The Underwater Ballroom Society

by Y. S. Lee

  “Hmmph.” Cassandra’s scowl deepened.

  But it was Jonathan who shook his head. “Never,” he said gently. “Don’t worry, Amy. We won’t stand in your way. Will we, brat?” He reached over to give Cassandra’s shoulder a squeeze.

  She leaned into it, her scowl lightening as she looked up at her older brother. The easy warmth and trust that flowed between them tugged at Amy like a hearthfire, pulling her toward that comfort as if...

  No! She tipped back on her slippered feet with a jerk. She would not give up every dream she’d ever had only to chase a mirage of fleeting happiness. She was a practical woman, not a fool—and he wasn’t even asking her to choose him over her political future, was he?

  We won’t stand in your way, indeed.

  Fury swept through Amy’s body in a sudden and inexplicable wave that shocked her with its intensity. What was happening to her? Unlike some people, she was always sensible. He was the one who made no sense!

  He’d spent the last ten months making her smile over her breakfast every morning and playing ridiculous, invented card games with her and Cassandra every night—games that sent all three of them into helpless, full-body fits of laughter like nothing Amy had ever experienced before. She had even fallen somehow, over the months, into the dangerously addictive habit of joining him for long, private walks every day, circling happily around and around the Aelfen Mere as they talked over everything in their heads.

  ...Well. Almost everything, at least.

  She had never touched him on any of those walks. Amy’s gloved fingers flexed restlessly at her sides, now, at the thought of it. They’d stayed safely within view of Harwood House every time, and Amy had carefully kept her hands to herself, forcing herself to resist every moment of temptation. She would never—could never—allow herself to dishonor him in that way.

  Mage or not, Jonathan Harwood was a man who deserved to be married, not simply trifled with. But every time Amy had met his blue gaze over the last ten months, the heat of their connection had built higher and higher until it nearly scorched her.

  His feelings matched her own; she was sure of it. And he certainly knew all of her plans for tonight. But instead of stepping back from her now as she deserved and closing off all of that hopelessly sincere and irresistible warmth, here he was smiling at her with—with tenderness and understanding, as if he could read her mind and yet still he somehow felt—

  Argh!

  Amy swung around, her vision blurring, and stepped into the cool, lapping water of the Aelfen Mere, letting it swallow her up before she could lose her mind entirely.

  The first part of the spell that had transfixed visitors for the past three decades was the entrance to the Harwoods’ famous ballroom.

  There was no staircase dug into the ground in front of Harwood House, no tunnel leading beneath the lake. Instead, every visitor was required to take a leap of faith: to step, though every sense warned against it, into that rippling blue water and be sucked beneath it. It was a moment of utter helplessness that should have signaled drowning to any who couldn’t swim, or at the very least ruin to their elegant ballroom finery.

  Instead, after a blur of momentary blindness, Amy landed, as always, dry and secure on a tiled dancing floor that stretched in a vast and generous circle around her. A jangling, ecstatic mingling of fiddles, flutes, and drums swirled through the air, rising up towards the high arched ceiling paned with curving glass that showed off the mysteries of the dark water beyond.

  Hundreds of fey-lights floated through the room, lighting up the dazzling jewels of the human dancers, the vibrantly colorful wings and sparkling clothing of the visiting Fae emissaries, and the rich paintings that lined the rounded walls, celebrating the Boudiccate’s achievements throughout history. From the expulsion of the Roman invaders through the taming of their Norman would-be conquerors and the more recent international treaties the Boudiccate had struck with empires all around the world, every great moment of the past was lovingly depicted.

  In the center of the tiled floor, the great Boudicca herself bared her teeth in victory, laid out in ferocious mosaic beside her second husband, whose magical powers had perfectly complemented her martial and political prowess. Together, they had formed the mold for the nation that grew in their wake, creating an unquestionable law that ruled Angland to this day: pragmatic ladies saw to the politics while gentlemen dealt with the more emotional magic...and no woman could ever be accepted into the Boudiccate without a mage-husband by her side.

