Chapter 58: The Excalibur Ball
It was the fourth night of the Excalibur Family Reunion. The festivities had been non-stop. From the croquet tournament, to horseback riding, to the black-jack tournament, to the knighting ceremony where Jezran's great-nephew-twice-removed was knighted for his contributions to the family in the past five years (Dreamer still didn't know exactly what contributions the man had made, but it all seemed pretty shady). Parties, great feasts, champagne, a magic tournament, a cage-fighting tournament, gambling and betting (they were a mob, after all, fancy or not).
The group was having so much fun, that the Resmond issue seemed far away, like something that occurred in a different world—another time. Macbeth, Gajeel, and Erik decided not to tell Dreamer about what Erik had overheard. There was no point, after all. It would just cause needless anxiety on her part, and no one wanted to deal with that.
Piper kept busy at the casino—smoking cigarettes and killing at the games. He had collected an impressive pile of crowns until the blackjack tournament. He pushed his luck just a little too far in that last round, and lost more than half of his winnings. But it didn't seem to be getting him too down. "Hey, I still won some'tin, didn't I? And shit, I ain't had this much fun in years!"
Gajeel was more interested in participating in the cage-fights and magic tournament. He was slaughtering the competition in the cage-fights until he was disqualified for punching someone with an iron rod. Pantherlily participated too, and made it to the final round before his battle-form wore out at the last moment.
Erik spent most the time walking on his own and exercising. It turned out that the poison-slayer enjoyed working out. He said it "makes it easier to tune out the noise." And apparently, he used to jog with Sawyer when they were younger, though he was never a match for the other boy.
Macbeth slept a lot, of course. He refused to compete in any of the games, and spent much of the time looking bored. Dreamer suspected he had been secretly playing tricks on people to entertain himself. She got that impression when she caught him smirking at a man sprawled out on the ground, who could not figure out how his shoes got laced to each other. When she looked at Macbeth, he'd quickly shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away. And it hardly seemed coincidence that everywhere he went, little accidents seemed to follow. She would have said something, but the tricks were mostly harmless, and he seemed to be having fun, so…
As for her and Syllestra, they spent most of their time with Jezran as he reunited with family members that came from all four corners of the world. It was astounding to see the older man in this setting. He garnered respect from everyone he spoke to. Then there was his younger brother, Terrence, whom he'd given the rights to the throne. Dreamer expected there to be tension between the two of them, but on the contrary, they were so happy to see one another that they were attached at the hip nearly constantly. It was clear that Jezran did not regret his choice to become Dreamer's guardian in exchange for the throne—a fact that made Dreamer's heart swell with joy.
Syllestra got to go horseback riding, which made her entire week. She also got to play with several other children her age, and was convinced that they were all her brothers and sisters.
All in all, the week was exactly what Dreamer needed. She felt loved, safe, and relaxed for the first time in months. She had long forgotten the strange sense of foreboding she'd had on their first night here. Now, she was swimming in the high of being surrounded by family, of being hundreds of miles away from her problems.
And tonight… Tonight was the night of the Excalibur Ball.
She'd never been so nervous. She could hardly stomach breakfast or lunch. She was giddy and on edge, jumpy and jittery. As if that wasn't bad enough, every time she looked at Macbeth throughout the day, her hands would begin to feel sweaty and the room would begin to feel too warm.
What's wrong with me? The question she asked herself over and over, all day long.
She meant to ask Macbeth if he would be attending the ball. But every time she was with him and had the opportunity, her mouth would go completely dry and the words would lodge in her throat.
This is so silly, she thought. Why do I feel like this?
She knew exactly why.
She went through the day with fluttering knots in her stomach, until it was time to get ready for the ball, about two hours beforehand. Servants helped her pick out dresses for herself and Syllestra, and then set to work beautifying them fully.
The time had finally come, and both girls marveled at their reflections in the mirror.
"Mommy, look!" Syllest twirled. "I'm a princess!"
