REFLECTED
Neff the herald stepped forward on the top landing of
the stairs and bellowed, “I present to you His Highness, King
Zachary, lord and clan chief of Hillander Province and high king of
the twelve provinces, leader of the clans of Sacor and bearer of
the firebrand, supplicant to the gods only, and his betrothed, Lady
Estora of Coutre Province, first daughter of Lord and Lady
Coutre.”
As Neff went on to
announce other members of the entourage, including Estora’s
sisters, assorted cousins, and various dignitaries, Karigan’s
attention was drawn only to the two foremost figures of the king
and his queen-to-be standing on the landing.
Estora was stunning.
She always was. She wore silks of aqua and sea green, white ruffles
flowing just beneath the hem of her skirts like the foam of waves.
Teardrop gems sewn into her costume and woven into her hair
sparkled like the sun on the water. She held a stick mask of ocean
colors to her face, beaded so it too rippled in the
light.
Someone near Karigan
whispered, “She’s perfect.”
“Like a goddess of
the sea,” someone else said.
Karigan could not
disagree.
The king held Lady
Estora’s hand as they slowly descended the stairs. The king was
dressed in a deeper green, his longcoat of rich velvet, his
waistcoat silvery gray. He wore a helm mask that was the fierce
visage of a dragon, wings outstretched, its green enameled details
shimmering with reptilian iridescence. He presented a brooding,
mysterious figure, and even at a distance Karigan could sense his
restrained power.
For a moment, she
fantasized it was her hand he held, that it was she walking beside
him, but when the couple reached the ballroom floor and the
gathered guests bowed and curtsied to them, someone whispered
behind her: “Do you smell something?”
The question was
followed by loud snuffling, then a reply: “Yes. Something ...
musty.”
Karigan’s dream
evaporated. She was no queen, just a mildewed parody of
one.
The guests parted so
King Zachary and Lady Estora could approach the dance floor. They
came so close Karigan could have reached out and touched them. She
could smell the lavender scent of Lady Estora, catch the smiles the
two shared with each other and no one else.
Karigan bowed her
head as they passed, just one more supplicant among the
many.
When King Zachary
and Lady Estora reached the center of the dance floor, he placed
one hand on her waist and she placed hers on his shoulder. Their
leading hands were raised with palms pressed together. He said
something, and she laughed in response. With a flourish the
orchestra started playing again and the two flowed into a dance,
gliding around the floor as if they’d always been meant to be a
pair, her delicate beauty to his strength, one piece of a puzzle to
match the other.
Karigan ached to be
the one in the king’s arms, to be the one moving in such synchrony
with him, to be holding his attention as Estora did.
I am nothing compared to her, Karigan thought,
feeling ashamed of her Queen Oddacious costume and, in a rare
moment of her life, actually regretted her commoner status.
He deserves Estora, not me. She is a true
queen.
As others entered
the dance floor, Karigan tore her gaze away. She had to stop. She
had to stop the dreams, the fantasies, the regrets. They only
brought her pain. She and Zachary, King
Zachary, were something that could never be.
Karigan resolved to
push aside the pain. She would do so by giving her full attention
to the food tables, though her appetite had deserted her. She
turned away from the dance floor, and in her haste almost stumbled
right into one of the tumblers. He was garbed in a black
form-fitting costume. When she looked into his mask she caught her
breath and fell back, for it was her own features that returned her
gaze. The mask was a mirror, crafted of highly polished silver and
formed into an oval bowl fitted over the tumbler’s face. It lacked
openings for eyes, mouth, and even his nose, presenting an inhuman
countenance stranger than any other she had seen this
night.
The mask’s convex
shape warped her reflection, and viewed this way, Queen Oddacious
indeed appeared mad.
Disquieted, Karigan
averted her gaze. “Excuse me,” she murmured, but when she tried to
step around the tumbler, he was again in her path and she was
forced abruptly to look at her reflection.
But not the
same reflection.
It had altered,
changed, so that she was no longer Queen Oddacious, but herself
unmasked, without wig or costume, her own face staring back at
her.
What? What is ... She wanted to run away, escape
the strangeness of it, but could not, as if some spell held her
fast, and she shuddered for she was not unacquainted with the power
of mirrors.
Clouds roiled in the
eyes of her reflection as if she watched the sky. Then something
else appeared there mirrored in her eyes, a flight of arrows, metal
tips gleaming, as they sloped toward her in a deadly
arc.
Her reflection in
the mask did not move, did not waver.
Waited.