz would never admit they were ‘bonding’). At the verbal go-ahead to enter, a servant swept aside the door, but remained at the threshold, looking between the two women with a furrow of confusion. It wasn’t an everyday thing to encounter the golem sharing a vanity with someone she always so vocally ruled as a menace and unworthy of their master.
“Excuse me, Miss Ardane,” the servant clasped her hands in front of her and bowed, quickly scrubbing off her confusion and mild distaste at the strange tableau parading before her eyes. “Lord Canaveris requests your presence at his office as soon as possible.” Instead of accompanying Nia there, however, as a servant under Ari’s command was instructed to do, she formally dismissed herself and rushed down the hallway, heedless of her perceived insult—to both of them. As always, the servant acted as though Laz didn’t exist as anything more than a pretty wall decoration, or a hanging ornament.
Rising to the occasion, figuratively and literally, Laz climbed to her feet and turned to Nia. “Come with me. I will show you to his office.” Whether or not she remembered where it was, Nia was still considered a prisoner of Galeyn and could not be seen wandering alone without supervision. Since the Forbanne guard had been relinquished of his services as of a few days ago, the honor had been transferred, more or less, to Laz and whatever villa attendants were available for the task.
Ari’s office was the same place where Isidor and Nia banded together to devise an effective tonic to combat Hadwin Kavanagh’s lingering symptoms of the augmentation tonic he doused last month. Inside, the room looked about the same as it did before its temporary transformation into an alchemist’s workshop; it sported a desk, a chair, and various decorative elements hanging on the walls and sitting on the shelves. Ari stood from his chair when the two entered. From the last time either of them saw him, he had washed up and changed outfits, shedding his muddy artist slacks and overalls to a brocade coat of forest green, embroidered with gold-threaded vines and flowers. To match and complement his garden theme, he accessorized with a pair of ruby-encrusted, rose-shaped earrings and an accompanying necklace of the same design.
“Nia. And—“ his dark eyes roved over to the golem, “my, Laz, do you look absolutely ravishing today! Your womanly charms have been doubtless made more alluring, if possible. It will be nigh difficult for anyone to look away from you once they catch your gaze, I daresay. Your handiwork does not go unappreciated, either.” He raised Nia’s hand and landed a tickle of a kiss across her knuckles. “Happy Solstice, Nia. I wish we could have longer than a moment but alas, that is not to be. As it stands, most every room in the villa, save for this one, is occupied, so forgive me for this unorthodox rendezvous point. I take it Laz has informed you of your place aboard our float? Good,” he nodded in approval. “We shall depart for central Galeyn within the hour. I recommend you prepare accordingly. Before you do, however,” he wandered over to his desk and pulled something out of the top drawer, “I have something for you.” Striding forward, he presented the item by pressing it into Nia’s hands. A jewel-encrusted mask sat in her open palms, draped in purple crushed-velvet and stitched with tiny silk flowers. On either side, gilt-framed fairy wings jutted outward, covered in a delicate, iridescent gauze. “I hope you will consider donning this mask at tonight’s event—so that I may find and locate you with ease. I realize it is not very sportsmanlike to orchestrate my choice of dancing partner beforehand, eliminating random chance out of the equation, but,” he gave her a rather mischievous smile and a wink, “seeing as it is my event, I create the rules—including the exceptions to them. Also, should you wish it, I have several gowns of your size waiting in my chambers. We shall have time after the parade to dress ourselves accordingly, so please make use of my quarters as you see fit. I shall outfit and attire myself elsewhere, instead.”
“Now,” he clasped his hands together before extending his arm to Nia, “shall we head to the float together, or do you require some extra time to prepare?”
And if she needed further incentive to join Ari for the day’s ventures–parade and masquerade both–Laz stood menacingly behind him and brandished her eyes at Nia like searing ethereal torches, ready to incinerate her from within should she choose to decline.
At a complete loss of anywhere else to go, or where to carry her feelings where she could sit with them in silence, Sigrid retreated to the courtyard as soon as she left the presence of Sylvie Canaveris and all the others. The Canaveris villa had suddenly become stifling, and she encountered another person, serving staff or otherwise, around every corner. For fear of unleashing her volatile sentiments on the first person who dared to speak to her again, the blonde warrior thought it safest to steer clear of encountering anyone at all, and headed to the only vicinity outside where she might find a moment of peace. The streets of the D’Marian settlement were still lined with fellow D’Marians who believed she should have been tried as harshly as Nia Ardane, and she was coming to understand that no matter what she did for these people or for Lord Canaveris himself, there were some who would never be swayed or won over by any noble acts. But right now, she cared less about her image and endearing herself to others, and more about just how exactly she would survive her first full-out celebration without the one person who put her nerves at ease during such celebrations.
To this day, she wasn’t quite sure how she did it, but simply being in the same room as Naimah in the middle of a bustling, inebriated crowd drained all of her trepidation, to the point where she was nearly able to enjoy the environment and all it had to offer. She hadn’t experienced crowds or celebrations quite the same way since she’d lost the Kariji woman; though, to be fair, she hadn’t celebrated anything since Naimah’s death. And it wasn’t so much that she knew she’d fall apart amongst hundreds of masked bodies, dancing and laughing, but more that she feared if it did come to pass, she wouldn’t have a crutch to fall back on. And, unlike what Sylvie had intended, she was not so sure that hiding behind a mask would allay any of her anxieties, considering there were a number of people already who would at least know how to spot her, given what colour she would be wearing. If she broke down, or panicked, or if grief turned to anger as it so often did, and she couldn’t control herself… everyone would bear witness. And everything she had done up until now to atone for being Locque’s tool would be meaningless. But Sylvie Canaveris couldn’t see that, because the upbeat albeit intrusive young girl couldn’t get it through her head that not everyone was in the mood for celebrating.
Not that it mattered, now; she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. At least if she succumbed to a breakdown and made a complete fool of herself, she wouldn’t be responsible for breaking Sylvie Canaveris’s heart, which without a doubt would be a greater affront according to Ari. Better to garner pity than disappointment, although she’d rather suffer neither…
The former Dawn warrior was busy pacing, lost in her thoughts, when someone spoke her name from behind. To her surprise, Bronwyn Kavanagh had followed her out. Just when she thought she’d had the faoladh woman figured out, now she wasn’t so sure. First she had come to her defence, only to suddenly turn away and refuse eye contact like she was guilty of something… and now, here she was, once again a comrade. Perhaps the skittish Master Alchemist back at the palace was not the only person who struggled to read others. “Bronwyn…” Even more surprising, she had followed her all the way to the courtyard to… stand up for Hadwin? As if she were suddenly alright with what he was doing? “Bronwyn, please don’t tell me you condone any of this…”
It wasn’t so much that she condoned it, it turned out; rather, she understood his intentions. And while they were not malicious, Sigrid couldn’t help but wish it wasn’t necessary for her to have become a part of it all… “Look, I can believe it. Sylvie can’t be much older than Teselin; of course he wants to make her happy. But did it really have to involve us? No… no, you’re right. I can’t blame him. I can’t blame Sylvie, either. If Nia Ardane hadn’t marched in and insisted I try on that stupid outfit that belonged to Lord Canaveris… then the idea wouldn’t have sparked in the first place. As if I didn’t have ample reason to despise her…”
Then again, holding a grudge against the woman who had a firm grasp of Lord Canaveris’s heart was even less advisable than wounding the feelings of his dear young niece. There was really no winning for the stubborn, blonde-haired she-warrior. “You know, your brother and I never started off on the wrong foot. As time went on, we had our moments, but I was looking out for him from very early on. Enough that he knows me perhaps more than I’m comfortable with. And even if he didn’t know me, he knows what hurts me, and moreover, he knows why. He knows, for a number of reasons, I don’t do well at balls and celebrations that involve large crowds of people. I managed to survive one in Eyraille, and then again in Galeyn, all for the sake of Haraldur and Vega, but in the first instance, I had no choice, and in the second I had… there was…”
She couldn’t bring herself to say Naimah’s name, lest she completely fall apart. Sigrid took a breath to steady herself and collect her emotions. “It just feels… inconsiderate, on his part. I’m sure he means well, as much as Sylvie Canaveris, but I feel as though the both of them have it in their heads that I’ll somehow show up and feel the ‘magic’ of the event, and suddenly become transformed by it. But life… it doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t matter how ‘magical’ the Canaverises will make an event, it doesn’t erase shadows. And I’m just… not ready for this. For pretending that all is well, when it isn’t, but…”
The blonde warrior pressed a deflating sigh from her lungs and cast her gaze toward the Canaveris villa. “It doesn’t look like Hadwin or Sylvie have given me a choice. You did say there’s going to be alcohol… Truth be told, it’s not something I often partake in. I’m not quite sure what kind of drunk I’ll end up being.” Then, at a thought, the corner of her mouth turned upward in a conspiratorial grin, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Perhaps tonight is just the night to find out.”
“Oh, I dunno… It was Sylvie’s idea, wasn’t it? Isn’t he going along with the whims of his niece?” Perhaps Nia was as oblivious as Lazuli claimed. As soon as the golem woman explained Ari’s reasoning, it was painfully clear to her as to why he had gone along with Sylvie’s idea. It wasn’t just about appeasing his niece: it was about finding the opportunity to celebrate with her, so that she could be part of it all without anyone knowing who she was. The Master Alchemist blinked a few times and sat to process it all. “Ah. I didn’t realize how much it meant to him that I’m there… I mean, he’s been so busy with everything I really didn’t think he’d miss me, you know? But hey--I’m not one to turn down and invite to another exquisite Canaveris party!”
Nia put down the plush make-up brush she’d used to dab a bit of colour onto Lazuli’s cheeks and stood back to look at her handiwork. Her grin was all she needed to feel satisfied. “There we go--all done! Take a look. If there’s something you don’t like, well, fortunately we’ve got plenty of time to change things up.” While she tried not to look nervous, the Master Alchemist held her breath as Laz inspected herself in the mirror, sure that the golem would find fault with something she did. It came as a complete surprise when it turned out, she was quite satisfied with how she turned out--so much so that she even offered to return the favour, and do Nia’s make-up, in turn.
“Me? What, you think my face really needs that much improvement?” She chuckled at her own poor joke, and half-expected Laz to agree. It frankly came as a shock when she didn’t seize the opportunity to make a joke out of the woman who got under her skin. “But, I mean, if I go, I’ll be wearing a mask all night anyway, right? So…” Nia stopped herself before she could go any further. What the hell did she think she was doing?! Someone who, not too long ago, had been hellbent on despising her and finding fault with absolutely everything she did was all of a sudden offering to do her a favour. If she turned down Laz’s goodwill offering now, then in true Canaveris fashion, the golem woman would be downright offended that she scoffed at the generous gift. So before the Master Alchemist managed to dig her own grave with regard to winning Laz over, she smiled brightly and clasped her hands in front of her.
“...you know, on second thought, I’ve only ever had someone add colour to my face once before. Who cares if no one but me sees it? Every girl should seize the opportunity to feel pretty once in a while, right? Laz, if you could help me with that, then I’m gonna damn well accept!”
Just then, one of the serving staff politely interrupted, informing them that Nia’s presence was required in Ari’s office--which rather came as a thrill to the Master Alchemist. He was so wrapped up in putting the final touches on his float that she was sure he wouldn’t have the time for her today. That he chose to make time warmed her heart. “Well, I’ve gotta say, if I have to have an escort, even you are a heck of a lot chattier than the Forbanne were.” She couldn’t help but comment as she followed Laz out of the room. Keeping up with the golem’s long legs wasn’t easy, as her stride was twice as long as that of Nia’s, but she dutifully followed her all the way to the study that Isidor had once temporarily made his own.
The look of surprise when Lord Canaveris took a single glance at Laz was more than enough to bolster Nia’s ego in her skills at bringing out the best in the stubborn golem’s already lovely face. “For all I’m a pain in the behind, even Laz can’t deny I do have my uses.” She winked at Lazuli, as Ari took her hand and drew a blush to the surface of her own skin when he planted a kiss on her knuckles. “Hey, I’m surprised I got to see you at all today. I was just telling Laz to let me know how the parade went, but… well, I guess I can’t deny I’ll have my uses on your float, as well. Leave it to me.” Her bright smile stretched from ear to ear. “You focus on keeping that float running and enchanting the crowd, and I’ll focus on you and making sure you stay intact without turning into part of your own artistic masterpiece.”
Nia could almost feel the I told you so hanging on Laz’s lips when Ari ventured to mention the masquerade that evening, and his hopes that she would attend. Before she even had a chance to answer, he was pressing a gorgeously crafted mask of a deep ocean purple with gems that caught the light at every possible angle. She didn’t even have to ask about a matching gown, and he didn’t need to mention it without her knowing that there would be several to choose from. “Did you really have this made just for me? Well I hope you didn’t go to the trouble of having any of the gowns personally crafted for my body; thanks to Isidor’s meal plan and Elespeth’s training, I’m really putting on the muscle, and all the pounds to accompany it. It’s anyone’s guess what’ll end up fitting me anymore!” She tried to pass it off as a joke, but truly, the regime she’d so heavily adhered to was almost working too well, and new clothes were beginning to feel tighter every few days. It was more an inconvenience than anything, but if she were the self-conscious type, she’d loathe to see herself in a dress, even if the weight she was putting on was healthy.
“Now, you both do remember what happened the last time I attended an exquisite Canaveris ball, don’t you?” Nia raised her eyebrows and ran her fingertips over the delicate gems on her mask. “I panicked so hard I had to take a much-needed nap, and by the time I woke up, it was all over! What can I say? Parties make me nervous. Still doesn’t feel like my place to be there…”
From the corner of her eye, she could feel Laz’s hard, warning gaze boring into her skin. She didn’t dare turn her head and meet the golem woman’s gaze, but the message was clear: there would be hell to pay if she declined Ari’s invitation to the masquerade. And Laz would personally make sure she never lived it down. “Well…” Adjusting the mask on her face, Nia tied the silk ribbons to the back of her head securely so it wouldn’t slide off the bridge of her nose. It fit her surprisingly well, and despite the amount of gemstones, it was fairly light. “All I can say is… I hope I’ll get a glimpse of your mask before tonight’s grand masquerade.” She winked at Ari through one of the cat-eye shaped holes. “Otherwise, you could be any old stranger hoping for a dance. Then again… I think I’d know you to feel you.” Lifting her hand, she couldn’t help but reach out and touch his face. “You couldn’t hide from me for long. But I supposed I’ll have to worry about that later. We’ve got a parade float to transport; let’s get to it!”
“You’re really going to make me wait until the parade to see the reason I’ve hardly seen you at all for the past two weeks?” It was only by chance that Elespeth happened to run into Alster in the palace corridors as she was one among many running errands and tasks for Lilica and Chara, helping to coordinate serving staff and decorating the grounds beyond the palace for the public to enjoy. She wasn’t exaggerating, either; between his commitment to working with Isidor on their (hopefully winning) parade, and her commitment to helping Nia achieve better physical form than she likely ever had, the Rigas couple only saw each other briefly for meals, and sometimes at night, if they happened to retire at the same time. And as much as she agreed these festivities were not only good but necessary to guide the kingdom towards joy and healing once again, a part of her was rather eager for it to all be over, in hopes that she and Alster could once again simply enjoy one another’s company in peace, without any potential looming threats or dire responsibilities--for once.
“Come on. You won’t even give your own wife a little peek?” The former Atvanian lay a hand on Alster’s arm and her lips twitched into a grin. “And I don’t imagine you’ll let me in on what mask you’ll be wearing so I can find you at the masquerade tonight? Really, Alster, the extent to which you are keeping me in the dark is simply unacceptable. I know for a fact that Ari hasn’t been keeping his float a secret from Nia.”
“Well, that would only make sense, considering Nia was also put to work preparing the Canaveris float.” On a rare and rather out of character moment, Isidor interjected from behind the two of them, wearing a small smile. He almost seemed… well, excited (as much as someone like him could be) in light of today’s events. Elespeth was frankly amazed; nothing seemed to lift the Kristeva Alchemist’s spirits. Perhaps working with Alster on a mutual project with relatively low stakes (compared to his plans to be of assistance to Nia and Ari) had been good for him.
Elespeth folded her arms and took a step away, eyeing the creative pair critically. “No one asked me to help; should I take that to mean neither of you think me creative nor capable enough to contribute to the float?”
Well, even if Isidor had found a reason to smile, it didn’t take much to plunge him back into social uncertainty. The poor man had yet to learn to read sarcasm or to take a joke. “I-I… no! Of course, you’re very useful, I didn’t mean--”
“Isidor--relax! I’m only teasing.” Elespeth smiled gently and touched the distraught Master Alchemist’s arm. He didn’t flinch, but in hindsight, she might have been better to rethink her gesture of reassurance. “Well, if I don’t get to preview your masterpiece… then all I can say is the two of you had better outdo the Canaveris float. Seize the victory.” She planted a kiss on Alster’s cheek, and before she went on her way, couldn’t help but mention: “You know, Alster, this does count as a secret. So after this parade takes place… no more secrets for real. Or… well, maybe after the masquerade.”
Isidor managed to relax a little bit when Elespeth had turned a corner and was out of sight (how was he to know she wasn’t being serious?!), and redirected his focus to Alster, whom he’d been seeking out in the first place. “Everything is ready. I’ve thoroughly examined the structure and everything is sturdy enough to remain intact and bear the travel to the Canaveris villa, but delicate enough to be viewed as the piece of art that it is. I’ll admit, I have no idea what the Canaverises are going to present, and I expect it will be brilliant, but… I’ve got a good feeling about this.” The touch of a smile sparked at the corners of his lips. “While I cannot say I harbour any ill will towards Ari and his family… I am rather looking forward to defeating him in this competition. It wouldn’t hurt to knock his pride down a couple of notches.”
“No. It was never Sylvie’s idea; she simply expounded upon it. From the very start of the festivities planning process, Ari had always envisioned a masquerade. Knowing full well your hangups from the last event he hosted, he designed this one expressly with your comfort in mind.”
Sure enough, Laz’s clarifying comments received further clarification when Ari corroborated on the intentions behind the event, unprompted. “Call me selfish, Nia, but I resolved to include you because I want you by my side tonight. As it stands, the only means by which you and I may dance together in public, uninterrupted and free of ogling, is by the shroud of complete anonymity. And…seeing as I have never had the pleasure of a dedicated dance partner, or a dance partner at all…” He trailed away, his default veneer of genteel confidence wearing with every word of hesitation. Unbidden, he lowered his eyes from Nia, equal turns supplicating and abashed for exploiting his moment of weakness.
He resharpened his serviceable smile and straightened his gaze back to his subject before he lingered too long on his faux pas. “I realize attending might cause you a fair amount of discomfiture comparable to last time, even accounting for the masks and cloaks I made certain to normalize and be made available in abundance. Yet…despite these thorough safety measures I’ve implemented, if you are still apprehensive about being seen, or you have yet to accustom yourself to an overbearing crowd, I shall respect your decision to abstain from tonight’s festivities—no harm done. After all, it is not your duty to placate my silly whims. Your terms of service to Galeyn do not include, ‘Stroke the ego of the frippery-loving Canaveris lord.’ Consider the masks and gowns a gift, whether you attend or not.”
He was about to cut his losses and turn from Nia gracefully, arm at the ready for her to clasp (a habit he couldn’t shake, no matter her level of mobility), when she tied the mask around her head and all but announced her presence at the masquerade. Ari couldn’t help it; he broke into a smile so bright, it bordered on ungentlemanly, for how it sparked elements of childlike glee and messily spilled out his unrestrained feelings of delight and relief. It was a smile too undignified for nobility, for how it warped and crinkled his eyes, and dimpled his cheeks, and showed far too many teeth than necessary. A smile reserved for degenerates and madmen—or for someone in love. As if suddenly noticing his overwrought expression, Ari threw a self-conscious hand over his face, concealing not only his grotesque outpouring of joy, but the heat gathering in his feverbright cheeks.
“Forgive my unsightliness,” he cleared his throat and, removing his hand, schooled his face as normal. “I am merely enchanted by how well you wear the mask. As for what mine entails…ah, now that is a secret,” he responded to her wink in turn. “Rest assured, Nia, I will find you—and I daresay you know me by my personal tastes enough to parse exactly what I will be donning tonight. I needn’t remind you of my tendency towards…the ostentatious.” On that revelatory note, Ari lightly pressed his forehead against hers and laid a teasing peck on the convex, beak-like point of her mask covering her nose. All the while, Laz rolled her eyes at her master’s saccharine show of affection—and Nia’s equally saccharine response.
“Not to worry, either,” the golem said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I will make sure your princess is properly attired for tonight. Someone needs to tie her into her corset.” Then, turning her eyes in Nia’s direction, she gave an ever-so-subtle nod of approval.
“So I see.” Trying not to let a second round of excitement get the better of him, Ari hid his satisfied grin as he headed for the door, Nia on his arm and Laz looming behind him and on his right side, as usual. “Onward, then, to central Galeyn. We’ve a float to debut and a competition to win.”
In central Galeyn, meanwhile, the main competitors vying for the winning entry were tying up loose ends on their showstopper float. While initially conservative about the project, Alster quickly grew to embrace the challenge. His perfectionism, coupled with Isidor’s surprising (yet not objectionable) enthusiasm whipped together a satisfying melange of kinetic energies, their momentum an unstoppable force. Helping matters as well was Isidor’s disposition over the last several days. Light, uplifted, and favorable—at least whenever focused on float-related business. This, too, revived Alster’s spirit, which remained a little tumultuous and unsteady from his dealings with Locque, both the previously living version and the deceased one, which continued floating around the Night Garden in the futile search for the man with the green eyes. He still hadn’t told anyone about that encounter, Elespeth included, not so much because of his determination to bury it in secrecy, but because he was loath to put a damper on the festive mood. The last thing anyone wanted to hear during a week celebrating their liberation from the tyrannical summoner was that her spirit still haunted the place where she died. And while he resolved to tell Elespeth first, above anyone else…well, he was lucky if they managed to catch a meal together nowadays.
It seemed his wife thought the same way, when she accosted him in the hallway and expressed the very sentiment aloud.
