Author's note: Thank you reviewers! I really appreciate it, and yes, I did
feel warm and fuzzy :P . This story has a particularly long excerpt, so
bare with me here.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Sherwood Smith, save the plot line.
The Dance: Chapter Two of Hope is All
By Coppercurls
(Excerpt from Court Duel)
As the bells for second-blue echoed from wall to pillar to gloriously painted ceiling, then died away, I stood alone at the midpoint of the And because he dballroom to welcome the guests of honor. Everyone was there, or nearly everyone. Only Flauvic was missing, which did not particularly bother me.
Nee and Bran came down the stairs, arm in arm, both dressed in the violet- and-white of the royal Calahanras family.
My own gown was mostly white and dove gray with knots of violet ribbon as acknowledgement of my role as Bran's sister. But there the reference to the royal family ended, for my colors in the ballroom were Remalna's green and gold--the green of the plant leaves, and all shades of gold, from ocher to palest yellow, picked out in the blooms. The focus, therefore, was quite properly on Nee and Bran, who grinned like children as they came to me.
I glanced up at the balcony, and a ruffle of drums brought the quiet tide of murmurings to a cease. Then an extravagant cascade of sound from all the instruments of the air, flutes to greathorns, announced the ancient promenade, and all took their places to perform the dance that their ancestors had toed-and-healed though hundreds of years before.
Backs straight, heads high, fingertips meeting in an archway under which the honored two proceeded, followed by everyone else in order of rank.
So it began. By the end of the promenade I knew my ball was a triumph. I breathed the heady wine of success and understood why famous hosts of the past had secreted knowledge of their artists, sometimes hiring them exclusively so that no one could reproduce the particular magic that so much skill has wrought.
For a time the focus was equally on me as I made my way round the perimeter and accepted the compliments of the guests. But gradually they turned to one another, or to the entertainment, and I remained on the perimeter and thus faded into the background.
Or I attempted to, anyway. For as I moved away from a group of young ladies bent on dancing, I suddenly found myself face-to-face with Flauvic. Could I possibly have overlooked him?
Not likely. He was magnificent in black, white and gold, the candlelight making a blaze of his hair. His eyes were brilliant, their expression hard to read, but I sensed a kind of intensity in him when he bowed over my hand. "Beautifully done," he said with an elegant lift of his hand.
"It was your suggestion," I reminded him--knowing full well he didn't need to be reminded.
"You do great credit to my poor idea," he returned, bowing slightly. id not move away, I invited him to stroll with me.
He agreed, and as we walked around the perimeter, he commented appreciatively--and knowledgeably--on the fine details of my evocation of our shared past, until he was seen and claimed by friends.
As I watched him walk away, I contemplated just how skillfully he had contrived his entrance. He had managed, while saluting me as hostess, to avoid paying honor to Bran and Nee. One always arrives at a ball before the guests of honor, unless one wishes to insult them. Great dramas had been enacted in the past just this way, but he'd slipped in so quietly, no one-- except me, it seemed--knew that he had not been there all along.
I watched him for a time, sipping as my wine. He moved deftly from group to group, managing to speak to just about every person. When I finished the wine, I set the glass down, deciding that Flauvic would always constitute an enigma.
Realizing I ought to be circulating as well, I turned--and found myself confronted by the Marquis of Shevraeth.
"My dear Countess," he said with a grand bow. "Please bolster my declining prestige by joining me in this dance."
Declining prestige? I thought, then out loud I said, "It's a tartelande. From back then."
"Which I studied up on all last week," he said, offering his arm.
I took it and flushed right up to my pearl-lined headdress. Though we had spoken often, of late, at various parties, this was the first time we had danced together since Savona's ball, my second night at Athanarel. As we joined in the circle I sneaked a glance at Elenet. She was dancing with one of the ambassadors.
A snap of drums and a lilting tweet caused everyone to take position, hands high, right foot pointed. The musicians reeled out a merry tune to which we dipped and turned and stepped in patterns round one another and those behind and beside us.
(End Excerpt)
My eyes scanned the dance floor and once I was assured that everyone was having a splendid time I turned my gaze towards my partner.
His eyes were a clear, pleasant shade of gray and, I had to admit, quite attractive. I blushed more hotly than before, much to my annoyance. If Shevraeth noticed, he kept his thoughts to himself. Good thing, too. I probably would have resented him if he made any rude remark.
We were still twirling and spinning one of the patterns when I surveyed the Marquis. I had to admit, overall, he was quite attractive. Not that I would ever tell him this.
