Ball
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Itrailed behind the rest of the feeders. All beautifully dressed as we strode through the masses of high society.
A perfect little harem. I gritted my teeth.
We were late arrivals, coming in behind Cassiel. He strode at the front, leading the path. This was the first time I had seen him in a dawnlight rotation. He had left me with the feeders for the night.
I hated how much I missed him.
Awed looks followed him the entire way as he made his way to the throne upon the platform.
A server passed, and I noted the fancy pastries that were much too sweet.
We strode in a perfect line among the chattering.
All the feeders kept their heads up, pride in the line of their shoulders.
Faces blurred past, so many with powdered skin, rouge to stain, and coal to enhance the eyes, particularly in women.
Sounds of trumpets combined with violins and a piano created a harmony. Before the platform arranged for the musicians, the gathered nobility began a quadrille. They moved in a structured dance where various groups of two couples fell into practiced and fluid movements.
Solstice, the celebration of life and the living. Energy ran high. The eve where dawnlight remained shining across the realm. It was a time of merriment. The Bjorn family always attended the small celebration Lord Clair had at this time of the annum rotation.
It was opposite of Nocturn, which happened less frequently. Nocturn was a moment of quiet. A stillness.
It looms a mere fortnight away.
I exhaled slowly.
It felt as if a million annum rotations passed by the time we reached the platform framed by two pairs of guards on each side.
I kept my shoulders straight. Cassiel was the first to sit upon his throne in a partial slouch.
His gaze collided with mine. Only for an instant .
. . but that was all that was needed. My nerves settled another notch.
Then they flitted away from mine as he withdrew his attention from me.
Now Vera led the front of the line, since she had stood behind Cassiel. She climbed the steps; Ida, Hester, then Branwen fell into step behind her.
I hurried to match their glide as we formed a line behind the throne. In a practiced drop, they knelt, each of their beautiful gowns spreading around them and melting into each other. Ida straightened her spine until her breasts pushed up—always with the urge to be the center of attention.
“Amara,” Branwen whispered, eyes wide as they flitted from me to the ground beside her.
With all my might, I kept my jaw tense and lowered at the furthest side, closer to the exit that led to the dreadful pit.
From on the platform, the rest of society was lower, and gazes fell upon us as if we were creatures to be studied, while those very gazes became simpering when turning toward Cassiel.
Lady Drusilla’s gown caught my attention.
She was speaking to Al . . . and Lord Vaner.
Another harmony began, this time led by a violin, and more bluebloods gathered at the dance station.
I scanned and my eyes collided with the familiar brown smocks in the back, lined against the furthest wall near the exit, were the redbloods.
All dressed in the customary bland color meant for us to disappear in a sea of colors.
Dancing and merriment commenced, while bluebloods approached on occasion to bow and curtsy to Cassiel.
Much of the same continued happening. As more people came to spout nonsense at him, the more I became frustrated.
If I had not had experience standing at the back with my fellow redbloods, I may have been weak enough to nod off. But strict control was required.
“Your Highness, I would be honored if you could look kindly upon my daughter. She will enter the Feeder Trials when a position is opened.” A lord’s words brought me back to the simpering that had been occurring at Cassiel’s feet.
I had seen this specific lord in the lineup of councilmen long ago. He had stood near Lord Vaner.
All he, and any that spoke with him, received in response was a grunt from Cassiel. If only I could see his face. I would likely find that annoyed glint in his eyes.
I snorted.
Everyone nearby looked at me. Branwen gasped, shaking her head the slightest bit.
The lord Cassiel had been speaking to turned toward me.
“Is there something you want to opine on, redblood?”
I opened and closed my mouth, lowering my head. “No my lord, I have need of the toilet.”
His lip curled in disgust. “What a vulgar thing.” He clicked his tongue.
“You cannot expect more from a redblood, father,” the youthful woman beside him sniped. She was incredibly pale, from her hair to her lightly flushed skin complimented by her ivory gown.
“You,” Cassiel’s voice boomed enough for the two guards on one side of the platform. “Take the redblood to the feeder wing.” The closest officer with a shock of blond hair bowed.
“Go,” Branwen whispered.
I jolted into action, pushing to my feet. At the base of the steps, I curtsied.
“Thank you, my lord,” I said to Cassiel, not allowing myself to look him in the eyes. He flicked his hand, dismissing me.
This was my chance. Everything had come to this point, just as the prophet said. So I did not waste time and fell in behind the blond officer.