“It wouldn’t be sportsmanlike of me to give you a free peak before everyone else,” Alster intimated, his smile contrite. “There would be no point to it anyway, seeing how the parade starts in an hour. It looks like you got your hands full as it is.” He noted the bustle in her step and the slight perspiration on her brow with a knowing look. Chara had a notoriety for pushing people to their brink, or close to it, during events, small or grand, which fell under her unrelenting authority. “I can’t tell you what I’ll be wearing to the masquerade, either.” He clasped both hands behind his back, expression turning cheeky. “Don’t you think it’s more interesting, and more fulfilling, if we’re able to find each other in the crowd, despite the handicap? Wouldn’t that be a triumph, be it of odds, luck, astute observational skills, our blood bond, or the natural and magical magnetism we have towards each other, to come together without any trouble at all? I daresay a bit of an experiment is in order. I want to see how long it takes us before we meet. And,” his eyes glinted with mischief, “if you’ll be able to recognize me right away. Rest assured—I’ll find you. But can you find me, and know me? Consider it part of your magical instruction, if this premise is too childish or game-like for your tastes. But I don’t think it hurts to pose this as a challenge.” His eyebrows leveled to a sobering line for an instant. “It does seem like you spend a lot of your time looking for me, after all.” He slid an arm around her waist, a tickle of electricity surging across his steel digits and shocking her with a playful nip. “We can try to ease that burden.”
They weren’t left to their own devices for long before Isidor stepped in, offering his own logical take on why they excluded Elespeth from the float-designing team. “Well, perhaps I would have recruited you, El, but you decided to become a fitness instructor, instead,” Alster bit back, matching the tone Isidor had missed with a sly curl to his mouth. “Nia and Hadwin both? How could I expect you to have the energy—and sanity—to do anything else?”
All joking aside, Alster wasn’t too waggish and jestful of mood to miss the veiled warning in his wife’s parting words. No more secrets…
Some secrets are not mine to tell, Elespeth. Others…
Others are too terrible for you to know.
Blinking away the fog of his thoughts, he overcompensated for the lapse by listening with rapt attention to Isidor’s report. “That’s great news. And I’ve just returned from the stables to inform you that the Night steeds are ready for hitching. They’ll be bringing them to the palace entrance momentarily. We best get back out there to ensure the ropes and rigging are secured properly and don’t snag anywhere they shouldn’t.” Waving a hand for Isidor to follow, Alster led the way towards the front entrance, continuing as they went along. “Ari and his team arrived a few minutes ago and should be setting up as we speak. I don’t know about you, but I’m very curious to see what they’ve created. Not that their handiwork will exceed ours, but it’s still good to know what we’re up against,” he added with a bravado he didn’t feel at the onset of their project; Isidor’s strange but welcome competitive edge was that contagious. He wondered if they had Ari to thank for the call-to-action. “Though—are you sure you don’t want to ride on the float? I may be able to deal with minor malfunctions on the road if any occur, but not while I’m casting magic and operating the mechanism at the same time. At the very least, you should ride in the coach with the driver. ”
“I second that motion.” Speak of the devil… Aristide Canaveris waltzed out from around the corner, the rich-green edges of his well-tailored coat billowing as his long legs made long, elegant strides in their direction. “You must have the engineer on board, lest your float will surely break down—and during an inopportune moment, I might warn.”
Alster raised a suspicious eyebrow at their rival and main competition. “Are you implying sabotage? That isn’t very gentlemanly at all.”
“Nothing of the sort, Lord Rigas.” Ari’s cane thunked against the marble tile in objection. “I am not so petty, or insecure of my team’s peerless, interdisciplinary masterwork to concoct something so devious. I am simply expressing my concerns. There is an old family adage that goes, ‘Ill preparations engender ill portents.’ I would not want your hard-won efforts to fail you on the road over a small, fixable matter. Otherwise, I could not accept winning on the grounds of competitor malfunction.”
“Bold of you to assume our float will malfunction,” Alster said coolly. “But thank you for your concern all the same.”
“I should also add,” Ari lifted one gloved finger, a non-verbal proviso meant to stay their attention, “the results of the float completion will be announced during tonight’s masquerade. It would be prudent to have all team members present to accept audience applause—and medallions of merit—for the brief ceremony. All participants will receive something beyond the standard applause, of course.” His dark eyes appraised Alster, almost disinterested by his predictability and agreeableness. “There is no question as to your attendance, Lord Rigas, but I do give pause to wonder of your status…Isidor.” The deliberateness behind the last honorific omission brought hints of familiarity and warmth not otherwise present in Ari’s staid and formal inquiry. As the Canaveris lord centered on his new, more interesting target, a light smile softened the edges of his untouchable, grandiloquent persona. “Please consider gracing my event with your company, however brief and fleeting your visit.” From over his shoulder, he removed the leather straps of a satchel and handed it to the Kristeva alchemist. “Inside you shall find a rather plain mask and cloak—for ease in blending among the crowd unbothered and relatively undetected. May others deem you too unassuming to disturb.”
“Well,” having said (and delivered) his peace, Ari took a few retreating steps from the duo, “I shall not keep you lest you believe I am ensnaring you into some diversionary scheme of my own insidious design. Yes, I intercepted you in the hallway, but largely so that I may relay this.” Sweeping one arm elegantly across his chest, he dipped into a deferential bow. “May the best team win.”
With Aristide's declaration, the first day of the festivities began in earnest, beginning with the Solstice parade. Owing to the fierce rivalry between the Rigas and Canaveris families, other float contestants were, unfortunately, overshadowed by the hype, and almost forgotten as serious participants until their floats emerged from the palace gates denoting the start of the hours’ long route and littered the main thoroughfare. D’Marians and Galeynians alike displayed their artistry, humble structures in comparison to the two heavy-hitters positioned in the rear, but no less impressive by the far more reachable standards of human normalcy and achievement. Not everything in the world required extraordinary levels of showmanship and glamour, magical alterations or alchemical tampering. Even the excess-loving D’Marians began appreciating the natural, simple aesthetic as enjoyed by their Galeynian hosts, and in the streets they cheered these small monuments where nature merged with human achievement: woven rushes manipulated into the abstract shapes of woodland animals, unique floral arrangements inspired by the Night Garden, wood carvings, painted friezes, regional dances celebrating the harvest and the night, tuneful renditions of folksongs rendered on reed pipe, drum, and gourd lute—and with these simple but sacrosanct jubilations, people began to remember a time defined by more than hardship and adversity. They remembered semblances of joy, and laughter—and soon, awe.
As the Central Galeyn side of the parade drew to a close, the most anticipated moment drew upon the eager spectators. A wash of uncertainty filled the majority native-born crowd. Never having experienced D’Marian-grade grandeur, they didn’t know what to expect. Allies as they were, the Canaverises and the Rigases were still outsiders, and highly contestable ones at that, responsible for much discord and infighting, and worse, worrisome demonstrations of raw power (Alster Rigas in particular). But wasn’t Anetania Ardane, former lackey and advocate of Locque, among the Canaverises, going so far as to help them build their float? What if she hid explosives on board, or devised a mechanism to dispense some flesh-melting agent on them as a final act of revenge?
It became apparent that the spectators, like it or not, would soon discover what lay in store for them when the first of the two grand finale floats came into view.
A ship made entirely of flowers skimmed and skirted over aquamarine waters, also flowers. A simple concept and breathtaking design to be certain, until closer inspection. The ship itself was not static nor stationary, but in constant flux, its keel moving in concert with the ocean currents, a subtle yet noticeable dance of dominance between force of nature and force of humanity. In this dance, the topsails shifted and the masts filled with wind no matter which direction they veered—a detail all the more notable, considering the clear, windless day. The uncaptained ship turned its helm, girding itself as a particularly strong wave smashed against the prow, sending blue cornflowers and forget-me-nots high enough to hit deckside. As the ship became buffeted with ‘wave’ after ‘wave,’ sea spray erupted from the sides of the float—not water, but harmless ethereal-blue sparks of stardust. Among the spray and the undulating waves of flowers, creatures weaved from the same ethereal light jumped out of the water to swim alongside the vessel: bottlenose dolphins, black-and-white striped porpoises, and wide-spanned flying fish, all told. But the scene of serenity wasn’t to last for long. A rumble of thunder erupted from somewhere deep in the bowels of the ocean-borne diorama. No—from the sky overhead. Worried onlookers raised their heads in time to witness a streak of lightning emerge from a strange, sudden raincloud and strike the flower-crowned vessel. A crack and a high-pitched keen, and the whole structure, arrayed in flames, split in two. As it ‘sank’ into the waves that claimed it, the remains of the ship shifted from its variegated marigolds and clovers and rose, bleeding its orange-green-red colors and becoming dyed with a fierce, angry, oceanic blue. In the battle between sea and seacraft, the ocean won, and nothing else survived but the unrelenting vastness of the inky blue flowers.
Then, as if by some time reversal magic, the ship emerged from the waters, resumed its bright coloration, reattached its broken half, and resumed sailing as though nothing went awry at all. This last bit alone stymied the crowd into dumbfounded silence. What was real and what was illusory? They didn’t know where the lines met, or where they blurred, but what they did know was that magic and alchemy combined…was a whole realm unto itself.
Which begged the question: what manner of sanity-defying stunts would the Canaveris float wreak? And did they trust that Nia Ardane, even under leash, would not try to maim her captors—and everyone else in the vicinity? With bated breath, they watched as the next and last float turned onto the thoroughfare, trepidation pouring in anew.
What they saw was a work of art.
Four plates revolved, like an orrery depicting the planets, around an intricately sculpted hibiscus flower bud, its ponderous petals elegantly closed taut in gilt curlicues and shimmering magenta paints. Upon each plate depicted a season, with each season containing a forest of twisted-wire trees displaying fabulous textiles cut and arranged into the shapes of leaves and flowers. Spring: pastel brocade spun in silver thread. Summer: silk and satin reflecting a glossy green sheen. Fall: crushed velvet, as crisp as fallen leaves. Winter: bunched tulle and lace, delicate as the first snowfall clinging to naked branches. And lurking within each fantastical tableau was an abundance of creatures: songbirds and squirrels and rabbits and deer, flying, scurrying, hopping and prancing with a loveliness that seemed real and fluid. But they were not real. And they were all made from solid stone.
Beneath the spinning plates, a wide, colorful band around the float’s wide base told a story of Galeyn in four parts, lovingly painted in splashes of detail so vibrant and yet gauzy and cerebral as to come directly from dreams. A quaint countryside idyll seamlessly transitioned to the minarets and spires of the palace, which blended into the eventide splendor of the Night Garden at peak bloom, which swirled to include the terraced hills and squat, colorful homes of the D’Marian settlement overlooking a mirrored lake colored rainbow by its architecture.
As if the spectators didn’t have enough to admire and gawk upon, the giant hibiscus flower began to bloom, unfurling, petal by petal, and in the encroaching nighttime air, a flood of yellow-green lights took to the skies on fluttering wingbeats, blanketing the streets with blinking, pulsing lantern-glow. On closer inspection, these strange specimens revealed themselves to be simulacra shaped to resemble fireflies, and an even closer inspection revealed something more. As adults and children alike held out their hands to catch one of the low-flying insects, and as those fine, hair-thin legs grazed skin, they stopped becoming fireflies and metamorphosed. Not into butterflies, no, but to a form equally as baffling—and no less beautiful. Where once was a little critter now bloomed a nascent-pink cherry blossom with a twinkling yellow-green center. But as with all things, cherry blossoms especially, its brilliancy faded, shriveled, and reverted to dust. And just as the last firefly-turned flower joined its brethren in ashes, the parade rumbled out of Central Galeyn and set its course for the D’Marian settlement.
Eager as she had been to get a glimpse of the float Alster and Isidor had been tirelessly crafting for weeks, Elespeth’s tasks had begun at the palace that day, but they ended at the D’Marian settlement, where Chara had tasked her to ensure all was well on Ari’s end in terms of his grand idea that he thought he could fit almost the entirety of Galeyn into his ballroom for the Masquerade that evening. So it just so happened that she would end up being one of the last to lay eyes upon the parade, along with the D’Marians, but it didn’t bother her so much when she happened to run into a few familiar faces.
Somehow among the throng of excited spectators in the crowded streets, there was no denying the trio who had managed to snag an optimal spot up front for an ideal view of the parade. Now was as good a time to take a break and catch her breath as any, considering the Canaveris staff seemed to have preparations for the upcoming costumed ball under control, and some were still a tad hesitant to accept help from a Rigas wife (old grudges died hard, it seemed.) She’d already missed some of the floats by lesser-known contributors, Galeynian and D’Marian alike. If she couldn’t enjoy a little bit of the daytime festivities she’d been working so hard to help organize, when she wasn’t training Hadwin and Nia, then what was the point of showing up at all?
“So--what have I missed?” The former Atvanian sidled up to the trio of Sylvie Canaveris, Teselin, and Hadwin, who probably owed their ideal vantage point at the bottom of a hill to Sylvie herself. “The Rigas and Canaveris floats haven’t come by yet? Hope you lot don’t mind if I join you; I’ve hardly see any of this grand parade yet.”
“Not to our knowledge, no--and by all means. You can stand next to me.” Teselin offered her sweet smile upon Elespeth’s approach. It looked far less strained, these days, now that Hadwin was on the road to recovery--and hopefully for good this time. It was one less thing for her young mind to worry about, and more and more, the former Atvanian seemed to spot the young summoner in the presence of Ari’s upbeat niece. Whether it was due to the fact Sylvie Canaveris had taken a liking to Teselin, or to Hadwin, toward whom Teselin tended to gravitate wasn’t obvious, but it was nonetheless heartening to see Isidor’s younger sister expand her repertoire of friends.
With a thankful smile, Elespeth sidled between Isidor and Hadwin, and folded her arms comfortably across her chest as a modest, albeit charming Galeynian float slowly sailed past, featuring what looked to be one of every individual species of flower from the magical Night Garden. “I’m impressed; I’d half expected you to jump on one of these floats and become part of it to make a scene.” She mentioned to the faoladh, and was only half-kidding. “Either you’re still not feeling well enough to take the chance, or you’re playing it really safe around Ari’s niece and trying to be on your best behaviour. I never thought I…”
The former knight’s words trailed off as another float manifested in the distance--one much larger, grander, and more animated than those before it. From her vantage point, it looked as though someone had brought a ship and the very sea beneath it onto land for all to witness, but as it drew closer, the composition of the grand float was more apparent. Flowers: it was entirely made of delicate flowers, and animated with magic. The ship dipped into the sea of blue, green, and violet petals, and just when the crowd thought it had disappeared for good and the spectacle was over, it rose from the waves like a phoenix from its own ashes. A resounding applause carried through the crowd, and a gentle smile played on Elespeth’s lips. WIthout a doubt, this was the Rigas float. “So that’s what Alster and Isidor have been up to all this time,” she mused, before throwing a glance to Sylvie and Teselin. “What do you think? A strong competitor for the Canaveris float?”
Sylvie seemed to think so; and it just so happened that, moments following the passage of the Rigas creation, another larger-than-life float sailed by, as if suspended by the wind itself. Instead of investing in a single scene, however, this one depicted four distinct scenes: distinct seasons, that is, all expertly painted. And beyond all that, the sculpted animals in every scene moved with the fluidity of actual living things. Well, it was certainly no one’s guess as to which floats contained the lifebreath of mages… But it wasn’t the colours, the details, or even the charming animals that had the crowd excited. It was the tiny fireflies, born from delicate flowers, that floated out into the audience. They soared weightlessly through the air on their tiny wings, and directly into the outstretched hands of the onlookers who were so enchanted by them. Even more mesmerizing, as soon as they alighted on a fingertip or a palm, those little wings transformed, and for only a second, people held tiny, glimmering pink cherry blossoms before they returned to the dust from whence they came. Both Sylvie, pride in her eyes, and Teselin held out their hands to catch one, and Elespeth couldn’t help but follow suit. Everyone knew exactly whose work this was, and suddenly, all of the tension of those in the crowd who had second-guessed Nia Ardane’s intentions relaxed. Locque’s former minion could have seized this project as an opportunity to seek revenge on the kingdom that continued to hold her as a prisoner; instead, she’d elected to merely contribute to the joy and wonder of a parade spectacle. Even Elespeth couldn’t help but feel enchanted by that small, albeit brilliant addition to the lifelike four seasons sailing on by.
“Alster and Isidor were right to take this competition seriously.” She thoughtfully ran the residual dust from the former firefly through her fingers. “Your uncle certainly is a worthy opponent, Sylvie. But I’d say it’s almost a shame, the amount of work the Canaverises and the Rigases put into those floats. Everything else pales a little in comparison. In their attempt to outshine one another, they’re outshining the entire kingdom.”
Fortunately, that didn’t seem to matter to the people for whom this celebration was intended. Elespeth couldn’t testify to how the Galeynians, who seldom threw parades, received this spectacle, the D’Marians were absolutely delighted. When was the last time they’d had a reason to simply be happy? To celebrate the fact they were alive, and there would be better times ahead? Certainly not since Elespeth had known Alster. And this crowd was far more difficult to please than the humble, modest Galeynians. If the D’Marians were overjoyed, she rather wished she’d seen the looks on the faces of the Galeynians, who had likely never seen a spectacle of this calibre. They must have been positively awestruck.
“That was… amazing.” Even Teselin, it seemed, was completely enchanted by both the Rigas and Canaveris float, and that girl was certainly no stranger to magic in all forms. “Sylvie, you should be so proud! Your family and the Rigases both. Your floats were positively… stunning. I could never have imagined something so beautiful could be possible. Frankly, both families should receive top honour for all the work they put into creating something so breath-taking!”
Leave it to sweet, optimistic, and non-confrontational Teselin to declare everyone a winner. Elespeth knew that simply would not fly with the rivaling mage families, but it was a sweet sentiment. “Glad I got a glimpse of it, afterall,” she commented, planting her hands on her hips. “And now I’m tasked with finding my own husband at this masquerade in a couple of hours, because he wouldn’t tell me what he planned to wear. I’m not sure I consider that my idea of fun, but… well, I suppose I have no choice in the matter. And, I have to go see if I’m needed for any final details. I suppose, whether I realize it or not, I’ll be seeing you among those celebratory many?” She raised her eyebrows at Hadwin, who was quick to confirm there was absolutely no way he would be missing this, and that in part he’d been motivated to recover because he’d always planned to attend the masquerade. “Well, you’d better not be planning on causing any trouble, wolfboy. People have been working really hard to make this a good time for everyone. Teselin, Sylvie,” the former knight nodded at the two girls, “I’m entrusting you with making sure this man behaves himself tonight.”
Unbeknownst to Elespeth, Hadwin had already played a hand in causing trouble that evening, in such a way that directly affected Sigrid Sorenson. The blonde warrior, while she had obviously been tasked with helping with the evening’s preparations, was far too preoccupied with what would happen that evening to be of much help at all. The former Dawn warrior spent a good amount of time pacing the Canaveris villa, nervously wringing her hands and struggling to find last-minute excuses to simply keep to herself that evening. Even the notion of getting completely drunk and forgetting that she was there at all had lost its appeal, and she wished for nothing more than to confine herself to her chambers and not be bothered. She had even gone so far as to reach out to Haraldur and Vega and volunteer to look after the children, but they already had plans to have some of the more capable serving staff check in on and tend to the babies throughout the evening while they attended the masquerade. Out of options and excuses, all Sigrid could do to keep herself from tearing her hair out was pace and pretend to look busy so no one bothered her.
The sudden uptick of people in the villa sometime later signalled the end of the parade. Everyone was ready to move on to the next thing, which was obviously the ball that would take place in less than a few hours. The ball that she was expected to attend. Serving staff rushed past her with trays of hors d’oeuvres and last-minute decals, barely taking notice of the tall, blonde woman who looked as lost as a fish out of water. She hardly took notice of them, either, in the fugue she had been lost in for hours. So much so that she completely missed the all-too-familiar face of someone she wasn’t particularly keen on seeing.
“Hey--hey, anyone home? Don’t tell me you’re lost.” It was Nia Ardane, which meant Ari’s golem bodyguard, Lazarus, wasn’t far behind since she had been put in charge of monitoring the controversial Master Alchemist. “You’ve been around here almost longer than me. Unless Ari’s got you stationed in his catacomb labyrinth several flights down, I’d think you’d have a better sense of direction than I do.”
“What? I…” Sigrid had no explanation and no excuse--what could she possibly say? Not to mention, this woman, while it was no longer safe nor wise to openly hold a grudge against her, was not exactly someone she cared to have words with, anyway. “...forget it. Don’t you have a masquerade to get ready for?”
“Don’t you?” Nia raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, as Laz sidled up behind her. “I mean… no offense, but you’re not going looking like that, are you? Not to say you don’t look alright, but… it’s a masquerade. The whole point is people not knowing who you are right away. Mask or not, everyone’s gonna be able to point out the larger-than-life woman with the gorgeous consilk blonde hair down her back. And, take it from someone who has no choice but to go completely incognito… something tells me you’re going to have a better time blending in than standing out.”
“What would you know about what I want?” The former Dawn warrior muttered. While the gender-changing golem’s disposition toward Nia Ardane seemed to have changed over the past couple of days, and some might have thought better than to talk in such a way toward her new charge, it was unlikely that one tall, particularly intimidating woman would be intimidate by someone near her equal in stature and height.
Nonetheless, Nia didn’t seem at all fazed, as she often wasn’t where it came to insults or others speaking down to her. In fact, she smiled that wide, irritating grin, and winked. “Believe me--I know. Difficult as it might be to believe, big, formal events aren’t my scene, either. I think I can help you, if you’ll let me. Come on!” Striding past Sigrid, the Master Alchemist looked over her shoulder. “No pressure, but I think you’ll feel less pressure if it’s not so obvious that you’re you.”
“And you think you can change that?”
“Hon--I’m a Master Alchemist. Do you really have to ask?”
She… had a point. And Nia had nothing to gain by crossing her; not to mention, she really had nothing to gain by refusing to cooperate with the Master Alchemist. Wordlessly, she followed Nia into the woman’s shared chambers with Ari (quite the “cell” for a captive…), and paused before taking a seat where the woman indicated. “Now… this is all temporary. It’ll last for the night, but should fade away throughout the day tomorrow.”
“What…” Sigrid couldn’t help but recoil as the Master Alchemist reached for her face with her bare hands. “What are you going to do?!”
“Relax--I’m not going to hurt you. Sheesh. There’s something definitely recognizable about that sun-tanned skin against your hair. I’m going to reverse your tan temporarily, if you’ll let me.”
Against her better judgment, Sigrid sighed and nodded, permitting Nia to slowly run her warm hands over her face and neck. It only took a few moments before she withdrew her hands and held up a mirror for Sigrid to see. Sure enough, the former Dawn warrior was about as pale as the Galeynian queen… it almost made her look fake, considering she’d almost always sported a tan from her excessive time in the sun. But, all things considered, it didn’t look bad. “Better--better! Okay, but one more thing. I’ll be fast.”
