The dress was simple without looking like it hadn't been ornamented at all, and Teles found herself drawn to it again and again the day before the ball. She stroked her fingers down the folds of the wide skirt, marveling at the design.
"It is a very pretty gown," Madi had admitted, when Teles gave her the excuse that Marcell had sent it. "I've never seen this particular stitching pattern or seam style, though. I wonder where she found it?"
Teles had shrugged. What was she to say, that someone who-as far as Madi was concerned didn't exist-had designed the dress and provided it to her, and oh by the way, she had a magic bag that had held it up to this point? That would never do. So she lied again and said that Marcell had supplied the beautiful dress. The excuse would hold as long as Madi asked Marcell, and why should she?
Dusk approached early in the day, and Teles approached Madi only a little early to begin preparing. True to form, Madi had a hot back waiting, laced with bath salts and scented oils. Teles let Madi wash her entirely, and she sat in front of the hotly stoked fire as Madi brushed her long black hair out until it was dry. Teles was delighted with how smooth and glossy it was, and she said so. Madi looked pleased, and then she pulled out the small basket that held the hair ornaments and jewelry. "Now I'll start on your hair."
Teles waited patiently while Madi pulled and tugged sections of her hair up and around. She felt small plaits being worked into her hair, and warned Madi, Don't make it too fancy. I'm trying to look sophisticated, not like I'm screaming for attention.
Madi laughed and drew some more of Teles' hair into place. "Don't worry, I won't. I'm just weaving your hair into a few smooth knots with some braids to make it a little more elegant. The hair ornaments you gave me will ornament it like jewels in a coronet."
Teles preened a little at the idea, and relaxed into Madi's hands. Within a little time, Madi had pronounced her hair finished, and was holding up a mirror for Teles to examine herself. Her hair was entwined into a crown upon her brow, and she looked like a princess. But she didn't have any feathers to hint to Marcell. Wordlessly, she handed Madi the feathers, and the woman looked at them and sighed. "I'll work them in."
It took nearly another half of an hour to add the feathers, because Madi had to wind them with silver wire in order to add them to Teles' hair without it looking tawdry. Then she pronounced her hair to be finally, utterly finished.
The dress was as light and easy to move in as she could have desired, and while Teles could have put on her shoes herself, this was a special night, and she bade Madi put them on for her. The woman slipped on the high, soft boots that had been sewn and stamped with a pattern not unlike scales. Teles imagined that it must have been expensive work-or would have been-had she not found them in the bag soon after she'd pulled out the dress and the jewelry.
Madi coated her lips with a dark paint that contrasted well with Teles' golden skin, and she brushed a glittering brown dust over her eyes. Teles had expected more cosmetics, but Madi said that she looked fine without overdoing it, and then decreed that Teles was ready. She escorted Teles down the hall, then down several staircases that Teles hadn't yet seen. They crossed a grand hall full of impressively garbed people and stopped at the other side. Two richly dressed guards stood at attention there and managed to look both impassive and waiting for orders at the same time. They guarded an imposing pair of wooden doors bound in age-tarnished silver that was worked in a pattern of cranes, and Madi said, "This is where I leave you. If you go through these doors, there will be another, larger set, and the ball is on the other side. There will be servants to open it, and a herald to announce you. I have done all I can to make you perfect for this night." She kissed Teles on her unadorned cheek and left.
Nervous but determined, Teles nodded at the guards, and they opened the doors in unison as though they had been training for months to do their duties in synchronization. More and grander people waited in this hall, and Teles breezed through them like royalty. The guards on the far set of doors opened at a dip of Teles' head, and the herald glanced at her and banged his staff against the floor loudly. Several people looked up, and he declared in a ringing voice, "Her Ladyship, the guest of Her Majesty King Marcell!" That got the attention of more people near the door, and Teles found herself on the receiving end of the interest of most of the crowd. There was music playing in the background, and it didn't stop as Teles walked into the room. She felt the pressure of many eyes on her, but she kept her chin up and ignored it. She carried herself like she was a princess herself, and she strode through the throng nearest the door and moved onward. She kept moving, kept walking, and made her way around the dance floor to the other side.
The ball was as grand as Teles had wished it to be. The great hall was a far cry from what it had been before; now the walls were decked out in blue and green drapes, and golden chandeliers and candelabras held fat yellow candles that flickered and moved with a slow, heavy light. A glittering throng of richly dressed courtiers and citizens of the realm, dressed in their very best, filled the room. Teles tried not to stare at the fine settings on the table; tried to act nonchalant at the sight of the hammered golden plates and wrought silver cutlery.
