A/N: Hellooooo, my pretties. More fun cuteness. Next chapter will likely be less. . . uh. . . PG.
Housekeeping:
SuperSaiyajin4Vegeta: Oh, always ;)
Guest: Aaaaahhhhhh! Thank you! It's pretty great. He's heckin' cute. Apparently I have a thing for grouchy blonde boys with a good heart. Whooda thunk. And you catchin' my mythology references and parallels-I always appreciate tf out of you when you mention them. And agreed: I hate cardboard side characters. I couldn't not give the TL actual lives and interests-they're too dang fun. I always love your prognostications-especially when you're wrong ;) mostly bc I love the challenge of having a reader like you who really pays attention and catches my references and then still tripping you up. I hope you enjoy the twists and turns as much as I do. And thank you for the descriptor love! I sometimes have a hard time jumping between hyper-detailed and sweeping-artistic writing, so it's helpful to know when something stands out like that.
Thank you all for keeping up with me and this story. Please fave/review-I really do love hearing from you.
Aside from re-running the plan for the evening and looking over the schematics of the chateau—really, did they need four wings, three floors, and two subterranean levels?—the day passed quietly. Talia's tiredness bled into irritated snips through her morning coffee, and Laxus wasn't much better off. She had her nightmares again, and with his room sharing a wall, he heard her all night; which meant he didn't exactly sleep well.
They were quartered in a gatehouse at the edge of the chateau—rooms enough for each mage with elegant, modern accoutrements. A temporary residence for passing dignitaries or friends.
"Did any of you hear odd noises this morning?" Freed asked politely over his tea, not a hair out of place, no matter the hour. "It had the most peculiar tamber." Bickslow caught the teasing and his lips quirked with a poorly hidden smile.
Talia grumbled into her mug. "The Old one thought it would be funny during my meditation to play a prank on me." She finished the cup and pulled the pot over to refill it. "Apparently, she moved all of my furniture to the left by two inches. I've been stubbing my toes and slamming my hips into corners all morning." She pointedly ignored Freed, Bix, and Ever's snickering.
Even Laxus cracked a smile. He had been wondering what all the banging and cursing had been. He hadn't expected it to be a prank. On herself? Is that how that would work? Can you play a prank on yourself? Even if part of you didn't know? Do those little knocks count as self-inflicted injury or does it—that's enough of that. He refilled his cup too.
They had all been caught up in initial fittings and measurement checks, only to then walk through the entire evening's timing and shifts with Captain Tryst—literally walk through them. And then they were again snatched up by tailors and seamstresses when they were done. Last minute alterations for the last-minute additions.
Talia was happy with the dress they made for her, though it seemed simpler than she expected. Evergreen's semi-corseted gown seemed a massive undertaking in comparison. They constantly fiddled with the boning and drape from waist over hip. But Talia's had that blue shimmering fabric high up to her collarbones and white lace in a loose collar that she could breathe in. The lace tickled and the stitches scratched at the delicate skin of her chest. But they were some of the best seamstresses in the realm. They had to know what they were doing. She must have just been too picky and unwilling to let them use their skills properly.
She couldn't help but be a little disappointed. Evergreen's dress really was stunning. As if the seamstresses had figured out how to weave sin to silk and stitched her a second skin of it. Talia's gown was. . . pretty. She fiddled with a loose thread on the unfinished seam at her hip. Maybe they were just farther along on Ever's gown because it was simpler. The womens' eyes were still almost constantly on Talia's frame, even as they poked and prodded the red velvet gown of her companion. Once in a while one would come over to do some little fiddling, but they never made any significant changes.
The mages were mercifully released with a couple hours to spare until Talia and Evergreen had to be back at the chateau to be dressed and primped. Talia practically dove back into her bed. The nightmares didn't really bother her anymore; they were just an annoyance. Yes, yes, horrid death—steel and blood and bone—but sleep was still preferable. And she'd take any extra naps she could get.
But, sooner than she would have liked, Evergreen prodded her back up the chateau steps and toward the dressing area. Their guide was a small man: rotund, white-haired, and puffed up on his own self-importance. He waddled through the hallways and the mages had to swallow their giggles behind him. He deposited them in a new space within Ranavi's wing—curtained alcoves provided numerous places for changing, and angled mirrors were posed to greet the finished products. Somewhere was another room with hair and makeup personnel awaiting. Everything was bustling, seamstresses making last minute adjustments or emergency stitches to a guest's garment, but the Lady of the Hour was nowhere to be seen. The little man shut the door behind them, but Talia didn't hear his footsteps dissipate down the hallway again—he must be waiting for them to change so as to further enlighten them with his charming presence as their escort to the aestheticians.
