The girls were crowded together again in Alanna's room, desperately trying to get ready in time for the ball. The morning hunt had left them all tired but happy, and had only been Cythera remembering about the evening's entertainment at the last minute that had saved them. As it was, they were still sorely pressed for time.
Sandry was busily running around tweaking everyone's dresses and straightening creases; Daja, with the help of a maid, was trying to finish all the fastenings of her gown; and Cythera was trying to explain the complexities of hair arrangement to a mulish Alanna.
"Last time, you told me to have it up!" Protested the Lioness, holding her fiery locks down protectively. Cythera sighed.
"That was an entrance ball, you had to look mature. This is the last ball before your wedding, you're supposed to be celebrating your youth! Leave it down! And for the Mother's sake, leave the bloody dagger behind!"
"That dagger took me three weeks." Commented Daja, trying to breathe as the maid tightened her corset.
Cythera spluttered. "Daja, you know I adore the dagger, but I really don't think…"
"Oh, hush, Cyth." Said Alanna mildly. "now do me a favour and help me with my earrings."
Tris, who was having trouble with her sash, yelled irritably, "Sandry, give me a hand?"
The long-suffering Sandrilene moved over to her foster sister, stepped back, and twitched a finger. The sash adjusted itself obediently. Turning to Alanna, Sandry groaned, "I don't know how you can be so calm, Aly."
The chorus came from every mouth in the room-except the maid, woho burst into giggles. "She's already betrothed!"
Aly grinned, tucking her hair behind her eay to display the gold-and-ruby whorl studs Cyth had got her for her birthday. Picking up the final item-the circlet- from the dresser, she set it carefully on the curls. Smiling at her friend's reflection in the mirror- Alanna looked lovely, if not conventionally so- Cythera turned to Tris.
"Isn't there any way you can take it out of the braids?" She asked wistfully. "You'd be really pretty if you just let your hair down and smiled, you know."
Tris regarded her with disbelieving eyes. "Do you want an earthquake? Anyway, you're the one in love! Why aren't you as nervous as Sandry?"
"I try to keep my mind of things," Cythera said dryly. She didn't fool anyone; her voice was shaking. "Are we all done?"
Sandry tweaked her dress one more time and smiled. "I am."
"Me too."
"Me three."
"Me four."
The maid tugged at Daja one last time, then tied the lacing with nimble fingers and stepped back. The trader, unused to such restrictions, placed a hand on her chest and croaked, "Me five."
Cythera nodded, trying not to tremble. "Let's go."
Cyth and Sandry would wonder afterwards why it seemed so natural to be nervous that night. They had, after all, been to plenty of balls since they had arrived in Corus, even several since they feel in love. Maybe it was something in the air that night. The sun had set early as the days shortened, and the stars were blazing around a half moon.
Maybe it was the moon, teetering on an unknowing brink. A moon like that, hovering between new and full-why, a moon like that could do anything.
But Sandry in gold, and Cythera white and blue, descended down the steps together shaking like rabbits. It seemed…. Only natural.
Gary headed straight for Alanna, dressed for the occasion in her customary forest green. He had never liked the colour quite so before he met her. Reaching out for her yielding hand, he pulled her straight on to the dance floor.
Alanna whirled around more then willingly with her betrothed. The steps seemed to come easier to her mind when she danced with him. He was dressed in red and gold, and looked as princely, to Alanna's mind, as Jon ever had. She stretched up to listen as he bent down to tell her something.
So. Sandry and Cyth had good reason to be nervous. Tonight, under a half moon; very apt, Alanna thought, for confessions of love.
Tris, Daja and Briar stood together beneath the vaulted roof, in one of the corners where they could see everything. Already their friends had paired off; Jon and Raoul had swept their respective ladies away.
"About bloody time too." Tris murmured under her breath. Daja laughed. All around them, the music played on.
Cythera's heart was racing. Her mind, against all logic, was speeding back to all those heroines she had lived her life through for years. Just so their saviours would spin and catch them on the tiled floor; just so would their hair fly out from their shoulders, creating a disc whose lifetime was a single breath. To her, Raoul was everything those heroes had been; strong, caring, sweet… And the man she loved. The dance was speeding up; they flew faster, faster still, and Cythera had never been so glad that she had paid attention in dancing. She knew Raoul must be hating it-he despised balls so- but in is arms she had never felt more free.
