by Anthea Sharp
“Then I’d resemble a garden.” Anneth smiled at her. “No—this is perfect as it is.”
“You’ll need your cloaks,” Mrs. Geary said, then glanced at Anneth’s feet. “Oh dear—I didn’t think about shoes. I don’t suppose you brought dancing slippers with you from Elfhame?”
“Only my boots.” Anneth felt a pang for her lost magic. With it, she could have enchanted her shoes to resemble anything—slippers made of satin, or silver, or even crystal.
“I think there’s an old pair of Pansy’s,” Lily said, going to the closet. “The ones she decorated herself, for the Spring Fair that one year.”
“Those?” Mrs. Geary sounded doubtful. “Didn’t the fabric stretch out?”
“Yes, which is why she didn’t take them to Meriton.”
Lily began rummaging through the closet. She had to lean over very far, as her wide skirts wouldn’t fit through the door. After a few moments she emerged, face flushed with exertion.
“Here they are!” She triumphantly held up a pair of the most highly decorated footwear Anneth had ever seen.
They were made of white velvet, but the fabric was almost entirely obscured by hundreds of shimmering glass beads sewn into complicated patterns. Moons and stars of bright silver swirled above a shining jet-black background, with ice-white beads interspersed between. The slippers caught the light, casting tiny prisms across the wall.
Mrs. Geary smiled at the sight. “Remember how many hours she spent sewing on each bead?”
“Ages.” Lily made an exasperated face. “And just when it seemed she was done, she’d decide to add something else. Look at the miniature forget-me-nots embroidered on the inside soles.”
She thrust the slippers out for Anneth’s inspection. They were heavier than they looked, and Anneth carefully lifted one, to see a slightly worn pattern of blue flowers adorning the interior.
“Your sister danced in these?” she asked.
“Until they fell right off her feet.” Lily laughed. “All that beadwork was too heavy. But try them on, see if they fit!”
“Are you certain?” Even if Pansy had used them, Anneth wasn’t certain she’d be able to dance in the slippers. The weight was not as much of a concern as the thought of ruining them.
Mrs. Geary must have seen the doubt on her face, for she nodded. “If Pansy had wanted them, she would’ve taken them to Meriton. They’re made to be worn to a ball, Anneth, and this will be the grandest one of the decade, at least. Please, give them a try.”
Anneth resumed her seat on the stool. She couldn’t refuse her hostess, despite her misgivings. Gently, she pulled one of the slippers on.
It fit well enough, surprisingly. Perhaps the tiniest bit too big, but not enough to present a problem. She moved her ankle back and forth to see if the slipper was easily dislodged, but it stayed in place.
“You look grand,” Lily said. “Do the other one.”
It fit equally well, and Anneth stood. “I suppose we should attempt the waltz,” she said to Lily. “I’ll try not to fall on you if the slippers come off.”
“I’ll catch you,” Lily said, with a grin.
Anneth would probably crush Lily if she tried, but she bit her tongue on her doubts and held her arms up in waltz position. Lily grabbed her hand and began guiding her about the small space, counting under her breath.
To Anneth’s surprise, the slippers were not as hazardous as she’d feared. And, since she couldn’t enchant her boots to appear delicate and graceful, they were her only option.
“They’ll do.” Mrs. Geary nodded, watching Anneth’s feet. “If you like, we can sew some ribbons on to tie about your ankles and keep the slippers more secure.”
“Is that commonly done?”
“Only for little girls,” Lily said.
“Then I will endeavor to keep them on my feet without help from ribbons.” And perhaps enough of Anneth’s magic had returned that she could cast a tiny spell of binding to help.
“Well then.” Mrs. Geary looked them both up and down and pursed her lips in satisfaction. “Fasten on your necklaces, and then I believe you two lovely ladies are ready to depart. The ball awaits!”
In what felt like a heartbeat, she’d ushered them out the door and into the waiting donkey cart.
