Chapter 13 The Ball
Twinkling gas-fueled chandeliers hung from the Gravenmere ballroom, casting golden light across a floor of green and white tiles.
White marble columns, veined with silver, lined the perimeter of the dance hall.
Ladies in fine gowns rustled and shimmered as they moved in little flocks around the room.
Gentlemen in tailcoats and cravats clustered at the edges of the dance floor, discreetly searching the crowd for a pleasing dance partner.
Laughter filled the air like silver bells, and the music—a graceful waltz played by the Plum Dahlia Quartet—swelled through the glittering chamber.
The ensemble sat on a raised dais in the corner of the ballroom, barricaded from the dancers by a wall of standing vases and tables lined with glowing candles.
Two of the musicians’ violins were shined.
With each stroke, a waft of sparkling mist floated above the quartet, snaking through the air and following the weave of the music.
The sight reminded Celise of Heather’s harp, which emitted a similar sparkle when she practiced at home.
With each stroke of the lead violinist’s bow, a gust of silver sparkles showered the air, while the second violin released streams of shimmering green clouds.
The crowds gasped and applauded at the sight.
Celise left the Bratzian twins at the entrance to the ballroom and went to join the Dhastel family.
As she walked, she couldn’t help but gaze upward at the ballroom’s painted ceiling, where a heavenly landscape of winged horses and chariots danced around the Goddess of Dust and Moon.
In the painting, Valestra held her fabled wand high, conducting the fate of the cosmos like a divine orchestra.
The Dhastels were clustered around one of the tall, circular tables that bordered the dance floor.
The tables were meant for standing and not sitting.
The only chairs in the room were along the north-facing wall, in a shadowy area beyond the dance floor.
The secluded row of short benches and cushioned seats was for dancers to regain their breath.
Most of the guests were up and walking about at this early hour of the evening, before the waltz began.
Marcella didn’t glance in her direction when Celise arrived at their table.
Celise stood slightly behind Katrina and Heather, feeling invisible once again.
She wore no extravagant hairpieces, no feathers or sparkling sequins to catch the light.
Despite her dress being the finest she had ever worn, she still felt plain next to Katrina and Heather’s fashionable skirts.
The two sisters shone like polished jewels.
Celise felt herself shrink down a bit as she realized just how simple her dress truly was.
The confidence she had gained around the Bratzian twins didn’t last very long.
Next to her sisters, she felt as out of place as a duck amongst swans.
Before long, she found herself wishing to be invisible once again.
As more and more women gathered at the edges of the dance floor, Marcella looked increasingly irritated.
Lord Elias Blackwood still hadn’t arrived at the ball.
“Where is he?” Marcella griped. “Old Blackwood promised his son would dance with Katrina.”
“Now, now, let’s not be impatient,” Lord Dhastel said into his half-finished whiskey tumbler. “The dance has yet to begin.”
“Are you going to drink the night away like a sloth?” Marcella snipped.
“Nothing wrong with enjoying a sip of fine, free liquor,” her father muttered. “Relax, my dear; I’m sure His Grace is just adding a few lines to his speech.”
“A speech?” Katrina groaned. “But that’s so . . . boring.”
“Why don’t you girls stand closer to the dance floor?” Marcella said with a sharp smile. “There’s no point to you lurking about in the shadows, hidden away.”
Celise knew Marcella’s request was not a mere suggestion.
Katrina and Heather exchanged a glance, then picked up their skirts and started across the floor with a gentle rustle.
Celise felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach—she would very much like to disappear into a shadowy corner of the room, far away from the brilliant dance floor.
But she sensed Marcella’s mood and followed after her sisters.
The three girls came to stand at the edge of the dance floor, where the other young women were slowly accumulating.
Ambrosia stood nearby with her little group of followers.
Celise privately thought that Katrina and Ambrosia were the two prettiest girls at the ball.
The competitive spark between the two young women wasn’t a surprise at all.
Ambrosia fluttered her violet fan as she watched the ballroom. Her luxurious indigo hair was piled atop her head in a towering display, pinned with flowers and jewels. Despite her feigned indifference at the tea party, it seems like she, too, was waiting for Lord Elias to appear.
