Isadora blinked and looked between the two dwarfs. Years of etiquette lessons flitted through her head but nothing helpful presented itself; quite possibly because her prim and proper Terebinthian etiquette tutor would never dream of having to settle hostilities between two dwarfs.
Njáll began to snarl at Trumpkin in a stream of Dwarfish. The latter took it all in his stride, raising his eyebrows and nodding along sagely, before glancing quickly between Isadora and Njáll with increasing faux-concern.
"You know, it is generally considered polite to speak in a language we can all understand when in a public scenario," he said mildly. "You are being very rude to Lady Orellana-Scythley."
Njáll made a curious rattling noise that didn't sound like it would be possible through human windpipes.
"You always were arrogant!" he said through gritted teeth. "Here you stand before your elected Rhuzhaakm and you have no respect, no decency, and you have clearly forgotten your place!"
"Not forgotten, Njáll, just acquired a new one," Trumpkin replied. "Times have changed outside the Chasm."
"So I can see," Njáll said stiffly. "Less than a week outside our home's walls and even Tórví has been corrupted."
"Bit of a harsh conclusion," Trumpkin said. "She's wearing a dress; it's not the end of the world."
Isadora could not help but wonder if Trumpkin was attempting to goad Njáll into a fit. If the Low King swelled any further then he was in serious danger of exploding. She cast about for more help and managed to catch Tórví's eye. The Dwarf recognised the universal cry for help in her new friend's eyes and quickly joined them.
"Is there a problem, brother?" she asked.
Njáll turned on her and again began to spit and growl in Dwarfish.
Her face took on a careful blankness and then she snapped a short, sharp phrase in her mother tongue. Isadora could obviously never hope to understand the words but she recognised the tone and the hairs rose on the back of her neck to hear it. She had feared the day her mother would use that tone, had run from her grandmother when she heard it in the distance, and she could never imagine a day when she would use it.
Tórví stared her brother down for her one terrible moment and then turned to Trumpkin. In a flash, the Red Dwarf's cocky smile had vanished and he looked visibly troubled.
"Tórví!" he said with fake cheer radiating from him like a heavy perfume. "How are you doing? Quite well, I hope. And your mother; I hope she is in good health too."
His once-fiancée gazed at him with the same horrifying eye she had turned upon her brother until he too fell silent.
"We should talk," she said. "Is there somewhere private we can go?"
"It should be fairly easy to find somewhere," Trumpkin said. "Everybody will be busy here."
She nodded and looked back at Njáll with a raised eyebrow. "Anything to add, Njálabrik?" she asked coldly.
He stormed off into the crowds without a backwards look. Tórví broke character to slyly wink at Isadora and then led Trumpkin from the room. They eventually found their way to a window-seat in one of the upper corridors. Music drifted up from the Hall but they were quite alone and in no danger of being disturbed.
"How do you find the human clothes?" Trumpkin asked after a small pause.
Tórví looked down at her skirted lap and traced her hands over the fine material.
"Over-rated," she admitted. "I cannot for the life in me understand why Isadora spends her life in the things."
He smiled and the corner of her mouth twitched too.
"Why did you not return to the Chasm?" she asked.
"I was needed here," he said.
"But you didn't even send word," she said, her voice shaking. "A darkness is spreading through the Chasm and we need minds like yours to help us fight it."
"A darkness spread through the Chasm a long time ago," he said.
"Don't be so melodramatic!" she hissed, leaning forward. "Something wants to hurt us! That's why Njáll and I came here; to get help. The Elder Families are all terrified. You have to come back to help."
He stared at her for the longest of moments.
"I thought you'd be angry with me," he said eventually.
"I am," she replied. "I am so angry, and so hurt, but some things are more important than the fact you jilted me. My entire way of life is at risk of being destroyed."
She stood and made to leave.
"Come back and help us; if not for any loyalty to us then for the love you once bore me," she said. "If you do then maybe… one day…"
She paused and looked away before simply saying, "I've missed you," as she walked back towards the ball.
Meanwhile, Isadora was trying not to go to pieces. No-one seemed to have noticed that little altercation she'd witnessed but it had not stopped her panicking. What's more, Tórví's use of The Tone had set her on edge and she was fully expecting the ghost of her grandmother, Queen Marisela, to sweep into the room and reprimand her for not wearing stockings again like she had when Isadora was a small child.
She focussed on the here-and-now instead and glanced around her. The dancing had started by now and most of the guests were transfixed by those twirling in the centre of the hall. She could see Caspian dancing with the daughter of some minor landowner. The girl was blushing prettily; thrilled to be dancing with her king. Her father would no doubt be watching them and plotting some way to get her into Caspian's bed either on a temporary or permanent basis. It wouldn't be the first time the lords jostled in such a way to try to gain Caspian's favour but her cousin knew better than that and had been dancing out of their reach for years.
Isadora herself had avoided any such manipulation with her own adolescent escapades. It was well-known at court that Scythley would only have married her to a second son, as he had done with her mother, and no self-respecting family would have let any of their sons marry her with the reputation she had cultivated for herself.
