“Good grief Derrick, you startled me!”
“Sorry, Milady.”
“Oh, don’t call me that, you know well enough I am no lady anymore. How did you get here?”
“You know well enough that there are servants’ entrances for everything. Besides, you two need a chaperone with you constantly, Madame said so.”
“Well ‘Madame’ should have been the one to chaperone us if she was such a stickler for correct etiquette, but personally I don’t mind this arrangement. I’m in for a more fun evening if it’s you – if you can call it ‘fun’ to risk your life crossing a barren wasteland only to talk about the weather with some dull prince who’s probably either ten years old or fifty.”
“Whose fifty?” Vanita was nearing the bottom stair.
“No one. Just my nerves. Come on, you two and let’s get this over with.” Ash straightened her skirts purposefully, as if they were her apron and looked around at the ballroom properly for the first time.
It was as Ash had thought. There were barely ten other maidens in the cavernous ballroom, with their chaperones and the effect was ridiculous: a set of daintily attired ants was what they must look like, this handful of girls laughing nervously and making small talk that boomed across the empty wooden floors and gilded balconies. Clearly the king followed the age-old tradition of ‘if it’s a ball, it must be held in the ballroom’, even if there were less than thirty people in attendance. Still, it was impressive. The ceiling was high, higher almost than Rhodopalais’ roofs and gilded mouldings and boiserie snaked up all the panelled walls like golden vines, self-satisfied-looking cupids frolicking around fatly on the ceiling. As they began to walk across the floor, Ash could see that the plush red carpet looked ever-so-slightly sun-bleached and worn and that a few of the receiving chairs and ‘wallflower seats’ to the sides of the dancing area were mismatched. Absurdly, this made her feel a bit better.
At least there was food. Ash headed straight for the banquet table, supressing a smile when she saw that all the other ‘maidens’ were doing the same. To see so much food! There was a whole roast goose, with real vegetables and fresh bread. It was either a normal-sized goose or a carrior-sized swallow. Either one would be as rare as the other, she hadn’t seen such in years. Her family could eat for a month off of this feast. She piled her plate high quickly, ladylikeness be damned and crossed the acres of floor again to sit next to Derrick and Vanita with more food than she had eaten at once in two years.
Derrick eyed the plate hungrily as she arrived. “That looks so good… Do you think… Well, do you think I could have some? I know it’s a ball and there are procedures for servants –”
“To hell with procedure. You sat on top of a magicked carriage less than an hour ago in plain sight of carriors and marauders for this stupid thing. I think that entitles you to some food.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his finery. “Yes, but, well… I don’t know how,” he said at last, quietly.
Of course he didn’t. Ash cursed her insensitivity. If she felt out of her depth, who knew what he might be feeling. She and Vanita knew the basics of which fork, how to approach someone and all the other niceties without even thinking. Derrick had seldom left Rhodopalais and he had surely never been inside a ballroom. “Come on Derrick, I shall escort you,” she said gallantly, putting her plate down and giving him her arm.
“I can’t believe all this… I’ve died and gone to Heaven,” Derrick said minutes later, eyeing the roast goose up close. No, I’ve died and gone to the palace.” He promptly set about piling his plate as high as Ash had.
There was a man on the opposite side of the table from Derrick, just barely visible behind the neck of the browned goose. He was leanly handsome where Derrick was muscular, with black floppy hair that he kept pushing out of his eyes. But that was not what had attracted her attention. Rather, he was one of the grumpiest-looking people she had seen in years. Ash noticed how he looked around the room distractedly, barely helping himself to any food.
“Humph,” the man said to the goose-swallow bird, glowering at it as if wishing it would disappear.
As Ash and Derrick came close to the table, the man moved aside for them without glancing up. He was scowling at the potatoes now. Derrick certainly hadn’t noticed. He had enough food on his plate to feed a carrior and was looking around himself by now. “I say, there are some nice-looking offerings here,” he said, eyeing the other young ladies in their slightly shabby gowns. “It must be nice to be a prince.”
“Must it now?” said the man across the table from them suddenly. He glared at Derrick as if it had been his idea to have this ball.
“What is your problem?” Ash watched Derrick’s chest puff out like a pigeon’s, as he stood a little taller.
Ash was about to step in, but the glowering man deflated all at once, gesturing apologetically to Derrick. “I am sorry. That was very ill-mannered of me. It’s just that I do not approve of this ball at all. The whole purpose of it is so stupid. I wish I could be somewhere else, but that’s not your problem. Truly, sorry.”
“Well, at least there’s food.”
The man barked a dark laugh out, his eyes unsmiling. “Yes. But at what cost?”
Derrick eyed him curiously. “Who’re you then?”
Another laugh. “Part of the food on offer. Something for someone to take home.”
“What?” Derrick was now looking very pale, but Ash out a restraining hand on his arm. She had seen the whiteness of his clothes now, had heard the culture in his voice and a picture was beginning to form. “He doesn’t mean someone will eat him, he means someone will marry him if he’s not careful.”
“Who?” Derrick looked between the man and Ash suspiciously, but Ash put a hand on his arm again. “Don’t. We wouldn’t want to put his highness off of his food.”