There were two garment bags hanging outside the dressing rooms-plain, white, and unobtrusive. Evergreen and Talia's names were on their respective bags. Ever snatched hers up and promptly walked into her alcove, pulling the white curtain shut behind her.
Talia savored the moment—she had never had a garment made specifically for her before, and it was special even if she wasn't all that thrilled with the design. She pulled down the zipper. The smile on her face faltered.
"This has to be the wrong dress," Talia's eyes were wide with shock and desperation. The dress in the bag with her name on it couldn't be the one she was expected to wear. The color was right, but . . .
She walked to the door and knocked to get the gentleman's attention. His stuffy little self stretched up and briskly came back to the door.
"If your question is about the dress," he said brusquely, "Her Ladyship says she took the liberty of making a few design alterations. She also passes along her best wishes on your next hunt." And with that, he huffed and puffed his way out of the hallway. Talia had the distinct impression that he was irritated in how long it took them to notice the dress.
"Gods damn it," grumbled Talia as she turned back to the dressing rooms. She pinched the bridge of her nose and pressed the pressure point under her right eyebrow with her thumb in irritation.
"Ever. . ." she called.
Evergreen popped her head out from her curtained dressing room, a suspicious glint in her eye. Talia chose to ignore it.
"I can't wear this dress," she stated, "I don't. . . I don't even know what to do with it. It has cutouts for gods' sakes"
Evergreen emerged from behind her curtain, red velvet temptation falling over her curves in a flattering silhouette. A delicate eyebrow lifted over the rim of her glasses.
"Well you've got to wear it. It's a bespoke design by the Lady herself. You can't exactly turn it down without offense."
Talia's eyebrows knit together and she grumbled something unintelligible in response.
"I just. . . " Talia started, haltingly, "I just don't want to look like an idiot out there."
Evergreen had never heard that quiver in Talia's voice before. It sounded foreign and wrong. She tilted her head and gave a comforting smile.
"You won't. I'm sure it's a beautiful dress. At least try it on."
Talia glanced nervously at the innocent white garment bag, silvery-blue fabric peeked out and caught the light between the opened zipper teeth. She walked toward it slowly, as if expecting it to snap at her and shred her hand. But it laid on the hook quite serenely, waiting.
Long, pale fingers pushed back the white fabric and unhooked the bag from the hanger. Talia glanced back at Evergreen nervously.
"Go on. Guests will be arriving shortly and we still need to finish your makeup," prodded Evergreen. She didn't want to rebuff Talia, but goodness, It can't be that bad and we can't be late.
Talia swallowed the lump in her throat and walked into the dressing room, shoving the pearly curtain aside rather ungracefully. She placed the hung dress on a hook protruding from the wall and looked it over. Her lungs filled slowly with cool air, and she forced herself to slow the exhale as well. Her fingers deftly removed her clothes and the dress from its hanger. The fabric was smoother than she expected, and it held the cool temperature of the room. It shone against the lacrima lights, almost as if water had been enchanted into the thread to weave and shimmer its way around the wearer. Talia took another breath, unhooked the four clasps at the back and zipper at the hip, and stepped into the dress.
"And despite what you may think, you can't look like an idiot—not just from a silly dress." Just the shuffling of fabric answered Evergreen. "Style is fickle, but real idiocy. . . that's planned and consciously enacted." She heard the fabric pause. Evergreen took a deep breath and reached for the pair of heels that had been laid out for her. "I've been an idiot. A real one. Following Laxus into those stupid Thunder Palace Games. . . returning to the guild and having to beg forgiveness for our own stupidity. . . to lose the leader of our team when we were likely the only ones who knew how much it really meant to him. . . that was idiocy." She gave a quiet, dark laugh. "You know, he didn't lose himself entirely when he wound into that power-spiral. I think part of him. . ." her fingers paused on the buckle, "The final fight was between him, Natsu, and Gajeel. A battle of Dragon Slayers. He didn't know who would show up, of course. But he centered the whole game around Kardia Cathedral. I think, somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped you'd come back for that. For the guild, for that place he knew was so special to you. I think there was a part of him that wanted you to come back and knock some sense into him. Because—of course—you're the only one who really can."
