Chapter 1 The Invitation
Celise stood on the front steps of Gravenmere Castle, her calico skirt clutched in hand.
She rested her parasol against her shoulder and stood still for a moment, listening to a bird trill from a drooping cherry tree next to the front drive.
Behind the castle stretched the rambling Grapevine Mountains, their purple peaks contrasted by a crystal blue sky.
A hedged lawn of sculpted shrubbery, walkable garden rooms, and glowing marble fountains sprawled within the castle’s monolithic walls.
She tugged at the high, itchy collar of her dress, borrowed from her younger sister’s closet.
I am not good enough to stand here, she thought.
She could leave. She had traveled a full day and night by train to reach the estate of the Blackwood family.
A hundred times over, she had thought of changing tickets in Castleberry City.
It would make more sense. She could find work and a little room to rent, though she wasn't very good at anything.
Still, she could clean, and she knew a lot about horses.
She braced herself and rang the bell that hung beside the front door. The hollow brass sound startled a robin from a nearby tree. She watched the bird fly away.
That should be me, she thought.
Her invitation to the duke’s castle was a mistake.
Celise remembered the day she and her sisters were summoned to the Great Hall by her father, Lord Sebastian Dhastel.
She was brushing down a horse when the summons came.
A serving girl, her hair tied in two buns on either side of her head, popped around the corner of a stall and said, with a touch of concern, “The Master wants you, miss.”
“Oh?” Celise murmured, as drowsy in the afternoon heat as the sleepy bay mare she was brushing. “I will come immediately.”
The Dhastel estate was an equestrian ranch with a sprawling mansion house, several guest pavilions, and stables to house more than five hundred horses.
It was midday, and the estate was bustling with activity.
Horse trainers, wranglers and ranch hands ran back and forth, pulling along a plethora of horses on leads.
Dhastel stallions and draft horses were in high demand across the Kingdom of Forsynthia.
Their family was known for their specialty breeds: lady’s walkers, load-bearing draft horses and hearty standardbreds.
Ten years ago, her father was commissioned by King Valienthe to breed a special warhorse for the Daemonguard.
Dhastel “Hellions” were too temperamental for common jobs, but the fearless beasts were highly prized among soldiers and huntsmen alike.
The county fair was at the end of the month, and the Dhastel family’s newest stock always made an appearance.
As Celise followed the maid back to the manor, she passed by the farm manager, Mr. Talisworth, who gave her a slight nod.
Mr. Talisworth was a very tall man, with light blond hair and a jutting brow, characteristic of the northern people of Dresengard, the land of his birth.
It wasn’t common to encounter his people this far south, but Celise had known the horsemaster all her life.
Behind Talisworth, a young farrier laden with tools followed at his heels.
They headed to a row of tethered horses in need of shoeing.
The manor house was a good hike from the stables, and by the time she reached the back entrance, Celise was sweating in the late summer heat.
Alert yet quiet, Celise took off her boots and exchanged them for slippers to enter the house. Not much to be done about the dust on her tunic shirt or the bits of straw that clung to her pants. She walked into the house with a cold pit in her stomach.
What did her father want?
Probably nothing good.
She went to the Great Hall, a large central room in the Dhastel manor where her father spent his days entertaining guests, or relaxing with his hounds before the hearth.
After a riding accident two years ago, during a particularly rainy autumn season, Lord Sebastian Dhastel had lost much of the mobility in his right leg.
He walked with a crutch, and his riding days were well over.
The Great Hall was the largest room on the ground floor of the manor, fit for a banquet of a hundred people.
The wattle and daub interior was immaculately kept.
When Celise was younger, she used to imagine herself walking through the ribcage of a giant horse whenever she entered the room.
Thick, black beams of stout oak gave the Great Hall a strong sense of presence and prestige.
Between the vertical beams, the whitewashed walls were polished with fine clay and limestone.
Wooden studs and rails created a geometric, almost celestial pattern of hexagons and half-stars across the vaulted ceiling.
The wood displayed galloping horses, mountains and scrollwork, a treat for the eyes should anyone find themselves gazing upward.
The Great Hall was symbolic of the Dhastel family’s wealth, and their ties to the kingdom as one of Forsynthia’s noble houses.
