by AC Cobble
“You could be right.” Meghan sighed. “You were always the one who knew about the stories. Still, it will be a grand evening and I’m jealous, that’s all. I’m sorry I’m giving you such a hard time about it.”
“Jealous? What do you mean? I’m just going with Amelie as friends. Why does everyone think it’s more?” Ben hoped it was more, of course, but he wasn’t going to say that aloud.
“Oh, I know it’s just as friends. I’m not jealous of your ‘date’ with Amelie.” Meghan gave another eye roll. “I won’t be able to go to the party. There are too many highborn in town for the Conclave for everyone to fit on the balcony. We were told it was just Lady Amelie, Lady Towaal, and their guests. No serving staff.”
“Oh. Meghan, you’re not really her handmaiden. It’s just pretend until we get out of here.”
“I know. I remember that very well. I just hope she does, too, when we leave.”
A quarter bell later, according to the clock face, Ben’s jaw dropped. Amelie peeked in before stepping into the room. She looked stunning. She was draped in a flowing green silk gown that left her shoulders bare and spread out across the floor behind her. Her dark hair was raised in an elaborate sparkling jewel studded bun and she was decked in a dazzling array of emeralds around her neck and wrists. As she came into the room, a subtle scent of mountain wildflowers floated around her. The entire impression was breathtaking. He found his eye drawn to her face. Her lips were glistening cherry red, her cheeks were lightly flushed, and around her eyes was a smoky shadow that drew him in and held his gaze, even when he was very interested in the way some other parts of her looked.
“Amelie…”
She twitched her dress and teasingly said, “You’re supposed to be telling me how beautiful I am.”
“I… You are beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like this, I mean anyone. I mean, you look good,” he finished weakly.
“Ha. You are sweet,” she said with a blush. “Argren had a seamstress and jeweler sent and I’m worried it didn’t turn out like they envisioned.”
“I mean it, Amelie. Really. I’ve seen girls in dresses and girls with their hair done for a wedding or the spring dance, but nothing like this. No one who looked as amazing as you. I’m not exaggerating. You’re the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”
“Well, you’ll soon see a lot of girls like me,” she said, swishing her skirts around and glancing away from Ben. “Half of Whitehall. Well, half of the wealthy in Whitehall anyway. All of the women will be dressed like this. Thank you for the compliment though, I appreciate it,” she finished in a rush, finally meeting his eyes again.
Ben didn’t have a lot of experience with girls, and she’d caught him off guard, but he wasn’t stupid.
The Citadel’s Gala for the Grand Fireworks Spectacular honoring the First Conclave of the Alliance was growing in name and noise as they approached. A wide stone path between splashing fountains and ponds was lit by roaring fires and populated by towering long-legged jesters juggling and cavorting through the crowd. Amelie whispered over the noise of a nearby pack of musicians that the jesters were standing on tall wooden poles called stilts.
As they approached the actual balcony they passed a wave of men and women loaded with glasses of red, white, and bubbling wines, followed by more serving staff carrying silver trays piled with arrangements of delicate foods. Ben had never had the bubbling wine before. At Amelie’s suggestion he plucked two glasses from a passing tray, handed her one, and gave it a try. It was crisp but sweet and tingled and popped in his mouth as he swished it around.
Before he could even comment on the drink, he ducked from a billow of flame exploding in front of a shirtless, sweating man holding a flickering torch. The man cartwheeled off into the crowd. Heartbeats later, another burst of flame leapt into the air to the delighted shouts of nearby revelers.
Ben turned back to Amelie. Again before he could speak, an orange and black-striped beast strolled by with a scrawny turbaned man straddling its back. The animal had fangs the size of Ben’s forearm protruding from a head larger than his torso. Its shoulders were even with his. A shudder ran down his back at the thought of that creature attacking, but it seemed tame and calmly sidestepped one of the jesters on stilts who had wandered in from the entryway.
