Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
LYRA
The carriage ride through Talderine was beautiful, despite the scars I noticed resting beneath the color.
Regardless, I appreciate Casimir’s attempt at something nice for me.
It isn’t his fault my eyes seemed to snag on everything wrong instead of everything right.
Noticed all the cracks instead of all the jubilance.
I say as much to him as he escorts me up the long, torchlit walkway leading to Sagamon Castle’s grand entrance—another terrifyingly beautiful feature of Talderine.
The castle is a spread of gray stone and blue shingled spires.
It is large and demanding; rough yet elegant.
A large banner hangs from the uppermost brattice, boasting Erandor Kingdom’s emblem: a castle between two rivers.
“There is no need to apologize,” Casimir says. “There was nothing lost. Just as it seems there was nothing gained.” There is a slight chuckle accompanying his latter words.
I groan, my guilt expanding in my chest. “I really am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he assures me right as we reach the two guards standing before the entry doors.
“Names?” the guard to the left demands.
With leisurely movements, Casimir reaches into his jacket and pulls a piece of parchment from the pocket inside.
Wordlessly, he hands the parchment off to the guard, who takes it with a slight furrow in his brow.
I could be imagining it, but I swear the guard blanches at whatever he reads.
That as he gives the parchment back, there is a small tremor in his hand which causes the page to rattle.
A coating of fear now glazed over his stiff expression.
He looks to the guard manning the right side of the entry. “Open the doors and let them pass.”
The guard does as instructed—pulling down on a large bronze lever—and the doors swing open. Both guards keep their eyes forward as Casimir and I stride into the castle, yet I catch the quick flick of the left guard’s eyes as Casimir passes through the threshold.
If Casimir notices, though, his face gives nothing away.
We are barely inside for a second before Casimir drops his bent arm, thus dropping my hand with it.
He turns to face me. “I must go to my meeting now. Unfortunately, my instructions are to let you wander and enjoy the party while I am occupied.” Even through his mask, I can see the way his gaze sharpens.
“Please do not do anything you’d later regret.
Or better yet, please do not do anything that will force me to do something I may come to regret. ”
I fold my arms. “Your choices are your own to make. What I choose to do should have no bearing on whether or not you regret them.”
“And yet they do.” He glances in the direction of the noise and chatter, too far in and beyond a stairwell to be visible from our current position. “Please, Lyra.”
Why is there a part of me that actually wants to respect his wishes? How twisted has my sense of reason become since being gone? I have an opportunity to be free of him—to escape. I will not miss this chance for some newly developed feelings of fondness.
Yet right as the thought rings, I see Neilina’s face in my mind and hear her words in my head.
I shake it all away.
“Okay,” I lie. “I won’t do anything.”
Casimir heaves a sigh and glides a hand through his hair. “I do not believe you in the slightest.”
I smile, the gesture more teasing than anything else. “And yet you have to.”
“And yet I have to.” He studies me intently before letting a low growl rattle in the back of his throat, seeming more directed at himself than me.
“Enjoy the party,” he says. He takes only one step away from me before he stops, softening his voice as he again looks at me.
“I mean it,” he murmurs. “I know you’ve never been able to be on the other side of an event like this. I truly do want you to enjoy it.”
I blink at him, thankful for my mask as I sort through my own feelings at the words. “Thank you.”
He only nods before striding off, leaving me alone at the bottom of the stairwell. One which will lead me to another set of doors that will give way to a party I am entirely unsure if I am prepared to face.
At the isolation, a series of thoughts race through my mind.
Do I run now? Do I explore the castle, looking for exits?
What if the guards stop me at the front doors, questioning me extensively?
Erandor Kingdom is known to have antiquated views on women and their autonomy.
What if I’m caught by guards patrolling the corridors?
Then again, what if I’m not? What if someone I know from Bathara is inside?
I could reveal my identity to them, and they could help me.
But would I be damning everyone in the ballroom to an early demise in doing so? How far would Casimir go?
It’s strange, the way getting to know him over these passing months has changed my approach to that question.