As Lily expertly guided the cart down the lane, Anneth twisted around on the small bench to watch the Gearys’ house recede. A strange pang went through her, as though she might not ever see it again. But that was foolish—they would be returning in a few hours.
“I wonder what Seanna’s going to wear,” Lily said, then launched into a catalogue of all the dresses she’d ever seen her sister in—which were, admittedly, not many.
A response didn’t seem required, so Anneth made appropriate noises as Lily went on to speculate about the rest of the village, and then moved on to the prince.
“I suppose he’ll be the best dressed,” Lily said. “Probably with a crown.”
She turned to Anneth, and the donkey continued to plod obediently past the low stone walls and white-walled cottages of Little Hazel.
“Do you wear a crown?” Lily asked.
“Only on the most formal occasions,” Anneth answered.
“Like what?”
“Most recently, the arrival of Prince Deldarinnon.” It seemed like forever ago.
“Your suitor.” Lily nodded sagely. “I suppose it will feel strange to you, meeting our prince without him knowing that you’re actually a princess.”
“At present, I’m enjoying being a simple mortal girl,” Anneth said. “Sometimes the crown is heavier than it looks.”
Ahead, a line of horses, carts, and larger conveyances snaked toward the castle. Anneth raised her brows at Lily. They must mind their words from here on, until they were safely back at the Gearys’ cottage.
Lily gave her a nod of understanding as they joined the slow procession winding through the edge of the woods. The road met up with a wider way and their progress slowed even further.
It was an excellent opportunity to inspect the other guests, not all of whom were young women and their families. Anneth guessed that anyone who was able to had made the journey. Mostly, though, she was interested in observing the girls who were obviously there as prospective brides for the prince.
A few of them glittered with jewels, their skirts made of brocade and satin, while others wore plain woolen dresses and, like Anneth and Lily, had flowers in their hair.
Other than her slippers, Anneth thought she and Lily were about in the middle: not finely dressed nobility, but not the poorest of the lot, either. It felt like a safe place to be, despite Lily’s envious looks at the grandly gowned young ladies.
While Lily concentrated on steering the donkey cart, Anneth closed her eyes and reached for her wellspring. A surge of warmth greeted her, and she let out a silent breath of thanks. She was not yet at full power, but there was enough magic pooled within her to cast the small magic that would keep her borrowed slippers on her feet.
Under pretense of bending to adjust her skirts, she laid her hands upon her footwear and whispered a rune of attachment. Faint silver light glowed about her feet, then faded. Excellent—she would not be in danger of injuring herself while dancing. Or breaking her neck while walking up the stairs, for that matter.
“We’ll be able to see the castle when we clear these trees,” Lily said, oblivious to Anneth’s rune casting.
Even as she spoke, the cart passed out of the trees, and Castle Raine was revealed.
Heavy stone walls enclosed the castle, and behind the walls rose four towers, with crenellated walls between, all made of the same hard gray rock. Anneth stared at the castle, a bit taken aback. It looked like a fortress or prison, with no resemblance to the airy, graceful palaces of the elven courts.
The road led beneath an iron-spiked portcullis in the wall. For a moment, alarm gripped her, and she stiffened with the knowledge that she was entering enemy territory in disguise.
Humans a
re not my enemy, she reminded herself, forcing a breath past her tight lungs. If anything, most Dark Elves thought mortals were weak and inept, more to be laughed at than feared.
Besides, her power was returning. She was in no danger.
Slowly, the line moved forward. She tried not to shiver as they passed under the portcullis and into a large enclosed courtyard.
A liveried groom stepped up to take the donkey’s reins.
“Good day,” he said. “When you’re ready to leave, ask for Timmy, in the east pasture. I’ll bring the donkey and cart back here to you.
Lily nodded and handed over the reins. “Thank you.”
She and Anneth gathered their cloaks and disembarked at the base of a wide staircase leading up to tall double doors. The doors were open, manned by relaxed-looking guards, and beyond them Anneth could see the beams of the high vaulted ceiling.
