Chapter 12 The Bratzian Twins #3
“My sister can understand you clearly; she just doesn’t speak her words well,” one of the twins said, a frown clouding her heart-shaped face.
“Well, that remains to be seen.” Verabon’s eyes raked over the girl’s dress. “I’m not sure I understand your fashion sense. These jeweled bodices are so gaudy, and your colors are so . . . loud.”
“Bratzians dress differently; we prefer heavier fabrics with darker dyes,” the outspoken twin said defensively. “Our gowns are made with thicker material for the gray mountains of Rog—”
“And so you wear fox furs in early Hallowsin?” one of Verabon’s friends laughed. “You must be sweltering. It’s not even harvest time. You should have dressed lighter for the season.”
“Why do you care if their dresses are a bit different?” Celise heard her voice cutting through their conversation. She took a step back as the girls all turned to stare at her.
Ambrosia’s eyes widened with recognition. She said nothing—but her cheeks paled. If anything, she looked embarrassed to be caught in the act of bullying a foreigner.
“My apologies, I didn’t see you standing there," she said.
Perhaps for the first time in her life, Celise felt a twinge of authority, as though perhaps she were a lady after all.
She straightened up a notch. She wasn’t very tall, and Ambrosia towered over her.
But Ambrosia wasn’t half as intimidating as Elias’s warhorse, Tempest, and that thought gave Celise courage.
“You should show them our Forsynthian hospitality, not mock their dresses,” Celise said, her voice stronger than before.
For some reason, it was much easier to stand up for the twins than for herself.
“Do you plan to insult me next, or have you filled your quota for the evening? If you must criticize someone’s dress, you may criticize mine. ”
A pause. A single scoff. Then Ambrosia wordlessly swept her skirts and walked away, her head held high, with her friends flanking her.
The Bratzian twins stared at Celise with wide eyes.
Celise gazed back, just as shocked at herself. Then she gave them a small, almost sheepish smile. “I feel like I should apologize for Ambrosia’s rudeness.”
“No matter,” the first twin said, the one wearing the indigo chiffon and sparkling, gold-and-crystal-studded bodice. “We’ve traveled a lot around your kingdom. Not every person in Forsynthia is like Ambrosia.”
“Just some of them,” the second twin said in her thick accent.
“Well, I certainly don’t think less of you for speaking another language. I never learned anything other than Forsythian,” Celise reassured them.
The first Bratzian twin stuck out her hand. “I’m Ismara, and this is Ilyana. We’re from the city of Anvéra in Bratzia.”
Celise offered a hand. “A pleasure.”
“You should come visit us sometime,” Ismara said. “We’ll show you the crystal sea and the fur markets—none of this cold smirking and flouncing about.”
Ilyana grinned. “Dances in Anvéra are more fun. Less . . . stuffy.”
Celise smiled. “I would like that,” she said, though in truth, she knew she would likely never see the twins again after the ball. She cleared her throat, a bit awkward, thinking back to the conversation she had overheard between Lord Elias and Meister Barbaros.
“I heard Bratzian artificers make a lot of shined objects,” she said. “I heard something called ‘dust’ can be used to make different ones.”
Ismara’s eyes widened in delight. “How surprising! I don’t often meet a Forsythnian lady who knows about dust. Yes, every Bratzian child knows at least the basics of artificing. My father is the master of the Weaving Hands Guild.”
“So then, you know about artificing?” Celise asked, surprised.
“Yes. It would be a disgrace not to, as a guildmaster’s daughter.” Ismara gave a small curtsy.
Ilyana indicated the gold bracelet on her wrist. “I made this one.”
“Oh?” Celise asked curiously, looking at it. “What does it do?”
“It warms your hand.”
Ismara cut in. “Do you want to try it?” She reached for her sister’s wrist. “Here, let’s take it off and let Celise try. It glows a pretty pink color when you channel with it. You only need a small amount of mana; even a child could—”
“Oh, no, that’s alright,” Celise said quickly.
She glanced down the hallway, where guests were walking from the banquet hall to the ballroom.
“The dance will begin soon. We should probably head there . . .” In truth, she didn’t want to reveal her lack of mana.
She didn’t know what the twins might think.
All of the nobility in Forsynthia were Luminous.
“You’re right. Let’s go,” Ismara agreed.
The three girls started down the long corridor together.
Now that Ismara was more comfortable, she chatted about the different guilds in Bratzia, how each one had a different technique and tradition for creating shined artifacts.
Celise didn’t see Katrina or Heather anywhere, which was a relief.
She found herself enjoying the twins’ company.
They seemed much more friendly than the Forsynthian nobles.
Ismara was particularly talkative and walked close to her side.
They started down the hallway to the ballroom.
Outside the tall windows, stars dotted the sky and dusky purple light cast long shadows across the Gravenmere gardens.
Cheerful, shined lanterns of different colors illuminated the main corridor to the ballroom.
Ismara and Ilyana walked on either side of Celise, sharing stories of their life in Bratzia.
As they walked across the west wing of the castle, Celise found herself smiling at the two lively twins.
Her heart felt a little lighter, her spine a little straighter.
She thought back to her confrontation with Ambrosia and wondered at herself. Since when had she become so bold? Whatever had sparked her transformation, she was grateful for it, because she had made some new friends.