MASQUERADE BALL
Karigan paused atop a broad stairway that led to the
ballroom floor below, where couples swept around and around dancing
to the music of the orchestra. Others clustered in groups
conversing or hovered over tables overflowing with food and drink.
Chandeliers suffused the scene in a dreamy golden
light.
“My
lady?”
Karigan pulled her
gaze away from the ballroom to discover Neff the herald beside her,
attired in his usual tabard, but wearing a simple black eye
mask.
“My lady,” he said,
“would you care to be announced?”
“Heavens, no!” she
exclaimed, and she perceived a narrowing of his eyes behind his
mask.
“Rider G’ladheon—er,
Sir Karigan, is that you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Interesting costume.”
“I suppose it is,”
she replied.
The bells of her
“crown” jingled as she descended the stairs, but were soon
submerged beneath a sea of sound: the harmonious tones of the
orchestra as it moved into a waltz, the rise and fall of
conversation and laughter, and the swish of silk and brocade as
dancers rushed by. She did not see King Zachary or Lady Estora
anywhere and wondered where they might be. They were, after all,
supposed to be the hosts of this event.
The ballroom’s
decorations suggested a sea theme. Silk banners and streamers, dyed
in oceanic blues and greens, hung from the ceiling. Stirred by the
motion of the dancers, they rippled and flowed like waves. A pair
of barnacle-encrusted anchors had been placed at the bottom of the
stairs, and ice sculptures of mermaids, whales, and fish presided
over bowls of punch. Seashells, fishing nets, and dried seastars
ornamented tables and walls.
Most impressive of
all was the sloop, so very far from the nearest harbor, placed
against a near wall with sails hoisted and held taut by lines so it
appeared they were filled with the wind, the mast unimpeded by the
high ceiling. Through a break in the crowd, she could see the hull
was filled to the rails with ice and raw oysters and other
delicacies she would investigate later.
Karigan suspected
Estora’s hand in planning the decorations. The ocean theme
resonated of Coutre Province. Not that the king’s home province of
Hillander, or Karigan’s own of L’Petrie, were not coastal, but
their harbors were more tame, more protected. Coutre and the other
eastern provinces occupied the boldest coast of all, exposed to the
wide open ocean and all its fury, separated from the rest of
Sacoridia by the Wingsong Mountains and the turbulent currents
around the Blackveil Peninsula. The geography had tempered a proud
and independent people.
Karigan was relieved
to find the ball’s theme had not extended to costuming in any way
she could perceive. She would have hated to stand out anymore than
she already did. While the dress of other guests was understated
and sophisticated, masks came in a variety of shapes and colors.
Some bore grotesque countenances with long curving noses,
protruding chins, and demonic horns, or appeared to be inspired by
animals like catamounts, bears, and wolves.
Others were
beautiful works of art fashioned of gold or silver leaf, or plumed
with the feathers of exotic birds. Some helmlike masks featured
entire stuffed birds on them.
Of the birds
represented there were an unusual number of crows—men attired in
black with variations of black-beaked masks, then she realized they
must not be crows at all, but ravens.
Raven. Mask. The Raven Mask. They must
be fantasizing about being the gentleman thief who once stalked
Sacor City’s finer neighborhoods stealing jewels and seducing
ladies in their own bedchambers. The real Raven Mask had met his
end trying to abduct Lady Estora, and Karigan thought anyone who
would wear such a costume an insensitive clod lacking the wit to
imagine the terror their hostess had endured at the hands of that
infamous thief. At the very least, it probably wasn’t the best way
to curry favor with their future queen.
As she wandered the
perimeter of the ballroom, she caught more than a few curious and
amused glances aimed her way, and even laughter. To make matters
worse, she found it difficult to judge the proper amount of
clearance her oversized hip panniers required.
“Sorry,” she said,
after bumping a man in an antlered headdress.
“Anytime, my dear,”
he replied with a sardonic smile.
She moved on, cheeks
burning, only to brush against a woman wearing a beautiful purple
silk mask. Her apology elicited only a glare. Karigan decided that
on her journey into Blackveil she would not need the bonewood staff
the Weapons had given her to defend herself. No, she could just
wear the panniers and take down all adversaries with a swing of her
hips.
Her passage around
the ballroom did not reveal a glimpse of King Zachary or Lady
Estora, but among the dancers was a sight that made her want to
pound her wigged head on the wall: military officers not costumed,
but attired in dress uniform with simple eye masks. This was how
she could have dressed, but she hadn’t known and no one informed
her otherwise. She tried to console herself with the fact that she
didn’t have to contend with the tight collar of her own dress
uniform.
Entertainers
circulated among the guests, juggling, tumbling, and swallowing
swords. They were costumed more brightly than Karigan, but not by
much. A couple of gentlemen—one in a boar mask and the other in a
furred raccoon mask—stepped into her path and waited as if
expecting her to produce juggling balls. She scowled and walked
around them, careful to give her hips enough space, and fluttered
her fan before her face. Every time she heard someone laugh, she
winced, certain it was directed at her.
It was just as well
she decided to remain along the fringes, near the shadows, for all
the commotion, the swell of noise and swirl of color, was
overwhelming. She was not interested in conversing with anyone, and
certainly had no desire to dance. She had come to show support for
her king, but what good was it if he wasn’t even here?
Just as the dancers
lined up for a new set, the horns of the heralds blared across the
vast space of the room. The orchestra and conversation fell silent
and all motion ceased.
Ah, she thought. Fashionably
late.
Figures in black
silently slipped into the room from other entrances, even the
balconies, unnoticed by guests more focused on the ballroom’s
entrance. The Weapons stationed themselves unobtrusively against
walls and sank into shadows. To Karigan, their presence was as much
an announcement of the king’s arrival as the fanfare of the
heralds.
Finally, the king
and his betrothed had arrived. Karigan wanted to turn away, to not
be interested, but like everyone else in the ballroom, she found
her attention riveted to the top of the stairs, awaiting the
entrance of the royal couple.