“Invited young ladies to the right,” a uniformed fellow called, gesturing. “Everyone else, to the left.”
“Another line,” Lily said, an exasperated edge to her voice as they joined the back of the queue. “I hope we won’t spend the rest of the evening inching along here and there.”
“It must be better inside,” Anneth said. “The castle seems quite large.”
“Larger than—” Lily caught herself, but Anneth knew what she’d meant to ask.
“I look forward to seeing it,” she said, which wasn’t an answer.
Truly, Anneth wasn’t sure how to judge the space. As they moved up the steps, she caught glimpses of what looked to be a very large hall. It was dim, lit by scattered high windows and branches of candlesticks, both mounted along the walls and suspended overhead.
The smell of perfume and savory foods wafted out the doors, along with the sound of music, played on unfamiliar instruments. Excitement tingled up Anneth’s spine, replacing her earlier apprehension.
She was here, at Castle Raine. She was going to a mortal ball. For a moment it seemed completely unreal.
They reached the top of the stairs, where the royal emissary sat at a table, a roll of parchment spread out before him.
“Names?” he asked as they stepped up.
“Lily and… Mara Geary,” Lily said, fidgeting with the edge of her cloak.
The emissary didn’t seem to notice her nervousness, or perhaps he ascribed it to the fact that she was attending the prince’s ball.
“Good,” he said, dipping what looked like a feather into a jar of black ink and using it to make a note beside where their names were inscribed. “Wait a moment for your numbers.”
He turned to another, smaller page, with numbers running down the side and a name written beside each. The names ended a little more than halfway down, and Anneth observed there were forty-five spaces in all.
“Twenty-six, for you.” He pointed his feather at Anneth. “And twenty-seven for your sister. Don’t forget.”
“Thank you,” Anneth said, but he was already turning his attention to the next girl in line.
“We’re here!” Lily said, all her line-induced aggravation gone as they faced the doorway. “The prince’s ball. Isn’t it grand?”
“Indeed.” Anneth held out her arm. “Shall we, milady?”
With a giggle, Lily slipped her elbow through Anneth’s, and together they stepped into the imposing great hall of Castle Raine.
Prince Owen tried not to fidget as his valet Antoine buzzed about him, tugging his coat sleeves down and fussing with the white neckcloth tied at his throat.
“Are you certain you will not wear the lace-edged one?” Antoine asked, a note of entreaty in his voice.
“No, Antoine.” Owen held up his hand. “And don’t ask me again about the circlet, or the cologne.”
“But you are the crown prince! You must make an impression upon all the lovely young ladies who have gathered here to meet you.”
“I thought it was the other way around,” Owen said dryly. “Aren’t they supposed to impress me?”
Not that he was counting on any such thing happening.
“Your highness—”
Antoine’s plea was cut short by the arrival of King Philip, accompanied by Captain Crane.
“Excuse the interruption,” the king said, nodding to the valet. “I must have a word with my son.”
“Of course, your majesty.” Antoine bowed and, with one last mournful glance at Owen, left the room.
“What is it?” Owen asked softly. The look on the king’s face was grim.
“The Athraig delegation has made faster time than we thought,” his father said, leaning heavily on his cane.
“Curse those white-haired bas—” Captain Crane cut himself off at a look of reproach from the king.
Owen’s fingers curled into his palms as a cold stab of worry went through him. “They’re not arriving tonight, are they?”
“Thankfully, no,” his father said. “We have at least another day until we must play host to our enemies.”
“Barely enough time,” the captain muttered.
“At any rate, I came to wish you well tonight,” the king said, giving Owen a quick look up and down. “You look well. Handsome—your mother would be proud. Don’t forget your circlet.”
Owen swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Father.”
He could not argue, and Antoine would be pleased. Thank all the trees in the forest, however, that the king hadn’t insisted Owen wear the cream-and-red uniform of the navy. No matter the occasion, gold braid and tassels felt frivolous.