One final clap-and the beat was gone, leaving only thudding hears to commemorate it. Raoul, instead of relinquishing her hand, clasped it tighter, and pulled silently towards the balcony. Cythera followed, shaking in her mind like a leaf in a hurricane, or the frail butterfly unprepared for the winds that were blowing it away. He swept the rich velvet aside easily and pulled her out into the cold night air. The breeze hit her face like an icy slap, but she was so warm inside that she barely felt it. What could Raoul possibly be going to say to her?
But it seemed he wasn't in the mood for talking, because he merely-merely?-bent down and kissed her.
She realised that all those books she had read over the years hadn't prepared her for the half of what she was feelign now-of what she felt for this man towering above her, redening akwardlyy. When he spoke, it seemed as though she could already here the triumphant choruses, for all that his voice was husky an dcame out croaking. She had never heard anything sweeter.
"Um… I love you." He murmured, looking down at her. The perfect hero.
Her hero.
Cythera reached up with one cold hand and brushed back the lock of hair-the same lock that always fell forward when he leant down.
"I love you too, silly." She murmured, and the wind carried her voice silently to every corner of the earth.
Tris watched with satisfaction as they emerged from the balcony, both white from the cold but smiling. The redhead adjusted her glasses. And muttered to the others, "One down, one to go."
Jon had never been so terrified in his entire life. Scanrans and Carthakis he could handle, bit this woman in his arms with the adorably small nose and the powerful eyes made him want to run far, far away. Or, to be specific, the thought of the lady in his arms hating him was terrifying him. The lady herself just made him want to stare at her for a while. Say, a few centuries.
He wasn't supposed to be doing this, he knew. He was vaguely aware that he ought to marry for politics, but after all, she was foreign, which probably made it political anyway. Besides, he was in love with her, which he considered a mitigating circumstance. He watched out of the corner f one eye as Raoul emerged successful, Cyth hanging on his arm.
Oh, well. It was now or never. But blast if he was going to announce it to the world just yet. There was such a thing as subtlety. Trying to summon up an air of confident, handsome roguishness, he leant down to Sandry's ear and whispered as surreptitiously as he could, "I love you."
It was to Sandry's credit that she only missed one step. Twirling quickly to keep up, she stretched up to his ear as soon as the music would allow, she whispered, "I love you, too."
Subtlety be damned. He stopped abruptly in mid step, grasped Sandry by waist, and kissed her.
Properly.
Raoul, watching with his arm around Cythera, rolled his eyes. "Show-off." He muttered.
When they finally separated, the music had ground to an astonished halt, and everyone in the hall was staring at him. Several groups of girls had burst into tears.
Sandry grinned up at him. "Show-off."
"Is that a complaint?"
"Hardly."
"Good. Will you marry me?"
Sandry blinked. She was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to go like this.
What the hell.
"Yes."
Jon smiled delightedly down at her. "Say it again?"
Sandry laughed, loud enough for the whole hall to hear, and repeated herself.
"Yes, Jon, I will marry you."
There was an outcry. Twenty or so girls starting wailing in misery; there was a flood of cheers; and the orchestra, whose conductor had seen it all before, struck up a jubilatory fanfare.
In the corner of the room, Raoul looked down art Cythera hopefully.
"Uhh… What he said?"
Cythera glared. "Raoul of Goldenlake, do it properly.
Groaning, Raoul laboriously got down on one knee."Cythera of Elden, will you do me the honour of becoming my Lady?" He asked, striking a dramatic pose. Cythera chuckled gaily.
"How can I resist those eyes? Certainly, my Lord!"
Next to them, Alanna elbowed Gary. "I don't recall you proposing to me like that." She complained, glaring up at him. Gary rolled his eyes affectionately.
"Women." He complained jokingly.
Turning smugly to her friends, Tris declared, "Two marriages arranged. Not bad, even if I do say so myself."
And, true to the spirit of siblinghood and friendship, Daja and Briar noticeably did not ask what exactly she had had to do with it.
