“Wealth does not improve a lady’s virtue, of course,” Lady Mourningwood informed Dora from her other side, as they headed out into the halls of the Hollow House. “But a good chaperone is essential to her reputation. Naturally, I will be your chaperone—and if you look any men in the eyes, I shall be sure to pluck your own eyes from your head in turn.”
Lord Hollowvale nodded in approval at this, as though it were completely normal. “Lady Mourningwood is the very best of chaperones,” he said. “None would dare to impugn her honour!”
How on earth has Theodora managed to stay in one piece for so long? Dora thought. I would close my eyes for the entire ball, except that I must be sure to sip my wine whenever Lord Hollowvale does.
Dora had not seen the ballroom before, but it was every bit as ridiculous as she might have expected of a faerie’s residence. A great domed ceiling rose above the impossibly-sized room, which was surely as large as five of Lady Cushing’s ballrooms all put together. The floors were an uncanny black and white marble that looked more like a chess board than a dance floor. White candles burned upon every surface with an eerie blue light that seemed familiar, though Dora could not quite put her finger on where she had seen it before.
There were tables of finger food set up along the walls, with bizarre centrepieces on display. One of them had what looked like a single black Hessian boot covered with impressive ribbons—Lord Hollowvale proudly told Dora that this was one of Lord Wellington’s very own boots. Another had a very large porcelain gravy bowl which he said had once belonged to Queen Elizabeth, and one had an actual pillory, prominently surrounded by a whole pile of pineapples—this one, he said, had once been used in the Tower of London. There was no rhyme or reason to any of it, but the faerie seemed inordinately pleased with every display, regardless.
Phantom strings floated upon the air, but Dora could not see any orchestra, nor any dancers or attendees. She knitted her brow. “Has the ball not started yet?” she asked Lord Hollowvale next to her.
“Of course it has started!” the marquess replied with enthusiasm. “But you have not been formally introduced to any of the attendees. It would not do for you to see them until you have formally made their acquaintance!”
Some unseen person stepped on Dora’s foot then, and she jerked back abruptly, blinking. “You mean to say that the entire room is invisible to me?” she asked in puzzlement. “But I shall be running into people by mistake all evening!”
“A small price to pay in return for propriety, of course,” Lady Mourningwood said with absolute seriousness.
Dora caught sight of Theodora heading into the room from the other side then, on the arm of some invisible person. She wanted to go over so that she could cling to her own company, at least, but Lord Hollowvale directed her instead towards the dance floor. “I will have your first dance,” he told her. “But I am sure that there are many handsome elves who shall wish to have your acquaintance soon enough.”
The dance that he performed was far from anything that Dora had ever learned in England, and she struggled to follow his lead. It was something like a minuet, but there seemed to be another dignified bow every few steps, so that it was barely a dance at all.
But the worst part by far was when Lord Hollowvale switched partners in the middle. Dora found herself trying to dance with some invisible faerie, unaware even of the makeup of the crowd. There was absolutely no use to it—someone bumped into her every other second, and she found herself reflexively apologizing with each new misstep.
Dora was only too relieved when the music finally changed, signalling a brand new dance. She tried to stumble her way towards a chair near the wall, but Lady Mourningwood caught her by the arm instead and marched her towards an unseen elven gentleman. “This is Miss Theodora, Lord Hollowvale’s English daughter,” the baroness informed the air in front of them. “Miss Theodora, this is the viscount, Lord Blackthorn.”
The air in front of Dora rippled—and then there was a tall, lithe figure standing before her. Lord Blackthorn was an elf of long fingers and very pale skin. He was dressed in a very fine black velvet jacket, and he had a long, winding rose vine twined about his body which blossomed into a single yellow rose at his throat. His posture had a cheerful cast to it, but Dora remembered just in time to look down at her feet before she could catch sight of his eyes; Dora had no doubt that Lady Mourningwood would make good on her promise to remove her eyes if she slipped up and met the elf’s gaze.