Evergreen finished buckling her nude heels as Talia exited her dressing room. The latter immediately turned around, her back presented in clear request of clasp assistance. She held her hair up off her back, her black guildmark burned bright into the pale skin of her neck. Evergreen stood and took a moment to feel the balance of her new heels. They weren't bad, but she had a feeling they'd be rubbing by the end of the night. She closed the distance between her and Talia and efficiently hooked the clasps. She took a step back and waited for Talia to turn around. She did.
"Oh, you worry too much," said Evergreen with an eye roll, "It looks fine."
Talia fiddled with the fabric over her hips and gauged the need for tape.
"Are you sure? It's just. . . more than I'm used to." Her voice was quiet.
Evergreen wasn't really surprised. The slit in this gown was daring even for her, and Talia didn't wear dresses often. But the rouching was flattering over her hip and the drape of the modern bodice was interesting while still covering all the X-rated goods. She smiled.
"It's great. Now come on, we need to finish up your makeup and figure out what to do with that mess you call hair."
Talia allowed herself to be dragged into another room and shoved into a barber's chair, a professional aesthetician waiting for her expectantly. She heard Evergreen bark some sort of direction to the stylist before going to one of her own.
The next two hours were a blur of brushes and powders. The only real breaks into reality were when the stylist went to cover her scars and guildmark. The guildmark was no problem—just copious amounts of heavy-duty concealer—but Talia flinched and gagged when a sponge was pressed to her throat. After some insistence, Talia convinced the aesthetician to guide her through the process. The scars weren't as perfectly covered as they could have been, but a panic attack was not needed right now.
Talia and Evergreen examined themselves in a massive mirror by a different door than which they entered the dressing area. Evergreen poked and primped and prodded at her makeup, hair, and dress—constantly trying to improve what had been given to her. Talia just stood there and examined herself.
The pointed eyeliner made her eyes pop and sparkle like emeralds, and her cheekbones and jawline cut more precisely than usual. And the dress . . . she turned and examined herself from different angles. She wasn't sure if it was resignation or recognition, but the dress was growing on her. She was just glad that she had packed higher-hipped underwear. But she'd still have to keep an eye on her movement with that slit almost all the way up her right hip. Her hair had been twisted and braided behind her head and down her neck in some assemblage of an obscene number of pins, but a few thin curls dusted against her shoulders and collarbones artfully. She touched the diamonds dripping from her ears. She was pretty sure they were more expensive than her old house.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The woman in the mirror did the same. She could do this. Not. . . not Talia. But the woman in the blue dress—the one who wore daring gowns and stole hearts with a beat of her emerald eyes. This was a night she could handle. Talia rolled her shoulders and stood up straighter. She could do this.
Freed met them just before the private quarters turned public. He had pulled his hair up in a high pony tail, though some green strands still framed his face. He had exchanged his usual red coat for a traditional black tailed coat with silver embellishments along the lapels and sleeve cuffs. Talia thought he looked quite dashing. Ever teased him for being unwilling to give up his ascot. Ever entered the ballroom first and alone, disappearing into the glittering light behind the heavy wooden door.
Freed extended his arm with a soft smile. Talia gently laced hers through it, her hand laying softly on his forearm.
"You look lovely, Talia." The sincerity in his voice made her blush. She thanked him all too quietly, and together they entered the Grand Hall.
Splendor is an odd thing. It's not necessarily the most expensive thing on the menu, but a careful equation of craftsmanship, intent, and knowledge. The Great Hall was decked out in splendor—a balance that Ranavi clearly knew far too well. Clean lines against the ornate hall, she crafted a balance of old wealth and modern sharpness. Nothing was too much, none too little, just riding the knife's edge of spectacular fashion. Many guests played it safe in black—a shade that could do no wrong, and as long as they made no egregious faux pas, they did not catch her—or the guards'—ire. But there was no safety in Talia tonight, she stood out like a beacon: that pale skin glowed in the candlelight and the dress shimmered with her every movement. She was a strategic focal point and she knew it.
But she didn't know why. Maybe it was simply a lucky grace of a woman too bored ad gifted for her own good. Maybe she was an ornate chess piece in whatever game Ranavi played. Or maybe she was just. . . allowed to have fun for a night. She hadn't had a time when she felt special in a very long time. But she noticed the sidelong glances of the women around her, the appreciative rovings of the men. It made her smile. It felt. . . a bit wicked.