Several courtiers surrounded the area of floor around where Marcell sat on a relatively simple throne upon a low dais. The man who had interrupted them yesterday stood at Marcell's side, whispering something in her ear. Her eyes lit upon Teles, and they widened. She waved the man off and rose from the throne. Murmuring began behind Teles, but Marcell was already descending from the dais. Teles felt very alone in as she stood there, but then Marcell was beside her, offering her richly-clad arm. She caught Teles around the waist and held her in her arms as they spun across the floor.
Teles found she trembled in the king's arms, and though Marcell surely noticed, she said nothing. The room whirled and glittered around them as they danced. Marcell stared into her eyes as she held her. She danced neatly and precisely, with hints of hidden fire that came out as Teles spun out, then in. She remained perfectly silent as they danced, which suited Teles just fine. She hadn't found any way to bring her pad, so the only conversation she could have would be one-sided. Marcell smiled at Teles, and she thought her heart would sprout wings and fly. She might have expected Marcell's hand to be soft like a true noble's from the time Marcell had spent in the Council chambers and ruling Thenalium, but it remained callused from decades of studying swordplay and years of living on a ship and allowing herself no airs when it came to being an active crewmember.
She wished she could say something-anything-and tried to put what she was feeling into her eyes. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Teles turned her head. The intruder was a tall brunette woman, and her much shorter female partner.
"Mind if we cut in?" the brunette asked with a teasing smile, and Marcell looked at Teles. The Siren reluctantly nodded, and the stranger pulled her out of Marcell's arms and her dark-skinned partner filled Teles' spot like she'd done it before.
"So you're the Siren that Marcell's been talking about," the woman said, and Teles felt herself blanch.
I wish I could demur, she thought. How does she know?
"It was rather obvious, really," the woman continued. "Marcell said she found a strange woman on the beach with an arrow wound on her shoulder, and when she didn't interview the archers that had been on guard duty on the seaside wall I decided to. It didn't take long to find the archer who was telling stories about shooting a Siren. It was too much of a coincidence. What I can't figure out is why you haven't told Marcell who you are yet. She said she's asked you and that you've said that you aren't." Along with the other leading partners in the dance, she spun Teles out, then in, and caught her around the waist. "So why haven't you?"
Teles shrugged and tried to look helpless. If she could speak she probably would have told Marcell already, but she couldn't! And Marcell wasn't even spending that much time with her; she couldn't possibly know that Teles was the Siren who had rescued her.
The woman pulled her close again and whispered in her ear, "She already suspects that you've lied. For whatever reason, you've lied, and it won't make her very happy to know that you could have told her the truth all this time and you haven't. So be truthful this night. Tell her who you are or I will. I am the former Heir of Thenalium. My name is Digory, and I don't lie."
Teles felt herself grow cold. So this was the Digory who Jolim and his ilk had hunted for so long. From his stories, she knew that Digory and Marcell were loyal to each other, and Digory would not lie about this. She would have to tell Marcell everything by the end of the night. "You seem like a nice girl," Digory said. "I know you like plants, and you don't hit your servants. And you rescued Marcell, so you can't be all bad. But mark my words, be honest with Marcell, and be honest tonight."
After a few minutes of tense staring between them, Teles found herself released back into Marcell's arms, and she now knew that the curvy woman Digory was dancing with was Jill, the Witch.
She trusted herself to Marcell's hands again, and for a few sweet moments they danced silently, though Teles noticed that Marcell was looking more and more unhappy, and she became aware that they were moving more and more quickly to the edge of the dance floor towards the servants' entrance. Without warning, Marcell seized her hand and pulled her away from the dancing entirely. They darted around the banquet table and through the door, barely missing several startled servants carrying more food for the table.
Marcell hurried them up a flight of stairs, then turned and pushed through a tapestry-how had she known that was there? Teles wondered absently-and through a closed door onto a small stone balcony that overlooked the gardens. Marcell dropped Teles' hand and turned to look out at the view. Torches atop long straight poles illuminated the garden with bright, flickering light, and the scent of citronella hung heavy in the air, even up here. The king leaned on the barrier that was all that stood between her and a short fall and sighed. "I know I haven't been spending much time around you," she said. "I apologize for that." She turned to look at Teles.
