Chapter 11: Balls, Dresses, and Mud
It's here! I must warn all my faithful readers that the next chapter might be a while in coming. I'm getting my wisdom teeth out tomorrow and I don't know how long I'll be laid up. However, I'm also finished school, so I have lots of time to devote to writing!
Nothing's mine, except Imogen.
"No," Imogen said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest. "No, no, no. I refuse to wear that."
Kalasin sighed patiently. "But Imogen, all the court ladies have to wear them. It's the price of fashion. "
Imogen glared at her friend, her expression mulish. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a court lady," she announced. "That looks more like a torture device than a garment."
Kalasin glared right back, her temper getting the better of her. "Imogen Darcy, whether you like it or not, you're going to have to wear a corset to this ball. Now accept it and let it go."
Imogen sighed, rubbing her nose. She had learned to recognize that stubborn expression on her best friend's face. Kalasin was not going to budge on this issue. She shot a look of pure venom at the offending article, and closed her eyes. "You win, Kally. Do your worst."
The princess smirked. "Thank you," she said and signaled to the maids.
As Imogen's ribs were slowly compressed in an effort to alter her figure, she thought irately about the coming torture. Almost an hour ago Kalasin had forcibly dragged her out of the stables and into the elder girl's room to ensure that Imogen really was coming to the ball and would look at least moderately respectable by Tortallan standards. It had turned into a battle royal as the two girls argued over what was truly required.
Imogen gritted her teeth as the maid gave the ties a final yank. She tried to take a deep breath and yelped in pain. "How do you stand this, Kally?" she demanded. "My lungs are squashed!"
"You'll get used to it," Kalasin said coolly. "Now for your dress. You are going to look like you belong here. After all, you're coming down the Grand Staircase with me."
Imogen growled as her green dress was tugged on over her head. "Don't remind me," she said sourly. "I'll have to get used to every stupid, stuck-up, grasping noble trying to suck up to me because I happen to be the eldest princess' best friend." She winced again as the maid tugged on her dress fastenings. "And I suppose I'll be expected to dance. I hope my partners don't step on my toes, or I'll kick them in the shins, decorum or not."
Kalasin made a sound that might or might not have been agreement. "Hair," she announced instead. "After that, face paint and you're all done."
"Oh no you don't, Kally," Imogen said through gritted teeth, this time putting her foot down. "No way am I wearing face paint, and don't look at me so exasperatedly. If you try to make me, I'll tear off this dress and go to the ball in my underclothes."
Kalasin stared at her friend for a moment and then burst out laughing. "All right, no face paint," she agreed. "You don't need it anyway. But you are going to have your hair done in style."
Imogen nodded, already resigned to this, and the maid began to brush out her silky pale hair. *As long as it's not really horrible, it won't kill me,* the girl reasoned.
Finally, after what felt like a decade, the last pin was slid into place. "Done, my lady," the maid declared. "You're as pretty as a picture."
"Let me see," Kalasin said commandingly. She surveyed Imogen, head on one side. Finally she nodded her approval. "I agree," she declared. "Not a beauty, but pretty enough to draw a few eyes, and nobody will ever forget your face."
"May I see?" Imogen inquired irately. "After all, I'm the one who had to be pinched and poked and squeezed." She twirled on the stool to face the mirror.
Imogen stared at her reflection for a long time, scrutinizing everything from the toes of her pale green slippers to the crown of her head. Lalasa had surpassed herself on this dress. It was pale green silk with gold embroidery with a full skirt and modest neckline. The sleeves were tight and ended just below Imogen's elbows. The girl's green-gold eyes were smouldering with suppressed annoyance under her long fair lashes. A sprinkling of freckles lightly dusted across her nose. The maid had braided Imogen's fair hair and wound the plaits around her head like a coronet.
Imogen wrinkled her nose at her reflection. "I don't look like me," she complained. "I look like an idiot and I feel like an idiot."
"You look fine," Kalasin said soothingly. "Now come on, it's time to go and we're already late."
Imogen looked admiringly at her friend. "Pretty or not, I'm not a patch on you." Kalasin in deep blue satin with her black hair pinned up in curls was a sight to behold.
"Nonsense," the princess said briskly, standing up and opening the door. "I have heredity behind me. You're every inch as pretty, just in other ways."
Imogen snorted her disbelief as she followed her friend out the door. She was not looking forward to this…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"The Princess Royal, Kalasin of Conte, and the Lady Imogen Darcy," the herald announced, flinging open the doors. Kalasin stepped regally onto the staircase, Imogen one step behind her, scowling slightly at being called a lady. Silently she blessed the dancing teacher who had taught her to walk in long skirts without tripping. Those stairs were steep!
Kalasin led Imogen over to the thrones where her parents were seated. The princess curtsied gracefully to King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, while Imogen bowed. She didn't plan to abase herself before anyone, king or no. She looked up to see Thayet's eyes twinkling merrily. Evidently the queen had not forgotten their last meeting.
However, Imogen didn't have much time to reflect on the queen's expression as two red-haired teenagers swooped down on her. The twins were bubbling with exuberance and spirits and insisted on dragging Imogen off towards their parents and brother.
"Here she is, Ma," Alianne said. "Imogen's wearing a dress! The world is ending!"