The menagerie only got wilder as they moved deeper into the party. There was an animal that Ben would have called a bear, if it weren’t a quarter of the size of ones he was familiar with in Farview. It was balancing on a colorful crimson ball being lead around the balcony by a man in a matching crimson vest and short cylindrical hat.
A mage, or at least a woman claiming to be one, held intense concentration on three golden rings in front of her. To Ben’s amazement, they looked to be floating freely in the air. As Amelie and Ben paused to watch, she waved her hands under and over the rings then produced a bright purple handkerchief. She bent over the handkerchief muttering words which Amelie said were gibberish then tossed the cloth into the air. The handkerchief hovered briefly then shot through the three rings and into the waiting hands of a young woman who appeared shocked and amazed.
The crowd broke into polite applause as the mage bowed. Amelie sniffed and turned to go. “No real mage would be involved in such a thing.”
“It looked pretty real to me,” argued Ben. He nodded toward the woman who had caught the handkerchief. She was loudly praising the mage and eagerly showing her trophy to the other partygoers. “She seems impressed.”
“They’re clearly confederates. I’ve seen similar in Issen. It was well done, but still trickery. Look,” she said, gesturing to the crowd, “don’t you think people would be more interested if they thought she was really doing magic?”
Ben had to admit, the crowd had thinned quickly. He and Amelie moved on as well.
A bell later, the experience was becoming overwhelming. As they circled the balcony, the continuous assortment of entertainers started to blend in with the brightly dressed partygoers. Wine was continuously passed by straight-faced serving staff. As it flowed and the last light of day faded, everyone there seemed to merge together into one giant, choreographed show.
Ben was disappointed to find there was no wyvern at the party, though there was plenty else to shock. In one corner of the balcony, they peered into a close-knit circle of revelers to see two bright blue-painted and totally naked men mimicking graphic sexual acts on a similarly naked shimmering gold-painted woman. A red-faced and disgusted Ben quickly pulled Amelie away.
Moments later, he was just as shocked to see a sweating, rotund, and bulbous nosed man pressing a young lady, maybe a third his age, against the stone railing that surrounded the balcony. The man was sloppily kissing the young woman’s neck and was pushing her skirts up with one hand above her waist. The woman was giggling uncontrollably and kept admonishing several other girls nearby who must be her friends to go get help. The girls, instead of seeming concerned, kept shouting encouragement to the man. One even swooped in close to slap him on the behind with a closed fan before darting away when he reached for her. He looked back longingly before returning to his original prey.
“Shouldn’t we do something? I believe the man is attacking that girl.” Ben couldn’t help but think back to Murdoch’s when Meghan was about to be assaulted like this. He was on unfamiliar ground and didn’t want to start another fight, but he had to do something, even if the poor girl’s friends wouldn’t.
“She’s fine,” answered Amelie coolly. “That is Lord Rhymer, but I have no idea who she is. If the old man doesn’t have a heart attack and is able to finish the job, getting knocked up by him would be the best thing that’s ever happened to her. He’s the Lord of Northport and the wealthiest man here, aside from Argren himself, of course. He gets too drunk and is rarely able to consummate I am told. From the times he was able, he has just three bastard daughters. His actual wife has never been able to give him child. Any male offspring of his could be heir to Northport.”
Amelie
’s logic was cold. The idea that a young woman would subject herself to a man like that was unbelievable to Ben. The entire event was starting to put him on edge.
They were rescued from more discussion on the topic by the arrival of a short, mousy-looking man with a dark, angular face and hook-beaked nose. His dark unadorned clothing set him aside from the crowd as much as his sour grimace. He appeared to be the only one with no interest in the insane party taking place around him.
“Lady Amelie.” He took her hand and bowed over it before rising and curtly nodding in Ben’s general direction, without making eye contact.
“Tomas?” acknowledged Amelie with a raised eyebrow.