He was wearing an awfully-comfortable looking tunic that was long and made like a robe, colored a pale sky blue with embroidery of contrasting black and white and particularly wide sleeves. His blonde hair was pulled back and secured with a nightstar clasp which was studded with diamonds and a dazzling bluefire gem served him as an earing, reflecting the candlelight and glittering softly.
I felt slightly shabby dancing with him. Although I looked acceptable, his grand appearance was intimidating. My gown was simple, yet I rather liked the way it flared out with every twist and turn of the tune.
Shevraeth regarded my staring by raising a single arched eyebrow. If it were possible, I blushed even more so, and peered at our hands matching. It had just struck me that he was wearing a ring on his littlest finger.
Laurel leaves were etched into it, creating a striking abstract pattern. The gem was a very fine ekirth that was so blue it looked black. Immediately it registered in my mind.
That was my ring.
My first though on that was: Why did Shevraeth have my ring and not my admirer.
That's when it hit me.
He WAS my admirer.
What a shock that was. My face displayed a look of awe, surprise and oddly enough, relief.
I managed to muttered. "My ring..."
His grasp on her tightened and he seemed to be nervous. Well, nervous for Shevaerth.
"Yes," was the flat reply I received.
"It's you?" I asked, still not all the way positive on this matter.
Shevraeth sighed, "It is."
I felt very sheepish. He must have read my emotions which, f course, were written all over my face.
As unbelievable as it sounds, Shevraeth turned a slight red, embarrassed and shameful, and told me, "I knew wearing that would be a mistake."
"Mistake?" I inquired. "I don't think it's a mistake."
Hope grew in the man's handsome face. "You mean...?" He managed to choke out.
"I mean the feeling's mutual." I replied, brimming with happiness. Things were finally going my way.
With a graceful dip, the dance ended and left Vidanric and I exchanging glances until he offered his arm to be and said, "Would you like to go out on the balcony?"
I took his arm and mumbled something. He seemed to take this as a yes, and steered me towards the balcony.
The scene from the balcony was that of a romantic painting. As soon as it was confirmed we were alone, Vindanric unexpectedly kissed me softly and carefully, me too surprised to do anything but allow it to happen.
At this point, there was no other thought in my mind other than the one of the wonderful man standing in front of me.
Author's Note: Okay, dumb ending, so sue me. On second thought, I need my money, so don't sue me. I'd love more reviews!
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Sherwood Smith, save the plot line.
The Dance: Chapter Two of Hope is All
By Coppercurls
(Excerpt from Court Duel)
As the bells for second-blue echoed from wall to pillar to gloriously painted ceiling, then died away, I stood alone at the midpoint of the And because he dballroom to welcome the guests of honor. Everyone was there, or nearly everyone. Only Flauvic was missing, which did not particularly bother me.
Nee and Bran came down the stairs, arm in arm, both dressed in the violet- and-white of the royal Calahanras family.
My own gown was mostly white and dove gray with knots of violet ribbon as acknowledgement of my role as Bran's sister. But there the reference to the royal family ended, for my colors in the ballroom were Remalna's green and gold--the green of the plant leaves, and all shades of gold, from ocher to palest yellow, picked out in the blooms. The focus, therefore, was quite properly on Nee and Bran, who grinned like children as they came to me.
I glanced up at the balcony, and a ruffle of drums brought the quiet tide of murmurings to a cease. Then an extravagant cascade of sound from all the instruments of the air, flutes to greathorns, announced the ancient promenade, and all took their places to perform the dance that their ancestors had toed-and-healed though hundreds of years before.
Backs straight, heads high, fingertips meeting in an archway under which the honored two proceeded, followed by everyone else in order of rank.
So it began. By the end of the promenade I knew my ball was a triumph. I breathed the heady wine of success and understood why famous hosts of the past had secreted knowledge of their artists, sometimes hiring them exclusively so that no one could reproduce the particular magic that so much skill has wrought.
For a time the focus was equally on me as I made my way round the perimeter and accepted the compliments of the guests. But gradually they turned to one another, or to the entertainment, and I remained on the perimeter and thus faded into the background.
Or I attempted to, anyway. For as I moved away from a group of young ladies bent on dancing, I suddenly found myself face-to-face with Flauvic. Could I possibly have overlooked him?
Not likely. He was magnificent in black, white and gold, the candlelight making a blaze of his hair. His eyes were brilliant, their expression hard to read, but I sensed a kind of intensity in him when he bowed over my hand. "Beautifully done," he said with an elegant lift of his hand.
"It was your suggestion," I reminded him--knowing full well he didn't need to be reminded.