She let Freed guide her to the dance floor and the folded into the spinning harmony of the bodies around them.
Laxus was not a man of many words, especially not around those outside his inner circle. So nobody really noticed when he was struck speechless. He would have known when she walked into the Great Hall if he were blind. His skin tingled in that curious vibration and there was a knot somewhere in his throat; the sweetest of strangulations. But he didn't need air. Not when she walked into the room looking like that.
He had seen her skin before. Gods, he'd seen more of it than he should have. But those times were always after a fight, limping back home, one of them supporting the other and clothing in tatters. That wasn't a state of undress. And neither was this, but damn it felt on the verge of one. To be perfectly honest, he had no idea how the thing stayed up. It was as if someone had just lazily twisted and fluttered a sash around her torso—half her back and right ribcage were showing, a long drag of pale skin pulled from her right shoulder and tucked neatly into her waist on the opposite side. And that slit. That thing was going to be dangerous while she danced. Even now, as she walked across the side of the dance floor on Freed's arm, as she wove around other people and couples, that moon-skin flashed across his vision. How the hell did she even wear underwear beneath that thing?
He swallowed a heavy knot and cleared his throat. It did little to clear his mind from the other question that thought led to.
The high collar of his crisp, white dress shirt was suddenly stifling, and he was acutely aware of the buttons at his throat and the way the fabric pulled against him as he took deep breaths. He found himself again grateful that men had less of an impetus in fashion than women—just this suit seemed to be plenty for him. He never envied Evergreen, no matter how chipper she seemed while buckling her heels or adjusting the constant restraints she willingly wore in the name of fashion.
He fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt where they peeked out from the edge of his dark blue suit jacket. Of course they gave him blue. He didn't hate the shoes, though. He hadn't had a decent pair of chestnut dress shoes in years. The tie he could do without, though it was an interesting shade of metallic bronze.
A deep breath of warm, candle-smoke-heavy air filled his lungs and he let it out slowly. He forced himself to look elsewhere: somewhere, anywhere else. He could still feel her, though, as she danced. The slightest prick at the edge of his vision, a pull and tug to turn his eye back to her. To study the flow of that dress, the line of her shoulder, the curve of her lips—
"Inner guard is all at posts, and the outer guard has had a good time turning away a few guests on account of dress code, of all things," Tryst chuckled. He came out from the doorway behind Laxus, checking in as he would be regularly throughout the evening.
Laxus just hummed in response.
The Captain adjusted his glove and looked out over the swirling mass of colorful fabrics.
"Despite the Duke's logical concerns," he stated, "there is little to convince me that the Earl of Begonia would try anything. It's not his style." Tryst turned back to Laxus, one dimple popping. "Do feel free to enjoy the evening, it should be a nice respite from your usual fare."
Laxus gave a small, polite smile. "I hope you're right about all that."
A darkness wearied Tryst's face, and that dimple drew into a line that suddenly made the captain look much older, much more trampled by life. And there was anger in his voice.
"Hope is a chasm," he spat, "Avoid it if you can."
He left abruptly—before Laxus could even respond through his confusion. Laxus watched the man as he receded into the hallway, shoulders square as if they were used to burdens he couldn't see.
The couples spun across the inlaid wooden floor below, twisting, twirling flowers in a breeze. It was different seeing a dance from up here—out of the minutiae of what foot goes where, where to place the hand, and how to guide your partner. From up here, 20 feet above, it all seemed as natural as a whirlpool or twisting breeze. Maybe there was something to this side of life; the pieces that were so much more than necessary. He left his vision relax into the dancers. They all floated across the floor, a massive, organized structure that was both calculated and delicate at once. Organic, cooperative, alive.
Someone struck a crystal glass with a silver spoon. It rang through the hall, breaking the spell and ending the thrall of the dance. Everyone turned to the balcony at the front of the hall.
"My esteemed guests!" called the Duke. A portly, shrewd man who wore the flush of happiness well. "Welcome and rejoice! We have come to honor the engagement of my daughter, Ranavi." He gestured to the couple behind him, Ranavi resplendent in white and her betrothed in classic black tails with gold embroidered flair. "A toast!" he called, the broad voice resounding along the arched ceiling. Glasses clinked and the light sparkled through the crystal.