  “Miss Standish.” A familiar, drawling voice spoke nearby, and a glass of sparkling elven wine magically appeared in the smooth, white-skinned hand of the man who’d been awaiting her. He offered it to her with a smile of proprietary satisfaction as his cool green gaze traveled from the curling tendrils of black hair that swung around Amy’s ears to the swirling skirts of her gold gown, made of the finest fey-silk. “You look utterly delightful, as always.”

  “Lord Llewellyn.” Smiling warmly, Amy accepted the wineglass from his hand. No more time for nerves. Years of plans clicked into motion as she took a first, careful sip of the bubbling wine...and a shiver of air behind her signaled that the Harwood family had arrived.

  “My friends!” The tiled floor of the ballroom cleared, and the sparkling assembly fell silent as Miranda Harwood’s voice rang through the room.

  There was no need for magical amplification, although a number of mages were on hand if required; Miranda Harwood’s air of authority was entirely natural. It was one of the things Amy most admired about her and hoped to emulate one day, but for now, she stepped back with everyone else as her mentor swept forward to take control of the room.

  “I am delighted to welcome all of you to the Boudiccate’s annual Spring Equinox Ball—and on behalf of our government, I’d like to thank my own new assistant, Miss Amy Standish, for organizing it so beautifully. Amy, may I have the honor of introducing you to our guests?” Miranda beckoned her forward as polite applause echoed around the room from Anglish, Fae, and international attendees alike. “I promise you all,” she said confidingly, “that her name will become extremely familiar to the nation at large over the next few years—and now, Amy, will you please officially open the ball with my son?”

  “Of course.” Amy didn’t hesitate even as her pulse quickened and an irrepressible flush rose beneath her skin. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord...” She passed her wine glass back to Lord Llewellyn with an apologetic smile.

  “Have no fears, Llewellyn.” Lowering her voice, Miranda gave him a knowing smile. “She’ll be all yours soon enough.”

  “I’m depending upon it.” Lord Llewellyn saluted Amy with the glass, his smile perfectly contented.

  ...And Amy turned, as she’d known she finally must, to Jonathan.

  She had been wrong, all those months ago, when she’d imagined that he’d turned his back upon his family. That had been her first of many surprises when she’d arrived at Harwood House ten months ago: to find him not only firmly established in residence like any trusted adult son, but also openly affectionate and ready to assist his mother in anything and everything she wished...except for that one utterly unbending point.

  He would not study magic as tradition demanded. He was the most loyal and loving son and brother that Amy had ever met—but when it came to that point of principle, he would not budge.

  Jonathan Harwood refused to lie about what he truly loved.

  One warm, strong hand settled around her waist, and an uncontrollable shiver of reaction rippled through Amy’s skin. Still smiling, she lifted her chin and kept her eyes aimed away from his as she twined her right fingers through his left hand and set her own left hand lightly on his broad shoulder, tantalizingly close to the sweet, vulnerable spot where his thick brown hair curled to a stop against his neck.

  Too close, too close... How was she supposed to control her feelings when she was standing directly within his arms?

  His mother smiled with calm approval, the music
swirled back into vibrant life, and Amy and Jonathan swept together towards the center of the dance floor in—unbearably—perfect symmetry.

  Fey lights danced overhead like sparkling white stars against the darkness of the deep water outside. Tingles leaped and danced, too, from every point on Amy’s skin where her fingers twined around Jonathan’s and his hand circled her waist. The muscles in his shoulder shifted against her palm, and she had to draw in a shaking breath.

  I can’t bear this, she thought as she smiled and smiled over his shoulder at the blurring room beyond. I can’t, I can’t...

  “Well done,” he murmured as more couples followed them onto the dance floor. “I hope you know how impressed Mother is with the way that you’ve managed every detail of this ball. She doesn’t throw around real compliments lightly—and she usually drives her assistants into the ground.”

  “Oh, I know.” Amy couldn’t help a rueful smile; pulled out of her embarrassingly lust-spelled trance, she dared a quick, slanting glance into his lake-blue eyes and found them full of affectionate amusement. “I was quite prepared for that.”