"You do great credit to my poor idea," he returned, bowing slightly. id not move away, I invited him to stroll with me.
He agreed, and as we walked around the perimeter, he commented appreciatively--and knowledgeably--on the fine details of my evocation of our shared past, until he was seen and claimed by friends.
As I watched him walk away, I contemplated just how skillfully he had contrived his entrance. He had managed, while saluting me as hostess, to avoid paying honor to Bran and Nee. One always arrives at a ball before the guests of honor, unless one wishes to insult them. Great dramas had been enacted in the past just this way, but he'd slipped in so quietly, no one-- except me, it seemed--knew that he had not been there all along.
I watched him for a time, sipping as my wine. He moved deftly from group to group, managing to speak to just about every person. When I finished the wine, I set the glass down, deciding that Flauvic would always constitute an enigma.
Realizing I ought to be circulating as well, I turned--and found myself confronted by the Marquis of Shevraeth.
"My dear Countess," he said with a grand bow. "Please bolster my declining prestige by joining me in this dance."
Declining prestige? I thought, then out loud I said, "It's a tartelande. From back then."
"Which I studied up on all last week," he said, offering his arm.
I took it and flushed right up to my pearl-lined headdress. Though we had spoken often, of late, at various parties, this was the first time we had danced together since Savona's ball, my second night at Athanarel. As we joined in the circle I sneaked a glance at Elenet. She was dancing with one of the ambassadors.
A snap of drums and a lilting tweet caused everyone to take position, hands high, right foot pointed. The musicians reeled out a merry tune to which we dipped and turned and stepped in patterns round one another and those behind and beside us.
(End Excerpt)
My eyes scanned the dance floor and once I was assured that everyone was having a splendid time I turned my gaze towards my partner.
His eyes were a clear, pleasant shade of gray and, I had to admit, quite attractive. I blushed more hotly than before, much to my annoyance. If Shevraeth noticed, he kept his thoughts to himself. Good thing, too. I probably would have resented him if he made any rude remark.
We were still twirling and spinning one of the patterns when I surveyed the Marquis. I had to admit, overall, he was quite attractive. Not that I would ever tell him this.
He was wearing an awfully-comfortable looking tunic that was long and made like a robe, colored a pale sky blue with embroidery of contrasting black and white and particularly wide sleeves. His blonde hair was pulled back and secured with a nightstar clasp which was studded with diamonds and a dazzling bluefire gem served him as an earing, reflecting the candlelight and glittering softly.
I felt slightly shabby dancing with him. Although I looked acceptable, his grand appearance was intimidating. My gown was simple, yet I rather liked the way it flared out with every twist and turn of the tune.
Shevraeth regarded my staring by raising a single arched eyebrow. If it were possible, I blushed even more so, and peered at our hands matching. It had just struck me that he was wearing a ring on his littlest finger.
Laurel leaves were etched into it, creating a striking abstract pattern. The gem was a very fine ekirth that was so blue it looked black. Immediately it registered in my mind.
That was my ring.
My first though on that was: Why did Shevraeth have my ring and not my admirer.
That's when it hit me.
He WAS my admirer.
What a shock that was. My face displayed a look of awe, surprise and oddly enough, relief.
I managed to muttered. "My ring..."
His grasp on her tightened and he seemed to be nervous. Well, nervous for Shevaerth.
"Yes," was the flat reply I received.
"It's you?" I asked, still not all the way positive on this matter.
Shevraeth sighed, "It is."
I felt very sheepish. He must have read my emotions which, f course, were written all over my face.
As unbelievable as it sounds, Shevraeth turned a slight red, embarrassed and shameful, and told me, "I knew wearing that would be a mistake."
"Mistake?" I inquired. "I don't think it's a mistake."
Hope grew in the man's handsome face. "You mean...?" He managed to choke out.
"I mean the feeling's mutual." I replied, brimming with happiness. Things were finally going my way.
With a graceful dip, the dance ended and left Vidanric and I exchanging glances until he offered his arm to be and said, "Would you like to go out on the balcony?"
I took his arm and mumbled something. He seemed to take this as a yes, and steered me towards the balcony.
The scene from the balcony was that of a romantic painting. As soon as it was confirmed we were alone, Vindanric unexpectedly kissed me softly and carefully, me too surprised to do anything but allow it to happen.
At this point, there was no other thought in my mind other than the one of the wonderful man standing in front of me.
Author's Note: Okay, dumb ending, so sue me. On second thought, I need my money, so don't sue me. I'd love more reviews!