"To the joy of unexpected happiness, and the futures we build. May the winds fill your sails, your steeds be swift, and there always be laughter in your heart." He raised the glass toward his daughter, who beamed back, and then downed the amber liquid in one go.
A cheer rang up through the crowd, for everyone liked short toasts.
The Duke placed his empty glass on the waiting tray of a servant and clapped his hands together.
"A reel for the occasion! Let us lighten our steps into the dawn!"
The Rooibos Reel was, indeed, a celebratory dance. It took its name from the shape a woman's skirt took within the dance—caught amidst the movement and puffed out like the bulbous flower of the sweet-smelling plant. It was quick, it was explosive, but most of all it was fun.
Freed led Talia onto the dance floor, though by Laxus's eye he could see it was an overcompensation from the rune mage. Talia was practically dragging him to the center.
It was an organized dance, and one far more complicated than Laxus could do. It required dozens of dancers and paralleled short, quick steps to ones so long you were almost running. But the beginning. . . the beginning was a waltz. A fast one. Freed's electric hair caught the light just as brightly as the flash of Talia's leg as that skirt pulled away from her skin. Spinning, spinning they circled the room, Freed's head on a swivel to make sure they didn't crash into anyone, and a bright smile on Talia's face.
Fuck, he hadn't seen her smile like that in years. Splendid as a sunrise.
The music widened and widened until it changed the step altogether. Three to two; they weren't waltzing anymore—bouncing on the balls of their feet, they pranced and glided around the dance floor; inner line of dancing couples weaving to the outside and outer couples twisting to take their place. Spinning, spinning, turning about each other with locked legs. The beat drove on, quicker and quicker with every passing measure. From interlocking circles, the dance unfolded and straightened, lines on the edges and an open center. The beat became so infectious, those not dancing began to clap along. The music, the hands, and the footfalls drummed through the hall, one giant heartbeat of entwined joy.
Breaking from the outer lines and into the center cavern, it was two and two. Pairs unbound and side-by-side, the woman's hand on the man's arm; the woman's free hand snatching up her skirt. They exploded down the center lines, backs straight and toes pointed, each stride devoured the golden inlay in the floor, sweeping across much longer than any other dance's step. By the end of the line, faces were flushed and hair had begun to break free of its pins. But the glow on the dancers' faces radiated from one to the next until the whole room was grinning and laughing and their hearts were light.
Faster and faster, back to the spinning pairs—skirts of silk pulling at the seams against the inertia and pulling out to full capacity. Pulled out into those flower petals. Spinning and spinning, faster and faster the music built, until it reached the hardest part—its sudden end. A final, striking chord that tested a dancer's balance against the will of inertia. Many dancers wobbled. One went down on a shaky heel. But Freed and Talia stopped quick and true, open chests and arms extended, smiles as wide as they could go.
Everyone clapped, including the dancers, offering their energy, their light to the next phase of Ranavi's life. She looked into it with a smile.
And then the guests broke as all parties do—some danced, some gossiped, some feasted on wine. Talia and Freed did a bit of each, and examined their fellow dancers behind flirtatious smiles and charming quips.
They dances, they meandered, they danced again.
He couldn't get that smile out of his head. The light in her eyes, the joy in her face. Fuck, it had been there all this time. He was weaving amidst the guests and dancers before he truly knew where his feet were taking him.
"Mind if I cut in?"
Both Freed and Talia turned to see Laxus, his hand outstretched as he bowed slightly.
"To whom are you offering?" Freed joked. Laxus just raised one eyebrow and a ghost of a smile painted his lips. Freed bowed to Talia and slipped away into the crowd.
Talia took Laxus's hand and folded herself into his arms. It was a waltz, so they kept things simple.
"How are things from up top?" she asked, scanning the room from the corner of her eye as they wound their way around the room. The music was twisting its way under her skin, and it was getting harder to focus. She'd need some fresh air soon.
"Don't ask."
"That bad?"
He huffed a laugh and squeezed her hand slightly. "That easy. Captain Tryst runs a tight ship, and aside from a few longing glances, Collum hasn't taken one unexpected step. Seems like the Lady on High called it right." His dancing wasn't pretty, but he made it through the steps. Freed and Talia had taught the whole team at least these basics, just in case.