The child wore a graceful gown with a poofy skirt and sleeves. It had a high, frilled collar, with buttons that trailed down to a lace-fringed corset. The corset was a deep shade of blue, lined with white lace and adorned with a matching bow on the chest. The skirt began at the bottom of the corset. It was lined with vertical rows of frills that flowed down into the hem, which hung with a trail of bows that circled around the bottom of the skirt. The lacy underskirt brushed her calves, and she wore black, sparkling flats that matched her hair. Her charcoal hair was in a half up-do, lightly curled and held back with a blue bow that matched the dress's corset.
"You are a princess, Syllest." She smiled at the beautiful child, and could not help the passing thought, Rosy would think so too.
"Mom," Syllest stopped in mid-twirl and looked up at Dreamer with her massive, pink eyes. "You look like an angel."
Dreamer swallowed a lump in her throat and looked at her own reflection.
Her gown was brilliant, dazzling gold, threaded with real white roses. A corset plumped her cleavage, her dress forming a low half-moon on the curve of her breasts. A pink rose stone, the same color as her eyes, rested at the top of her cleavage on a gold necklace hanging from a lace choker. Dangling earrings, pink, jewel-encrusted heels. Her hair was too short to put up completely, but it had been curled and adorned with a golden hairband, with a single cream braid pulled back behind her ear. Makeup painted her eyelashes dark and sensual—her cheeks rosy and lips glossy.
She supposed, with the white roses and white-lace choker, and the shimmering gold of the gown… she did look like some sort of angel.
Will Macbeth think so too?
She blushed when the unwarranted thought invaded her mind.
There was a knock on the door. She swallowed and straightened her posture, knowing it was time.
The servant opened the door, and there stood Jezran Desmond Excalibur. He was even more classy than usual. He was not wearing a top hat, his gray-streaked hair slicked back and shaped carefully. His mustache had been waxed and curled at the ends. He wore a bright white tuxedo with a golden tie, his golden pocket watch chain hanging from his pocket. His pocket square was the same pink color as her accessories.
"Hey! You guys match!" Syllest pointed out, excitedly.
Jezran chuckled then held an arm out. "May I escort you young ladies to the ballroom?"
"Yes please, kind sir." Dreamer curtsied low. Syllest watched and tried to imitate the act.
"Yes please, kind grandpa." She skipped and took his hand while Dreamer took the proffered arm.
The walk was painfully slow, every step measured and refined. Syllestra tried her best to copy the sophisticated stride, but it was clear she was impatient.
"Why are we walking so slow?!" She tugged on Jezran's sleeve. "I want to see the ball! Hey! Are Uncle Piper and Uncle Gajeel and Uncle Erik and Uncle Pantherlily and Daddy Macbeth gonna be there?! Are they gonna wear dresses too?" she giggled. "I bet Macbeth would be beautiful in a dress! I can't wait to see it! I bet he's even prettier than Mommy!"
Dreamer's jaw dropped. "What did you call him, young lady?"
Syllest smiled sheepishly. "Um… Uncle Macbeth?"
Dreamer rolled her eyes, but then glanced over at Jezran. "Pops… do you know if…" She cleared her throat and forced the words out. "Do you know if he is coming tonight?"
Jezran gave a polite smile and the slight shake of his head. "I am terribly sorry, dear me. He and the other men were vehemently opposed to the idea, other than Piper, that is. I am sure he will attend for your sake."
"Oh." There was a sinking feeling in her chest. She had hoped that maybe… She shook her head to rid the thought. Then lifted her chin and walked with elegance into the ballroom.
The Excalibur Mansion's ballroom was truly a sight to behold. A vaulted ceiling hung far overhead, the color of the dark sea. Floating in the air, high above, were twinkling lacrima orbs, enchanted to drift lazily near the ceiling so that when one glanced up, it looked almost as though they were staring at the night sky above. The floor was polished marble, so clear that it reflected twirling dresses and dancing shoes. Music wafted over the crowd, delicate hymns and the sound of harps. Murals stretched up the walls of the room, depicting adventures and swords lodged in stone. Easy laughter and conversation stirred in the music, as men and women in the finest attire danced and chatted and sang along. It was more magnificent than Dreamer remembered, from the time when she last stood at these doors, with a two-year old Syllestra in her arms.
Now, a beautiful seven-year-old gasped at the sight before them.
"Mom… It's amazing."