Halfway through the Grand Hall, a familiar smell of citrus reached my nose. A scent that tended to cling to Miriam . . . and her family.
Is that Lord Bjorn? His shock of white curly hair fell over his shoulders, a distinctive violet sash across his chest. He boasted about his military accomplishments whenever he could. I wove to the side, closer to where they congregated among peers.
“I am searching for a suitable husband for my beautiful daughter. More on her level now—”
“Miriam did not wed?” I breathed.
Lord Bjorn turned to me, starting at the bottom of the scarlet gown up to my face. All he offered was a twitch of his eyebrows, then he turned to whatever another member of high society said, leaving me standing in shock.
As if I had not resided in his estate since childhood. Even Lady Bjorn, who had shown me such kindness, did not behave as if she knew me.
“Why has she not wed?” I insisted. All I received was a tensing of the line of his shoulders.
“No dawdling,” the officer snapped, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the doors that led deeper into the House of Lords.
“Amara,” her soft, lilting voice sliced to me from the left.
I whirled, rushing to her as she shoved a pastry at the well-dressed man beside her. All my focus was on her. We collided in a hug, her small, shorter stature fitting against me as it always had. Her citrus scent filled my nose.
A pang struck through my chest.
“You are not marrying Viscount Lancet?” I asked through a tight throat.
She pulled back with a huff, still holding onto my arms.
“Father no longer believes he’s suitable.” She pouted, but in the same breath, her expression turned serious before leaning close to me. “You must believe it was not me, Amara. I did not tell them of your Sigil.”
Her rushed whisper settled against my ear, then she was tugged away, and I was forced back by a grip digging into my arm.
Emotion crowded inside my chest as I stumbled over my feet and quickly righted myself.
A different song led by a fiddle began, and cheering erupted as a fresh wave of bluebloods poured in to dance.
“Miriam,” Lady Bjorn hissed under her breath, now beside her. Miriam craned her head to keep my gaze. It was not the time to fixate on Miriam.
“If you no longer need to—”
“Yes,” I blurted, interrupting the officer. “I apologize. It has just been so long.” I smiled stiffly, forcing myself to turn away from Miriam and move through the throng of the crowd with the same effort it would have taken if I had stones strapped to my feet.
I knew it. Miriam had not betrayed me. A weight I had not realized I carried fell away.
Another pair of guards was posted at the entrance leading deeper into the House of Lords. Egan was one of them.
I clamped my lips together before I exclaimed.
“Officer Tobin.” Egan stepped inside the threshold. The officer stopped and straightened to attention. “At ease, officer.”
“Yes, my lord—I mean, sergeant. I am to take the redblood to the feeder wing upon His Highness’ orders.”
Sergeant? I scanned Egan’s uniform. The simple gold embroidery had spread to line every hem of his velvet uniform. He was no longer a simple officer.
“I will take her. Return to your post.”
He hesitated for an instant, then inclined his head and slipped through the shut doors.
As soon as he was gone, I reached for Egan.
“I am so pleased to see you,” I said, clasping his hands.
It could not have been terribly long since seeing him, but a flood of soft, lulling happiness filled me in his presence.
“You are well? Intact?” he breathed, so close I could smell the cleaning solution he used to bathe. A soft, gentle smell of lavan flower.
“I am.” I squeezed his hands once more and started down the hallway. It would take time to reach where I needed to be. “How have you fared not following my every step?”
“I prefer it to what I do now.”
“Ah, yes, Sergeant.”
Egan winced, keeping pace with my quick steps. “Father insisted on it. He wants me to be Lieutenant General eventually.”
“And you do not,” I said, not asking. In the time I had spent with him, it was quite obvious that he wanted a quiet life.
“No, I much prefer a countryside estate to the political tangle.” He slowed, gesturing to the path branching off. “The feeder wing is this direction,” Egan said, frowning.
“Ah, I have a small matter to attend to,” I smiled tightly.
He cocked his head, but followed. I had yet to reach Al’s, and my palms had already become damp. Finally, I reached the steps that would descend, and I turned to face Egan.
“I left something of mine inside.” I stepped closer to him until only a half-pace separated us. “Will you wait here whilst I retrieve it?” I kept my eyes wide and made an attempt to be guileless.
“Em.” His exhale made the tendrils of hair spilling out of my coiffure rustle. I placed my palm on his hand. His mouth twitched, and he finally nodded tightly. “Hurry.”