“How charming!” Lord Blackthorn enthused in a melodic voice. “Oh, she is very pretty for a human! And what a lovely gown of forgotten memories!”
“You must not be so free with your compliments, Lord Blackthorn,” Lady Mourningwood said severely. “The English generally talk about the weather instead.”
“Oh yes, where is my mind at?” Lord Blackthorn agreed cheerfully. “It is very misty out, is it not, Miss Theodora?”
“Is it not always misty in Hollowvale?” Dora asked distantly.
“It is!” Lord Blackthorn said, in exactly the same enthusiastic tone of voice. “Oh, you are very good at English conversation, Miss Theodora. I suppose it is to be expected.” He offered out his gloved hand. “May I have this dance with you?”
“You may,” Lady Mourningwood told him, before Dora could open her mouth to respond. “But you must bring Miss Theodora right back to me when you are done, or else you will be obliged to marry her.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Lord Blackthorn said, as though there were nothing strange about this at all. “I do love these authentic English balls. Their etiquette is so delightfully odd!”
“That is not how English etiquette works at all,” Dora said. But Lord Blackthorn took her by the hand and led her back out onto the dance floor, and she sighed heavily.
“The weather is still quite misty,” Lord Blackthorn told her helpfully, as they bowed to one another in that endlessly tedious sequence.
“Yes,” Dora told him. “You have said as much already.”
“It would be nicer if it were sunny, perhaps,” Lord Blackthorn said, and they bowed to each other yet again. “Do you like sunny weather, Miss Theodora?”
“English people do speak of more than just the weather,” Dora told him flatly.
“Do they?” Lord Blackthorn asked curiously. “Well what else do they talk about?”
Dora thought back on all the garden parties and balls that she had attended over the years. She was embarrassed to realise that indeed, nearly half of her interactions with strangers had been about the weather after all. Thankfully, she had many other interactions to call upon. “If one were to breed a dolphin with a horse,” Dora said ponderously, “would the resulting creature have a dolphin’s head and a horse’s end, or would it be the other way around?”
“Oh!” Lord Blackthorn said. “Well clearly, the creature would have a dolphin’s head. For dolphins must stay in the ocean, and it would need its gills to breathe.”
“That is a more sensible answer than I was expecting,” Dora admitted to him. She bowed a bit more deeply this time. “It is another English tradition to trade information about one’s culture,” she lied. “I will answer another of your questions about England if you will answer me one question about faerie in return.”
“How novel!” Lord Blackthorn said. “Yes of course. Then let me ask you, Miss Theodora: who do you consider to be the most virtuous person in all of England?”
Dora blinked at that. “I... have never thought about it before,” she admitted. “I suppose that it would be most proper for me to say it is the king, or the Prince Regent, or some figure which is otherwise above reproach, like the Duke of Wellington.”
“Ah,” said Lord Blackthorn. “But that is not what I asked at all! Lord Hollowvale keeps going on and on about his English virtue, you see, but I find myself wondering just who it is that you consider to be most virtuous.”
Dora pressed her lips together. She probably could have lied again, and the faerie would not have
known the difference. But the question had made her think, and she found herself startled by the answer that suddenly came to mind.
“I think that it is the Lord Sorcier,” Dora said.
Lord Blackthorn made a thoughtful ‘hm’ at that answer. “I thought that only France had a Lord Sorcier,” he said.
“There is an English one now as well,” said Dora. “And yes, I... I think that he is the most virtuous man that I have met.” She found herself unaccountably shy on the words.
“But why is that?” Lord Blackthorn asked. “What makes him virtuous?”
Dora smiled distantly at her feet. “I think that he is virtuous because he is kind to the powerless and cruel to the powerful,” she said.
“But is he wealthy?” Lord Blackthorn asked curiously. “Does he have five jackets, like Lord Hollowvale, or a manor full of servants?”
“I do not think that he is wealthy,” Dora said. “In fact, I suspect that he has given away most of his money.”
“How puzzling!” Lord Blackthorn said. “I was sure that money had something to do with English virtue. All of the most respected men in England become even better respected as they gain more money, do they not?”