The music grew deeper, the ensemble changing into a quieter waltz, trading the high soaring violin melody for a more melded, earthy sound. The bass and cello glided through the harmonies and anchored the music deeper than the previous pieces. They dragged warm, invisible fingers down Talia's scalp and back and sent a flush to her cheeks. Good music was better than good wine if you played it right.
"You ok?" He noted the flush, the way her eyes hazed in and out of dreaminess as she kept pulling herself back to the job at hand. How her arms would soften in his whenever the music threatened to steal her away. She blinked out of another daze.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Good cello just goes straight to my head."
She felt his eyes scrutinizing her face, but she kept hers beyond him—trying to focus on the angle of someone's nose, the color of a belt, whether a woman's nails were painted or press-on.
"Fall into the music, Tal." There was an odd little smile on his face when she brought her focus back to him. And his voice was gentle—gentler than she'd ever heard him.
"No, no, I'm ok. I'll just get some air in a few minutes."
"Tal—" he held her closer, his hand warm and wide on her back—"I'll catch you. Enjoy the music."
There was something in his voice. . . or maybe it was just that she wanted to so badly, but she did. The last of a deep breath left her lungs and her eyes held his as she let the music wash over her fully. The soft, warm blanket of the cello line ran over the skin of her arms, into her blood, and hummed its way through her limbs. The violin a gentle sprinkle atop the heady, warm liquor of the lower strings. And the viola, so sad on its own, but gods what beautiful harmonies it made when properly supported. She slid down those harmonies, feeling as though her mind were three steps behind and tugged along as a balloon on a string in a beautiful, freeing disconnection of context and self.
There were lights around her, so many small ones, they spun and left streaks in her vision as they turned. Or maybe she was the one turning. Everything was color and stars and those beautiful strings. But there was one point of stillness. Such an odd little spot. She had never seen stars in a noon sky before; seen how they sparkled amidst the cloudless expanse.
She didn't let herself fall into music often, and Laxus wasn't sure why. Her body followed his lead throughout the dance unflinchingly, as if there was no thought, no questioning—just being. Every part of her seemed softer, from the weight of her hand on his shoulder to the crest of her hip where he held her. And those eyes, gods, they just turned into a green cavern—endless and depthless. But those eyes were. . . looking at him. And he couldn't look away.
They danced for three pieces like that, Talia a warm embodiment of the music around her—enjoying the evening in the way only she could—and Laxus too enchanted to look away. But, no matter how much he wished he didn't, he had to go back to his post. He turned them to the edge of the dance floor. A warm squeeze of his hand and a light, playful shock were all she needed to come back to the real world. She blinked rapidly and turned her head this way and that to regain her bearings. They were near one of the massive French doors now, and she could smell the crisp night.
"How long was I out?"
"Ten minutes, maybe. Still need that fresh air?"
She nodded, and he led her to the wide balcony beyond the doors. The air was cool and sweet, a late night made young again simply because it wanted to be.
"How was it?" he asked. She thought a moment.
"You know how champagne has those tiny bubbles?" she said, "It's like those bubbles are your bones, and the rest of you is hot chocolate and you're held all together by your favorite mug."
He smiled. "You danced pretty well for a mug of hot chocolate." She grinned back.
"Bubbles for bones aren't ideal for dancing. I'm just lucky I had such a good partner for grounding."
Her smile faltered then, as if something she said had raised a half-forgotten memory. She blinked it away.
There was an unsteady beat of silence between them, her hand still in his. The moment seemed to stretch out—reaching and reaching as far as it could. Talia slowly took her hand back. Laxus cleared his throat and gave a slight bow. There was a slight smile on his lips when his eyes met hers again.
"Thank you for the dances."
She curtsied, eyes never leaving his. She felt like she had something she wanted to say, but she couldn't find any words.
With a nod, he left. Back into the Great Hall, back in to the music, back in to the job.
She took a deep breath of the cool air, it steadied her a bit, and moved as far away from the light and music as she could. The balconies overlooked manicured gardens with green boxwood hedges and an assortment of non-native flowers whose colors made Talia a bit dizzy. She leaned against the railing and looked out to the stars that winked down at her.
There were a number of couples out here—chatting, meandering—and waiters bearing trays of hors d'oeuvres and wine. Her head cleared a bit. Being outside, out of that gilded echo-chamber, helped.
She heard the swish of fabric beside her before any words were spoken. She turned to the woman.