  “Of course you were.” His smile deepened as he twirled her around, the better to show off her footwork to the room.

  It was one of the things he seemed to do as easily as breathing—showing off the best in the people around him, always. So it shouldn’t have made her chest ache with loss, but it did, of course. It always did.

  Why couldn’t you have studied magic? Amy closed her eyes for one brief, desperate moment as she twirled back into the circle of his arms. “You’re a wonderful dancer.” The words felt stilted in her mouth.

  “Thank you.” His own voice sounded oddly hoarse; his breath ruffled warm and quick against her hair. “It’s one of my few skills.”

  “What rubbish!” Her eyes snapped open. Jonathan always looked confident and at peace with himself—it was one of the most appealing things about him, that warm, steady, reliable presence—but the expression she caught on his face just then looked oddly lost. Vulnerable.

  The sight made something hurt deep inside her, and it turned her voice tart with exasperation. “You may let the rest of the world think what they like of you, but I have read the book you’re writing, remember? And Cassandra showed me your latest article this morning. You could be the finest history teacher in the country if you wanted to.”

  “And embarrass Mother even more? I think not.” This time, he was the one who averted his gaze, his pale skin flushing. “But thank you for the compliment. You’ve listened to enough of my tedious history lectures over the past months to earn a place in the Boudiccate just for patience, I should think.”

  Amy rolled her eyes, relaxing into his arms. “Trust me,” she said firmly. “If I’d found them tedious, I wouldn’t have asked to hear more of them. And I’ll earn my place in the Boudiccate through my own hard work, thank you.”

  “That part,” said Jonathan wryly, “I never doubted.”

  It was, of course, completely the wrong moment to pass Lord Llewellyn, who danced toward them with the dashing Lady Cosgrave glittering in silver lace in his arms. They both smiled and nodded as they neared, and Lord Llewellyn called across jovially, “Watch out, Miss Standish, or he’ll talk your ear off about some dusty old scroll no one’s ever wanted to hear of. Unless you’d like me to cast a spell of silence for your sake?”

  Amy’s teeth gritted behind her smile, even as Jonathan gave an easy laugh and nod in return and the youngest member of the Boudiccate tapped her dance partner’s shoulder in mock-reproof.

  “Shush now, my lord!” Lady Cosgrave shook her head at Lord Llewellyn indulgently. “You know how much our dear Miranda values his help about the place. And you needn’t envy poor Mr. Harwood, you know—you’ll have his lovely partner’s attention to yourself soon enough, won’t you?”

  “That is my plan.” Smiling, Llewellyn followed her direction to dance gracefully toward the opposite side of the room—where, Amy knew, Lady Cosgrave would be aiming for the Fae ambassadress.

  Amy should have been thinking, too, about those delicate trading negotiations that the Boudiccate was trying to strike with the Fae; but it was hard, for once, to care about such details as her lips pressed tightly together, trying to hold back an entirely impolitic response to her own intended fiancé.

  “Is something amiss?” Jonathan frowned, pulling her a fraction closer as he inspected her face. “You look...”

  “It’s nothing.” If Jonathan was willing to laugh off Llewellyn’s comment, so should she; it made no sense to feel this sort of rage over an insult so casual and unthinking, especially when it came from a man whom she should forgive whenever possible, for expediency’s sake.

  And yet...

  “Are you certain?” Still frowning, he cast a quick glance up at the dark panes of glass above them and the deep waters outside. “I would offer to accompany you outside for some air, but in this particular case...”

  “I’d rather not drown tonight, thank you.” Her lips tugged up in a reluctant half-smile. “I wouldn’t mind a sip of wine, though.”

  And a reason to make myself let go of you, she added silently. She had no choice; she had to sort her rebellious thoughts back into order before she could make any terrible misstep—and it would be infinitely easier without the perilous distraction of his warmth surrounding her.

  So it was entirely illogical to feel a pang of loss when he immediately released her. “Of course.” He stepped back, waving her toward the refreshments table at the far side of the room. “Shall we?”