He looked at her, then back at the floppy-haired man. “Highness?” he squeaked.
The man smiled for the first time. “Not feeling very up in the clouds at the moment but yes, Highness. How do you do.”
Without another word, Derrick gave a rough bow and scuttled off.
The black-haired man chortled as he watched Derrick go. Ash scowled at him.
“Your boyfriend?”
“Oh no, just another one of your adoring subjects.”
“We try,” he said in a quiet voice. “How did you know I was the prince anyway?”
Ash looked him up and down as though wondering whether or not to spare his feelings. “Your plate,” she said at last. “You’re the only one here without a heap of food.”
The prince blushed scarlet at this, looking down at his meagre amount of food. “The palace is very fine,” Ash said quickly, feeling guilty. “I came here only twice, both when I was quite a little girl. And that, well, that was lifetimes ago, several versions of me ago.”
“That palace is lifetimes ago for all of us,” he agreed.
A single lute began playing, then a violin. The prince groaned.
“What?”
“That’s my cue. I’m supposed to be entertaining. Would you like to dance?”
“Me? Why?”
“Because those instruments starting means that the dancing must commence. And I have to start the proceedings. I could just stand here with my empty plate, but my lord father will kill me if I don’t dance with every single eligible lady here. And, well, since we have established that you’re so charming, I may as well start with you.”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
The prince took Ash’s hand and as he led her into the cavernous empty space of the dance floor she remembered too late just how many years it had been since her last dance lesson. Not that she had been bad at dancing, it had been the only part of being a ‘lady’ she had enjoyed while she had still been one. But that was many years – and a whole different Ash - ago. What if she’d forgotten?”
All eyes were on them, the room awkwardly silent apart from the reedy tones of the lute and violin. W
hen the prince glanced at them, the rest of the flustered quartet began playing. Ash smiled at them in thanks, wondering why on earth she had agreed to this. Everyone was still staring and she felt her face becoming hot. Then the prince put his hand to her waist and involuntarily, she jolted, cursing herself internally.
He frowned, taking the first diagonal step forward of the dance, placing their hands in the correct position. “I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?”
“No… No. It’s just that I can’t remember the last time someone touched me,” Ash explained, realising as she said it that it was true.
“I find that hard to believe. Are you alright now?”
“Ye-es…” said Ash, wondering what had happened to her normal voice, but trying not to show it.
He stared into her eyes as they moved awkwardly back and forward. “It’s not me, is it? You’re nervous about the dancing. The last ball was years ago… you haven’t been to a ball in years, is that it?”
Ash shook her head, still trying to concentrate on the right steps. “It’s not appropriate to go to a ball before sixteen, even chaperoned. I was sixteen two years ago, when the Project happened.”
He nodded in amazement, not even losing the rhythm of the steps. This prince was a natural. “So, you’ve never been to a ball? And you’ve never danced with a man?”
“Apart from my rotund, old dance instructor? No.”
“Good grief. Now I’m nervous. Would you like to stop?”
“Oh Lord, that would be even worse. Everyone’s already staring at us. Just distract me, tell me something about yourself or talk to me. I’m hoping muscle memory will take over.”
“Your not-boyfriend is bowing to other ladies.”
“What?”
Ash used the first turn to spin around. Derrick was standing nearby in front of three ladies, bowing absurdly low to each one in a manner which would usually be appropriate only for a member of the royal family. It seemed to be working – the ladies tittered behind their fans, thinking him ironic and held out their white unworked hands for him to kiss.
Ash turned the other way, not wanting to lose her concentration and make a false step. But the other side was even worse. A slim, fussily-dressed man was leading a stammering, blushing Vanita out onto the dance floor. His reddish hair and the way he held her reminded Ash of a fox.
“Who’s that man?”
“That is the Duke Novrecorte, my cousin. Third in line for the throne, if my father and I are killed by carriors or some such – which we may well be. Why?”
“Because that is my sister he’s dancing with.”
At this, the Prince laughed aloud. “Oh dear! Well, be prepared to see her being swayed into a rather dark alcove at some point in the evening.”
Ash tried to read his face to see if he was joking. He seemed to be serious. “I think I’d rather put an arrow through his neck,” she retorted, equally seriously.
“Is that so?”
“Indeed. But I may have to settle for putting one through his leg only if this dance goes on for much longer. Grief, dancing was never this hard before.”
“Does it feel bizarre to you too? Twirling and exchanging niceties while the world goes to hell outside?”
Ash nodded, not really listening to the prince. A couple of the other ladies had taken to the floor to dance with each other, the better to show off their marriageability there, Ash supposed. It was all severely unequal, especially since Derrick could not dance, although he seemed to be doing just fine regardless.
“Where is the king?”
The dark-haired prince frowned. His hands were still holding Ash, so he tossed his hair out of his eyes in a way that looked like a vexed horse. “He thought it best not to show his face on the first night, the better not to antagonise the people. There have been threats, attempts…” He looked down but did not lose his step. It suddenly occurred to Ash that, in his own way, things may be rather hard for him.