Nia positioned herself behind Sigrid and took her long, blonde locks in her hands. Sectioning it into halves, she wove each half all the way from the blonde warrior’s temple down to the tips, then carefully tucked each end into its opposing section so that no hair hung over her shoulders. She appeared much less like a woman, and more androgynous. “There; now you’ll blend in just as much as any other distinguished gentleman, especially with a mask. You’re welcome.”
“I…” Sigrid couldn’t deny she didn’t look much like herself with fair skin and her hair pulled back. If the pressure of the ball ended up being too much for her, and she suffered some sort of breakdown… Perhaps no one would know it was her at all. “Thank you. If I have to go at all… then this helps. Well, let’s hope it will, anyway.”
“Excellent. Well, I wish I could say I hope to see you there, but I rather hope you end up blending in too well.” Nia offered a grin as Sigrid silently departed, and turned to Laz. “I’m getting pretty good at making people gradually hate me a little bit less, huh? Well… I guess I should take a look at the dresses Ari left for me. See what fits best. Your help is most definitely appreciated, Laz, but don’t get too happy with the corset, hm?” The Master Alchemist raised her eyebrows, not quite sure she could quite trust the golem not to crush her ribcage. “I’m less eager to look curvaceous than I am to breathe easily.”
Much as she wanted to ride on the float, or ride alongside the float, Sylvie Canaveris didn’t push her request. For his part, Uncle Ari was trying to accommodate everyone’s needs, and by everyone, that meant the whole of Galeyn. The float scarcely had enough space for two people, he informed her, and though she would have been more than happy to walk, wearing a gorgeous gown and flitting around the parade route like so many other costumed performers, she held her tongue in his presence, and accepted her role as a spectator. Hadn’t Ari already made plenty of concessions for her sake? Consigned as part of the audience needn’t be a curse, not when she had to account for an actual curse. One nasty tumble on a highly-trafficked road, beside a highly-ogled float, and others might discover, Uncle Ari might discover, the terrible affliction she’d been hiding for the last two years. No, she wouldn’t chance defying his orders and risk ruining his plan-perfect day.
At least she received a small consolation in the form of two companions. Hadwin Kavanagh never failed to amuse—or attract (she may be sheltered, but she wasn’t immune to the charms of the opposite sex!) and Teselin’s pleasant agreeableness was always a welcome and balanced addition. Without a doubt, the young summoner fast became a friend. As for Hadwin? She couldn’t yet place what thrummed between them, but perhaps she would discover the melody of their resonance that evening…during a dance. She glanced demurely at the roguishly handsome faoladh, and blushed.
Midway through the parade, another person joined the trio at the bottom of the hill. “Why—Lady Rigas. Of course you may join us!” Sylvie beamed her approval. “Please, reward your hard work by enjoying the spectacle! The best is yet to come!”
As Elespeth settled in place, Hadwin grinned a devious grin at the remark. “Oh believe me, Elly, it’s taking all my restraint not to run amuck out there,” he raised an eyebrow in her direction, as if challenging her to change his mind. “But if someone were to throw down a dare…”
But whatever he meant to say, whether in jest or in dead-serious reply—serious to the point of drafting out the terms of his aforementioned dare—it seeped out of his mouth in soundless puffs of air, once the first of the two showpiece floats came into view. “What the—? Geez; I’ve been to parades before but a float of that magnitude? That’s overkill!” Amid the cheers of the crowd, Hadwin stuck two fingers into his mouth and let loose a high-pitched whistle of delight, followed by the bellows of a shout. “Yeah, Is and Al! Work it!” As the grandiose ship unfoundered itself in a show of technical bravado and sailed past their vantage point, the faoladh elbowed Elespeth sharply in the ribs. “C’mon, you can’t tell me seeing your husband’s artistry—excuse me, co-artistry—out there doesn’t turn you the hell on. You just know he’s fucking flexing. No one’ll blame you either, for having a biased opinion on which is the better float.”
“Please reserve your judgments until after the Canaveris float appears,” Sylvie reminded the others, her smile tight-lipped, yet self-satisfied in the knowledge that, while the Rigas float was indeed a strong contender, her family’s magnum opus was a sure-win.
“Oh ho ho. That confident of a landslide victory, huh?” Hadwin teased, but soon his good-natured ribbing turned into wonder when his eyes grazed the Canaveris float, resplendent in its spinning plates, animated stone animals, the ‘blooming’ hibiscus flower, and the swarm of fireflies flittering out of its open maw. “Damn.” He poked one of the ephemeral critters mid-air, watching it shift and morph into a blossom quicker than a faoladh transformation—and shrivel to dust just as quickly. “Well I’ll be. Call me impressed. Ok, that deserves a shoutout.” Wiping the dust from his fingers on his trouser leg, he used that same hand to cup over the side of his face—and howl. A loud, piercing, attention-grabbing howl. “Killing it, Ari! Nia—light it up; you’re on fire!”
Sylvie, bristling with pride, pointed out the wire-wound trees on the season-depicting plates, and the colorful assortment of fabrics hanging from each. “I created each seasonal display—well, short of the frolicking animal statues. That contribution is an Uncle Ari exclusive.”
“What, you did those? Like pretty much half of the float? That’s some real talent, there, Syl! Put it here!” Hadwin bumped a fist against her open palm. Sylvie, moved by his enthusiastic praise (as well as Teselin’s accompanying applause), glowed a bright, burnished red. Elespeth’s commentary, on the other hand, flung her back against the cold, hard cobbles of reality.
“Oh, you find it a shame, Lady Rigas? That is most unfortunate.” She fiddled with the blue ribbon cinching the ends of her side braid. “It was never my uncle’s intention to overshadow Galeyn’s efforts, but to celebrate D’Marian culture and share it with our host nation—just as our host nation is returning the favor in kind.” To demonstrate, she gestured down the boulevard, where the beautifully arranged Night Garden bouquet sailed over the horizon, a beacon of color for the Rigas ship that followed in its wake. “It stands to reason that Galeyn’s aesthetic and Stella D’Mare’s aesthetic are hardly compatible, given the D’Marian love of excess and the Galeynian love of the minimalistic, and rustic. No one style is objectively better than the other, merely different. Nonetheless, I appreciate Galeyn’s entries all the same. I think they are lovely and deserve recognition. And they will receive as such.” She nodded towards the hill upon which the Canaveris villa was situated, and the large expanse of land out front. “Each float has been given a private plot for the duration of this festival, sublimated to a position of honor wherein they will receive admiration from every individual who passes through our doors en route to tonight’s ball.” Conclusively, she added, not without some affront, “We Canaverises are very serious about art.”
“Well, you said it!” Hadwin chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Thing is, though, a contest is still a contest, and there’s only one winner, a condition your uncle is very determined to achieve. So,” he turned his gaze to Teselin, “cute as your sentiment is, chickadee, only one of these bad boys takes home the prize, sorry to say. Probably am gonna get heat for this, too, but,” there was a twitch of an apologetic smile as he tossed a hand in his hair, pushing the errant russet locks from his forehead, “I’ve already placed my bets on who I feel is gonna win, so I’ve got a lot of money riding on the outcome.” At the pointed look from Elespeth, who had just finished warning him to behave tonight, he shrugged helplessly. “What? I’m a gambler; it’s what I do!”
“Which float did you select for the win?” Sylvie leaned forward, eager to pry out the desired information from her self-proclaimed gambler companion. “It must be the Canaveris float, yes?”
In response, Hadwin pinched his lips shut. “I’ll never tell.”
“Mister Kavanagh, that is simply not fair!” Sylvie stamped one foot in protest, while Hadwin, laughing, aimed a playful wink at Elespeth.
“What was that about causing trouble, now?”
Ari’s penchant for punctuality and obsessive, on-the-minute event scheduling shared commonalities with Laz, who, too, had a vested interest in preserving her master’s vision, timeliness chief among her concerns. Whether indoors or outdoors, above ground or below ground, she internalized the hours of the day, innately knowing the positioning of the sun, moon, and stars in the sky. Bearing this in mind, neither she nor Nia had the luxury of dallying in the undercity with Sigrid Sorenson. Conversely—they couldn’t leave behind a visibly distressed guest, and the blonde warrior showed unarguable signs of distress.
In wordless agreement, Laz followed Nia and her newest project into Ari’s chambers, all the while dodging the influx of frantic servants and waitstaff bustling from the kitchens to the ballroom and vice versa, arms full with drink trays and last-minute table decorations. The further west they traveled, the calmer the corridors, as their approach brought them closer to the much forgotten residential wing. Inside, Laz stood by as Nia sat the aggrieved woman in a chair and proceeded to intermix practical skill and alchemy to cast a shroud ambiguous enough to pass not only as a different person, but as male.
Figuring Ari would want her to make a helpful contribution in his absence, Laz lowered to one knee and captured Sigrid with an intense, purple-eyed stare, essentially blocking her escape from the chair. “If you require it, I will stand beside you all night. No eyes will ever find you when I am around.” As if it needed explanation, the unnerving golem rose to her full height, her muscles rippling in tandem with her sinuous curves and the mounds of her well-proportioned breasts, the sheen of her flawless skin too fluid, too liquid in the light to appear solid. “They will ogle, but not at you.”
Creating an opening for Sigrid to escape, she watched as the pale-skinned, androgynous figure departed, seemingly pleased (or at least less bothered) by her transformation. “What is it about your knack for cosmetic manipulation that makes people hate you less?” She didn’t dwell on the answer to her rhetorical question before heading straight for the wardrobe and yanking out a youthful green gown, a form-fitting piece that hugged the hips and yet still draped gracefully outward like the bell of a flower. An outside layer of tulle bunched around the middle, creating an elegant knotwork that encompassed the whole of the waist. Attached to the bodice, a set of wide, gauzy sleeves traveled the length of the gown, pinioned tips just shy of grazing the floor. “In the interest of time, which we’ve squandered in helping Miss Sorenson optimize her disguise, I will make an executive decision on your behalf. This one,” she waggled the fine specimen in her hand, “will do quite nicely. Gird yourself, Ardane.” Draping the chosen piece of couture across the bed, she proceeded to undo the laces on the bodice. “I won’t pinch. Hard. But some waist definition is in order. You’re deflated in the places where it counts to have an actual shape. You want to have something to show for all your physical toils, yes? So then,” the vestiges of a smile crossed Laz’s face, though it veered closer to diabolical, “let’s give Ari something to notice.”
Once evening truly fell, a late appointment, considering the long trek of the sun in the summertime sky, the Canaveris villa opened its doors for the second official event of the week’s kingdomwide festivities. To account for the high volumes of traffic, volunteers instructed carriages and their drivers to park outside the D’Marian settlement, and proceeded to funnel guests through the elaborate tunneling system, which had an impressive reach from its nucleus point—tonight’s destination. Galeynians had seldom trodden the vast undercity of Canaveris fame, but many were regaled of its vital role during Darkest Day, a term coined by D’Marians to reference Locque’s otherworldly assault on the kingdom and its inhabitants. As groups of guests flooded through the subterranean streets, they were told of its structural integrity, engineering majesty, and life-saving significance, emblematic as a symbol of D’Marian ingenuity and industriousness of spirit. Tunnels saved the people during the mass exodus of Stella D’Mare, and tunnels continued to save the people in Galeyn. If only they stretched as far as Central…perhaps more lives would have been spared.
The “tour” of the undercity concluded at the mouth of the cellar stairway. Leading up to the heart of the ballroom, it signaled the final destination. As the guests wended their way to the surface, masks affixed and cloaks adorned, they were greeted by an enchanting tableau.
The Canaveris ballroom, a venue of modest size, had expanded.
The far-facing wall, having once boasted an elegant row of floor-to-ceiling windows, had been knocked down, opening itself to the balmy evening air. This deliberate gaping hole punched into the architecture allowed for an extended dance floor, which, under the new configurations, ran the full length indoors and another full length outdoors. Serving tables received strategic placement in all four corners of the ballroom floor, and lighted, marked pathways helpfully guided guests who wished to take a break from dancing and opt for a stroll around the koi pond gardens, admire the field of featured parade floats, or even to the (now-finished) grotto.
In true Canaveris style, the decor was artful, statement-grabbing, and nothing short of colorful. The theme of the masquerade was ‘The Culmination of Cultures,’ celebrating not only Stella D’Mare and Galeyn but Andalari, Tadasun, St. Throne, the Fallow Islands, Eyraille, Ilandria, Atvany, Braighdath, Collcreagh, and even Mollengard. Owing to the diversity of Stella D’Mare itself, as well as the allies who reawakened Galeyn from its great sleep, it quickly became clear from the hodgepodge of influences on display. Within the indoor-outdoor ballroom its surroundings, one could spot, for example, mobiles of gilt Eyraillian rocs dancing from the ceiling, geometric-patterned mosaic tiles of Tadasuni fame lining the walls, flower-trellised archways made popular in Stella D’Mare, Night Garden vines wrapped around every marble pillar, displays of Ilandrian-grade weapons (not battle-ready), and replica spiral horns of Collgreahan sheep, prized for their mesmerizing shape, grafted onto the minstrels’ stage. Even the food and the music paid homage to certain regional delicacies and folk-tunes. For some people, it quickly became a game of locating the little cultural nods strewn all about the villa, physical and non-physical both, and to determine which culture and nation they represented.
Finally, at the appointed hour, when the majority of guests had gathered and libations were passed around by attendants, a hush came over the crowd at the sound of an amplified voice filling out the entire perimeter. From what could be observed, no one was able to trace a source from where the voice emanated. No person, or being, or focal point. Just a voice devoid of form, floating, disembodied, from all angles.
“Welcome, welcome, my honored guests. And please do not be alarmed,” the voice began, his bell-tones soft and reassuring. “Many of you gathered here may little recognize who is speaking. Allow me, then, to introduce myself—informally, for I am certain you shall see me in the flesh later on tonight. I am Aristide Canaveris, Lord of Stella D’Mare and master of this villa. I am heartened by the quantity and quality, I am most sure, of individuals who have traveled, near and far, to celebrate the first evening of Solstice here in my villa.” A short, thoughtful pause. “I acknowledge that D’Marian and Galeynian relations have been on shaky terms for quite some time, and that I have played an active role in exacerbating them. While I cannot extirpate myself from past influences, I can, and will, move forward in fellowship and solidarity. May our alliance hold steady and firm, and may our bonds hold firmer, as we navigate dark passageways of this harrowing, troubling year and resurface to witness together the pink of dawn. Let Darkest Day become Longest Day, a time of new beginnings and bright horizons, and let us head there, heralding peace as kinsfolk. In this space, all who honor Amity are welcome. So please, raise your glasses as I dedicate this toast to you. To my countrymen, D’Marian and Galeynian alike—and to anyone who falls in between. This drink is for all.”
As glasses clinked and wine savored (or upended, depending on the caliber of man in the audience), the voice of Aristide Canaveris reappeared, catching everyone before the chatter of multitudinous conversations resumed. “We now invite everyone who wishes to partake to the ballroom floor for the first dance of the evening. As this is a masquerade, I encourage all to refrain from shedding your masks and cloaks and to choose a partner at random—or alternatively, to try and locate your partner of choosing. At any time during the event, you may either decide to shed your disguises or maintain your shroud of mystery. Whatever suits you best. Thank you, and do enjoy your time here tonight.”
Once the minstrels on stage began to play a lively D’Marian waltz, masked individuals gradually filled the dance floor, some pairing up with a partner while others continued their search for either the best prospect or for their separated loved ones. Representing the latter half of the dance-bound crowd was Elespeth Rigas, who, in her dedicated hunt for her husband, stumbled upon a fairly tall gentleman, and attracted his attention. Although cloaked and hooded, one could make out the brilliant red of his gold-buttoned vest and a pair of segmented devil horns jutting out of his glistening, crimson-fire mask. Smiling a vague, unidentifiable smile, he held out his hand, and waited to see if she would take it. After some deliberation, she did, and the red devil guided her to the outdoor half of the ballroom floor, trying his best to lead in a respectable waltz, but his footing was off, almost unsteady, and while he overcompensated with bold, overconfident steps, it soon became apparent that waltzing was not his idea of a good time.
Midway through the dance, the devil shifted forward, as if to close in for an uninvited kiss, but it was her ear he targeted, and in seeking it out, landed a whisper. “This is bollocks, Elly,” he said, refraining from outright yawning in her face. “Gimme a jig any day. Not like I could handle one in my present condition. Here,” he released one hand from her waist and rotated her towards the south quadrant, “brought you closer to your darling hubby. You’ll find him around here somewhere. Have at it.” Withdrawing from their intimate proximity, the devil-masked man gave her a shove in the correct direction and promptly disappeared into the crowd.
Eventually, she came across another man, who, though shorter in stature than the red devil, still boasted a respectable, above-average height. Also cloaked, this man was bundled from head to toe, leaving little of himself to observe, save for his mask; a mottled, oceanic blue, shaped to resemble white-capped waves breaking on the shoreline. It shared a curiously in-common theme with the Rigas float, down to the same shades, coloration, and subject matter.
The man offered his hand. It was his left hand.
Nia snorted at Laz’s all-too-accurate observation, but a grin tugged at the corner of her mouth all the same; the golem wasn’t wrong. “It’s not just my cosmetics manipulations that get people to hate me less. Although… those tend to be the most popular, I suppose.” She watched as Laz loosened the laces of the lovely, green dress she had taken upon herself to choose for the Master Alchemist to wear. It wasn’t a bad choice, but only on account of the fact that any of Ari’s choices for her would never be subpar or mediocre. It didn’t matter what Laz decided, since all options would have suited Nia perfectly. “But I wasn’t trying to get her to hate me less. Sorenson holds a grudge as tightly as her sword, and worse, she’s been hurt. She still hurts. There’s nothing I can do to help that, but the least I can do is ease the burden of going to a party she’s not particularly looking forward to.”
Lifting her current drab shift over her head, the Ardane alchemist slipped on the appropriate undergarments to complement the gown Laz had chosen, and lifted her arms to allow the tall golem woman to slip it over her head. “Oh, come on, I’m not a waif! I’ve always been plenty shapely, thank you very much.” She pouted and turned to look into the the full-length mirror to assess her form. It was the first time she’d actually taken the time to really look at herself since… well, since before everything fell apart, and slowly pieced itself back together. Despite all of the hard work she’d been putting into her health, eating well and regaining muscle, it wasn’t what she remembered. Deflated, just as Laz had claimed.“You can’t go critiquing other women’s bodies in comparison to yours, you know. That’s just plain rude. I wasn’t sculpted to perfection like you were. I was born, and ended up a victim of my genetics, for the most part. Sure, I could change what I’m not happy with… but, if you ask me, that’s cheating. Gotta love what I’ve got, or else what do I have? I mean, Ari seems to li-”
A quick tug at the drawstrings of her bodice cut her words short--which was most likely Laz’s intent. “Hey, you promised not to pinch!” Nia coughed at the sudden disruption of air to her lungs, her ribcage aching in protest. Though she had to admit… the sharp way her waist jutted inward did make her hips flare out in a flattering way. “You know… green was what I wore the first time Ari and I danced. But back then, I wore a borrowed gown that only fit passably.” She couldn’t help but wonder if Laz remembered this small detail, as well, and if that was what had prompted her to select that particular gown and colour.
Once Laz was satisfied with how the garment sat on Nia’s “subpar” frame, she insisted the Master Alchemist sit down to fix her hair and add colour to the “void pallet of her face”. Considering half of her face would be covered, Nia didn’t exactly see the necessity of it, but didn’t want to argue with someone who had the power to make her look good or bad. “Come on, Laz, we both know my face is perfect enough as it is. Nothing make-up can do to make it look better.” She joked, but deep down, the golem’s comment resonated at the back of her mind, so strongly that it made its way to the forefront: Let’s give Ari something to notice. As if he wouldn’t notice her in a crowd! After all, he’d had her mask crafted specifically for her, and would have no trouble spotting his own creation, let alone a gown that he had selected as an option for her to wear. But… that wasn’t what Laz meant.
“... beyond the mask, what would make him notice me in a crowd comprised of almost the entire kingdom, including the D’Marians?” Her question was a serious one, not sarcastic at all in tone or delivery. “I never considered what it is Ari likes or wants to see. I suppose I always just thought I was enough as I am, but perhaps that alone won’t catch his eye. But you’ve known him forever. You know what he likes and desires. So… I’m gonna leave that in your hands.” She tossed a glance over her shoulder at the beautiful golem, whose appearance was a result of Ari’s creation. Was that his ideal? Because she could never look like Laz. And she didn’t imagine that Ari would want her to. “Do whatever you think is necessary. You won’t find any complaints from me.”
Elespeth had decided early on that she did not want to be easily found or recognized among the participants of the masquerade, and thereby had her gown and mask crafted in private, known only to her and the tailor. While not one for ‘flair’ on the best of days, to the extent that her usual formal attire was often quite modest, the former knight had chosen to break character this one time only and go against what everyone might expect of her. While she did need to appeal to help from Chara for logistic reasons, it was her goal that nary another person--her own husband included--would recognize her. Yes, this was in part her meager attempt at pettiness for Alster refusing her the pre-parade privilege of glimpsing their float before anyone else got to see it, but also in the spirit of good fun. After all, she had no idea what Alster would be wearing; let him also have a difficult time finding her amongst the crowd.
The ex-Atvanian emerged from a doorway and into the ballroom, resplendent in shimmering gold from head to toe--quite literally. While her form-fitting gown shone with all of the glow of a gold necklace, like it was crafted from liquid metal, so too did her hair, upstyled in intricate braids and curls, glimmer with the same sheen, set with a shimmering gold powder that she had also run over her face, her neck, and her bare arms and hands. Her skin glowed with liquid sunshine hues when the light hit it just right, and while she stood out from others in her own unique way, she looked nothing like the Lady Rigas that everyone, including her friends, know.
That said, she had forgotten that among some in the crowd, it wasn’t by appearance that she might be recognized. At the commencement of a waltz, a cloaked gentleman approached her and offered his hand. Given the average height and shrouded features, he could have been anyone--including Alster. Elespeth looked at the hands of this attendee, both which appeared to be flesh and blood, but that was not to say that Alster hadn’t disguised his prosthetic arm with the power of his magic. Curious, she took this man’s hand, and let him lead her into a waltz on the dance floor, but it was almost immediately apparent to her that this man could not be her husband. Alster was well-practiced in any given ballroom dance, and she knew the way his body swayed, and the confidence with which he led. This dancer, however, was… well, clumsy, for lack of a better word. Slightly out of practice, or even lazy in his steps. It was obvious that he did not often waltz, or did not like to, which immediately made her wonder if she had found the hand of a Galeynian peasant who had wished to try his hand at formal dancing.