Teles shrugged. What could she say? She didn't have any way to talk with Marcell.
"But there's something-off-about this whole thing," Marcell said quietly. She straightened up. "I just don't feel comfortable with all of this."
Teles cocked her head to one side, then smiled nervously. She shrugged again.
"Are you who I thought you were?" Marcell asked, and Teles felt her heart drop into her feet. "Are you the Siren who rescued me in the middle of the ocean?"
All Teles could do was look away, ashamed. What was there to say? She nodded, and felt Marcell's fingers beneath her chin, lifting gently. "We'll talk later," she said as she looked into Teles' eyes. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to Teles' cheek.
Teles closed her eyes, and felt Marcell's lips soft and warm against her skin. If she turned her head but an inch or two to the left, Marcell's lips would slide across her skin and they could. . .
Then a rush of cool air came between them, and Teles opened her eyes. Marcell was standing back now, silhouetted against the sky, and Teles thought she had never looked so handsome.
She held out her hand and Teles took it, and Marcell pulled her close. "Let's go back," she said, and she led Teles back to the ball.
They danced steadily for the rest of the evening, but the tension between them was so thick Teles thought she could cut it if she had a knife. Neither of them wanted to go on to a new dancing partner even though Marcell was the king, and Teles knew there would be questions tomorrow for the strange woman who had so wholly captured the king's attention.
Several courtiers had left, and the musicians were winding down when Marcell's hand slid up Teles' side to her shoulder. Teles looked up at Marcell's eyes, and the blue was darkening.
Her heart was in her throat and Marcell's hand was warm against her neck as the king bent her head and kissed her.
But there was no time for kissing, because Teles' mouth filled with blood and she spat it out on the floor to make room for the blood that was now welling up from her throat. Her skin was prickling into a burning sensation that spread from her shoulders down her arms, and then from her knees down. Her feet felt like she'd dipped them into boiling water, and she felt the boots ripping like old paper as her feet grew. The corners of her mouth felt like someone had taken a knife to them, and her teeth were cracking and growing. She heard screaming coming from some source she couldn't see, but it wasn't her. Teles cracked her eyes open. Marcell's hands were firm around her upper arms, and they were surrounded by a crowd of dismayed, murmuring courtiers.
Marcell released her and Teles backed away. She spat out a mouthful of blood onto the waxed wood floor and swallowed the rest. Despite the blood, her throat felt dry and broken, and she cleared it. To her surprise, her voice came out over the growl of her throat. She used it. "Marcell," she said. It was her first word since she had lost her voice, and it sounded divine.
"You're. . . you again," Marcell said. Her voice held a tone of surprise. Teles looked down and saw that it was true. Her arms were feathered again, and she knew without looking that her feet had entirely split the boots into shreds of leather and held the appearance of bird talons again. The feathers on her arms matched those hanging from her hair.
"I am." Her voice was held none of the ringing, angelic quality that it once had, but it was back. She could talk to Marcell herself now! She caught Digory and Jill looking at her anxiously from the thick of the crowd surrounding them, and she managed a weak smile for Digory. Several courtiers backed away nervously, and Marcell cursed the fact that her weird mouth had frightened them.
As if Digory had heard the thought, she caught Teles around the arms again. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Teles," Teles said.
"I very much like the way you look, Teles," Marcell whispered.
Teles looked up at her and smiled. Some of her old certainty was back, even in the face of all of this disapproval.
"Prove it," she whispered, and Marcell kissed her again. A cool wind seemed to blow through the room, and it brought with it the laughter of a woman who lived beneath the sea. The wind carried the scent of the sea on it and Teles felt more blood fill her mouth. She tried to swallow it but it was too much, and it spilled from her lips and ran down her chin. Marcell caught some of it in her mouth and swallowed, and Teles felt the blood abruptly stop. She managed to swallow the rest of it and wiped away the last of the blood on her chin. Her feathers remained, and she flexed her toes. The talons dug lightly into the floor, scratching deeply into the wood.
She held Marcell as tightly as she was able with her wings, and Marcell embraced her back. "Hear this," Marcell called over Teles' shoulder. "This is the woman who saved my life when I was washed off of the Lorelei. With her own strength and her own will, she flew us back from the middle of the ocean until she was nearly dead with exhaustion. She is under my protection. Even more than before, she is my guest and should be treated as such."
With that said, Marcell put her arm around Teles' shoulders and ushered her out of the room.