“They do,” Dora admitted. “But respect is not equivalent to virtue. And you specifically asked me whom it was that I believed to be most virtuous in England.”
“So I did,” Lord Blackthorn mused. “And what a confusing answer. But now you must ask me your question, Miss Theodora.”
Dora paused long enough to circle the tall faerie and bow to him again, as she phrased her question very carefully in her mind. “I would like to know all of the most reasonable ways for a mortal to defeat a powerful faerie,” she said.
She was expecting Lord Blackthorn to be offended at this—but he laughed instead, as though they were playing a game. “Oh, but that is simple!” he said. “Iron is always best—for it will end our magic in a hurry, and it is terrible poison to us. If you do not have iron, then powerful magic might do, though most of us are far more practiced than even the greatest of mortal magicians.” He considered for a moment longer, then added: “Some mortals have managed to defeat us through trickery and careful wording, but we almost always get the better end of every deal we make.”
Dora smiled vaguely at that. “How interesting,” she said. “I have so many more questions about faerie. Would you like to exchange another set of queries?”
“I would love to!” Lord Blackthorn declared. “But alas, the dance is close to ending, and I must return you to your chaperone, or else we must get married.”
Dora hid a sigh as the viscount led her back towards Lady Mourningwood. The dark-eyed faerie woman took her by the arm again, and turned towards another man—but this time, Dora was surprised to realise that she could already see him. She did not dare to look up at the faerie gentleman, but she saw that his boots were more worn than Lord Blackthorn’s had been. Whoever it is, Dora thought. We have already been introduced somehow.
“This is Miss Theodora, Lord Hollowvale’s English daughter,” the Baroness said again. “Miss Theodora, this is the earl, Lord Longshadow.”
“How charming,” said Elias, in exactly the same tone that Lord Blackthorn had used before—and he offered out a hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Theodora?”
Chapter 18
It took all of Dora’s willpower not to look up at Elias as he spoke. Thankfully, Lady Mourningwood replied as she had done before: “You may. But you must bring Miss Theodora right back to me when you are done, or else you will be obliged to marry her.”
“How terrible,” Elias said. “I shall keep the punishment in mind.”
He took Dora by the hand, and some subtle tension she had been holding inside herself melted away in abject relief. His hand was warm and familiar, and she was suddenly so glad to see him that a hint of real joy sparked inside her chest.
He led her out onto the floor, and Dora took a deep breath. “I will find it difficult to follow your lead,” she told him. “I cannot see anyone here unless I have been formally introduced to them. I would not even know if someone was listening over my shoulder.” She tightened her fingers on his, hoping that Elias would understand the hint.
“I will keep us away from the others as much as I can then,” Elias murmured quietly. “And I shall hold your hand more tightly if someone should come too close.” He squeezed her fingers once in demonstration, then loosened his grip again. “They have placed many silly rules upon this party, I am sure. Is that why you will not look at me?”
“Lady Mourningwood will pluck out my eyes if I look at a man directly,” Dora told him evenly. “She is a very good chaperone, you see.”
Elias let out a soft sound of disgust. “I thought it would be too soon if I ever attended one of these ridiculous balls again,” he muttered. “Thankfully, faeries do not expect each other to lie. I am wearing Lord Longshadow’s face right now, since it is one of the few that I know well. I claimed to be him, and they let me right through the door.”
“So you are not Lord Longshadow,” Dora said. “I wondered for a moment, I admit.”
“I am not,” Elias said in a low voice. “I have no title. I killed my father, and so I might have inherited his—but I left faerie, and someone else claimed it in my place.”
“You killed—” Elias squeezed her hand, and Dora cut herself off abruptly. He took them a few long paces forward, and his fingers loosened again.
“It is a common method of inheritance in faerie,” Elias said, and there was a sadness in his voice now. “I did not want to kill him. But he left me rather no choice in the matter. His successor would not be happy to see me return, in case I should decide to overthrow him as well.”