That is, until, she noticed the devilish horns that jutted out from the side of his mask. Elespeth narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. It just so happened that she knew just the person who would sport such symbolism. But as she opened her mouth to voice her suspicions, the stranger, who leaned in almost as if he had the intent (and the gall) to kiss her, gave himself away entirely in a whisper. “...Hadwin.” The Rigas lady sighed and shook her head slowly; not in disappointment, but out of surprise on her own part that she hadn’t realized this sooner. “It’s a waltz, Hadwin. Behave--remember?” She looked over her shoulder at the smug faoladh. “You were the one who wanted to attend. You play by the rules. Who knows? If you give it a chance, you might actually enjoy not stirring the pot for once.”
Elespeth nodded once and wandered off in the direction where Hadwin had turned her. Not a moment later, someone else was offering their hand to Hadwin for a dance. A lithe woman draped in shimmering peacock tones, with a mask to match, and her smiling lips painted a shimmering teal blue waited for the knowing faoladh to take her hand. Her smile widened when she did. “Well? Are you behaving, Hadwin?” Briery Frealy closed her delicate fingers around Hadwin’s hand. The ringleader of the Missing Links had kept to herself for the most part ever since Cwenha’s demise, and news of the necromancer’s death had lengthened her performance hiatus indefinitely. The only appearance she had made of late was out of concern for Nia, when she had been cooped up and losing hope in the dungeons, and while she was missed, no one wanted to bother her out of respect for the tragedy she had suffered. No one, Hadwin included, had expected to see her tonight. “Nice choice of mask. It suits you. I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to attend… I’d rather hoped I would see you tonight.”
Meanwhile, Elespeth continued to wade through the crowd until she came upon a relatively non-descript participant with a particularly evocative mask. He was smaller than Hadwin, yet taller than she knew Alster to be--not that that meant anything (so many denizens were sporting heeled shoes and boots for the very purpose of remaining anonymous). But that mask… it was particularly reminiscent of the splendid Rigas float that had taken her breath away.
The attendee offered her his hand; his left hand. And it was all the confirmation she needed that she’d found who she was looking for.
This time, when Elespeth was led in a waltz, she recognized her partner’s practiced steps, for they had danced together before, on several occasions. Beyond that, it was as if something had snapped into place the moment their hands met, two halves finding completion in their companion. There was no doubt this dancer with the ocean-themed mask knew exactly who he was dancing with, as well, for the familiarity of the way their bodies moved together. There was no mistake: she had found her husband, and he had found her.
But when the waltz came to an end, in the spirit of a little bit of fun with anonymity, Elespeth let go of Alster’s hand and took a step back, offering a curtsey and a sly grin, a quiet ‘thank you’ for the dance as she teasingly pretended not to know exactly who he was. She cast a sly, teasing glance over her shoulder at her incognito husband, and moved back into the crowd to find another dance partner, as she were still looking for him.
Sigrid’s anxiety toward the masquerade had not dissipated, although Nia’s help to make her less recognizable had indeed taken the edge off of her worry. But it was nothing compared to poor Isidor Kristeva, who had been trying to get out of attending as soon as the parade ended. Alster had encouraged him to don his mask and have a little fun, but ultimately, it was his encounter with an overly-outgoing Sylvie Canaveris finally shut down any path of escape. After all, she knew that her uncle Ari had crafted him an unassuming mask, and reminded the Master Alchemist that her uncle would be disappointed if it wasn’t put to use. Fortunately, both Sylvie and Teselin had agreed to accompany him in the form of a small, familiar group, and so he did not attend the masquerade awkward and alone when he set foot on the dance floor. “Just remain as close to the walls as possible,” the young summoner informed her anxious older brother. “It’s a sign that you are choosing not to dance, and I am sure the people here will respect your decision. Right, Sylvie?”
Sylvie, however, wasn’t listening. She was enraptured by the mystique of the masks, the cloaks, the twirling dancers, and the spectacle it created when it all came together--such that she almost didn’t realize the approach of a tall attendee with a glossy dark mask that flared with raven feathers at the ends. They approached with silent, fluid steps, until they were mere feet away from Teselin, to whom they then offered a hand. Surprised and bashful, the young summoner shook her head and stammered apologies and excuses as she shrunk backwards toward her older brother. “Oh--no, I am so sorry, I never intended to dance this evening. Just to take in the sights, if that’s alright.”
The silent stranger offered an understanding nod, but did not retreat. Instead, they offered their hand to Sylvie, who, unlike her companions, was all about dancing. Titillated, she accepted the dark stranger’s hand and allowed them to lead her in a waltz when the music started up again.
“Teselin, is… that a good idea?” Isidor had gone suddenly rigid next to his younger sister. His gaze was fixed on Sylvie and the stranger who had stole her away into a dance.
Confused, Teselin furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?” She asked, looking back and forth from Isidor to the Sylvie and back again. “It’s fine, Isidor, it’s only a dance. Everyone here seems to be maintaining good respect and etiquette. If Sylvie hadn’t wanted to accept, I’m sure she wouldn’t have. And he… well, I can only guess that person is a man, he did not respond in any way that was out of line when I declined.”
“There’s something about that person. Something… off. I…” Isidor found himself at a loss for words, and rubbed the back of his neck, dropping his gaze from the dancing couple not far away. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. I just thought… they seem familiar. But something about them makes my skin crawl.”
“Well, they very well are familiar, Isidor.” Teselin offered a small smile and lay a hand upon her brother’s arm. “This is a masquerade. You may know more people here than you realize. I am willing to be that dark stranger knows exactly who we are, too.”
Isidor pursed his lips. Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring at all, and he couldn’t put a finger on why. “...I know.” He murmured quietly. “And I don’t like it.”
He would take this information with him to the grave, but Hadwin was not…feeling up for the masquerade tonight. He talked a big game about it, as usual, but when the anticipated event finally made its long-awaited appearance, he found indifference where exuberance should be. Whether due to the long periods of convalescence which forced him to abstain from partaking in the majority of his preferred vices, or from the sluggishness still dominating much of his mental and physical faculties, he ended up pining for his quiet bedroom, and quiet company. His unprecedented desires were, for him, so fucked up, so beyond his identity, that he welcomed radical self-denial and self-delusion as a method to cope. If he affected his enjoyment, and overcompensated his shortcomings by laughing louder and partying harder than everyone else, then he could correct his deficiencies and squeeze out drop after precious drop of thrill-seeking vitality. Such strategies never failed him before. ‘Fake it till you make it’ was his go-to mantra, but he never invoked it for celebrations, festivals, and jubilations of any stripe when he lived for the colors, the cacophony, the chaos. It was unheard of to mishandle his priorities so grievously that he needed reminders on how to behave.
That’s right. Behave. The irritating reminder that everyone constantly spouted in his face like they were training an uncooperative dog to sit and roll over on command. If only they knew—he was behaving. For him. More than they realized. Because, the moment he gave up on being the life of the party, the second he released his hands from the pot everyone warned him not to stir…the darkness would claim him, and he’d become a danger to all.
Causing trouble was his lifeline. Mischief, his bread and butter. Because it was one of few threads he had left connecting him with the old Hadwin Kavanagh, the Hadwin who existed before he inflicted the single most self-destructive act to date—and he’d done a lot of self-destructive things, Apelrade notwithstanding. But he could balance the urges, and curb his worst habits, his inevitable self-detonation. By lighting little, controlled fires, he prevented the arrival of a towering, untameable inferno, too cataclysmic to douse. Do some harm, in other words, to slake the devil’s thirst. Misbehave just enough to survive.
No sooner did he release Lady Gold-dust into the fray than he swerved around to face someone he hadn’t expected to see. Someone who reached for him specifically. Who saw through his mask—any mask, literal or otherwise.
“Briery Frealy—as I live and breathe.” Hadwin’s mouth, which he kept in a conservative position since the masquerade began, broke into a wide, chipper grin. Nothing about it was forced or farcical. “This may be the first—and only time—you take me completely by surprise. Soak it in.” Not needing a second more to contemplate taking her hand, he plucked it free from where it hung suspended, his grip curiously…tender. Not firm, or vise-like with some manic attempt to crush the recipient’s bones in one grab. He attributed part of it to his recovering dexterity; regaining his grip strength was an ongoing work in progress. But for the most part, he was so goddamned happy to see her, and it showed! His body betrayed him, eagerly drawing close to her lithe form like a flame-seeking moth, his other arm enclosing her waist, and the old familiarity of their dance routine tugged on some long-buried and forgotten segment of his mind. How long? How long had it been since they were like this?! How many years had he lived since last summer?
“Believe it or not, I didn’t choose the mask,” Hadwin huffed out a laugh, loosening some of the strain that tightened his throat like a stubborn case of laryngitis. Shrugging off his hood, he exposed to the open air the full, glorious extent of his curved devil horns, which rested at the temples and curled to a wicked point, a detail he loved, but which also posed some concerns. In the event of an accidental butting of heads, the recipient would receive a little something extra for their troubles. “But my audience knows me well. You have sweet Sylvie Canaveris to thank for the on-brand costuming. Might have yourself a rival in that department, eh?” Through the mask, he landed a wink—but his playful aura faded quick as the passing of an eyeblink. “Damn it, Brie—it’s a treat to see you again. I didn’t think you’d wanna come to this stale and structured affair. Hells, if I knew, I would’ve raided the Canaveris stationary and hand-written you an invite, complete with one of those official-looking wax seals and everything! What I’m saying is…” he twisted up his face, glad for the mask concealing the complexities cycling across his expression like the phases of the moon, “I missed you.”
Waltzes were a much-maligned dancing style in Hadwin’s not-so-humble opinion. Rigid, outdated, and meter-dependent, it punished the slovens and the pioneers; people cursed with two left feet, and people who devised new rules while simultaneously breaking the old. Of the two, he fell under the latter category, too bored to maintain the form, and thirsting for a different technique. An out-of-the-box thinker, he literally could not stay in the box, cursing the waltz-aligned parameters that everyone demanded he follow. Behave. Behave. Behave.
Well, bully to that!
“Hey, still remember our set from way back?” He perked up, sliding a sly smile where an earnest frown once attended. “Me and you, we dominated the stage with our sick choreography and internal rhythm. Think we can replicate just a fraction of that, right here, right now?” He tilted his head, and from a different angle, his horns seemed to expand in size, growing ever more delightfully sinister. “To answer your question from before—I never behave.”
Never had there been a time—at least on the material plane—when Alster couldn’t find his wife, and tonight was no exception.
No manner of fancy masks, elaborate gowns, delectable scents, next-level decor, or even the sonorous swells of the string quartet could numb or dull his magic-sense. Attuned as always to Elespeth’s specific frequencies, he knew of her whereabouts as soon as he stepped onto the dance floor. It was never a question of finding her, but a question of if she could find him.
He wasn’t so cruel or petty as not to throw her some hints. Although covered from head to toe, the mask he wore for the occasion, chosen to match, color by color, the variegated flower-blossom sea of the Rigas float, wasn’t a random or thoughtless selection. Helpful still, his decision to accept her hand with the unorthodox—and backwards—left hand would offer her a huge, twofold clue. One; he wasn’t leading with his glaringly identifiable prosthetic arm. Two; he never removed his wedding band, nor had he glamoured it to appear gone. In the end, he figured, if she was able to meet him in person, against the odds, then she deserved a break or two.
Apparently, Elespeth did not feel as charitable.
It took all of his self-control not to break character and stare, transfixed, at the vision of gold that took his hand. Of all the outfits he predicted she’d wear, he never imagined glitzy, shimmering gold—liquid, like the sun’s reflection melting in a pool of water, or the picture of an idol carved from the most precious ores available.
And when they danced, they melted together, sun and water—nevermind the left-skewed start. She adjusted, well-adapted to his idiosyncrasies to the point where she never misstepped or veered in the wrong direction. This. This felt right, and complete, and he wanted it to last, her and him and the music, but as with all things, the last note brought its premature finale and the pendulums of their bodies swayed to a full stop. But nothing needn’t be final. Not yet, when the evening had scarcely begun. Now that they reunited, there were plenty of chances to…
She withdrew from his arms, and, exchanging a polite farewell, withdrew from his company with a dismissiveness of a stranger. As if…she didn’t recognize him. Even after sharing a dance together, did she not realize with whom she partnered?
No. He refused to believe his wife was that oblivious. Not when they’d been through trial after countless trial from the very moment they met. How else did it explain her ability to track him so swiftly? A fluke? Dumb coincidence?
Not a chance. She was playing him. Her sly, over-the-shoulder look said it all.
She wanted to maintain the charade? He’d play along.
He followed after the gold-clad woman, adjusting his pace once they were walking side by side.
“I can’t help but notice you’re holding out for someone,” he said, in his most serviceable voice. “Or perhaps, you’re looking for someone. Can I be of any assistance? It would be no trouble on my end.” He smiled a smile reserved for a client, or a patient; pleasant and helpful, but not familiar. “I’m looking for someone, too. My wife. Maybe you’ve seen her? She looks a lot like you, in fact. I wish I could be better at describing her, but I don’t trust myself not to say something ridiculously abstract, like, ‘She looks like the sun after a month of rain,’ or, ‘She is the ship that defies the sea. However broken or waterlogged, she prevails.’ No,” he shrugged meekly, “I’m not very good at describing her at all.”
Sylvie Canaveris, like her uncle before his ascension to most important personage of Stella D’Mare, led a sheltered, insular life. Granted, most Canaverises did, preferring the comforts of home over unwarranted quests around the city all willy-nilly, but her cloistered lifestyle was not self-imposed. Tasked with assisting in the rearing of her six brothers, she was titled the multiple ‘honors’ of Assistant to the Nanny, Reliever of the Nanny. Apprentice Nanny, or on occasion, (she shuddered), Substitute Nanny. Rarely alone and rarely granted a reprieve, she coped by indulging in her embroidery and other fabric-specific crafts—knitting, crocheting, felting, sewing, costuming. But when she was not busying her hands during her precious free time, she was busying her mind by reading. And reading a lot.
Mostly, she read romances, each more fanciful and overwrought than the next. She loved them all, devouring volume after volume of the pulpiest, sauciest, stickiest, steamiest narratives. Her favorite series involved a charmingly roguish thief who cheats a caravan of slavers at a game of cards and steals away their one captive as his prize. He sets the young woman free, but she, an inexperienced heiress, entices him to escort her home, on the promise of riches as a reward. Along their travels, they fall in love, but on returning to her estate, as arranged, her father arrests the thief, mistakenly accusing him of stealing his daughter, and he is sentenced to hang at the gallows. Using her wit and cunning learned from her days training with a renowned blackguard, she concocts a successful plan for his escape, and they run away together, eventually becoming the most notorious criminal duo the region has ever known.
That was where her appreciation for dangerous men (and even some dangerous women!) took wing. Among all the pariahs to whom she felt a special connection—Nia, Teselin, Alster—nothing burned stronger than her attraction to Hadwin Kavanagh. She heard his many tales of derring-do, and they all read like adventure novels. How he defied the odds! How he survived insurmountable disasters! How, beneath his edgy exterior was a man who cared deeply for his friends and loved ones. Oh, to be his friend. To do bad, improper things together. To be a loved one…
Eagerly, she scanned the crowd of revelers for the red devil mask she crafted for him, hoping to catch sight of those lovingly-crafted horns and approach the wearer for a dance. While she didn’t spot him, someone else in her vicinity was vying for her attention.
“Oh!” Surprised by the sudden arrival of a raven-masked stranger, she whirled her attention from the ballroom floor to the hand extended out to her. Looking first to Teselin and Isidor, as she hesitated to leave them behind for a few minutes, she gingerly laid her hand atop her invitee’s own and, giddy by the prospect of her first dance, let herself be taken away by the alluring raven-feathered figure.
As Isidor and Teselin argued over the merit, or seemingly lack thereof, of the stranger who selected Sylvie to dance, another figure strayed from the center of the ballroom, decidedly female, as evidenced by the look of her twilight-purple gown, which glimmered like constellations whenever her hips swayed and shifted her skirts into fluid movement. A black mourning veil, attached to a steel-spiked coronet atop an equally-veiled head, wrapped around her face, concealing everything but the tip of her chin. The gossamer-like material of the veil, which usually allowed a slight, albeit obfuscated window into the person behind the curtain, yielded nothing but a yawning black void, entirely opaque to the viewer.
The woman in mourning shifted towards Isidor and held out her bare hand, as if daring him to touch her, to read her, to discover who she was—but only if he agreed to a dance.
Moments after finishing his announcement, Ari hustled from his hidden stage in the fake wall behind the ballroom and emerged on the dance floor in time for the first waltz to begin its flourishing notes of introduction. While far from his first ball—or masquerade—he seldom partook in any intimate encounters that required physical contact, consigned, by his mother’s orders, to watch from the back wall and occasionally participate in a hand’s free group dance. Even now, Ari didn’t waltz, and his reasons borrowed from the same principle; it required him to initiate touch, to hug another’s body in an intimate half-embrace and remain locked there until the waltz’s conclusion. Beyond a few flirtatious moments shared between himself and Chara, the only other person who crossed the threshold and eased the barriers of his self-imposed limitations was Nia.
If he had arranged things just right, Nia would be the first and the last person he would waltz with tonight. The mask he gifted her, aside from signaling her identity by sight, was doubly equipped in signaling her whereabouts by magic—considering he had implanted a few pebble golems beneath the topmost layer of fabric. This sneaky act of subterfuge wasn’t his proudest moment, especially as he failed to inform Nia of this harmless bit of tampering, but if it aided in locating her on the quick, then it was well worth the investment.
Not that he was so inconspicuous, either. As promised, Ari embraced flair and ostentatiousness to the nth degree and presented his plumage as a colorful bird of legend; the huma, a bird-of-paradise relegated to myth, viewed as a giver of gifts and a sign of auspiciousness, of good tidings to come. He drifted on the dance floor, his cloak decorated on the ends with a fan of peacock feathers. The mask, similarly, was relatedly adorned, but with feathers of pheasant orange and roc gold. Primary and secondary flight feathers folded around the sides of his head and arrayed outwards from the tips of his ears, visible from outside his raised hood, which had been designed to sit around his mask, not draped over it.
While cloak and mask were themselves impressive, they paled in comparison to the robe he sported.
Starting from its flared bottom, which billowed around his ankles, a metallic duochrome of peacock blue gradually transitioned into fire-colored hues about halfway to his torso, and continued to change gradient, settling on a brilliant yellow-gold by the time it reached his collar. And although the ombré shades of his shimmering robe were a sight in and of itself, spreading his arms wide revealed yet another surprise. Feathers, yellow, green, and red, in spectrum order, pinioned from the draping fabric of his sleeves and flared wide, appearing as functional as a legitimate pair of wings.
In his concentrated search for Nia (the golems pinpointed her near the northern quadrant), Ari, peripheral vision obstructed by the mask, veered too late to stop a rather brusque collision coming in from his left side, the unfortunate attendee knocked off their feet from his forceful pacing. The laws of etiquette demanded he offer his hand up to the victim of his folly, moreso if the victim was female. The floor-bound guest was indeed feminine in appearance, wearing a blue morpho butterfly mask and an accompanying gown of identical shade and color. And yet, knowing what he must do to rectify his unsightly behavior, he hesitated, for to offer his hand, he too would need to offer a dance in apology, which created a two-fold problem: dancing with someone other than Nia, and touching someone other than Nia. In extended, close quarters, it was a flare-up waiting to happen. Bereft of any other solutions that did not involve besmirching his dignity and causing grave insult to the one he slighted, he adopted his most steadfast, unruffled stance, lowered to the floor, and lent his hand to the woman.
She took it, at first grateful, but as she rose to her feet, she paused, eyes intent on his excessive, overambitious costume.
“If you wanted to go incognito to rendezvous with your alchemist lover, Ari, adorning yourself with the loudest outfit known to man falls in direct opposition to that plan, doesn’t it?”
Ari’s hand slackened in her grip. Chara.
Somehow, even with the mask concealing the most expressive half of her features, he could tell she was rolling her eyes at him. “Rest assured, I no longer dream of conspiring against your romantic choices, but that doesn’t seem to matter at this juncture. You’re obligated to dance with me. Is that not what the dictates of hospitality require? Your pride would not allow you to abstain, not with everyone watching.” Sure enough, upon Ari’s cursory glance of the dance floor, the majority of masked attendees lingering in their proximity had their heads trained on the couple, as if eager to see what they would do next. “So,” she wound an arm around his waist, “shall we get this over with?”
Hadwin was not alone in somehow failing to tap into the energy and mystique of the masquerade. After all, Isidor Kristeva most certainly would have preferred a quiet room all to himself than the possibility of having to dance, but of having to dance with strangers, and Sigrid Sorenson was hellbent on getting as drunk as possible so she could tolerate this event. But neither of those individuals would extend any sympathy to the faoladh for his similar struggles to want to make merry--particularly not the blonde warrior, who still stung with betrayal that he’d set it up that her attendance was obligatory.
But among those who weren’t quite of the same frame of mind to make merry was, indeed, Briery Frealy. Up until just that morning, the Missing Links’ ringleader had no intention to attend the masquerade, or any of the festivities, really. The overturning of two seasons had yet to dull the pain of grief from losing Cwenha, particularly when her one, brief hope of bringing the Silver Fairy back to life had died along with the necromancer, Vitali Kristeva. The palace had even requested if she would be interested in putting on a show with her two remaining entertainers, but the acrobat’s heart simply had not been in it to perform for a long time, now. But when Rycen, with the support of Lautim, had convinced her to come out for long enough to glimpse the parade, bearing witness to the joy on everyone’s faces made her remember why she’d always loved performing in the first place; and it made her remember why these little joys were so necessary. Sometimes it was essential to dwell in darkness for a little while, to let yourself feel and acknowledge your pain and sadness… but there was only so much that it could do for you before you needed to reach for the next thing that might make you happy.
So, just hours before this event, Briery had modified an old costume, put together a matching mask, and had hoped to find some familiar faces among the throng of strangers; in particular, she had hoped to find Hadwin. And she was glad when she did.