The Great Hall’s floor was covered in a single rug that spanned the entire chamber.
Celise tread softly over the blue and tan geometric patterns.
The banquet tables were pushed neatly to either side of the room, not currently in use.
A half-circle of overstuffed leather couches and armchairs filled the space before the empty hearth.
There, her father sat next to his wife, Lady Marcella Dhastel.
Her father was drinking a mug of beer. The foam stained his beard. His skin was bronze from working outdoors most of his life on the ranch, and his wiry hair was gray with age, but his beard still held a dark brown hue.
“Ah, here at last,” Marcella said with a soft sneer.
Celise’s two younger stepsisters were present as well. They sat upright on a chaise lounge like two little dolls before their parents.
Heather, the youngest at sixteen years old, had sunny yellow hair and a wide forehead.
Katrina, the older of the two at eighteen, was dressed in her fencing regalia: a white padded jacket, knee-length breeches, calf-high socks and thick leather gloves.
Her dark violet eyes flashed to Celise, then away, her chin tilted upward.
A servant stood nearby holding her mask and foil.
Her long black hair was tied back in a braid, with loose tendrils falling about her face.
Celise paused before her father and bowed low, until her forehead almost touched her knees. Then she quietly moved to an empty chair, where she sat adjacent to her sisters, her eyes lowered. She avoided the sharp gaze of her stepmother.
“Now that we are all here, my daughters, I have important news to share with you. An invitation has arrived in the mail.” Lord Sebastian Dhastel’s grumbling voice effortlessly carried through the Great Hall.
Celise folded her hands in her lap and kept her eyes focused on the flagstone.
Her raspberry-colored locks fell across her face in a wild tangle.
She felt numb as Lord Dhastel opened a sealed envelope in his lap.
He slid out a square of heavy cardstock and held it up to the afternoon light.
Then he read the letter aloud to his daughters in a round, booming voice:
The Duchy of Gravenmere
Blackwood Hall
Year of the Restless Moon
Season of Ardoursol
Month of Amberfen, Day 26
To the Esteemed Lord and Lady Dhastel of Windhaven Estate,
It is with the highest regard that I extend to you and your household a formal invitation to attend a gala hosted at Gravenmere Castle on the evening of the 10th day of Duskwane.
The gala is in celebration of the thirty-second birthday of my son and heir, Elias Blackwood, Lord High Commander of Firehelm Fortress and the Duke Apparent of Gravenmere.
It is my sincere hope that you will attend, accompanied by your daughters: the ladies Heather, Katrina and Celise.
Their grace and upbringing shall lend great charm to the evening’s festivities.
Many notable members of the military and court will also be present.
We anticipate an evening full of merriment and esteem.
The gala shall include a banquet, formal dancing and a concert by the Plum Dahlia Quartet, an award-winning ensemble out of Castleberry City. At the end of the evening, we ask that all guests plan to stay for a special announcement.
Kindly send word of your acceptance by courier no later than the first of Duskwane, that we may make accommodations for your household.
We wait in anticipation of your reply.
Signed,
Penned on behalf of His Grace,
The Duke of Gravenmere
Lord Cornelius Blackwood
Her father finished reading and silence fell upon the hall. Then Katrina and Heather burst out talking.
“A ball at the Blackwood estate?”
“The Blackwoods are very rich, aren’t they, father?”
“Did His Grace write the letter personally?”
“What did he mean by ‘a special announcement?’”
Lord Dhastel held up a strong hand, silencing his two younger daughters.
“Blackwood’s clerk wrote it,” Dhastel explained with a chuckle.
“It’s a standard invitation. I expect many noble families received a similar letter.
This will be a large event, the largest you’ve attended yet.
I don’t know what manner of announcement Old Blackwood refers to.
I suppose that’s what makes it ‘special.’”
“I have my thoughts on that,” Marcella said.
She plucked the letter out of her husband’s hand and scanned over it, her lips pursed.
The lady’s black hair was braided on top of her head, held in place with two gold hairpins.
Her skin was white as cream, just like her two daughters.
Marcella was many years younger than her husband, and it showed.
“He names our daughters specifically. It’s been two years since the war ended.
I think Blackwood is looking for a match for his eldest son. ”