Ash had not noticed the music stopping, but the few people around them on the dance floor were standing still and curtsying to each other. Before they could quit the floor, the music started again – a lively gavotte this time. The prince looked into her eyes.
“Another?”
“Another.”
She gasped a little as the young prince grasped her waist in his hands and began the dance steps. He moved surely and Ash had to concentrate to keep up. At least there was less time for conversation while they skipped and spun around each other. At least she was wearing comfortable shoes.
Somewhere before the second crescendo, Ash found with some amazement that she was having fun. She even let herself smile a bit at the spinning, sparkling room.
This fact was not lost on the prince, in between the swirls and spins required and lifting of his dance partner. “What’s wrong with your face? Just so you know, it looks happy.”
She smiled once more. “Oh dear. I must change it then.”
He tactfully said nothing, but on the next turn he lifted her so high that her heart was in her mouth. “Nice boots. Those look comfortable.”
Ash felt the heat in her cheeks as she blushed and not from the exertion of the dance. “They are good for outrunning carriors, Highness.”
“I’m sure… In fact, I might just steal them as my princely right, but they do seem to look oddly good with that dress, which I am not so sure would suit me.”
Ash laughed, surprised, to even hear the sound of her laugh again. She decided to be honest. “I don’t want to think about carriors in this moment. I want to think about dresses and balls and I want you to dance with me, Your Highness.”
“Now that I can do.”
And so they danced. Right at the end, on the last swelling note, he took Ash up into his arms and spun her in a circle, held as high as a prize. All of time stopped while she was up there, looking down at him.
But then the dance ended and she curtsied deeply, without irony. “Thank you, Prince Rizend, your highness.”
“Rize, please.”
“I cannot call you that! Everyone calls you ‘Your Highness’ in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed.” ‘Rize’ grinned toothily, bowing. “Something tells me you’re not everyone. Would you permit me to show you something?”
“Something involving a dark alcove?”
“If I said yes would you agree?”
“No.”
“No dark alcoves, then. On my honour.”
He led Ash through one of the archways, as she had suspected, but made a couple of turns around corners hidden by fussy marble statues and, suddenly, they were outside in the cool night air.
To Ash, this was more beautiful than the interior of the palace. The white marble and bleached stone glowed in the moonlight, the leafless trees down below seemed dramatic and sculptural from here instead of sad.
Rize was standing slightly ahead of her, his spotless white uniform displaying him effortlessly as a part of here. He gestured to a short staircase leading down to the gravel. “Come on.”
Ash certainly was glad she hadn’t worn Glass shoes now – whatever they were, they sounded expensive – and she could easily keep up with the prince as he loped across the expanse towards a dim shape beyond the bare candlelit trees she had seen when they first arrived, in what she assumed had once been the palace gardens.
As they walked closer, Ash could see a not-very-tall building of some kind, in an odd pointed shape, like a chapel in miniature, with rounded walls.
“I wanted to show you my favourite place. Wait here.” The prince walked toward the odd building alone, clearly at home here and seconds later a few candles were lit, showing Ash the building’s true form.
It was the palace conservatory, or had been, when plants had still grown. It was made entirely out of slightly green glass misty with age, ensconced around each of the long panes with girders of wrought iron that frilled into lattice work at the edges. The front was made into an enormous arched window the height of Ash
herself, cunningly turned into double front doors for the conservatory that opened like windows would. With the slight shriek of unused metal, Rize opened the doors and Ash stepped inside.
The inside bore the signs of neglect, with dried brown leaves and cobwebs covering the abandoned work surfaces and the forlorn empty plant pots. But the clear glass simplicity of it was still achingly lovely, quiet and pure in the candlelit night. Through the domed, paned ceiling, Ash could see the stars. A slight breeze came in from the places where a glass pane or two were missing. In one corner, barely perceptible in the light, was a work bench littered with glass vessels and scientific-looking oddities more suited to an apothecary than a greenhouse.
“In the daytime I sometimes work there. Don’t tell anyone, but I actually enjoy that sort of thing. My Pathfinder tutor growing up had the Biological Arts as her favourite subject and it rubbed off on me.”
“Tutor? I thought Pathfinders were more professional wearers of orange and eaters of other people’s food.”
“Harsh! They taught me everything I know.”
“I’m still trying to figure out whether that’s a good thing or not.”
“Well,” the prince sidled up to her, “it was the Pathfinders who were the first ones not to think I was crazy for actually enjoying reading. Once, one of my tutors got drunk on honeyed wine and told me that when my lord father had been young they used to send him to the library for penance if he’d played one of his many practical jokes. I would have found it a reward. He wasn’t supposed to inherit the throne, but when the Spring Sickness had taken the other heirs, the people saw that he was strong and lusty and liked to hunt and spar and had served time in the army. So, they said ‘alright, he has the look of one who could be king’. When I was born, it was never a question that I would hunt and fight just like him. I learned to, that was my ‘library’. And now I’m glad. These days, hunting is not for fun.” The prince’s face was unreadable as he looked off into the dark, a shadow of something contorting his features for a brief moment.
“Sounds like quite an upbringing. And the Pathfinders, they accepted your less… kingly side?”
Ash Rising Page 9