“I took a chance, you know. I wasn’t sure I was going to see you here. You’ve been recovering from one thing after another, but… I had a feeling that recovery couldn’t keep you away from the chance to party. And thank goodness.” Her smile reached her hazel eyes. “I really wasn’t in the mood to dance with strangers. I missed you, too. And… I’m sorry I haven’t been there, when I should have been.” Briery’s eyes softened as her hands sought the faoladh’s shoulders. “But I’m here now… and so are you. And I must say, miss Sylvie Canaveris is a prime judge of character. She seems to know exactly what you like. Perhaps she might even have a little crush?”
The ringleader chuckled and winked. It was a joke, and perhaps she wasn’t aware of just how on the nose to the truth she was. “I like it. Because I like that you stay true to yourself, and refuse to change for anyone. You’re one of the more dependable constants in my life, Hadwin.” Which was a stranger thing to say, for a woman who came and went from location to location, to a man who did the very same. Neither of them led a particularly static life, and yet, whenever their paths crossed, they always seemed to pick up exactly where they left off. Like they had never spent any time apart at all.
“Now… you know what was a rhetorical question, right?” Briery’s grin tilted and turned sly. “Of course I don’t expect you to actually behave, Hadwin. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be acting true to yourself, and that would make me a hypocrite. How much do you remember of our choreography? And… how much are you capable of?” A hint of softness in her eyes reflected her deep concern for his recovering body and well-being. “Let’s do it; but the simple parts only. Not only for your sake, but it’s too crowded here for any of my acrobatics. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt!”
Elespeth had no doubt in her mind that if she walked away from her baffled husband, he would follow. There wasn’t even the slightest possibility that he did not know the identity of the woman he’d danced with, anymore than he believed she hadn’t recognized him. But in the spirit of masquerade, it occurred to her that it might be a little bit fun to pretend--and it seemed that he thought likewise. Not a moment later, Alster had caught up and sidled up to her and proceeded to make polite (albeit very interested) conversation, as if they had just met for the first time.
“Oh… you’d be right. I was told my husband would be here tonight, but I’m afraid if he is, then he’s too well disguised for me to find.” The former knight feigned a sigh and made a point of looking to and fro. “Perhaps you’ve seen him? He is about… well, actually, he’s a bit shorter than you. Fair hair and blue eyes, like a clear sky… similar to yours.” She turned to meet his gaze, lingering for too long for it to be purely casual and objective. “Your wife, though… Well, she sounds like none-other I have ever encountered. Otherworldly, even. Are you sure you’re not just making her up? Surely such a person could not exist.”
The golden-clad woman smoothed the metallic fabric of her gown down her hips and looked away, her verdant eyes suddenly pensive. “Although, I suppose my husband could be considered otherworldly as well. In fact… I think that’s the perfect way to describe him. Beyond anything this world could possibly offer; perhaps even too good for this world. Too good for me, sometimes. But… I am beginning to think he pulled a fast one on me and chose to not attend at all.”
To feign frustration, Elespeth puffed air and placed her hands on her hips. “You would think he would recognize his own wife, even in disguise, but… well, perhaps he was enamored of other events. I don’t want to waste all of my time looking for someone who might not even be here. What about you?” She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side pensively. “Are you sure she is even here? Perhaps she decided at the last minute that she didn’t want to get lost in a crowd. How long are you going to hold out for her?” The Rigas lady studied what little she could see of her husband face to gauge if he was following along with her little game. If he didn’t follow, then every further action could be taken extremely poorly, but Elespeth was feeling particularly playful tonight. She hoped her husband was as well.
“You know, my husband really would want me to have a good time in his absence. He’s very supportive. And your wife… well, if she is really like sunlight after a rainstorm, like you said, then I can only imagine she would want you to enjoy yourself tonight. Maybe… the two of us ought to stop looking for people who aren’t here.” Stopping in her tracks, Elespeth turned to face her poorly-disguised husband, who, for once, was nose to nose with her in height. One quick glance at his footwear, which was only partially concealed by slightly elongated trousers, explained why. “What do you say? You’re clearly in need of a dance partner, and so am I. If your wife does end up showing herself, then I will very happily hand you over to your rightful partner, but if she doesn’t…”
With a sly smile, El closed the distance between the two of them and rested her gold-dusted hands on his shoulders. Her voice was both sultry and mischievous. “Well… I won’t tell my husband if you don’t tell your wife. Hopefully neither are the jealous types. Besides… I find you to be a more than adequate dancer.”
“Isidor, I know you didn’t really want to attend this ball--and frankly, neither did I--but… don’t you think you are being just a little unreasonably paranoid?”
Frankly, Teselin was glad when the raven-masked stranger (if he was indeed a stranger) had chosen to dance with Sylvie when the young summoner had politely turned them down. It allowed both her and Isidor the opportunity to relax just a little bit, instead of feigning much interest in this even, but on the contrary, Isidor seemed even less relaxed. His eyes were fixed on young Sylvie and the dancer who had swept her away, like he was afraid she was making some terrible mistake. “Sylvie is a hopeless... well, no: a hopeful romantic; believe me when I say this is exactly what she wants.”
“I don’t know. I just… don’t have a good feeling about that person.” The Master Alchemist maintained his paranoid stance, even in the absence of any sound reason behind it, save for simply having a ‘bad feeling’. He might not have been the best judge of someone’s character, but if he had learned anything since arriving in Galeyn, it was to trust in his gut feelings, both good and bad. Something was different about Sylvie’s dance partner; somehow, he stood out among the other dancers, like a shadow that disrupted the light. Of course, he couldn’t count on the attention-starved Sylvie Canaveris to realize this (or, more likely, to care). The girl had practically been itching to be asked to dance, and would have said yes to practically anyone.”
“Well… wait here. I’ll go keep an eye on them if you’re nervous.” As Sylvie and her suspicious partner began to meld into the crowd, to the point where they were difficult to see, Teselin left Isidor’s side to make good on her promise, thinking it would put the Master Alchemist at ease. On the contrary, when the only familiar company he had left departed, Isidor began to remember exactly why he was uncomfortable, and quickly looked for a way out. But the exit was too far, and if Teselin returned momentarily, to find that her only surviving brother had taken his first chance to escape and leave her to suffer this alone, what would she think? Instead of breaking her heart and betraying her trust, the Kristeva alchemist receded until he felt his back make contact with the wall. So many people, the room was growing uncomfortably warm, the way the dancers spun in their calculated waltzes… it was all rather dizzying, and most definitely overwhelming. Sensory overload. Isidor shut his eyes and wished he’d worn his spectacles over his mask to mitigate eye strain.
When he opened them again, he was suddenly no longer devoid of company.
The woman seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, for she hadn’t been standing there just moments before, and he hadn’t seen her approach from the throng of dancing attendees. Clad in a glimmering purple gown that sparkled like a starlit sky, her head adorned with a unique coronet of a headpiece, she looked very much apart from the majority of other dancers, in the brights and pastels. In particular, her choice of a mourning veil as opposed to a mask was quite unique. On one hand, she could very well have been a spectre, something not quite of this world, but perhaps that was entirely her intent.
She held out her hand, a quiet inquiry to dance. Isidor immediately felt his face grow hot. “Oh… uh, pardon me, but I’m… I actually am not capable of dancing. I fear I would make a fool of the both of us…” Isidor apologized and bowed his head respectfully. There might have been a time when, with the right person, he might have made so bold an attempt, but… but that was a long time past. It had only been a matter of months, and yet it felt like eons ago. What little strides towards social adeptness he had made in that short period of his life had regressed, and all of his confidence along with it.
But the woman clad in sparkling violet did not budge, and did not drop her hand. Contrary to what Teselin had said about everyone respecting others’ decisions on whether they or not they chose to dance, it appeared as though she was not willing to take ‘no’ as an answer. For fear of offending her, Isidor felt impelled to explain. “I… realize I might be among a crowd of people who look like they know what they’re doing, but I am not among the adept. I am sorry, I simply do not wish you to feel disappointed…”
Still, the woman did not budge, and her hand did not move. She wasn’t going anywhere until he obliged her. Teselin wasn’t around to save him, and it was looking like he didn’t have much of a choice. “Is there really no one else you’d rather dance with? No one at all?” He asked quietly, in a final plea. At last, he sighed, stepped forward, and took her hand…
And it was as if the rest of the world fell away. His eyes widened. While all other senses might deceive him, his hands never did.
“...you. It’s… you.” He was afraid to say her name, for fear that this was some illusion that might disappear if he hoped too hard. “I thought… I thought I’d never see… I thought you were gone. I tried to find you, but something stopped me, and then… and then there was too much danger. And I had…” His voice sank along with his heart. “I had to let go of the possibility… that I would ever see you again.”
Nia hadn’t realized the extent that Laz would go to in order to make her into the eye-catching specimen that would attract Ari’s attention. Not only did she fuss with her gown just so ever seam sat just right upon her body, but she fussed with her hair to the point of perfectionism, and spent so much time on it all that the Master Alchemist had refrained from looking in the mirror for fear that she wouldn’t recognize who she saw. Nerves or no nerves, however, the golem was just as quick to usher her all the way to the ballroom when she deemed her ready to be seen. The masquerade was already in full swing when she stepped through the doors, with dancers already engaged in a waltz, and Ari nowhere to be seen.
“You realize I can’t make any promises that I’m not gonna need to go lie down, just like last time?” She felt obligated to remind Laz, as her eyes searched the room for Ari, her only safe haven. “I’ve already told you that fancy balls aren’t my comfort zone. Give me a tavern and rowdy music anyday, but this? I’m way outta my element.”
And was she ever, for not only had Laz woven flowers and small crystals into her styled hair, but had even modified the gown with the addition of two shimmering swaths of fabric at her back that resembled fairy wings, similar to those jutting from her mask. In Nia’s head, she either looked ethereal, or ridiculous; how did she really know Laz wasn’t pulling a fast one and had planned to embarrass her all along? Either way, she was there now, and she’d find out either way when she found Ari who would either gush or send her away, depending on how presentable she really looked.
Fortunately, the Canaveris lord was not difficult to find among the other participants. Ari was always about making the biggest and the loudest impression, and so that was exactly what the Master Alchemist searched for in the undulating crowd. Nia found him quickly enough, looking like a brand new phoenix borne of its own ashes and ready to rise and shine again. It was exactly everything she had ever expected of the Canaveris lord, and… he was already occupied. Dancing with someone else.
“Well… looks like we may have taken a little bit too long, after all. He’s already found himself a partner. Is that…” Nia squinted her eyes at the blue-clad woman who currently occupied the Canaveris lord’s attention. “...could that be… is it Chara Rigas?!”
Dependable. From any other person’s lips, Hadwin would question that person’s sanity. Even now, he still questioned Briery’s soundness of mind. Among a sea of people who emphasized his need to behave, to present as noncontroversial, sterile, and staid, she encouraged his nonconformity—championed it, even. But wholesale acceptance of his problematic persona also presented its own risks, its own concerns. Beyond his charming smiles and penchant for stirring the pot lay a dangerous, unsettled creature who ruined lives and she wanted him to stay that way? As madness incarnate?
Briery, like Teselin, was sometimes too generous about his so-called favorable traits.
And…Sylvie, too.
“Crush? You know it!” He chuckled, whipping his cloak in a flourish. “I have that effect on young, impressionable girls, y’know. They want a taste of the bad boy, the rebel who challenges the status quo and who’ll pluck them out of their stable yet dull as dishwater lives and introduce them to some swashbuckling series of adventures. I ain’t gonna answer her call, though,” he shrugged with a too flippant, too unbothered air. “I’m not who she wants. I’m just a symbol for freedom, and not a very good one, at that.”
Glad for Briery’s approval, Hadwin’s expression went from mildly wistful to grinning like a fool in an instant. “I’m a mite wobbly on my feet, but it’s nothing I can’t handle if we stick to the floor routine. So let’s do it!” He brought his face close to hers, their lips nearly touching. “Lead and I’ll follow, boss.”
Hence began their routine, heavily modified for the venue and circumstances, but no less a sight to behold. In place of uninspired, repetitions patterns repeated ad nauseum, the two members of the Missing Links whirled outside the established parameters of the waltz-circle and revolved around each other like two figures caught in an infinity knot. To tie this knot taut, they weaved and twisted, ducked and spun, coordinating their movements to mirror-image synchronicity. And at the end of every complementary oscillation and free-form, yet simultaneously rhythmic ministration, they always met in the middle, like two stones returning to magnetic north’s center. The whole dance was such a spectacle, it attracted a small crowd, who applauded when their routine reached its inevitable finale (and for Hadwin, his inevitable physical limit). Although his chest heaved something fierce and he took his breaths in syncopated gasps, he hadn’t appeared happier, or more fulfilled, in a long, long time. “Fuck, Brie, we still got it!” he managed between breaths, and about sealed their finale afterglow with a kiss…but paused when something, someone, caught his eye.
In the crowd, maskless, and watching with a stare so passive, she might as well be wearing one—was Rowen.
He froze as he looked over Briery’s shoulder, eyes growing wide. Rowen. Rowen! She was dead; this had to be a ghost, a phantom, a hallucination created by his fearsight!
Their eyes met, and it was all too real. She didn’t appear like the vengeful spirit of Fiona, all shadows and glass, and neither did she manifest as previous iterations of Rowen, which visited his nightmares, both sleeping and waking, as a bloody husk with pinpoint red eyes, vibrant red eyes, and a cutting, accusatory voice. This Rowen breathed, occupied space, interacted with her environment, embodied all three dimensions, captured the light, and the sound of her footfalls as she turned and retreated were no fabrications of the mind. Rowen…was alive!
She wanted him to follow.
“Hey,” he patted Briery’s shoulder; gentle, so as not to arouse suspicion, or alarm, “I gotta step out a minute. You mind? I’ll be back in a few shakes, no worries!”
Without delay, he sprang through the dispersing crowd and followed the scent trail (yes, she even left behind her unassailable odor!) of his dead and buried sister.
Unbeknownst to him, someone else trailed after Hadwin, from a distance. Sylvie, who concluded her waltz with the enchanting raven-masked stranger, hadn’t forgotten her commitment to dance with the devil. As soon as she saw him heading for the koi-fish gardens, she thanked the stranger with a curtsy—and pursued her quarry.
“Well—it sounds as if your husband is one tough act to follow. By your admission, there is no other equipped to outshine him in your eyes. And yet,” the ocean-masked stranger tilted his head to one side, frowning, “you propose absconding with the likes of me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your attention, but I can’t say I hate it.” His frown transformed into a coy grin. Oh, he was in on Elespeth’s little farce!
“I must warn you, though, because it’s only fair, exactly who you’re dealing with tonight. The truth might change your mind.” Adjusting the broach over his cloak, he flung aside the outermost folds that concealed his outfit and revealed an evocative costume; a knee-length cerulean tunic crimped on the edges to resemble ocean waves and lined in thick, white thread, undulating like seafoam. Worn over his shoulders and around his waist, like a sash, was netting. Fish netting, brown and hatched and brimming with little sea critters woven into an ensnaring tapestry; white sand dollars, clam shells, and a variety of sea stars colored in orange, purple, and blue. Among the bric-a-brac of his ensemble, his steel prosthesis, fully exposed, jutted from a mid-length sleeve, daringly displayed with no attempt to hide its distinctive veneer under a glamour.
“My name is Alster Rigas. Yes, that one. Serpent Bane. A figure steeped in controversy and disdain. Only my wife can handle me, but if you think you can rival her unwavering tenacity, then I invite you to try.” This time, when he accepted her hand, he scooped it up with slithering steel fingers. His smile curled and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’m sure our partners will forgive our trespasses. They’ll have to, because,” his voice lowered to a smooth, sensuous whisper, “I’ve acquired a taste for gold this evening.” His arm slinked around her waist, drawing her so close, their foreheads sat a hair’s sliver apart. “Will you help me sate my appetite?”
“If I am candid, and I will be, who are you to presume I fancy a dance with you?”
Ari stiffened in Chara’s hold, a reportedly defiant act to the observer, but in his perspective, it wasn’t defiance, but fear freezing him in place, arresting his ability to move more than his mouth to speak his disdain.
“And you believe I feel differently?” Chara scoffed, but out of seeming respect for his boundaries, she did not engage beyond her hand, which remained pressed loosely against the small of his back, ready to drop at any notice of his fervent disagreement. “I merely aim to correct your clumsy little blunder. I thought you of all people would be interested in saving face.”
“If that is the case, then answer me this; why have you arranged yourself in the lead position?” Sure enough, Chara had not only placed a hand around his waist, but also poised one foot forward, pointed and ready to launch into a waltz, with Ari as her unwitting passenger and hostage.
“Well,” she blew out a sigh of exaggerated petulance, “I suppose old habits truly linger like lice, Lord of Stella D’Mare.” However much she didn’t intend it, she uttered his self-proclaimed title in mocking tones, mouth curling in derision. “Blame me all you like, but this is how we used to do it. You never inspired confidence about your leadership before… My, have you ever undergone so many dynamic changes since taking on your late brother’s mantle. I do not say this often, but I am impressed.”
“…Are you here to cast aspersions, Chara, or are you here to recover my dignity as per your claim?” Ari was fast regretting his oversight in leaving Isidor’s tonic in his other coat, as the present situation required the utmost calm, which Chara never engendered. Worse yet, Chara was touching him. Wonder of wonders why he didn’t freeze on the spot, a statue immortalizing his vibrant grandiosity in ugly, colorless stone. “Amidst all your drivel and borderline insults, I am not getting a very clear picture of your charitable nature. At this juncture, I’d rather the dance if it silences your instigating maw for a peaceful moment.” He managed—perhaps somewhere among the bickering he discovered the willpower—to summon enough courage to rearrange his hands around her waist, assuming control over the waltz. “It is lamentable, really, that you request my aid and then besmirch my character at my own event. How typical of Chara Rigas.”
Apparently, his words had found their mark. The slighted woman, well-deserved in her slight, shriveled, as though browbeaten by a domineering presence. Her hands hooked around his shoulders like anchors resisting their plunge to the ocean bottom, and she yielded to his direction, allowing him to shove her around the dance floor. In some angles, their dance translated as an aggressive one, with Ari overcompensating for control via elongated, stalking steps and jerking motions, which belied the gracefulness befitting his costume. Amidst the dance, less a dance than one man sweeping about a broom, Chara spoke through the tense silence. “Is it not better to embody my role as the villain of your story, Ari? Is it not more validating, more cathartic, to despise me? Better that than a forgiveness you feel obligated to give, and of which I will never deserve.”
Awareness blinked back into Ari, a sensation half-forgotten during his concentrated bid not to succumb to her tactics by snatching every modicum of unruffled authority at his command. Chara’s confession, one in which he’d heard before, stymied his inertia nonetheless, as he found himself slowing his nervous, borderline waltz-ruining pace and lending an ear to listen. He considered her sentiments before deciding to cease his dominant stance and meet her at her own level. After all, what use was wresting control if the other party had willingly relinquished it? Why bully a bully with physical force and feather-fluffed posturing when he was always so determined to rise above it, with cool pragmatism and words of equivocation? The bullheaded method he currently employed…wouldn’t it, too, lead to his ruination via flare-up? “Chara, please stop making decisions on my behalf,” he said, smoothing out the wrinkles in his still-bristling demeanor. “It is not only profoundly disrespectful, but it removes my agency from a dynamic that very much involves me. Do I not have a say on how I would prefer to resolve this unnecessary enmity between us? At the very least, I thank you not to infantilize me. I am hardly the same child you fished out of the water; I can make my own decisions.”
This very brazen response seemed to cow Chara even further. She hunched forward, almost looking ready to collapse, or perhaps vomit. “So you can.” She bit her tongue, wrestling with the next words. “…Forgive me, Ari. Truly. It is…I suppose it is easier for me to antagonize when the alternative is…”
“—Facing the discomfort of your actions,” he finished, nodding his understanding. Though she couldn’t tell, his brow softened beneath his mask. “I am not so oblivious as to not acknowledge your coping mechanisms, frustrating as they are to be on the receiving end of. …Painful, too,” he muttered, nearly drowned out by the music. “But I do hope you recognize how you choose to cope is not conducive to the person you have hurt. In fact—you might be exacerbating the problem, and closing all doors to the opportunities you secretly desire: absolution. Well,” he corrected lightly, “not a full pardon of your sins, but…a close second. I assure you, Chara, it is not beyond your capability to reach, so long as you are honest with yourself and with others.”
If Chara had a retort, or, more than likely, a reasonable response, it was interrupted by the arrival of a certain golem and a woman attired as a garden fairy, adorned in flowers with opalescent dragonfly-shaped wings jutting from her back. It didn’t take a genius-level mage to ascertain the woman’s identity, based on the context clues presented before her—in particular, her partner’s reaction. Ari, realizing just who was about to cross his path, ceased his waltz so abruptly, Chara almost crashed into his chest. Never one to resist a jibe or two, she turned to the fairy woman and worked her mouth into a smug, triumphant smile.
“My apologies for stealing your intended first dance,” though she oozed sass, no hostility or ill-will dripped from her voice. “I was simply instructing your partner on how to perform a simple waltz in preparation for your arrival. I cannot say if I have succeeded, but you are free to explore for yourself.” Curtsying to Ari, she stepped aside and waved over the fairy woman who was obviously Nia. “Please don’t let my visit spoil your fun. Business matters; nothing so trite. We shall resume the particulars of our business matters in the morning,” she said of Ari before disengaging from the unfinished waltz and fluttering her way into the crowd, her previously heavy shoulders sitting lighter on her frame and her steps bouncier, less burdened.
Unfortunately, dealing with the aftermath of Chara Rigas, no matter how unproblematic she orchestrated her exit, was nothing short of awkward—at least for Ari.
“That…encounter was entirely unplanned,” he whirled on Nia, desperate in his appeal for understanding. “In my ardent search for you, I was unaware of my footing and accidentally trampled on Chara. Of all the horrid luck to have! Alas,” he pressed some of the residual shakiness from his throat, “it is all over now. Come,” he extended his hand, the same one spoiled by the woman whose unprompted encounter, however hopeful its end, had upset his balance and forward momentum. In a matter of minutes, he lost the heart to dance. Even so, he still endeavored to make the effort, knowing how much he looked forward to this moment with Nia. “Let me get a closer look at you. My,” his smile was fragile, almost breakable, yet heartfelt; holding his own against Chara had tired him prematurely, but somewhere, in Nia’s arms, perhaps, he would recover his second wind. “My, you look wondrous, like you emerged straight out of a flower from the fae realms. However did you manage the wings?”