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Amelie's voice was cool and silky, like water over stone. Her smile was lovely. She gave a slight curtsey. There was molten gold in her eyes—it sparkled in the starlight and seemed to take on its own life. Talia felt her mouth open to respond, but seemed to get lost in the process.
Amelie's smile widened, and she moved to stand closer to the mage. There was a dazed confusion in the redhead's eyes; she gave a curious, childish outstretching of her hand toward the courtesan.
"I'm Amelie," came a voice smoother than honey, just as sweet and just as easy to get stuck in. Long eyelashes batted slowly over those intoxicating eyes. "You're a curious creature," she took her time looking over Talia, as one would a fine dress, "A young, pretty mage with Ranavi's ear." Her smile seemed sharper, teeth more pointed. "You'd be a welcome addition to my little court, if you'd like," she purred, "I think you'd like that. It would be an easy life, a courtly one. We could dance the years away."
Everything was thick and muddled: her body, her mind. She couldn't place a thought together. Her hand was so sluggish in its course, the courtesan must think her rude. She went to open her mouth to speak, but realized she had never closed it in the first place. She tried to blink away the stupor, but even that seemed to take longer than it should.
She had said something, the pretty woman. Didn't she? What had she said? It was a question. . .
Her eyes were pretty, the gold twined in amidst the brown. And her smile. . . something in Talia's heart pulled the idea of ever seeing the woman without it. As if the world couldn't bear to see such a sight. No, Talia decided, she would do what she could to keep that radiant smile on Amelie's face. Amelie. What a pretty name. She loved that name. Everything about her was pretty.
And everything would stay pretty in a world with her. With Amelie. She didn't know why, but she just knew it. She could imagine how those gold eyes would sparkle when she laughed, how those delicate, long arms would pull her into rooms of velvet and gold, of sheets of silk.
A long, delicate hand extended to her now.
"Would you dance with me, pretty mage? Would you dance the years with me?"
Talia's hand was still slow, but it moved to grasp Amelie's. Yes. Yes, she would like that. She would like a life like that. Ye-
The point was so hot and so sharp, Talia didn't even register being thrown to the back of her own mind until it was already done. Shoved and thrown behind another.
Talia's hand laid gently in Amelie's palm. The courtesan's smile was dazzling.
Fast as a firefly's wing, Talia's hand snatched Amelie's wrist in a vice grip. The courtesan gave a tiny, startled cry and tried to pull away, but there was something sharp on the delicate skin of her inner wrist. A thumbnail. No, not just. A silver shimmer extended from where the digit ended and tapered into the wicked point that pressed just above the largest vein on Amelie's wrist.
"You dare ensnare my Tithe, flittery little Gallowglass?"
Gold met silver, and Amelie recoiled in horror, her pretty face twisting in fear.
"My Lady," Amelie breathed, the sharp point of the magic nicking her wrist and drawing a single bead of crimson. "I had not—I didn't—"
The Old One roughly released her wrist, sure to leave a lash beside the point she had already made. Nobody around them noticed the exchange. Amelie covered the cut with her opposite hand, hoping to staunch the bleeding.
"My Lady, if I had known, I would have never—" her desperation was frantic. She would have bolted back into the Great Hall, but that would only make matters worse. Fae were not to be remembered by the common folk, not unless they wanted to be. And Amelie did not want anyone to remember this. "You are so far West, I didn't think—"
"Lost but not forgotten," said the Old One, her usually warm voice level and hard. "How many have you stolen, greedy little mockingbird, with those lips so sweet and promises tender?"
Gallowglass shook her head with such force that some blonde strands came free of her styling.
"None, My Lady," her golden eyes wide with sincerity and fear, "Stolen none, but two conscripted—two years and nothing more. In return for service, lives of comfort. As per thine decree." She showed the length of both arms, pale skin unblemished aside from the freshly clotted scratches. "And a Tithe of free will, unharmed and cherished."
The Old One hummed in acknowledgement and looked around the balcony. Still none had drawn their eye. But the lilies, they whispered. . .
"Have you come for them?"
The Old One's eyes pulled away from the rustle of leaf and stem. "Whom?"
Amelie looked startled. "The-the Fomorian. I don't know how, but one is here, in the city. I know of none else."
The Old One sighed and shook her head. "No. If that tongue of yours be true, then let them live quietly. That was all we ever wanted for them, anyway."
The blonde opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and her lips popped shut.