It was a beautiful night.
Flames of light from torches hung at measured intervals cast dancing shadows on the stone wall, inescapable and impenetrable. It lent an aura of mystery to the wondrous castle; weathered, old, and a little vulnerable to the eye, yet still as proud as a dignified stallion. Tapestries of note decorated the otherwise bare walls, along with rich, vivid paintings. And, scattered here and there were armored knights, clutching a mace and a shield, or perhaps a sword.
Amy gasped in wonder at her surroundings. The butler, holding a candelabra aloft---which she imagined weighed more than your average tome---led the way to the ballroom, and she could not help exclaiming at the works of art that adorned the hallways. Dan, in his midnight-black suit was poker-faced as he walked alongside her as her escort. He may have been younger than she, but he qualified. Behind them, chatting quietly, were their parents, Hope and Arthur Trent, Duchess and Duke of Stonehurst.
They were headed, in all absurdity of the world, to a ball.
But at least, Amy reflected, she got to see the beauty of the mystical castle. It was her Grandmére Grace's mansion, where she gathered Cahills for a little celebration as society demanded, and as the nature of traditions allowed. London of the 18th century was a stickler in the upholding of these little rituals; and the ton used this chance---if they were invited---to meet personas of note, and perhaps, if they were lucky, catch the attention of nobles present. But Grace rarely invited people not of their blood; that was why this particular party, when held every year, became the talk of the city, and those who could attend envied thusly, as a rule.
In previous celebrations, Amy and Dan had been absent; this was due to Amy's insistence that they were "too young." But now, this summer when she had turned 18 and presented in her first season, she could no longer hide. Men of different titles, wealth, and prominence paraded in front of her; and she had received more than twenty requests for her hand in a day alone. She had successfully deflected most of these, but still, her suitors were persistent. She heaved a heavy sigh at the prospect of having to choose one of them someday.
The butler opened a pair of intricate oak doors, and they stopped at the head of the stairs, marble and gilded with gold, polished until it gleamed like the sun. They were introduced in a loud, booming voice. Then, Amy swept down the staircase, her skirts trailing lightly, as did her mother's. They clutched their escorts' arms---and Dan allowed himself a chuckle at the look on his sister's face, grimacing as she tried not to trip. Heels were really very hard to walk in. She preferred the silk slippers her mother wore, herself, but she had not dared object while her clothing was being prepared. It would have incurred her Mother's heavenly wrath, and she might not have come out alive.
They reached the foot of the stairs, and headed where, sitting on a thronelike chair, the family's grande dame---namely, Grace---watched them with hawk-like eyes.
Amy curtsied the moment she faced her, and her grandmother's expression softened as she beheld her granddaughter. All around them, music swirled, filling Amy's head with a kind of headiness one might get from drinking wine or basking in the aroma of a thousand flowers.
"Ah, Amy," her grandmother stated warmly, beckoning for her to straighten, after they had all exchanged the customary pleasantries. "I have heard so much about you since we last met. You seem to be the unprecedented success of the season! Ah, but no matter how many may clamor for your heart, give it only to the man who deserves it most."
Amy smiled. Her grandmother always had such sage advice. She understood her best, and that was why they were very close. "That I shall heed, Grandmére. It is good advice, and a testament to your wisdom. Thank you."
Grace turned to Dan. "And my dear Dan," she addressed him. "I shall expect you tomorrow for a little code-breaking exercise."
Dan was pleased at the thought. He grinned widely. "I will."
"Then I shall expect you promptly thirty minutes past the hour of noon," she informed him. "You have grown to be quite handsome. Arrange your features, then, for it is uncouth to be overenthusiastic in public. See how the young ladies, even now, reproach you with such kind of fierce glares."
Dan reverted to his blank face. "Be it as you wish."
They turned to a table covered with linen, taking their seats, and watching the crowd mill about, as well as the couples dancing in the middle of the room. After a while, Hope and Arthur left to participate in an energetic waltz; and Dan tagged along in search of a friend and some food. Alone, Amy walked outside to the balcony, lit by the glow of a solitary chandelier, but beyond that was only the rest of the estate shrouded in darkness, and the city lights. She leaned against the railing.
There was a very light footstep, and a man approached her. He had seen her come out and, in need of some company, had decided to talk to her. She was part of his family, that he was sure of; therefore he should communicate with her, whether she be a Lucian, an Ekat, a Tomas, or a Janus. In this event tonight, all were equal.
From the corner of her eye, Amy spotted him, and warily turned to face him.
His hair was as black as the night that lay before them. His eyes were the color of liquid amber, hypnotic and all-seeing. When he smiled, white teeth flashed against coffee-colored skin. Clad in a suit of exceptional workmanship and served to identify him as being incredibly wealthy, he stood before her, for all the world like a living Greek god.