Lazuli, who, unlike the majority of the ballroom attendees, did not sport a mask, stepped forward in her gown, a somewhat revealing number which added emphasis to the mounds of her shapely breasts and exposed her long, muscular legs with severe slits that ran almost the length to her thighs. “We had a few sheets of transfigured mica still available; they were malleable enough to be shaped into deluxe-sized firefly wings.”
At that moment, Ari’s fragile smile underwent its own transfiguration, reinforcing and strengthening through the chemical reactions occurring within his own body. Now, it held firm, displaying elements of joy and satisfaction. “What delightful news, to hear the resounding successes of your teamwork. The two of you look lovely, simply lovely. Please,” he waggled the fingers of his gloved hand, “let us not delay any further. The second dance is about to begin. I might not have reached you in time for the first dance, but nothing in the rules of etiquette dictate that we cannot treat the second dance as such, for it still counts as our first official dance together.”
The lady in mourning suffered no rejections, and she made her stance quite clear when her hand refused to withdraw its request from her disinterested chosen. If he continued to deny her, she planned on standing there all night if necessary, or, depending on her patience, grab his hand, unprompted. This was not a flirtation, which relied on the delicate ebbing and flowing of noncommittal teasing before an eventual agreement to explore the next tier of boundaries was made. This was a proposition; clear-cut, certain, and containing only one correct answer—Yes. Of course, she knew Isidor; knew him to cave in to societal pressures; knew she would eventually wear him out to the point where he agreed to a dance if it avoided conflict and any further embarrassment. She needn’t press the invitation for long.
At last, their hands made contact, and he finally understood why she lobbied for his attention to such a forceful degree. Yes, it was her…but not as he once knew her. Too much had changed. She had changed.
The moment, however, didn’t call for their reunion to be a jarring, discombobulated mess. He deserved a positive experience for a change, free of conflict, strife, and sorrow. And so, dispensing of idle talk, she did not respond but for the gentle closing of her free hand over his shoulder, and the subtle, nonverbal corralling from the wall to the ballroom proper. Once they arrived at their destination, she led him into a dance. Nothing complicated. A toddling swing, to and fro, back and forth, and simplified foot patterns. Slow and measured, but not at a dragging pace, either. As they moved, she swayed her hips to the vibrations underfoot, and directed Isidor’s hand to rest there, to experience the rippling of her working muscle groups beneath the wrinkles of her gown, and to feel her warmth, her pulse, her existence. She was present. Of flesh and blood, not of star stuff scattered endlessly across the universe.
One hand climbed from its perch upon his shoulder and alighted on his cheek, the backs of her fingers featherlight, tickling…wanting. No sooner did they land on his face than they fled, as though scalded by his aura. Defeated, the hand fluttered downwards and resumed roosting on his shoulder, stiff and immobile.
Oh, had she so much to say! So much to tell him, so much to answer for and confess. But…did those confessions have a place in this world at all? Did she still belong to this world, after everything that happened?
It didn’t matter right now. Not when she didn’t remember the last time she felt so safe, so protected. In her struggle to resist temptation and to exude cool, unaffected calm, she surrendered her attempts at cultivating that detached, mysterious alter ego, broke the established barriers she bade herself follow—and pulled him into a long, grateful hug.
Elsewhere in the ballroom, Bronwyn was actively searching for Sigrid, a not-so-easy feat when she not only had to dodge eager strangers who desired to dance with her, but also needed to keep her nose trained and active at all times. Since she wasn’t used to crowds, the multitude of scents that entered her nostrils at once caused a great deal of olfactory overload, and the onset of a headache. So many people doused themselves head-to-toe in perfumes and oils so strong and astringent, her nostrils felt aflame with every sniff. Others stank of alcohol, but considering her lifelong experiences with her drunkard mother and brother, this was a smell that she’d grown accustomed to, and it didn’t bother her as much.
She found others but the person she resolved to save. She glimpsed Hadwin in his red devil mask (unsurprising), Teselin and Isidor occupying space against the wall, and the monolithic she-golem whose distinctiveness required no nose to locate. In vain, she kept searching until her nose led her to a statuesque (but not a golem) man wearing a stag mask, sprawling carved antlers granting him even more unnecessary height.
He could help. She knew he could help.
She boldly approached him, and more boldly dispensed of their identities. “Haraldur,” she hailed the man, stepping in close. She pointed to her mask, designed to resemble a falcon; it was dipped in accents of yellow and orange feathered tips to complement her autumn-colored dress, its delicate layers of fabric acting like variegated leaves piled one on top of the other. “It’s Bronwyn. I’m having…well, I’m having one hell of a time finding your cousin. Maybe she never showed,” she chuckled, only now reviewing that very real possibility. “But I promised I would keep her company tonight, and…there’s too many people here. My nose is determined to find everyone but her. Are you…are you available to help?”
The man in the stag mask smiled, signaling his compliance. “I have Forbanne in disguise posted all over this ball. With dozens of eyes on our side, we’re bound to find her.”
“Discreetly, of course,” Bronwyn added as a caveat. “She doesn’t want anyone to know it’s her. Stella D’Mare wouldn’t be thrilled about her attendance here.”
"A very reasonable decision. And one I applaud." Briery smiled gently, knowing that no matter how out of control her dear faoladh could become, or how many scandals he could stir up, he would never involve impressionable young girls in his games and flights of fancy. She attributed as much not only to his lingering sentiments toward his late sister, but also to the fact that having kept Teselin Kristeva as a close companion for the past few years created in him a knack for responsibility that might not otherwise have been triggered. However dark his reputation, Briery Frealy knew that Hadwin Kavanagh was one of the safest people a young girl could have in her company, for his fierce knack for protecting. "I am sure that young Sylvie Canaveris is yet too young to truly know exactly what it is she wants. But I, on the other hand…" The ringleader took Hadwin's hands and smiled devilishly. "I know exactly what I want right now. And that's a dance with you, my friend."
The ballroom, along with the occasion in and of itself, did not make for the perfect environment to dance the way they had for the crowds that gathered for the Missing Links' performance. But that didn't stop them from breaking the convention of the waltz and challenging the flow of the music with their sharp swingwarmedgirls, still perfectly synchronized despite the time in-between that moment and the last time they had wowed an audience with their unconventional moves. Dancers, some startled and others amazed, stopped to make room for the sprightly pair. Hadwin hadn't forgotten a thing, and even considering how he compensated for what he lacked in strength, they didn't fail to entertain onlookers who had stopped to take in their upbeat choreography. The smile on Hadwin's face when they concluded their jig warmed the acrobat's heart. It made her wish she hadn't spent these months cooped up and keeping to herself, avoiding some of those she cared deeply about simply because she was hurting. Hadwin had been hurting, too; and it didn’t occur to her until now that perhaps the two of them could have shaken free from that hurt, even just a little, if they had tried to reconnect.
Her smile broadened at Hadwin’s glee that the two of them hadn’t fallen out of sync in all the time it had been since they’d last danced together. This was the Hadwin that she knew and loved: and just like he had saved her from imprisonment and prevented the dissolution of the Missing Links, his spirit saved her again in reminding her that even in the face of dire loss, happiness could be found in the smiles of others. “Of course we’ve still got it. I never forget anything I’ve ever performed; and I doubt you’d ever forget a choreography that we worked so hard on.”
For a moment, it looked as though the gleeful faoladh meant to lean in to kiss her. It was a gesture she would have happily accepted, and reciprocated, but when he hesitated, Briery knew right away that something had to be wrong. Hadwin’s eyes drifted to something over her shoulder; or, rather, someone. But who could he possibly be recognizing in a room full of masked and costumed individuals? His nose was keen, but not from that distance. “Hadwin.” The acrobat’s voice was as soft as her hand that she lifted to touch his face. “Hadwin… are you alright?”
It was a rhetorical question. Briery knew him well enough to know when something was off, and his reassuring tone and pay on the shoulder did not fool her for a moment. “What is it, Hadwin?” Who are you seeing? Was what she really wanted to say. And… are they really there?
Knowing better than to leave him alone to chase someone who may not even be there, the Missing Links’ ringleader politely excused herself as she pushed past dancers and other attendees to follow her wayward friend, in the event that he ended up needing some help--which, when it came to Hadwin, was more often than not.
“Oh--I think you’ll find it takes a lot to change my mind.” Elespeth drawled, and took a step back to give him an obvious once-over as a means to exaggerate her interest. Clever of Alster to don heeled shoes to give him a little more height than she was used to seeing; had she not been so connected to her husband, able to know him by touch alone, he might have had her fooled simply from not presenting as slightly shorter than her! “Perhaps… I am just looking for something a little different tonight. A little unconventional. After all, I can dance with my husband any day.” Her coy smile creeped up the sides of her face and she cocked her head slightly to the side. “But it isn’t everyday that I can sample the company of a complete stranger… however much you think I am going to change my mind.”
In a single bold move, Alster removed his cloak to reveal the full, sea-inspired expanse of his costume. It was a relatively safe decision, embracing the spirit of Stella D’Mare and its seaside wonder, when he could have easily donned a number of alternate themes that would just as easily capture his personality, his skills, his being: darkness, celestial wonder, the power he harnessed over electricity. It appeared that he had decided to try his darndest not to trigger any of the attendees who might still be sensitive to his controversial nature. But The sea was so integral to the identities of any D’Marian that it didn’t particularly make him stand out as the Alster Rigas--something she might never have told him as a caring, supportive wife, but tonight, she was a stranger. So poking a little bit of fun at him was not off the table.
“Alster Rigas… The bane and the hero of Stella D’Mare. Are you really telling me I am in the presence of both the best and the worst thing to happen to that city?” Elespeth took a step back to feign surprise, and even brought a hand up to her mouth. “I never would have guessed. Your costume suggests you could really be anyone from Stella D’Mare… but you swear that you are the Alster Rigas? Perhaps I am in over my head…” The former knight raised a hand to her cheek and flashed a dire look of uncertainty. “I fear what might become of my reputation if it is found out that I danced with one of the most controversial figures in this entire kingdom… Well,” She blew air from between her lips and shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose, then, I’m afraid I cannot reciprocate your gesture, and I must keep my own identity carefully to myself. For my own protection, I’m sure you understand. There is already too much tension in this kingdom for me to get caught up in such dire controversy…”
While her words suggested one thing, however, her sly smile did not convey any hesitation when she took his cool, steel hand in her own. “That said… I like living a little dangerously, now and then. I’m afraid I cannot speak for your wife, and whether she would condone a dance with a complete stranger, but I have a feeling my dear husband would be very supportive of my desire for… a little bit of adventure. You’re right, though.” When the distance between them closed, she rested a gentle hand against his chest. “Neither of our spouses really has a say right now, in this present moment. And, we may well never meet again, so… why not seize this night for all it is worth?”
Elespeth was not a poor dancer, but neither was she quite as practiced as Alster Rigas. She’d had few opportunities since first fleeing Atvany to practice stepping to a rhythm with a partner, and was certainly no better than any other masked attendant in Ari’s ballroom. But dancing with Alster was not at all like dancing with a stranger, and it never seemed to matter how much or how little they practiced together: it always seemed to just work. So when the both of them threw a simple, boring waltz to the wind, and twirled and stepped with a little more intimacy during the second song, Elespeth didn’t even have to think about her footwork or left or right. So long as she focused on the energy sparking between herself and her husband, the way she could feel the heat of his body so close to her own, could count his syncopated breaths and heartbeat, she never fell out of step. Nor did she pay attention to the energy she exerted to swing and step and twirl in ways quite contrary to a waltz, that by the end of the song, sweat had begun to bead at her temples, and each and every breath was laboured, much in the same way it became when she trained. Even in disguise, Alster Rigas never failed to take her breath away.
There was no mistaking it: the woman with Ari now--and it was most definitely a woman--was also most definitely Chara Rigas. Nia didn’t have to step up and break socially accepted conventions to know this for a fact. Not only from the particularly awkward way that Ari danced with this unlikely partner, but because she could tell even from where she stood that more than simple, polite dancing was taking place between the two. They were, from the looks of it, arguing; the Master Alchemist could practically feel the tension all the way to the other side of the room. Then again, she couldn’t think of a time when she had ever witnessed Chara Rigas and Ari in the same room together without mutually emanating negative energy, given their tumultuous past of unresolved conflict.
Which only further begged the question… What in all hells were the two of them doing, dancing together?!
“I don’t know… whether to be concerned, or confused, or…” Nia narrowed her eyes and adjusted her mask, as if questioning the reality unfolding before her. “Threatened? I mean…” She craned her neck to glance at Lazuli, who stood nearby, impassive and unmasked. “What do you make of this?”
The golem woman, however, appeared relatively unfazed to find her master and friend in the presence of someone she loathed, possibly more than Nia herself, for all of her transgressions against Ari. She moved toward the dancing couple, and, startled though she was, Nia could only follow suit, lest she flounder all alone in a sea of costumes and masks and people that most certainly did not want to know that she was there. She wasn’t sure if it was her arrival or Lazuli’s which interrupted the Rigas woman and the Canaveris lord, but all that mattered was that their arrival stopped Ari mid-dance--quite literally, such that Chara nearly lost her footing and crashed into him. Her blundered footwork didn’t seem to bother or embarrass her on any level; on the contrary, she appeared quite pleased with herself.
Fortunately, Nia was too confused to feel particularly threatened, and shrugged her shoulders with a smile. “Hey--whoever said I can’t be a good sport? I can share, you know.” But regardless, the haughty, blonde Rigas woman declared she was already done with whatever business she’d had with Ari, and revoked whatever temporary claim on him, and stepped aside. What perhaps threatened her more than Chara Rigas dancing with the man she loved was the fact that his once-paramour knew exactly who she was, despite the elaborate detailing that Lazuli had added to her costume. If Chara could spot her through her disguise, then who else could!?
Her anxiety, however valid, was mercifully short-lived as soon as she caught the glimmer of approval in Ari’s eyes when he finally had the opportunity to really look at her. It even went so far as to make her blush! As if this were the first time he was noticing her (which was very far from the truth). “Now, listen: this is your party. You dance with whoever the hell you want; you don’t owe me any explanation.” As confused as she was to find him in the arms of the very last person she’d expect to see him with, the Ardane woman had too much faith in her romantic partner to question his choice in company (and he certainly hadn’t looked as though he preferred to dance with Chara). “I’m just relieved I found you. Though…” She took a step back to take in the phoenix-like glory of Ari’s attire. Here, she’d thought he might don a simple peacock motif, but even that was too ordinary for the exquisite Canaveris lord. “I suppose the joke’s on me, thinking that you, of all people, would ‘blend in’. And here I thought, with Laz’s help, that I might even outshine you. Then again…” She cast a side-eye to the golem woman. “Joke’s also on me for thinking she would dress me to outshine you. Now, are you sure you’re up for a second dance already?”
It didn’t take the touch of a Master Alchemist to know that even if Chara’s absence, the damage had been done, and beyond his smooth, suave demeanor, Nia could tell he was high-strung and most likely fearing a flare-up. “On second thought…” Nia boldly lifted her hand to cup the side of Ari’s face. “Maybe a second dance--with the right person--is just what you need. Just like before, when there was no one around, and you were terrified to touch me, but ended up enjoying yourself nonetheless. So don’t fret.” She took his hand into her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m here to personally make sure that nothing--and no one--ruins this night for you.”
The last thing Isidor Kristeva wanted to do was dance, even in the presence of the only person he would ever be willing to dance with. He had so many questions, and on top of his endless deluge of quiet inquiries, explanations and excuses beat against his throat and rib cage for release. Apologies for pushing her away, for trying to help her when she never needed help, save her when she never needed saving… to find her, when she had not wanted to be found. The guilt the Master Alchemist felt for her disappearance and his role (however indirectly) in it has weighed on his shoulders for months, crushing him slowly, causing him to sink deeper and deeper into regrets and what ifs, and oh, how he had yearned for the chance to just make it right again! To go back and fix whatever it was he had broken that drove Tivia away. To… to reclaim his chance at a fulfilling life outside of his tower.
Why now? Why show up now, when he had already resolved to return to Nairit? The night that Locque was slain for good, he’d thought he saw the shimmering apparition of a lily. But there were many things that Isidor saw in the dark of night that he did not believe it, because he knew better than to think they were real, such as apparitions of Arisza in those moments between sleep and wakefulness. Even now, knowing full well he was awake and aware, a part of him couldn’t believe this was actually happening. That Tivia was actually here, and that he might… he might actually have a chance to make things right.
If making things right began with a dance, then he would oblige without hesitation. He let her lead him among the other dancers to find a place of their own. He took Tivia’s pale hand in his own and placed his other at her waist. And he let her lead him into a dance, simple enough for his unpracticed feet to follow. “I know… that you must have left for a reason. That the life you were leading at the palace no longer suited you. You don’t have to explain that reason to me.” His voice was quiet, just loud enough for her ears, over the din of music and chatter. “I also know that I… I must have pushed you away. My excuses at this point do not matter, but I hope that you know that it… was never, ever my intention. And that I am sorry.”
Sorry that he could not be what she needed; sorry that he could not be what he needed, either. Or what anyone needed--not anymore. Even Nia, who had once been so desperate to connect with him, if only to have someone to relate to, was busy winning over not only Ari, but everyone in his household. Neither were Isidor’s skills unique with her around. Everything had come full circle for the youngest Kristeva brother, and there was nothing left but to return to the very beginning.
“I understand the need to want to get away. And I… well, I have certainly spent more time in Galeyn than I had originally intended. All is well now; and Locque is gone. I haven’t told anyone else yet, for fear they will object, but…” He turned his head downward to focus on his feet, for fear he might misstep and take a tumble if he broke the rhythm. “I’m returning to Nairit, when these festivities conclude. I’ve been resisting it’s call for too long. That tower… it was once a prison to me. But without the man that made it a prison, it’s my home. The forest… well, it’s beautiful. So quiet, people rarely disturb it. If you saw it, I think you’d agree. And the tower itself, it doesn’t have to be so dark anymore. I think… I’ll finally take down the boards that block the windows. After all, I’ve learned a little bit of light won’t kill me.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at his former self, who had always cringed at the tiniest sliver of daylight. “I’d like to take some samples from the Night Garden, see if I can replicate some of the flora in my solarium. I’ve been told that with the exception of the tree in Braighdath, plants from the Night Garden do not thrive outside the garden itself, but even more impossible things have been known to happen, yes?”
It occurred to him that he was nervous as his rambling escalated, just as it had in those days before he’d become familiar with Tivia. He felt as though he had gone right back to the beginning with her… which was preferable from picking up on the sore note from which they had left off. But then, the star seer did a curious thing, and reached up to touch his face, startling the Master Alchemist out of his thoughts before that touch followed up with an embrace. Isidor froze at first, unsure of how to respond. What did this mean? What was it she wanted from him? If he returned the embrace, would it be wrong…? “...you don’t have to tell me why you are here. And you don’t have to tell me… that I am not the reason you’ve returned.” He might have been slow to read into social situations, but that did not make Isidor a fool. He knew better than to presume that he had ever meant as much to this woman as she had to him… which was, perhaps, the reason they had not been meant to be.
“But, whatever your reason, or whatever plan you have for the future, just know that I am glad to have known you. And, be it here or in Nairit… I will miss you.” At last, he wrapped his arms around her back, finally convinced that not only was this real, but that this moment was as ephemeral as the woman in his presence… and that he might not ever have this opportunity again.
Not sooner had Sigrid Sorenson arrived at the masquerade that she made a beeline to find the nearest glass of wine. Through the day, she had lost contact with both Teselin and Bronwyn, and it had become clear that she would be arriving in her brand new cerulean suit alone. The Canaveris ballroom was already crowded by the time she stepped in, in her sleek, blue mask and matching attire, but she soon found she had to give credit to the obnoxious Master Alchemist who had temporarily lightened her skin and styled her hair in a way in which she had never worn it before. No one appeared to recognize her: and somehow, that anonymity not only provided a deep sense of relief, but also one of confidence.
Of course, the wine that the blonde warrior inevitably found contributed to that confidence, and the ability to carry herself without hanging her head to hide from the world. As someone who certainly had not built a tolerance to alcohol and spirits, one glass was all she needed to ease into the atmosphere. As she passed through the crowd, she noticed she’d caught the eye of a number of women, but it wasn’t until her second glass of wine and the conclusion of the first dance that she found it in her to bow in response to their curtsies.
Oh, but she was not fool enough to actually dance with any of them. Her single goal in her emboldened state was to track down Hadwin, and give him as much hell as she was capable of getting away with. However, she did not have the luxury of Bronwyn’s or Hadwin’s discerning sense of smell, and everyone else in this crowd might as well have been a stranger, even on the chance that she knew them beneath their masks. She didn’t even recognize her own flesh and blood kim when he suddenly faced her wearing a stag mask. At first, she suddenly fretted that she’d been recognized as a woman and that a man was about to ask her to dance, until she took in the stature and the broad shoulders of someone she realized she actually knew quite well.
“...Haraldur?” A sigh of relief escaped the former Dawn Warrior’s mouth. “Thank the gods, I was beginning to think I’d be on my own here.”
Sigrid adjusted her sky-blue mask, which had been fashioned in a simple style that wasn’t reminiscent of anything in particular. A simple shield for her eyes which came out to a point to cover the bridge of her nose, accented with silver patterns throughout. Non-descript, which was exactly what she would have wanted. “Have you tried the wine? I think, after tonight, it and I are going to become good friends.” She held up her goblet and grinned widely. “If I’d known that this is all it would take to feel comfortable at a party, I’d have become acquainted with it long ago! And who is…” She trailed off, studying the mask, the stature, and the gown of the woman in her cousin’s company. “...Bronwyn! You look positively beautiful. Do you have a partner for the second dance?”
She offered her hand and smiled with perhaps more confidence than she felt. “...fair warning, I am not much of a dancer. But I’m willing to try if you are.”
Deep down, Hadwin knew he was chasing a ghost. Not a ghost of Fiona’s like, either, the kind that crouched in the corridors behind his eyes and sprang into his periphery like an unwanted surprise, never leaving him—just lying in wait. This ghost didn’t cling or haunt his person, but flitted around in much the opposite way; in a bid to get away from him. As with the ephemeral nature of ghosts, as soon as he caught up to her, she would disappear, and he’d be left, once again, questioning his sanity.