  Her waist felt cold where his hand no longer touched her. She took his arm instead in the lightest of holds and walked sedately by his side through the swirling dancers, smiling and nodding to every couple they passed. She could name and describe every one of the guests after all the hours she’d spent on careful research before writing out the invitations. If put to the test, she could have recited a whole litany of facts and personal details about each of them, including their views on at least half a dozen of the most pressing political issues facing the Boudiccate this spring.

  So it was easy to make small talk to the dancers who paused to converse; easy to subtly nudge those conversations in exactly the right directions for Miranda’s aims; easy, too, to smile and warmly enthuse at those guests while never aiming a single look at the man whose arm she held, even as awareness rippled through her with every move he made.

  When they reached the long refreshments table, it grew easier yet, because the first thing she saw there made her relax into outright laughter: Cassandra Harwood with her back to the dancers and a look of guilty glee on her face, attempting to fit an entire cake into her mouth.

  “You’ll be sick!” Amy said, wincing as she hurried forward. “Or worse, spill crumbs on your gown.”

  “Worth it,” Cassandra mumbled around the cake. “I only just managed to sneak away.” She wiped her arm across her mouth as she gulped the cake down, scattering crumbs across her pale blue gown without any visible shame. Recalcitrant strands of thick brown hair were already beginning to tumble free from her chignon, as irrepressible as Cassandra herself. “I thought I’d never make it over here, Mother had such a grip on me.”

  “Introducing you ’round again?” Jonathan smiled ruefully at his little sister. “You’d think she must have introduced you to every possible political mentor in the nation by now, wouldn’t you?”

  “She was probably hoping they’d forgotten me since the last time.” Cassandra smirked back at him.

  Amy rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Do you have any idea what I would have given to have Miranda Harwood introduce me to political mentors when I was your age?”

  “Nearly as much as I’d give to make her stop?” Cassandra’s face tightened as she reached for another cake, her gaze sliding away from Amy’s.

  Jonathan shifted closer to his sister. “Here, brat.” He pointed past her at a different plate, his voice gentling. “That one has a liquid chocolate filling.
If it accidentally spills all over your gown, well then...you’ll simply have to have some time away to change, won’t you?”

  Cassandra let out a choked laugh—and Amy realized, with a start, that the girl was fighting to hold back an actual sob, for the first time since they’d met. Cassandra’s usual unquenchable self-confidence might make life at Harwood House a challenge at times, when she opposed Miranda’s firm expectations for what seemed the mere joy of showing off her independence—but to see that fierce, spiky girl on the brink of tears now felt more than worrying. It felt wrong.

  It was automatic for Amy to angle herself at Jonathan’s side, blocking his little sister from the view of the crowd for the sake of the family and the evening’s entertainment. But it was a deeper and less rational urge—one that Amy couldn’t resist—to reach out once they were safely shielded from view and cup one hand lightly against Cassandra’s cheek, stroking away that first tell-tale tear as a wave of fierce protectiveness welled up within her.

  “Tell me,” Amy said with soft intensity. “Did someone say something to hurt you? Or...”

  Cassandra shrugged irritably, lowering her eyes, but she didn’t shift away from Amy’s tentative touch. Instead, she leaned into it. “It’s just...it never changes! No matter how many times I tell Mother what I want, she will not listen. She simply carries on the way she always does, sweeping everyone around her into doing whatever she’s decided is best. You know,” she said, appealing to Jonathan. “It’s one thing when she’s doing it for the whole nation, but—”

  “Shh.” He gave her a warning look and stepped closer, blocking her in, as a chattering group of guests stepped up behind them to pick through the assorted cakes and sweetmeats.

  “Perhaps...?” Amy gestured toward the rounded wall that curved behind the refreshments table. A transparent pane of glass inserted between the paintings there created a perfect lookout point and excuse.

  Together, she and the two younger Harwoods drifted toward it, Cassandra safely flanked on both sides by Amy and Jonathan. Smiling brightly as they all reached the glass, Amy made a show of pointing at the dark water outside...and dropped her voice as she studied the girl beside her: the second life-tilting surprise to have greeted her when she’d first arrived at Harwood House ten months earlier.