A bell rang from somewhere in the ballroom, and the music came to a gentle stop.
The old duke, Cornelius Blackwood, approached a raised podium toward the end of the ballroom, not far from where the musicians sat behind a barricade of porcelain vases. The guests all ceased murmuring and turned to look.
Old Blackwood cleared his throat. The bright chandeliers illuminated his graying hair and sharp eyes. His voice, rich with authority, rang through the quiet ballroom, resounding off the painted ceiling.
"Oh ho! Welcome, lords and ladies, to Gravenmere’s Grand Ballroom!
As old as the castle itself, this ballroom has hosted generations of Blackwood parties and celebrations.
The ceiling was commissioned by my great-great-grandfather, a king in his time, His Grace Aberon Blackwood.
He was a Luminous king who led the armies of Gravenmere into the Abyss more than two hundred years ago.
When he returned, he was named the Hero of the Realm.
It was under his guidance that Gravenmere merged with Forsynthia and became one whole kingdom. ”
The guests all gasped in delight and murmured among each other. “Another Hero of the Realm in the Blackwood bloodline?”
“I had no idea!”
“I’m not surprised. Their powers are legendary.”
The old duke continued his speech, “Tonight, we celebrate our family’s legacy and the turning of another year in the life of my son—Elias Blackwood.
Many of you have heard the tales of my son’s bravery in battle.
I say this not as a lord, but as a father: I watched Elias grow from child to soldier, then soldier to commander, and now—he has returned home a man of honor, integrity, and strength.
The kingdom owes him a new era of peace.
Let me raise a glass for the heir of Gravenmere and, as the bards sing, the slayer of the Daemon King.
Let us drink to my son, the Skytouched Duke! ”
A thunderous applause swept through the ballroom, accompanied by a few loud whistles. Old Blackwood raised his goblet, and the audience did the same. Celise didn’t have a drink in hand, so she nervously clutched at her skirt. Heather and Katrina locked arms and gazed at the old duke in excitement.
Then a tall figure dressed in a dark blue tailcoat, wearing a familiar black mask over the left half of his face, appeared next to the podium where Old Blackwood was standing.
Elias’s sudden appearance at the front of the room surprised Celise.
She flinched slightly but resisted the urge to hide.
The young duke was too far away to recognize her out of the crowd, so she felt relatively safe.
She watched from behind a wall of elegant gowns as the young duke bowed to his audience.
When he straightened up, he waved a gloved hand in appreciation.
The applause continued, and a few people whistled.
He didn’t seem to resent the attention at all.
Old Blackwood continued above the crowd, “Although my son has won many battles, there is one war I would see him surrender to—marriage!”
Ripples of good-humored laughter joined the applause.
Katrina shared a glance with Heather.
“Let this evening commence under the watchful eye of the Mother of Dust and Moon.
May the stars bless us with a fated union.
I invite—nay, I summon—all noble ladies of marriageable age to stand at the edge of the dance floor, just there.
Let my son see the shining stars of our kingdom!
By midnight, we shall announce the future duchess of Gravenmere. "
Celise heard many gasps and scandalized titters.
Then—movement. Katrina gripped Heather’s hand and started through the crowd to the front of the room.
Skirts of satin, silk, and chiffon began to glide forward.
Jewels glinted. Perfumed hair swayed. A procession of young ladies, some flushed with excitement, others pale with nerves, crossed the ballroom floor to stand before the duke.
Celise’s eyes darted to the corner of the room, looking for a place to hide.
If she could make it to the row of chairs along the back wall, her dress would blend against the silver damask wallpaper, making her all but invisible.
She started to sidle in that direction when a young lady scooped up her arm.
With a little gasp, Celise recognized Ismara’s light lavender hair and warm hazel eyes.
“Not so fast,” the girl said in her clipped accent. “Don’t be scared. You should join us. His Lordship summoned every girl to the front.”
Celise nodded, barely able to breathe. The Bratzian girl gave her hand a warm squeeze and walked with her, arm-in-arm, to the front of the room. There, Ismara stood next to Celise at the end of the row of brightly dressed ladies.
Katrina and Heather stood a few feet away down the row. Katrina looked jittery and excited.