The Lioness herself was in formal attire, a violet silk gown accenting her unusual eyes. Seeing Imogen's disgruntled expression, she laughed and said, "I used to hate dresses too. However, I learned the trick is to grin and bear it."
"Thanks," Imogen said acidly. "That's incredibly encouraging."
Thom snickered. "You look like somebody tried to force-feed you poison," he said candidly.
"I think I would have been happier drinking poison," Imogen admitted. "Kalasin dragged me into her room and said that she wouldn't let me leave unless I let her dress me up like a doll. She may be my best friend and a princess, but she can be awfully annoying at times."
Thom grinned. "It's about to get worse," he said mischievously. "That black-haired boy walking in this direction is Seaver of Tasride, and I'll bet you ten gold nobles that he's going to ask you to dance."
Imogen groaned. "Gods grant me patience to get through this night," she silently prayed and turned to face the approaching torture.
After an hour Imogen was bored to tears, her feet were throbbing, and she had a splitting headache. She was talking (or rather listening to) an incredibly fat man drone on and on about his riches and his hopes for promotion at court. Imogen heard about one word in ten. All her attention was focussed on the door. If only she could escape from this stuffy room, with these idiotic people who had nothing better to do than to talk about themselves…
Finally she saw her chance. The portly man turned away to address one of his passing acquaintances and Imogen darted away, making a beeline for the door leading to the gardens. She slipped out and breathed a sigh of relief. She was free!
The palace gardens were a mass of shadows cast by the torches set on the palace walls. They were also virtually deserted, as all the nobles and servants were inside at the ball. Imogen was profoundly grateful for that small mercy. She slipped down the garden path until she found a bench. Kicking off her slippers and stockings and tossing them into the nearest bush, she stretched out along the bench and folded her hands behind her head, staring up at the stars. It had taken her a while to get used to the different constellations of the Tortallan sky, and it was still vaguely unsettling to look up at the night sky and not see the familiar stars of Canada. Sighing, she let her thoughts wander.
"You know," said an annoying voice from behind her, "in Tortall it's considered common courtesy to stay at a ball or party until the end, especially when it's a celebration of a royal wedding."
Imogen sat up with a gasp. Leaning casually on the back of the bench was Thom, smirking at her. She groaned in exasperation. "Thom, you are an ass," she said, lying back down. "It's also common courtesy not to startle unsuspecting, innocent maidens who happen to be stargazing."
Thom snorted. "You? Innocent? This coming from the girl who chased me around the palace with a frying pan? You're about as far from innocent as it's possible to be. What're you doing out here, anyway?"
"I couldn't stand those stupid, stuck-up, grasping old imbeciles any longer," Imogen said bluntly. "If I had heard one more person boast about how rich and powerful they were, I'd probably vomit. I don't think I'm quite cut out for life in a palace. What're you doing out here?"
"I had to come protect you. The poor, innocent maiden could be kidnapped and held for ransom. However, with me here, they would not dare."
Imogen snorted with laughter. "You? Protect me? What have you been drinking? They'd probably attack just to shut you up."
Thom looked insulted. "If you don't appreciate my many skills, I'll go find some other damsel in distress who sees my full worth," he said huffily, and stormed off.
Imogen raised an eyebrow. "You do that," she said coolly to his retreating back. "Then I can go back to thinking in peace."
She leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes, retreating again into her thoughts. She was perfectly at peace, drifting somewhere amidst the stars when a bucketful of water splashed over her face.
She sat up with a shriek, soaking wet, to see Thom dancing about, convulsed with laughter. "Thom of Pirate's Swoop!" she bellowed, well and truly angry. "You'll pay dearly for that trick!" She dove at the helpless boy, sending them rolling in the dirt of the garden path. With one hand she grabbed up a handful of dirt and ground it into his red hair. Thom, stronger than his adversary, picked up the squirming girl and dumped her in the garden fountain, but Imogen, not one to give up without a fight, dragged him in with her. She pulled herself out and scooped up more dirt, pelting Thom with mudballs. He got into the spirit of things and soon a full-fledged war was on.
Twenty minutes later, soaked, filthy and grinning, the combatants called a truce and took stock of their appearance. Imogen's previously sleek hair hung in a bedraggled tangle around her face. Her dress was covered in mud and her bare feet were filthy. Thom's red hair had turned a dirty brown with all the mud ground in, and his attire was in a similar state to Imogen's.
"Ma's going to kill me," Thom muttered under his breath. "She told me to behave myself."
"Well, Kally's going to kill me," Imogen said matter-of-factly. "She wanted me to behave like a Tortallan lady. Somehow I don't think Tortallan ladies have mud fights. Anyway, there's no way we can go back to the ball in this state, so we'd better sneak back to our rooms and hope nobody sees us."
"You're right," Thom agreed. "Ma can't kill me if she doesn't know." The two teenagers stealthily crept through the deserted palace hallways and split up, going to their respective rooms. Imogen snuck inside her own room and, exhausted, stripped out of her ruined finery and slipped into a nightgown. She sank into bed, not knowing the very next morning she would be awoken by the maid's screech as she saw the yards of filthy silk. As Imogen slipped off into dreamland, her last thought was, *I wonder if all balls are as fun as that?*