As did the thought of selecting a prospective bride.
Not frivolous, precisely, but with the shadow of grief still clinging to him, it was difficult to imagine some kind of future happiness with a girl he’d never even met. But surely there would be some agreeable young ladies in attendance at the ball.
He hoped.
The king gave him a quick embrace, and then he and Captain Crane took their leave. Antoine returned, delighted that the prince had shown some sense, at last. He fetched the thin silver circlet and placed it atop Owen’s head, rotating it until it settled firmly over his thick, dark hair.
“Now you are ready,” the valet said with a nod of satisfaction. “Although perhaps there is a smudge on your boot…”
He grabbed the polishing cloth, but Owen waved him away. “Five minutes of wear and you know the boots will have a mark or two. Do you really plan to follow me about all evening, tucking my hair back into place and swiping at my footwear?”
Antoine frowned. “Someone must be willing to make the effort, your highness.”
“I am aware of what’s at stake.” Owen drew his shoulders back and summoned his most haughty expression, which he fixed upon his valet.
“Yes, yes, that is more like it.” Antoine pursed his lips. “You will be irresistible. Now go, watch your guests arriving!”
Privately, Owen thought he looked far too full of himself. The moment he stepped outside his rooms, he let the expression drop. However, Antoine’s thought that he observe the arrivals was a good one.
Quickly, Owen made his way to the musician’s balcony situated on one side of the great hall. The players turned to look at him as he stepped in, but he waved at them to continue their tuning up.
Seeing the lutes gave him a pang. His mother had insisted on lessons, saying that part of a royal education included learning to play an instrument. After several years of study, he was a passable lute player, but nothing special—not like the court musicians, who could make magic with the flick of their fingers.
He stationed himself near the front of the balcony, near the wall, where he could look down on the arrivals without being too obvious. Already the hall was filling with attendees. He scanned them, noting with relief that the floor didn’t seem awash in a sea of young ladies waiting to drown him.
Families, older couples, nobles, merchants, and farmers milled about. Some perused the refreshment tables; others clustered in knots of conversation. Owen saw several young women who
were no doubt there by royal invite, but none of them stood out particularly.
Still, the afternoon was young, and the ball wasn’t due to officially begin for another half-hour yet. A steady trickle of guests flowed in, briefly silhouetted against the summer’s afternoon as they entered.
One tall, graceful figure caught his eye: a woman, judging by the outline of her skirts and long hair. He waited, watching her as she moved further into the hall, to see what the filtered light might reveal.
Her black hair was wound with a delicate array of flowers, and her green dress was of a simple cut and fabric. Not nobility, then. He stuffed back his twinge of disappointment.
There was nothing that forbade him from courting a young woman of any social class. His father’s parents had been merchants, after all. But he knew from watching his parents how heavy the crown could be, and how it would help, having a partner versed in the ways of the court.
His father had learned, of course—but there had still been times, up until the queen’s death, when she’d had to explain something that seemed quite clear to Owen’s eyes. Perhaps that was why his father was pushing for a marriage now, so that Owen might take the kingship and remove that burden from King Philip’s shoulders.
It was not a comfortable thought. He did not feel ready to steer the kingdom, regardless who might stand by his side.
The young woman he’d been watching bent her head and smiled at something her companion said. Something about the lay of the light across her cheek lent a foreign cast to her features. Owen blinked at the sudden air of mystery about her. Then she moved past the flickering candelabra and the impression faded.
She was simply a Rainish girl, albeit a bit tall.
The musicians finished tuning and conferring amongst themselves, then struck up a lilting jig. Owen stepped back as faces turned toward the balcony. Time to mingle with the crowds upon the floor, whether he wished to or not.
He cast a last glance about the hall, trying to locate the young woman he’d been studying. There, near the middle of the room. Then a fresh batch of guests surged through the doors, and a moment later she was caught up in the swirl of the crowd and was gone.