He was handsome, absurdly so. Of that there was no doubt.
"Comment vous-appelez vous, s'il vous plait?" he asked.
He spoke French! Amy understood the language to some extent, but did not trust her knowledge enough to reply with it. Hoping he would understand her, she replied, "My name is Lady Amy Cahill, daughter of the Duke of Stonehurst."
He did. Teeth flashing again in a breathtaking smile, he answered: "And I am Ian Kabra, son of the Duke of Canterbury. I am sorry for mistaking you for a Frenchwoman; your features seemed to convey that, and I erred in my judgment. Perhaps I should have used English first, no?" His voice was like honey, like velvet; it had a mellifluous quality to it. He waited for her responding chuckle before continuing. "I thought that the Duke of Stonehurst is, by all rights, a Trent? Forgive me if I am mistaken."
It was easy to converse with him, Amy thought. She nodded at him. "You are not. It is Trent, which he officially uses. But here in this hall, we are all Cahills, are we not? However, for reasons unknown, I have all my life lived with Cahill as my last name; so does my brother and my mother. Only father does not adopt it, though that is what is sometimes stated in his documents. We are formally known as Trents to our peers; but outside of that scope, we are pure-blooded Cahills."
Ian considered this for a moment. "I see," he finally said. "Yet it is all so confusing somehow."
"It is," Amy agreed. "Sometimes, I do not know what I should refer to myself."
"Well, then," he began to speak, but someone interrupted him.
"Ian!" A voice behind him said. Craning her neck, Amy saw a very beautiful girl behind him, dressed in red silk, hair tumbling down her shoulders. She was of the same coloring as Ian, only more feminine, in both bearing and features. "Mother and Father calls for you."
Amy looked at him. "Is she your sister?" she asked.
"Yes," he told me. He looked sorrowful for a moment.
"What's wrong?" Was he in pain, or had some other malady?
"I must go." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. He gazed at her for a long second. "We'll see each other at dinner then?"
"Perhaps," Amy conceded. She looked behind him again. "Your sister is very beautiful," she added, as a compliment. That was the truth.
"She is. But you, even more so."
Amy blushed. Ian walked away, his sister glancing back at her briefly.
She stayed there, contemplating his enigmatic presence, pondering the mystery that Ian presented and had made itself known since they had first spoken.
"Strange," she murmured to herself. "I can almost believe that he could see right through me, to my very soul."
And as she spoke, the moon waned into view, a cloud drifting away to reveal it, leaving behind tendrils that did nothing to obscure its beauty.
*******
This was an idea someone suggested, and I merely had to improve on it. Amy and Ian are 18. Dan and Natalie are 15. Contrary to the real story, Dan and Amy's parents are not dead, and Grace is not, either. This is set in 18th century London. I have yet to decide of I shall include the Hunt; but there is a great likelihood that I will not.
I have not been able to mine any ideas for "A Rose's Thorns" of late. That is why, sorry as I am to tell you this, I will cease to prolong it. However, if it should assure you, I will not delete it from the archives; I may return and finish it someday, and also so that others may have a chance to read what I have published thus far.
This story shall replace A Rose's Thorns. It is not a sequel to Bleeding Hearts, however. I realize now that I should have left Bleeding Hearts as it is; it is very hard to continue a story that I had already seen the ending of, and then decide to prolong it. It was my mistake to make.
I shall propose a contest for the best 39 Clues fanfic, one I will not participate in. The rules:
The genre may be Adventure, Drama, Romance, Horror, Comedy, or the options that FFnet presents---as long as you convey the theme that I shall present.
Any pairing is welcome. Though I do hope you do not pair up a guy with a guy.
In the description of your entry, please include: ENTRY #___ ,CATEGORY__ FOR "THE BEST 39 CLUES FANFIC" CONTEST.
Oneshots only, please.
Decisions are based on a poll that will be set up in my profile; and my rating of your work based on a criteria of: Content-50%, Mechanics-25%, Relevance To Theme-10%, and Creativity-15.
The theme is: "Deceptions, Trials, and Emotions" for Category A; and "Power, Victory, and Consequences" for Category B.
Winners for the two categories are separate.
If you agree, I shall pursue the idea, and start the uploading of entries by September 9; the sending of entries will end on September 20, Sunday. Poll will be constructed on the 21st . Winners will be announced in my profile page, and in an Author's note if I do not upload a chapter in my story by then, and if at least a week has passed. PM me if you wish to join; I will assign you an entry number. Also, what category you choose to participate in. You can do both if you so wish.
Feel free to suggest prizes; only, make sure it is possible for me to give to you---like a songfic or banner, or something. I will also post the winners on my website: .com.
The awards are: Champion, 1st runner-up, 2nd runner-up, 3rd runner-up, and five Honorable Mentions for each category.
-Troubadour 12