“I believe the fireworks are about to start,” responded the man. “I have Rafael saving us a good spot near the railing. Would you care to join us?”
“Of course, and then you must tell me what you’re doing here,” replied Amelie. She turned to follow the man into the crowd.
Over her shoulder, she explained to Ben, “Tomas is my father’s seneschal. He handles my father’s business when he is unavailable, or more often, when it bores him.”
When they got to the railing, Ben could see Rafael was Tomas’ security. He was dressed in practical, loose clothing similar to Saala, but where Saala was lean like a mongoose, Rafael was stout and hulking like a wolverine. His head was also shaved like Saala’s and he had a network of white scars crossing from just above one ear to the back of his head. He quickly scanned Ben before dismissing him and bowed to Amelie.
“Rafael, can you please go get us two glasses of that delightful sparkling wine?” asked the slight seneschal. “We must have a drink in hand to cheers for the—”
“Three Rafael,” broke in Amelie.
Tomas glanced at Ben. “It spoils the Man at Arms act when he’s drinking, but very well.”
“He doesn’t need to be my man at arms. He can be my escort.”
“Scandalous,” replied Tomas dryly.
“Wait. I’m your what?” asked Ben.
“It doesn’t do having a lady like Amelie at these functions with no male by her side. It sends the wrong message and some of these gentlemen can get pushy,” murmured Tomas.
Ben thought back to the unfortunate girl cornered by Rhymer and realized that made sense.
“A lady alone or a lady with her female attendants is suggesting she’s open to advances,” added Amelie. “I, of course, am not open to any sort of advances by these men and never have been.” She winked at Ben. He felt his heart lighten. After the way she spoke about Rhymer, he felt shocked by her world and was worried about what she’d do to gain an advantage. He understood how one can be part of something but not a participant. He wouldn’t want people to judge him solely because he had been adopted by Alistair Pinewood.
Tomas leaned in toward Amelie and started speaking quickly. “Is he safe to speak in front of?” he asked with a look at Ben.
Amelie nodded.
Tomas continued, “While Rafael is gone then. That poor man hates it when I speak business in public. You are prepared for tomorrow?”
“Of course I am prepared, but like I said, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“The Coalition made another offer to your father,” answered Tomas in a whisper. “But nothing has changed. I’m here to make sure Argren knows that.”
“I’m ready and Argren is aware. At the beginning of the Conclave tomorrow, we’ll announce our allegiance and that Issen joins Whitehall. That can’t be the only reason my father sent you, though.”
Tomas frowned and leaned in closer. “We heard about the Conclave shortly after you left. Weeks after Argren’s messenger should have been there. Something happened to him and he never made it. Sending you with little escort in the care of Saala and Towaal was the right decision. It’s dangerous for you to be in public like this and we hoped I would catch you before you announced yourself. Your father doesn’t know who else to trust.” Tomas shot a dark glance at Ben and the nearby revelers.
“Oh, don’t worry about it Tomas!” chided Amelie. “Everyone knows I am here already. Our decision will be known from the Citadel to the docks by tenth bell tomorrow. What’s the point of secrecy? My father has made up his mind. There is nothing we will do from here to change it anyway.”
With that, there was a sharp whistle followed by a massive boom. The railing shook and the entire night sky was lit a dazzling white as the first firework exploded in the air. Crackling streams of sparks descended toward the city. The first blast was followed by a quick succession of increasingly large flashes. The first salvo of fireworks was an iridescent white. It bathed the entire balcony, the face of the Citadel, and all of the revelers, in a stark white glow.
8
Ruined Evening
The grand finale of the fireworks lived up to the name spectacular. It started with a low, flat explosion of green sparkles that lingered in the air, drifting over the ships in the port far below. Then, behind the guests on the balcony, a cacophony of horns sounded in a thrilling mixture of traditional hunting calls and alarm.