Besides, she was now in control of her own fate. She would marry who she pleased and her current lifestyle did not have a place for a husband in it.
Across the ballroom she saw Lorrin standing alone. Although she had no romantic feelings, she had slowly begun to develop an almost sisterly affection for him. He was looking grumpy and nervous about something so she decided to go and drag him out onto the dancefloor for a little bit.
However, as she made her way towards him, someone else caught her attention instead.
"Lady Isadora? Forgive me for being so bold, but might I have this dance?"
His accent was strange; most definitely Telmarine but maybe the most Telmarine accent she had ever heard, as if someone was attempting a bad imitation. It was intriguing so she of course looked for the voice's owner. He was maybe a little older than Lorrin and very handsome. His clothes were simple but finely made and the hand he offered her had the usual tiny healed callouses and grazes from swordplay that were present on nearly every male in her life. He smiled and she felt her heart stir in a way she had not felt in a very long time, so she smiled too and accepted his hand.
"Forgive me, sir," she said as he led them onto the floor, "but although I feel I know your face I cannot place it nor your name."
He laughed and took her hand. This was one of the more stately Telmarine dances; the couple clasped their right hands together and then took careful, quick steps around each other. It had long been and still was a favourite of the court since it allowed for quiet conversations to take place with little chance of another couple overhearing.
"I'm just a traveller, my lady," he said. "I go where I am needed and wherever pretty girls need a dance partner."
She raised an eyebrow and tried not to smile at his obvious flirtation.
"How fortunate I am, sir, that you were able to save me tonight," she said drily.
He laughed, throwing back his head so his white teeth glinted in the candlelight.
"That's a pretty jewel," he noted suddenly. She glanced down having quite forgotten which of her necklaces she had grabbed from her jewellery box. It turned out to be her present from Father Christmas; the ruby on the golden chain. It also sat right above her cleavage and she had to fight not to roll her eyes. Obviously the conversation was not about to move towards her fashion choices.
"Thank you. It was a present from Father Christmas," she said. For some reason, he burst out laughing again.
"Father Christmas? Really?" he said between giggles. "Are you sure?"
"Yes! He left a note and everything."
"How lovely for you. Clearly your faith is unshakable," he said. Something in his tone and his words made her look up at him and she became caught in his gaze. Their conversation halted as they became lost in each other's eyes.
Caspian had long escaped the simpering clutches of his dance partner in favour of a retreat to the peripheries of the room. He was intrigued by the stranger his cousin was dancing with and waved over Lorrin. His Lord and friend seemed as distant as ever but he approached his King and inclined his head. Caspian gave him a side-long glance; he had the same face he'd had all evening, a face like minotaur's rear-end.
"Do you know who that is dancing with Isadora?" he asked him. Lorrin looked out into the ballroom and tried his hardest to keep his face grumpy but impassive.
"Never, sire," he lied. "Must be a newcomer at court."
Caspian, momentarily satisfied, moved away to talk with another. Lorrin was left alone save for his rapidly rising feelings of panic. He watched as the dance ended and the stranger bent to kiss Isadora's hand.
His task complete, he left Isadora in the centre of the ballroom and headed towards a door. He caught Lorrin's eye as he passed him and could not help but wink. Lorrin's mouth twitched and his face took on an ugly red colour but he did not say anything, as the stranger predicted.
Far too much was at stake for the Lord of Beruna to blow it all with a public reprimand and they both knew it.
Whistling a jaunty tune, he sauntered out into the gardens.
"That was risky," his companion's voice said from above as he passed by a particular tree.
"A risk worth taking," he sighed, turning back to the lights of the party.
"Oh, you old romantic," she replied drily.
From above came some small munching noises. He looked up, bemused, and made out her shape among the branches of a tree. In her hands he could just about see a plate heaped with food.
"So it is a risk for me to dance with Isadora but not a risk for you to raid the buffet?" he asked.
"Well, she did decide to have a word with me, nosy cow. And you can hush, I was in and out in about a minute; not dancing openly for all to see," she said. "Besides, I'm sick of rations."
He nodded. "True. And from up there you must have a spectacular view of Lor- ow!"
The plate smashed onto the flagstones beside him; she had quite deliberately dropped it onto his head, splattering his clothes with food and setting his head ringing.
As he staggered backwards and pressed his hands to his head, she leapt down from her perch with feline grace.
"Do you want to leave a feather behind?" she asked as he began to pick crumbs out of his hair, muttering furiously.
"No. The feathers are a bit too vague, I think," he said. "Father tends to get a little over-excited about theatrics and forgets the substance behind the message."
"So... what now?"
"We make our move. I think it's time we pay a visit to Redhaven."
Ooh, this chapter was nearly the death of me. However, now it is done! And things are just about to get interesting, wouldn't you say? I'm so excited for you to read what is coming next!
As always, thank you to Wildhorses1492 for your kind review of the previous chapter.
See you next time, folks!