Aware of his trajectory and where it would lead, Hadwin still braced onward on the slim to none chance that this time, following Rowen would yield a different result. Just once, his gamble had to bear fruit. What fruit, though? He wasn’t sure. What did he want from her? Forgiveness? Closure? Some miracle where she survived getting torn apart? Stranger things have happened among the company he kept. So in that case, wasn’t he also in the market for a miracle? One in which Rowen not only survived, but divested herself of her toxic darkness, and—?
Now he really was sounding like a damn headcase, to believe something of that vein would ever happen, especially after all the damn chances Rowen was afforded in life. And yet, here he was, searching the crowd for a spectre and ready to plunge into yet another agonizing cycle where Rowen’s gains were contingent upon his loss, and vice versa. Positioned on opposite sides of the horizon, they could never rise together.
But Rowen was dead sure of making him fall with her. And he was the chump who handed her a loaded crossbow aimed at his heart. An easy target. So damn easy! But he couldn’t stop, not now, when he was so close to gaining on her!
He brushed past couples in mid-dance and attendants presenting hors d'oeuvres, not registering a thing beyond his target who teased just out of his sight and out of his reach. He could have toppled some poor sods in midst of their sexual awakening, or knocked a tray of food into an unfortunate attendee’s flashy costume, but he had no awareness or memory of anyone else. And just when he thought he’d gained on her, gotten near, smelled her sweat in his nostrils, and caught sight of those reflective eyes in the lantern light…
It was him. Only him, standing in the middle of a lightly-trafficked garden pathway. It happened again. Another moment when he couldn’t trust his mind. And what other lies had he cooked for himself?! He probably imagined Briery, too!
“Fuck,” he curled one hand into a shivering fist, but without anything safe to hit, it cracked from the pressure, bones breaking as easily as if he’d run them under a mill grinder. “Fuck, fuck, f—“
“—Mister Kavanagh?” A sweet voice interrupted his soliloquy of curses. Looking up, he saw a purple-clad woman with a gown woven in summer flowers, a not uncommon choice of dress among tonight’s attendees but for the mask she donned; a black bandit’s piece, trimmed and fringed along the edges in purple lace. “Excuse me,” she dipped into a curtsy. “You are the red devil tonight. I mustn’t be revealing everyone’s identities willy-nilly. Please forgive my rudeness.”
He knew this woman. He knew her, and yet couldn’t for the life of him remember her significance beyond what she wanted…what the lot of people wanted from him, besides his swift punishment and demise.
He released the pressure from his fist and redirected his interest to this willing, innocent volunteer who stank of desire for him.
“Let’s skip the preamble,” he stalked toward her, one lope at a time, as practiced and natural as a lion on the prowl. “That shouldn’t bother you one bit. You’re not one for following rules, huh,” he gestured to her mask, “flower-crowned bandit? Wouldn’t be wearing that if you weren’t up to a sliver of trouble?”
The flower-crowned bandit giggled, hands girlishly fussing with the hem of her gown. “Well, I was hoping for a dance, but—“
“—Pah, let’s break convention together! We’ve got all night to dance.” So close their foreheads almost touched, Hadwin pressed the knuckles of his (now healed) hand against her face, feeling the heat her cheeks emitted, even from under a mask. “But only one perfect moment. Only this, only now. Let’s make the most of where our paths merged. Couldn’t have picked a better place, yeah? Under the moonlight?”
The flower-crowned bandit turned her head skyward, too bashful of making eye contact. “Ah, yes, tonight is certainly lovely, and—“
“—You don’t have to be afraid.” He gently directed her face to settle on him and his hypnotic golden eyes. “You haven’t done anything like this before, I get it, but we’ll fix that together. Follow my lead, just like you would for a dance, right? Well, it’s sort of like a dance, just with different steps. Here,” his voice lowered to a sultry whisper. “I’ll show you how to steal.” Taking care not to startle her outright, he slowly moved in and caught her lips in a sensuous kiss.
“Do I swear I am—what other D’Marian has an arm like this?” Alster raised one incredulous eyebrow at the gold-clad “stranger” as he flexed and unflexed his steel digits for her inspection. “I’m sure any number of people out there would find it very amusing—and edgy—to impersonate Alster Rigas tonight, and maybe they’d succeed in resembling a few key traits of his with a bit of glamour and creative costuming choices, but by far, it would be most difficult to replicate a prosthesis at this level of sophistication.” He knotted his fingers into an intricate pattern as a demonstration. “The fluidity of movement alone couldn’t be done without an expert’s grasp in engineering. Not to mention, one would need to master command of such an arm through understanding the core principles of energy flow and manipulation, which doesn’t come naturally to all magic-users. No, I’m afraid any attempt at masquerading as Alster Rigas would no sooner fool the most apathetic D’Marian, let alone an attentive audience. Feign ignorance all you like, but you don’t come off as the type who takes no notice of their surroundings—or company.” A spirited yank of his prosthesis, which wove around her hand moments before, urged her into his intimate space. A devious smirk formed on his lips as he supported her waist in preparation for their second dance. “I’m fairly confident you knew it was me all along. Platformed boots would hardly deter an investigative eye such as yours for long.”
“Though—I find it a little unfair that you are unable to reciprocate,” he broached, bringing the gold-clad woman into a coordinated spin. “Would you at least do me the courtesy of making a few guesses? In the spirit of the evening?”
It came as no surprise to find their second dance just as perfect as the first. Perfect, not insofar as the exactitude of their steps in conjunction with the music, but perfect for them. Perfect, because they understood each other, even when in the guise of strangers. They knew how to receive, respond, and react without misstepping or missing the upbeats and downbeats of the waltz. As it were, they left the conventional waltz behind in favor of something more evocative, visceral. Pure instinct fueled their footfalls, abandoning practiced finesse for spontaneity, and it was well worth the trade-off.
“Let’s see, then,” Alster pondered aloud as he led the gold-clad stranger into a lighter, wispier interpretation of the dance, all so he could give his partner a studied appraisal. “Something tells me you’re not a natal D’Marian, yet you know of my exploits as though you’ve seen them yourself, so you can’t be Galeynian, either. Your voice is lightly accented and it harkens me to a specific region up north, but I need more information before I feel comfortable in granting you my educated guess. And I know just how to figure this out, if you’d allow me your mouth for a moment.” The sides of his own mouth twitched their amusement. “Northerners have a distinct mouth shape, but it can only be truly appreciated and felt through full-on contact, preferably with another willing mouth. So, for reasons of science…I propose we kiss. What say you, lovely stranger?” He purred out the question. “Would your husband lose his mind to discover that you locked lips with Alster Rigas, of all people?”
Much as it calmed Ari to reunite with the woman he most wanted at his side, the residual flares of anxiety still sharpened and agitated his mental forbearance, rattling him in places where he did not wish to be rattled, especially during such a joyous occasion! “No, no, I find it rather necessary that I owe you an explanation. I would feel just terrible to ignore your well-being when I cannot imagine how you are faring, at present, among this robust crowd. Please try to disregard that most unfortunate encounter. Etiquette dictated that I dance with the woman I so unceremoniously trampled in my single-minded pursuit of you. Unfortunately, the fates dictated that I spend my apology dance in Lady Chara’s winsome company. A humorous little prank from the universe, but nothing more scandalous than that, I promise.” In his almost frenetic approach to reassure and comfort Nia’s own fraying nerves, Ari placed two fingers over her floral-inspired fairy mask and made a plucking motion near the stamen of one of the silken blossoms. Something small and gray, like a fleck of pollen, sat between his thumb and forefinger, no less offending than a crumb. “I implanted a pebble golem on your mask to aid in my expedited search of you—not that it contributed, any, seeing as you have located me first. Anyway, I hope that you forgive me my precautions, and my questionable methods. Just imagine, though,” a chuckle uplifted his next words, “had I worn a plain, black mask and a nondescript suit. Without Laz’s help, however would you have found me?”
“Not at all,” Laz crossed her arms over her chest, a schadenfreude smile pressing her painted lips together. “I would have let her circle this entire ball in vain.”
“Please do not concern yourself over Lady Chara, either,” Ari continued, heedless of Laz’s throwaway comment. “She only discerned your identity because of how I reacted to your approach. I doubt the other guests are as knowledgeable of my relationships outside the family. Be that as it may, they will wonder and whisper about this mysterious fairy-woman who has enraptured the most ostentatiously-dressed gentleman at the ball. All the better that you are not my match in terms of sheer pageantry. Not that I would not mind sharing the spotlight with a well-deserving competitor,” he prefaced with a self-consciousness smile, knowing his reputation towards vanity preceded him, in all the most unflattering ways, “but it is best not to draw unnecessary attention to yourself, if what you value most is wholesale anonymity. Unless…you would like to outshine me.” With a subtle flick of his hand, the flowers on her mask shifted to a soft, purple glow, highlighting the design without highlighting the features of the woman who modeled it. “Lights or no lights—I leave the choice to you. In the meantime,” he lifted her hand and unfurled his winged arm, draping its multicolored banner around her waist, “we shall dance…as we did when it was but you and me. No one else is here. Only us,” he said, with a self-convincing confidence spoken not just for Nia’s sake, but for his own, as well. He took a few encouraging, warm-up breaths before leading them into their first step, a simple little pivot to the side. The ease and effortlessness towards such a move encouraged him to make the second and third steps, all of which echoed the first. All this time sweating and anticipating this dance, and it was entirely painless!
“I might have Lady Chara to thank for one tiny thing,” he said as they glided around the floor, two-winged beings of legend and dreams hoisting their colors and combining them into a swirling pastiche. “Any dance I partake in from here on henceforth pales in comparison to the dreadful soirée I shared alongside her. Nothing will ever be so unpleasant, or nerve-rattling, of that I must remind myself. I sincerely hope to transfer these halcyon feelings of buoyancy onto you, my love.” His dark eyes, which, close-up, were lined on the edges with cobalt-colored kohl, popped out of the holes of his mask and sought hers with an almost intoxicating stare, despite the fact that he hadn’t imbibed on a single sip of wine. “If I may be so bold as to say, perhaps you need this dance just as much as I do.”
At first, Tivia had operated under the pretense of coaxing Isidor into a dance, but now that she had him where she wanted him, so to speak, she saw no need to enforce the dancing ‘rule.’ In fact, after she had swept him into a rather unceremonious hug, all attempts to sway and follow along to the music had ceased, leaving the two standing there, frozen into an intimate pose. Realizing she might have acted in haste, willfully ignoring his feelings towards getting strong-armed into an embrace mere minutes after confirming the identity of a woman he hadn’t seen in months, she sloughed away from the man, hands off, painful as it was to disengage. For that, she was glad for not only the mourning veil, but the self-imposed gag order. She wouldn’t speak. Not tonight. Not to him, or to anyone else she would likely encounter. It didn’t mean, however, that she was bereft of any alternative workarounds on the communication front.
She was just about to implement one technique in particular and establish a connection until he began to speak…and kept going. And going. Although he couldn’t see, his antics coaxed an endearing smile out of her. How long, truly, had it been since they last spoke like this? Cute as it was to witness, however, the moment he turned his head downward…she hadn’t the faintest clue as to what he was attempting to convey.
Gently, she reconnected her hand to his face, this time curling a few fingers under his chin, and lifting it until his mouth was no longer obscured by a severe angle or shadow. As a reminder, she pointed to her ear, and then threw her hands into an exaggerated shrug. Deaf. A condition that had yet to resolve itself, and likely never would. To show, at least, that she had gleaned some of his ideas, she lowered the same hand to his shoulder, and, with physical contact still established, a voice materialized in his head. Hers.
“What I did was not your fault,” The sound transmitted without frequency, without resonance, directly through the space shared between their incorporeal forms, which embraced pathways in the ether, transcending—and circumventing—the material plane. “I made a horrible mistake. I never should have left the palace.” The good thing about transmitting messages via the ether meant disregarding any implied emotion in the transfer, much as hot tears threatened to pour down her face and disrupt the connection. “But you are alive. So I am happy. You’re alive and that’s all I need to know. It’s not a far cry to say I have returned…because of you.” It was more than she had intended to convey, and she would have stepped away out of respect for the personal space she so discourteously denied him earlier…but then he returned her embrace. Right then and there, she lost her threadbare composure. Tightened her grip on his back as though he would suddenly disappear if she didn’t crush him hard enough. And she quietly wept on his shoulder.
It was no easy task uncovering Sigrid’s whereabouts from the crowd. Even when operating on a full description of her outfit, a dozen cooperating Forbanne, and a faoladh’s discerning nose, it took a little longer than usual to pinpoint an inordinately tall, blonde female figure dressed all in a distinct shade of blue. No sooner did Bronwyn confirm a pale stranger of indeterminate gender as their quarry than Haraldur sidled in for a closer look and came to the same conclusions. She wore her hair in a different weave and changed her pigment through makeup paints or by some other means, but he was finally able to discern his cousin’s clandestine appearance.
And she was soundly drunk.
“What’s the point of wearing a mask if everyone can still figure out who I am? Even drunk?” Haraldur harrumphed, placing one hand on the antlered half of his poor disguise as if to yank it off his head, but thought better of it and let his arm swing free at his side. “I wish I could join you at the wine table, but I have to find my wife. I didn’t want to wear masks at all, but these types of dress-up celebrations tend to bring out the latent reveler in her. If you remember, she made me dress up as the Green Spirit for the Equinox festival. She’s lucky I went this far tonight,” he gestured to the mask, wood-carved and obviously homemade, but no less impressive in its construction, well-balanced, structurally sound, and lovingly detailed.
“I think you’ve done a wonderful job,” Bronwyn piped in beside him, throwing him an awkward hand gesture of approval. “I’m sure your wife will be impressed, too.”
“Let’s hope so,” he tightened the leather thong attaching the mask to his face. “This isn’t the most comfortable thing to wear.”
Bronwyn wasn’t expecting such a loud exclamation from the normally reserved Sigrid, and almost flinched with surprise at how the other woman uttered her name. With purpose, with gusto. With…interest.
She sideeyed the empty glass of wine in Sigrid’s hand. She knew what alcohol made people do, how it influenced one’s desires, actions, and amplified their inhibitions. Yet, the invitation to dance still took Bronwyn aback.
“I…I never intended to dance with a partner. Any partner. But I—“ she looked across at Haraldur, but he’d already bailed, leaving the two would-be dancers to their ultimate fate. Wasn’t this what she signed up for, anyway? Hadwin essentially forced her into a promise; make sure Siggy has a good time. She read it in his eyes, via her Sight. But what ‘good time’ could she provide that the alcohol in Sigrid’s system hadn’t already done? Surely, she wouldn’t be contributing to anything good at all but for the perpetuation of bad choices and piss-poor decision-making.
But in this case, saying ‘no’ was more harmful, and…this was meant to be fun. Shouldn’t she try to have fun for one day in her flavorless life?
“‘Not much of a dancer’ beats my ‘nothing of a dancer.’ I’ve never danced a day in my life; believe me, you’re a professional in my eyes. So,” she accepted Sigrid’s outstretched palm, albeit shakily, “s-show me how it’s done.”
Regardless of where Hadwin’s flights of fancy and impulsive behaviours took him, Briery was perhaps one of the only people (aside from Bronwyn and Teselin) who knew that deep down, however severely he broke rules and conventions and crossed dire lines, the faoladh never meant real harm. He made mistakes--sometimes even intentionally. He pressured people he cared about into situations that made them uncomfortable, that they would not normally approach on their own, but not out of malice or to have a laugh, but to provide that exposure which, while jarring in the moment, would only benefit them in the long run. One such example was that of pulling strings to ensure the broken and barely confidence Sigrid Sorenson, who had been struggling to emerge from the dark place her lover’s death had left her in. Or--perhaps a tad more drastically--forcing Isidor Kristeva to confront the memories his mind had purposely pushed into his subconscious had opened the floodgates for the socially terrified man to confront his shadow self and makes some hard realizations which, while it must have been far from easy, would benefit him down the road (if the poor man could somehow find the right guidance.) Unless it was a bar fight, or he was posturing to protect someone he cared for, Hadwin did not aim to cause harm…
…but, unfortunately, that did not mean that his actions left everyone he encountered unscathed. And it did not excuse those moments when he lost himself completely.
Suspecting that her faoladh companion was headed in a dangerous direction, the Missing Links’ ringleader chose to follow him at a safe distance, although she wasn’t sure he would take notice of her even if she were close on his heels. Something, real or imagined, had caught his attention, and she had a sinking feeling that if someone did not keep an eye on him to intervene should it become necessary, or even just be there if he broke down and crumbled, then the mood of this jovial ball could take a turn for the worst very quickly.
She was not wrong to suspect that.
When a dancing couple suddenly cut her off from her target, at which point she completely lost sight of him just seconds later. Having waded into the heart of the dancing crod, the throng of people was so tightly-knit with so little space between them that she had no choice but to stop until the couples danced past her, creating an opening once again. Unfortunately at this point, she seemed to have lost Hadwin altogether, and he could have been anywhere; it was up in the air as to whether he was still in the room. In a single stroke of luck, however, she came across the small form of a young woman whose nervous mannerisms were unmistakable, and she decided to take a chance.
“Teselin?” Hoping she was right, Briery reached out and laid a hand upon the young woman’s shoulder. To her relief, Teselin spun around and took a look at the person addressing her with wide eyes behind her simple yet elegant mask, trying to discern exactly who it was who’d managed to recognize her. “Briery--it’s Briery.” The ringleader offered, to save her from having to guess. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but you haven’t happened to see Hadwin, have you?”
“Hadwin? Oh--well, we arrived together, but then I wandered off… I’ve been keeping an eye out for Sylvie.” The young summoner admitted, and almost sounded guilty for it. “But there are so many people here, and I think I’ve lost her… why? Is Hadwin… he hasn’t caused any trouble, has he?”
“No. Well…” Briery’s face fell a bit. “Not to my knowledge. But I… do fear that he might not be alright. Will you help me find him?”
Of course, Teselin Kristeva did not need convincing where it came to her dearest faoladh friend. Keeping close to Briery so as not to be separated within the dancing throng, the two kept their eyes open and scanned every inch of their range of vision for Hadwin who, under any other circumstances, would undoubtedly stand out. Unfortunately, with every costume just as bright and attention-seeking as the next, for perhaps the first and last time, tracking down Hadwin was very much like looking for a needle in a haystack. The man in the devil mask was not easily found when he was not looking to be found, and ultimately, he was not the first thing that Teselin spotted in her search for him; rather, it was Sylvie Canaveris, suddenly in the arms of someone other than the tall, dark stranger with whom she had danced.
Both she and Briery audibly gasped to find the young Canaveris girl, locking lips with none-other than a man in a very recognizable devil mask.
Neither the acrobat nor the summoner wasted a beat before springing into action. Briery swiftly took a hold of Hadwin’s shoulders, and with strength that many wouldn’t expect from someone with her lithe frame, hauled him away from Ari’s niece, while Teselin simultaneously took the startled Sylvie Canaveris by the arm and gently tugged her in the opposite direction.
“Hadwin.” With an authoritative tone, Briery spun the faoladh and took his face in both of her hands. “Come back to reality, Hadwin… come back what’s real. To yourself. Please?” She lowered her tone, but didn’t drop her hands from his face. “Come back to me. I don’t know what you thought you saw… but I don’t want to lose you to it.”
“Sylvie…” Meanwhile, Teselin realized that Hadwin had started a rampaging fire which, if not dealt with carefully, would have him kicked out of the D’Marian settlement at the very least. She needed to dampen those flames before they took off. “He’s… please, forgive Hadwin. He didn’t mean to hurt you or overstep boundaries, he’s… he’s not himself. He’s not… well, yet.” That was something the young summoner had suspected, but had been afraid to admit to herself. But there was no denying that Hadwin still needed someone closeby to keep him grounded, when the boundaries of reality became blurred to him. “But he didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear… W-will you come with me?” Realizing that it would be best to put distance between Sylvie and the man who had either played right into her fantasies or otherwise overstepped some sacred boundaries, she offered her hand. “It’s so stifling in here, with all the people… I think we could both benefit from some water.”
“Mmm… you have a point. That arm is quite convincing…” Elespeth tilted her head and made as though she was considering his convincing words, even went as far as to boldly run her fingers along the smooth steel of his wrist. “Not to mention, I can only assume that anyone masquerading as Alster Rigas would only incite the great displeasure of the Alster Rigas… who is not someone I would readily want to have as an enemy. That said…” Her gold-painted eyelids lowered as she looked up at him through full, sultry lashes, and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Perhaps I do have something of an eye for danger, and now that it is finally safe to live a little dangerously… why not? But, as for your desperate plea…”
The former knight looked contemplative for a moment, as if she were actually considering giving up her identity. “Now, I never asked you to divulge your identity, sir--what makes me obligated to reveal mine?” She challenged, when he pulled her closer than two strangers should acceptably be. “Of course, you’re welcome to guess; I can’t stop you from doing that. But I am yet undecided as to whether or not I will confirm. Perhaps my answer will depend on just how well you dance.”
Well, needless to say, Alster did not disappoint--and this dance was far more fun than the measured steps of the first. It reminded her of the day she had earned the title of a Rigas, and they had just renewed their bond through the since-healed scars on her hand: wild, passionate, and entirely not the way a couple of strangers who knew little to nothing about one another would do. Their swift movements, along with the escalating heat in the ballroom with its plethora of moving bodies, caused perspiration to bead on her brow and shoulders, and when the song drew to a conclusion, her heart was racing and her breathing escalated, as if she’d been training instead of dancing. But Alster did not stop; instead, he slowed the dance to something slower and more manageable.
“Bold of you to assume I am neither native D’Marian nore Galeynian,” Elespeth murmured, and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Accents can vary within a region, and I daresay, all accounts of your exploits are likely known throughout Galeyn by now. But… what is this about mouth shape? It seems to me, good sir, that you are trying to find an excuse to kiss a complete stranger.” She arched a curious eyebrow. “My husband aside, what would your own, loving wife think if she caught you kissing another woman? Or… perhaps you, like I, prefer to live dangerously?”
A glimmer of mischief sparkled in her green eyes, which were in and of themselves a lovely complement to the gold covering the rest of her body. “Well… there are hundreds of people here. We could be anyone. I won’t tell if you won’t.” And with that consent, Elespeth leaned into her masked dance partner and sought his lips with her own. Of course it had her heart racing; not only was their chemistry practically electric, but the excitement of this little roleplay (which she was completely aware he was playing along with) added a playful edge to their exchange. The anonymity of the masquerade permitted them a safe space to act in ways that they wouldn’t typically think to, or to flirt in ways that were otherwise uncharacteristic of them. The former knight became so lost in excitement of kissing a man she had kissed time and again that something stirred the wild magic with her, and the two of them were suddenly forced apart from their passionate kiss with an electric shock.