They bowed to one another again, and Elias shook his head. “There are even more bows to this dance since I was last here,” he added, and Dora knew that he was hoping she would drop the subject.
Dora was beginning to feel oddly dizzy, though she had done little for the last few minutes other than walk and bow. She caught sight of Theodora on the other side of the room, dancing with an invisible partner—her other half seemed similarly off-balance, and she sucked in her breath.
“Lord Hollowvale believes that I will come back together with my other half if we are in the same room and I am very emotional,” Dora said. “I think that he was right. I am growing faint. The children are in Charity House, across the gardens from here. I asked Lord Blackthorn how one might go about defeating a faerie—he told me that iron, magic, and trickery are best. We do not have any iron, and Lord Hollowvale’s magic is very powerful indeed, so perhaps trickery—”
Elias pulled something from his jacket pocket then and slipped it into Dora’s hand. His fingers shook as he did so... and she knew before looking down just what it was she would see.
“My scissors,” Dora whispered. “You brought them all the way here?”
“Iron is very powerful against faeries and their spells,” Elias said. “Even moreso when it has tasted their blood once before. Lord Hollowvale has attached you and the children to himself with strings of fate—I can just barely see them myself. If you cut those strings, you should all return to your proper bodies. He will notice what is happening immediately, which is why I will distract him while you work.”
Dora pressed her lips together. “That sounds very dangerous for you,” she said. “And what will happen to the children whose bodies have already died, Elias? They have nowhere to return to.” The thought struck her with another wave of awful worry, and she had to lean heavily upon his arm.
“They will go wherever it is they were meant to go when they died,” Elias said quietly. His hand hovered at her back. “I do not like it either, Dora. But it is better than being trapped here for an eternity, unable to move on.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. For an instant, Dora felt more like Theodora than she did herself—overwhelmed with a riot of confusing emotions all at once. “I do not want something terrible to happen to t
hem or to you,” she said. “There must be some other way.”
Elias reached up to brush his thumb over her cheek. “There is only so much time,” he said softly. “And I will not let you die. You once told me that your cousin was a warm lantern to you, Dora. I know what you mean by that now. Of all things, you have become my lantern too—and I cannot bring myself to let you go out.”
Dora’s heart twisted in her chest. She wavered on her feet, and this time Elias had to catch her entirely before she could hit the floor. More than ever, she wished that she could look into his eyes. But he drew a bit of glittering dust from his jacket pocket and breathed it over her head—and suddenly, she saw a hundred blurry silhouettes surrounding them, each in the dim shape of another faerie noble.
Footsteps came quickly towards them, and Dora heard Lady Mourningwood’s stern voice. “You must give her back to me immediately,” the baroness said. “The dance is over, Lord Longshadow.”
“I must not,” said Elias whimsically. “You said that I must give her back promptly or else I should be forced to marry her. I choose the latter option, Lady Mourningwood.”
Dora blinked in confusion.
Shocked gasps went through the dark shadows surrounding them. Lady Mourningwood stared at Elias, uncomprehending. “But that is not done,” she said. “No one ever chooses the latter option.”
“Then why give two options at all?” Elias asked mildly. “Surely you did not lie to me when you offered them both.”
This stymied the baroness as nothing else had managed to do yet. She stood there for a moment in consternation—but eventually, Lord Hollowvale approached with his brow knitted.
“What is the meaning of this?” the marquess demanded. “Why will you not release my daughter, Lord Longshadow?”
“I was told that I must marry her,” Elias said cheerfully. “And I now accept that fate.”
“You do?” Dora mumbled at him dimly.
“Well, why shouldn’t I?” Elias asked her. “I sent a letter to Lord Lockheed asking for your hand in marriage a few days ago. I was quite reasonable about your dowry, and so he gave me his immediate consent. I meant to tell you earlier, but you disappeared before I could.” His hand tightened at her waist. “I would ask if you are amenable to the idea yourself, but Lady Mourningwood was very clear on her ultimatum. And I do not intend to hand you back to her.”
Half a Soul Page 21