After an exhausting sequence of back-and-forths with my own mind, giving options and walking through their potential outcomes, I arrive at the conclusion that for now, the best course of action is to scope out the party.
To remain tucked away in the shadows near the back, my mask firmly in place, and get a feel for both the security and the guests.
As I ascend the stairs leading into the ballroom, the music growing louder and the chatter morphing from a dull hum to a vibrant melody, a final desperate wish floats through my heart—
What if Draven is behind those doors, waiting to greet me?
It is a fool’s delusion.
Yet just the mere thought of it—the doors pulling back to reveal Draven standing before me, waiting to take me into his arms and hold me—is enough to make my eyes prick with emotion.
Though I need to not allow my mind to run off with hopeful fantasies.
Instead, I need to keep my wits about me, because if I am to have any chance of escaping without there being casualties in the process, I can’t be caught daydreaming about hopeful, happy endings.
I may be in Draven’s home kingdom, in his home city, but I know there is nothing about this place Draven considers home.
He does not enjoy social events, and with Bathara being in full swing, I’m sure he is busy attending to his duties as captain of his aggregate, leaving him with no reason to be here.
I steady myself, lifting my chin and rolling my shoulders back, preparing to enter into a room full of people I probably have once served in one capacity or another.
Yet I do not allow myself to feel daunted by that, instead emulating the silent arrogance nobility always seems to carry at balls such as these.
I enter the room with my chin held high.
My mouth falls within moments of entering.
Holy gods.
I have seen plenty of lavish balls within King Alastair’s hall. Yet I have never seen a ball as extravagant as this before.
Is this what it is always like in Talderine? Is this what comes of celebrations held inside the bounds of a city known for its riches?
As I scan the scene, I am not sure if I am daunted, impressed, repulsed, or astonished. Perhaps all of the above?
I move stealthily near the back wall, my eyes roving up and quickly scanning the numerous balconies.
Overwhelmed by the immensity of all that lies before me, my brain lags as it takes in all that it sees.
My eyes glaze over a figure that—for whatever reason—causes my heart to skip.
Yet by the time I give in to that curious feeling and retrace the spot on the balcony which seemed to make my heart snag, there is nobody up there.
Just banners boasting behind the railing. Ones I must have mistook for a person.
I continue walking the perimeter of the room, attempting to process and notice everything I can. My preoccupied steps cause me to bump into someone tall and sturdy.
“Oh,” I stammer. “I’m so sorry.”
The dark-haired man turns, and I can see through his golden mask that his brown eyes crinkle. “You are entirely fine, I assure you.” He tilts his head at me and smiles a rather charming smile, offering me his hand. “Would you care to dance?”
My initial reaction is to refuse, naturally.
But then I realize guests probably assume I am of some noble house, disguised by a mask.
Casimir certainly gave me a nice enough dress to make people believe I belong to nobility.
Nobody knows who I am—why I’m here. Though truthfully, it’s not like I even know why I’m here.
So despite everything, I decide why the hell not.
Why not steal a moment of fun and a carefree decision from this night?
I accept his hand and give a small curtsy, thankful for my court training. “I’d love to.”
The stranger escorts me to the dancefloor, and a flowing, melodic tune gives way to him and me dancing a graceful waltz together. It is freeing and fun, and I enjoy spinning to the sounds of the stringed instruments—even if I remain stiff and on guard, occupied with other thoughts and worries.
By the time the dance is over, the stranger bows at the waist and I again curtsy. “Thank you for the dance, my Lady.”
Lady. Now that is new.
I have to fight against the snort threatening to burst from me. “It was a pleasure.”
He inclines his head, and then I watch as the kind stranger walks away, feeling grateful for the dance. Though, I’m sure I wasn’t a very good partner.
A low voice hums from behind me. “Mind if I’m next?”
I stiffen.
That voice.
I know that voice. I dream of that voice. My heart aches for that voice.
Slowly, with my stomach plunging into a free fall, I turn around—
And nearly buckle to my knees.