“...my apologies.” Elespeth shook off being temporarily startled with grace, and even bowed her head in apology. “A little too much excitement sometimes stirs my magic against my will. What of your theories that I am northern, now, Alster Rigas?” She planted her hands on her hips, determined to keep up with the charade that she’d started. “Magic is rare in the north, compared to your southern Stella D’Mare.”
“I think I’d have to wander around, breaking a hell of a lot of social conventions and touching everyone I see until I found you.” Nia confessed, rolling her eyes at Laz’s proclamation that she wouldn’t have been any help. “But… mark my words, I would have found you eventually, Ari. Although I feel like you’d have found me first, regardless. You knew what I’d be wearing. Although…”
The Master Alchemist looked over her shoulder, paranoid as to who might be staring and dissecting the situation of precisely whom the most ostentatiously-dressed man in the room was chatting up. While neither of them had announced their relationship of the kingdom on a podium, neither were they particularly secretive about it, and both Galeynians and D’Marians alike were aware of how the Canaveris lord treated her with more kindness and tenderness than they felt she deserved, not to mention how her ‘sentence’ had devolved into a ‘vacation’ in the D’Marian settlement with healthy exercise and good meals. There would be no end to the reasons they would resent her, and even now, disguised as a fairy, it was difficult to let her guard down.
“Not so sure it’s a good idea that I ‘outshine’ you…” She mentioned nervously, touching the wings on her mask, which glowed in her peripheral vision. “I really shouldn’t draw attention to myself, but… if I didn’t want that, then I couldn’t dance with you. And that’s absolutely not an option, because I didn’t let Lazuli crush my ribs in this bodice for nothing.”
Taking his hand, Nia slid the other one onto his shoulder, deciding that she was not about to let paranoia ruin a beautiful moment between her and the man she loved. Hadn’t this been everything she’d wanted? To be out in the open with Ari, without the rest of the world staring at her and condemning her? Everyone else was far too immersed in their own dancing and searching for their own partners, and so many of them had embellished their costumes with magic of some sort. There was no reason to think the woman behind the fairy mask was her.
“Ari, I truly hope that the only reason you’re enjoying our dance is simply because it isn’t a dance with Chara.” The Ardane woman commented as they swayed and twirled, but remembered to smile because she knew Ari would otherwise think he had actually caused offense. But while she was joking, Nia’s footing and pace were off. Her steps too jerky, and her grip on his hand and shoulder too tight. Much as she wanted nothing more but to forget everyone and everything else around her… she was very narrowly managing to suppress her own panic. Even a dance with Chara would be less jarring than this, she thought miserably, but when she looked up to meet Ari’s eyes, she didn’t see disappointment. All she saw was… love.
“I’m not very good at this.” She whispered with guilt. “Parties like this still feel foreign to me. Like I’m intruding and shouldn’t be here… but there’s nowhere else I want to be right now. And I want to… get used to this. Or to have the opportunity to get used to this. What I’m trying to say is…” Nia pushed breath from her lungs in an attempt to calm her nerves and cease the tremble in her hands, a lingering artefact from the trauma she had yet to face and kept safely tucked at the back of her mind. “I want this to be our life together. But damn… of all times to be sworn off alcohol.” Her mouth twitched into a mournful smile. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to loosen up for this dance, but the night’s only just begun, right? We’ve got time. The night… it’s all ours.”
And in a single, bold move, Nia’s hand left his shoulder to cup the side of his face as she captured his mouth with hers in a slow, lingering kiss.
Considering how poorly he understood the choreography behind even the simplest dance, Isidor was so happy to simply pause and indulge this ephemeral woman in a simple embrace. No one seemed to notice or to care, caught up as they were in their dances and partners; he and Tivia might as well have been invisible. But he couldn’t help but wonder… why. Why return now? And why seek him out, when she had left--at least he’d assumed--because of… him?
“Oh--I’m so sorry. I forgot…” The Master Alchemist trailed off when she pointed to her deaf ear, realizing that she likely wasn’t hearing any of his words if she couldn’t read his lips. How could he have forgotten a detail that had never left his mind during that short time they’d been together?! Instead of opting for any more meaningless words, many which she likely wouldn’t hear, especially among the throng of people and over the din of the music, he simply nodded his understanding and allowed her the time and space in his presence to spend it as she saw fit. As it turned turned out, she hadn’t come to hear him ramble, but rather, to say a part, herself. He didn’t flinch when she reached out to touch his cheek… and as clear as day, he heard her voice in his mind.
“Of course I am alive and alright. I’ve been fortunate to keep my feet out of hot water, and to have a good deal of people who look out for me, however much I might not deserve it. What… what happened to you, Tivia? Where did you go?” He spoke to her one good ear, slow and clearly enough for her to understand. When just moments before he had assured her he required no explanation, that she owed him nothing in terms of providing him with any insight as to what had occurred when she disappeared from Galeyn, as soon as she informed him of the reason of her return, everything he thought he’d believed suddenly crumbled. “And why? If I was not the reason you left… then what was?”
Isidor broke the embrace to hold the star seer at arm’s length, not because he did not desire her proximity, but to really look at her… and because he needed her to hear him. “But what… what made you come back now? Were you waiting for it to be safe? If that is the case, then I am beyond relieved you were not present for the bloodshed that took place under Locque’s reign, but, but why… why come back now? When… when I…” The Master Alchemist’s face fell and his voice softened. He looked down at the pointed toes of his black boots, because he did not have the courage to face her. “...when I have finally decided to leave…?”
“Oh--don’t be angry at your costume. There aren’t many here with your stature.” Sigrid chuckled and patted her cousin on the shoulder, with the hand that wasn’t holding her wine. “I don’t exactly see many Forbanne here. Can’t do much when your own body gives you away… what, you won’t stay to drink?” The blonde warrior pouted, looking visibly disappointed beneath her azure mask. “Well, when you find your fiery wife, we’re all drinking. Come and find me. I am not nearly drunk enough to tolerate this event--you hear?”
She called after Haraldur as he waved her off and set out to find his wife. “Huh. What is family food if they won’t get drunk with you when you need it?” Sigrid scoffed and discarded her now empty glass at a nearby table before turning to her faoladh companion.
“If I am being perfectly honest, Bronwyn, I never intended to show up tonight let alone dance with anyone. But, I wasn’t so lucky as to get out of this commitment unscathed… and frankly, those who are not dancing look far stranger than those who are partaking in what this event was intended for. And I don’t know about you, but… I’d rather not stand out as an outlier, and it’s far preferable to completely fail as a dancer when your partner won’t hold you to some high standard. So who cares how poorly the both of us dance?”
When Bronwyn took her hand, it elicited a warm smile from the former Dawn Warrior. Not the smile of someone who had given herself away from alcohol, but rather, someone who was both happy and relieved at the current turn of events. “Thank goodness. For a moment, I was afraid you were going to turn me down.” Sigrid chuckled, and guided Bronwyn’s hand to her shoulder, then situated her own on the faoladh’s waist. “I warn you, my experience with dancing is minimal, at best. I’m still learning. But at the very worst, if we both end up tripping over our own feet… the wine certainly takes the edge off of caring about any of that.”
The trajectory of events differed slightly from Sylvie’s inexhaustible imagination, but she happily accepted the direction. To fall for an unorthodox character inevitably meant that the order in which the beats of her romance occurred was meant to be enjoyed in an unorthodox manner. Kissing, therefore, needn’t be reserved for the end of an evening, or of a dance, as was proper. After all, wasn’t the reason why she fancied Hadwin Kavanagh because of how he boldly banished propriety in favor of passionate, risk-taking overtures that were both exciting and refreshing to experience? This was exactly what she wanted; a departure from the stale and rigid. An adventure, a change, a veritable jostle of the beehive. She moved her lips, parting them gently as would any eager and willing participant of their surprise exchange. They accepted his spunky nips, his playful suckling, the deliberate way he shifted to welcome her contributive reply. She found he was neither forceful nor disrespectful, focused squarely on her comfort and enjoyability. How was he able to embody elements of the gentleman and the rogue, all at once? Gentile, yet daring? Precise, yet pronounced? As her first kiss, it was perfect and magical, the right amount of ‘whisk me away’ and ‘lay me upon the earth.’ Grounded and ethereal—there was everything to love about this moment.
Until she was forcibly evicted, and the dream wrenched her eyes open while her lungs filled with ice water, leaving her alone and exposed and gasping for air. At first, she expected to find her mother, or grandmother, or even Ari glaring disapproval at her and her choice of suitor, but it surprised her to find…
“Teselin.” Her mouth still hung agape, as if anticipating the reconnection of his mouth, who had not yet finished the job. If the summoner had begun this intervention out of concern, then she would quickly have to rectify the misunderstanding and assure her full and unwavering consent! “No, you are misinterpreting the situation. He has not hurt me in the slightest! Why do you stop us? I understand the caliber of man he is, Teselin; I am not daft!” She huffed, indignation overtaking her sacred Canaveris duties as a hostess. “He is perfectly well, and I am perfectly well. Are you to treat me as a child, as well? When I am older than you? I do not require water.” She aggressively shook out the folds in her gown, a maneuver akin to ruffling her tail feathers, and wandered away from the summoner in search of Hadwin—but he was gone. Whoever had stolen him away had done so with the alleged intent to have him all to themselves, with Teselin acting as their accomplice. “Why?” She whirled on the summoner, her agitation apparent, and dangerously exposed. If other Canaverises caught wind of her behavior…would Teselin tell them?! “Why did you stop us? Is this not what he does? I am not ignorant of his reputation; he is a loose man with loose morals. Did my uncle send you here to police my actions? To prevent from blemishing the family name when he is doing a fine job of doing so all on his own?!”
Her eyes widened behind her mask. She said too much, went too far. “I only, I only meant…he orchestrates a dance with Miss Nia, and yet I cannot have…I cannot do what I want? And why, why do you sanction a dance with a stranger, but will not allow relations between me and your surrogate brother? Are we not friends? …Excuse me.”
Turning away from Teselin, she wandered off in the opposite direction whence she came, drifting farther from the ballroom and deeper into the sparsely-populated koi fish garden.
Meanwhile, Briery was hustling Hadwin away from the scene of his crime (at least, everyone was acting like he had committed a crime!) Having had enough, he dug his heels into the ground, slowing their swift retreat, detaching from his captor and holding her at arm’s length.
“Whoa whoa whoa. Care to tell me what’s going on? If you wanted me all to yourself, there’s no harm in up and announcing it. Though…I can’t say I hate this, either.” His eyes, formerly predominant in their confusion, started to fill with lust anew for his not quite newcomer. “Gonna be honest with you, Brie. I can’t tell if you’re real or if I cooked you up at this party so I wouldn’t feel lonely. But it doesn’t matter to me, as long as some iteration of you is here.” Lowering his head, he playfully rammed her forehead with his plaster horns. “What’s got you all bothered, though? I was getting a little action before, but I don’t peg you for the jealous type, and Tes ain’t too concerned about who I choose to…fuck.”
Realization dawned on him the moment his fake horns made contact with his target. Horns. Which belonged to his mask. A mask he was currently wearing. A mask, which Sylvie Canaveris created for him. The same Sylvie Canaveris he, moments ago, swore not to romance…who Briery and Tes caught him kissing.
No. No, no, no, no, no!
He could hear it, keening around in his head like twisted metal. Rowen was laughing at him. “Aren’t you one hell of a lost cause, hm?”
“Not tonight. Fucking swore I’d be good. Dammit—I can’t have this. Not here!” Marching past Briery, he desperately scoured his surroundings for a solution, a quick fix and on the double, before his heart seized and he lost it, lost it all, lost everything he worked so damn hard to maintain! Locating the closest wine-stocked table, he practically crashed against it, spooking a few guests who lingered around its borders. Not caring how needy he appeared, he raided the table of its precious bounty, balancing four glasses in his hands—and upending them all into his open mouth. Sober. He had been mostly sober for almost two seasons, but not anymore. He couldn’t afford sobriety. Not when it was the only consistent cure to losing his fucking mind completely.
“You would assume correctly,” Alster released an exaggerated sigh, trying not to dwell too much on the implication that his problematic existence would spawn others to don his likeness and exaggerate the most troublesome aspects of it for entertainment value. “It wouldn’t surprise me to find someone adopting a Serpent motif just to get my attention—or to make some sort of flashy statement for no other reason than to unseat everyone’s nerves and disturb the peace. Say what you will of my status as a dangerous man who none should trivialize or challenge, but I am, above all, a pacifist. Diplomacy always comes before any promise of physical retribution. Rest assured on that front, m’lady,” his prosthesis teasingly delivered a small, electric shock along her palm, “aside from the dangers I may pose to your husband’s welfare—should he learn of our tryst—the only danger to you lies in my ability to want too much. I suppose that makes me insatiable. Greedy. Better to be upfront about it now, I find, lest you think less of me in the end for taking advantage. I shouldn’t be worried, though; I think you can easily match my pace. Perhaps even outmatch it?”
His eyes half-closed, fox-like, almost sly in appearance. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pull off this caricature of an unapologetic, assertive alpha male of a man, but the deception, nay, the role, brought something interesting to their dynamic. Fresh, sleek, tantalizing…irresistible. Their interactions oozed sex and naughty behavior, cornerstones seldom explored, but translated, nonetheless, as stimulating, like foreplay. Foreplay via roleplay. As challenging as it was to reprise the act for this dominant Alster Rigas, the longer they maintained the charade of adulterous strangers, the more he craved of her, yearned for her. Who would break character first, he wondered? And who would break first?
She almost succeeded. Almost managed to crack him open and spill out the yolk in an eggy mess. Their lips locked, and the excitement of kissing in the middle of a public venue while clothed as anonymous revelers (or in his case, not anonymous, but pretending not to be her husband), about shed his self-restraint and let slip the sparks from the parts of his magic unable to resist her unyielding battery of power. Well aware of what would occur next, he ignored the collapse of her internal structure, not caring a lick to dodge out of the way when her magic inevitably overheated from the overabundance of their compatibility, and shocked them apart.
Alster couldn’t help it; he let forth an elated laugh, too endeared by her rogue magic to find fault in its hyper-reactive nature. “A little too much excitement. So are you saying that I excite you, oh Northerner who’s trying to hide her scent?” He waggled a finger at her, one that hinted he was close to figuring out her identity. “Magic is not rare in the north, oh no. Not as widely accepted in nations that favor the blade, but lack of acceptance does not equal scarcity. In fact—did you know that Rigel Rigas himself might have originally hailed from Atvany before he relocated to the region now known as Stella D’Mare?” Suspicion glinted in his cerulean eyes as he circled the gold-clad stranger with interest. “It’s rumored that we share some common ancestry with one of Atvany’s oldest noble families. And seeing as we have inherited celestial magic from Rigel, and seeing as your accent betrays your birth region and you’ve just demonstrated celestial magic, I hereby conclude you are from Atvany, and your magic is ancestrally linked to Rigel Rigas, which makes you…my thirteenth cousin several times removed or something akin to that logic?” It seemed like a ridiculous premise, and one entirely fabricated for the furtherance of their charade, but his mouth furrowed in thought, betraying some of his seriousness. “It certainly does explain the abundance of a fair-haired Rigas majority when the city standard yields a darker appearance on average.” Shaking away the genetic curiosities, Alster plastered back on his pretender’s smile and positioned his mouth just a fingernail’s width away from hers, whispering hot breath on her face. “So, how did I do? Did I figure you out—at least to some tiny degree? If anything, do I get a nod for my efforts? Or,” he tilted his head, smiling deviously, “another electric kiss?”
“You are free to shine however much or little you desire. And should you ever feel like your disguise is in danger of discovery—that is why I have provided you with two other gowns. However—a shift in wardrobe will require Laz’s services, and it seems as if you have barely survived your bodice-crushing experience, as it were.” Playing with the illumination levels of the glowstones embedded within her mask, Ari settled on a faint, ambient light, too dim for bystanders to notice, but bright enough to cast highlighting streaks of purple and blue across the bulges and folds of her gown, which shifted and changed positions as frequently as their dancing subject. In a bid to help her feel more comfortable, even Laz had taken her leave, fully aware that wherever the noticeable golem lingered all but advertised the nearby presence of a Canaveris, particularly Lord Canaveris.
“Nonsense. Predominantly, I am enjoying this dance because it is with you.” He squeezed her hand assuringly, as she so often did for him whenever a flare-up threatened to encroach, and focused on leading the dance, his steps easy-to mirror and uncomplicated in their formation. He held her waist steady, but with a gentleness in direct contrast to the vise of pressure through which he subjected Chara Rigas’s poor, suffering torso. His prior dance really had clenched out some of his long-standing burdens and anxieties, not only freeing him for a relaxing waltz with the woman he loved, but allowing him to calm and steady her nerves, for a change.
“I must also confess; I am neither a sterling example of fleetfootedness, nor a prodigy of the ballroom,” he said with the curl of a conspiratorial smile. “For what other practical purpose do I wear this brilliant showpiece than to hide my glaring inadequacies beneath a hypnotic amount of distractible bolts, feathers and flashy colors? Because if I smother every indication of an arm or hint of a foot, then not even the most astute observer can determine how badly I am butchering a basic waltz. And, considering how my costume also does a fine job of engulfing you whole,” he nodded at his winged sleeve, which acted as a privacy screen, sparing her lower half from the caprices of a casual or noncasual spectator, “your dancing is also safe from inspection. Together, we are quite comfortable within this portable tent I have elected to lug about my person all evening long. The closer we are in proximity, and the more frequently we dance, the safer we both are from detractors and the like. I do realize this is an unsustainable formation in the long run, and so will not take offense should you opt for a few alcoholic beverages at the libations table. Consider it my treat; neither Isidor nor Lady Rigas need know about this little arrangement.” He closed one blue-kohled eye into a playful wink.
“On a more serious note…I am also open to constructive criticism. What can I do to make this soirée—and all subsequent soirées—a more pleasant and welcome experience for you? Subjecting yourself to all manner of festivities on my account cannot be beneficial to your mental well-being and—“ But whatever he intended to say suddenly lost all meaning, when Nia silenced his running mouth with a lasting, tender kiss.
“This can be our life together,” he whispered into her ear, nuzzling the lobe with the beak of his mask. “It will take some adjustment, but I shall be here to ensure all goes well. Do you understand?” Now it was his turn to cup the side of her face. “I will be here.” And whether he spoke that last statement with the conviction of a believer or the conviction of a dreamer, it didn’t matter because, as their lips pressed into another kiss, the future seemed so possible. So real. Like his life would continue, and her life would continue, uninterrupted and eternal.
While Tivia had minor healing ability in both ears, she was still considered profoundly deaf, and although she appreciated Isidor’s efforts to be heard via close-up, intimate whispering, the most effective way of communicating, short of the hand language taught to her so long ago, was through reading lips. Politely, she bridged some distance between them, freeing up her narrow line of sight to watch the formation of his words out of the vehicle of his mouth. At first, it was difficult to follow, owing to the lingering tears blurring her vision and the veil offering a thin but obfuscating shroud in her path, but after blinking away some residual liquid and tilting her head at a favorable angle, she interpreted his question: What happened to you, Tivia?
It was the exact question she feared he would ask, and feared to answer.
Unbidden, she had backed away from him a few extra steps, creating a breach that indicated the conclusion of their dance. But, understanding she still needed to curate some type of response, she advanced a little, enough to bridge the distance with her hand, which she attached to his wrist. “I am not a master of timing. I returned when the moment afforded me to return. It was not ideal for me, either, but…would it really have mattered to you what day I chose to reappear in your life? You’ve made up your mind long ago. To leave for Nairit. I’m not here to stop you, or beg you to stay. I know all too well the feeling of not belonging. That’s why I left, initially. To find belonging. A purpose. …Peace of mind. I’ll spare you the details of what happened between then and now. Hearing about it…will only upset and confuse you, and I’ve done enough damage.” The hand upon his wrist trembled reflexively, as if assailed by supernatural chills. “As it is, I’ve stayed too long. I only wanted you to know that I’m alive and well. We’ll meet again, I’m sure. This evening is not yet through with dispensing surprises in your direction. Prepare yourself, Isidor.” And on that semi-ominous note, Tivia Rigas withdrew her hand, turned from Isidor, and melted into the crowd, the constellations on her gown winking and fading to mourning veil black.
“Now, before we begin, I for one find it unfair that you get to cushion your little embarrassments and self-consciousness with wine when I’m being expected to go out there as is, perfectly and painfully aware of every single mishap and mistake I make. So we’re going to take a detour for a moment.” While in Sigrid’s grip, Bronwyn spun them over to the libations table and plucked free an available goblet of wine from the tall stems of glass flora. For a faoladh, Bronwyn was considered a bit of a lightweight, which meant that although she metabolized the alcohol about as quickly as her brother did, one hurriedly chugged glass of wine on an empty stomach did the trick, and reached her to a perfectly sloshed state—at least for the duration of a song.
“That will have to do!” She pushed the empty glass in line with the other drained vessels and reestablished a hand over one of her partner’s broad shoulders. “But I find it hard to believe your dancing experience is only minimal. I was talking to Haraldur before and he told me you took ballroom dancing lessons from Alster on a bet to see who would become the better dancer in a week; you or him. So…who won that bet?”
As Sigrid’s dance companion, Bronwyn excelled at one thing, at least; following instructions. If interpreting the direction of others, however minimal or confusing the guidance, wasn’t a strength of hers by now, then she would forfeit all her years as a proud contributor to clan Kavanagh—even if her contributions amounted to nothing in her father’s eyes. Fortunately, Sigrid wasn’t half-bad as a lead. She possessed a natural rhythm. Or, the wine possessed the rhythm; it was difficult to determine what presented as natural to a currently inebriated Sigrid. Not that the distinction made any difference, when Bronwyn found the waltz oddly…enjoyable.
“I don’t know how the noble families of Collcreagh did it, but in my home, even in my clan, when people danced, it was typically some variation of a jig. Fast-paced, a little frenetic, and all concentrated in the feet. I never participated except for that one time my brother forced me to do it…but I will say this style of dance is a lot more gentle. And forgiving. Thank you for being my first. Ah,” despite the alcohol (or perhaps in spite of it), she felt her face flush hotly. “I’m sorry. Is that a weird thing to say?”