Ben looked back and saw the wall of Citadel was lined with horn players. Argren must have forced out the entire barracks and bought every instrument in the city to put together that many of them, he thought. As he turned back toward the blanket of green sparkles, he saw Amelie smiling down at them. The green light of the fireworks reflected in the emeralds she was wearing and highlighted the gentle curve of her neck. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The moment was interrupted when the tone of the horns changed and a brilliant wave of red and gold arced into the sky.
The fireworks went off with a roar. The crowd took a step back as the entire vista filled with a red and gold beast swooping toward them with wide open maw. The creature would have been nearly the size of Whitehall itself. The crackle and hiss of the exploding lights added to the illusion that the beast was imminently going to rain fire down onto the partygoers.
“Wyvern!” shouted an alarmed and slurred voice from behind them.
Ben and Amelie grinned at each other. Ben had to admit the fire and smoke monster was frightening. As it grew closer, the lights started popping and crackling out until they flashed into darkness. A warm wave of sulpherous air drifted over crowd.
Across the entire city there was silence for several heartbeats then an enormous cheer broke out. From the bottom of the port to the top of the Citadel, the citizens and guests of Whitehall were screaming, clapping, and banging whatever they could to make noise.
Amelie took Ben’s arm and leaned against him, staring out down at the city and celebration below. Smaller fireworks shot up sporadically as the citizens who could afford it put on their own version of the show. It almost felt like these hundreds of thousands of cheers were just for the two of them.
When the smoke cleared and some of the excitement on the balcony began to fade, the crowd turned to make their way back through the halls of the Citadel and into the city. For many, the celebration was just getting started, though Ben saw several people he thought should start sleeping it off now. The Conclave was starting early in the morning.
Amelie still had her arm hooked around Ben’s as they made their way toward the entry of the building. Ben caught Tomas staring at him with a blank face. The man was the right hand of Amelie’s father. Ben thought he understood the look, but he made a note to watch his back.
Suddenly, a man pushed past Ben, heading back out onto the balcony.
“What are you doing? I’m an important guest for the Conclave. I’ll have the guards on you!” shouted a tipsy-sounding man behind them.
“Two drunks are about to go at it! I heard they’re sending for swords.”
Several more of the crowd turned to follow the man who had pushed through. A duel was more entertaining than what the taverns and wine shops in the city had to offer.
Amelie pulled on Ben to keep going. “Stupid men doing stupid things. There’s always one or two at parties like this. They probably stepped o
n each other’s toes or someone took the last sparkling wine. Such a waste. Like there isn’t more in the world to worry about.”
Ben had to agree. No one dueled in Farview, of course, but the stories were full of them. In the stories, it was always over a girl.
Before they made it into the entrance of the Citadel, they saw Saala coming the other way. He nodded back toward the balcony and remarked, “You’ll want to see this.”
Ben raised an eyebrow then fell in behind Saala. They joined the crowd gathering around two shouting men.
“You will die for this!” snarled a man as the sounds of a scuffle broke out.
“Fredrick, wait until the man is armed or you’ll be paying for it also,” responded an unseen voice.
Through the pack of people, they could see a short, balding man being held back by two grey-haired men. The grey-haired men had the build of those who had seen their share of battle, but they were struggling keep the energetic smaller man from rushing forward.
Before they could see the target of his wrath, they heard a man slur, “Whatcha holding him back for? That little sword he’s packing couldn’t hurt a mouse. Least that’s what I heard from his wife.”
Ben’s heart sank. He’d heard that drunken slur before. Rhys.
The short bald man redoubled his efforts to break loose and howled, “This is to the death. I will not stand for this!”
One of the grey-haired men holding him glared back at Rhys and demanded, “Stop it. Both of you. A duel has been agreed and you can settle your differences, but I will make sure it’s done right or it won’t be done. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, general,” said the short man in a huff. He was still extremely agitated but he no longer fought to get to Rhys.
For the rogue’s part, he was swaying around at the far side of the circle of onlookers and seemed to be having trouble focusing.