"It is..."
Jezran walked them onto the floor. Heads turned and smiles were cast their way. Ooh's and awe's aimed toward Syllest, who simply soaked in the praise. She even did a cute curtsy that sent the crowd into swoons.
"May I have the first dance?" Jezran asked, brown eyes twinkling.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Dreamer smiled in response. She took one of Jezran's hands and one of Syllest's, so that the three of them were hand-in-hand. They laughed and began to dance in a circle. It wasn't quite the proper dance for the occasion, but it made Syllest's giggles chime like bells through the crowd.
"What on earthland would I do without you girls, dear me?" Jezran chuckled, as he spun Syllest.
"You'd be a prince," Dreamer reminded him, taking her turn to be spun.
"It would be a true travesty, dear me."
The fun continued, until the song was done. Jezran bowed low before them. Dreamer curtsied. Syllest copied.
"If you will please excuse me," he righted himself. "I should make the rounds, dear me."
Arturus was standing not far off, looking expectantly at Jezran.
"Go ahead, Pops," Dreamer smiled. "Thank you for the dance."
He bowed once more, kissed her knuckles, then Syllest's forehead, and went to join his family.
"Mom, Mom, Mom," Syllest tugged harshly on the hem of her dress. "Is that food over there?!" She gestured at the tables that lined the east wall of the room, which were set with a lovely display of treats, wines, and champagnes.
"Should we go see?"
"Yeah! Come on, come on!"
So, they pushed through the crowd and reached one of the dessert tables. It was an entire table reserved for chocolate. There was a chocolate fountain, white chocolate, dark chocolate, dipped strawberries, chocolate cake, chocolate croissants, chocolate truffles…
"Syllest, don't you dare."
The girl stopped a centimeter from putting her tongue into the chocolate fountain. Her little cheeks took color and she beamed innocently. Dreamer rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the hearty laugh that followed. It was so good to be enjoying time like this with Syllestra. No worries, no threat hanging over their heads. Just dancing and laughter and endless chocolate.
Dreamer fixed the child a plate while she rambled.
"Mom, did you know Romeo doesn't like chocolate? That's crazy, right? What kind of kid doesn't like chocolate? Boys are so weird. Does Macbeth like chocolate? Oh, of course he does, he likes chocolate chip cookies. I wish Romeo was here, then we could dance together! But not because I like-like him, because I don't anymore. We decided to be friends. But friends can still dance together, right? We danced with Pops. But I guess that's different because he's like our grandpa, so…"
"Well, well, what d'we gots here?" A familiar, raspy voice greeted them.
"Uncle Piper!" Syllest turned on her heel and leapt into the man's arms.
"Oof, watch it kiddo! You're gettin' too big to do that anymore!" He reached to ruffle her hair, then thought better of it because of the style.
Dreamer had never seen Piper in this level of formal-wear before. He didn't even look like the same person.
His usually spiked Mohawk was combed neatly to the side. He wore a powder-blue suit and bowtie. He'd shaved his goatee and wasn't wearing any piercings at all. There wasn't a single scrap of denim or leather on his entire outfit. It was a bit startling—and Dreamer had the passing thought that Piper was incredibly handsome.
He caught her looking at him and gave a cocky grin. He appraised her for a moment, then gave a clumsy bow. "Yo, Dreamy." He straightened up. "You look… You know. You look good. Real good."
She curtsied politely. "And you look very handsome, Piper."
"Really?" He tugged on his bowtie. "Good, cuz this thing's itchy as hell."
"Teehee, Uncle Piper said 'hell.'"
"This whole ball thing ain't really my style," he put his hands in his pockets. "But it ain't horrible. Can you's imagine if Cana was here? That whole wine table'd be empty!"
Dreamer raised an amused eyebrow.
"B-But it ain't like I'm thinkin' about her or nothing." His cheeks flared up. "Anyways…" He chewed on his lip, then held a hand out to her. "You wanna dance with me, doll?"
Dreamer looked hesitantly at his hand, then at Syllestra. "I can't leave her alone," she said with a frown. Half of it was the ingrained, over-protective paranoia she had for the girl—part of it was fear that she'd end up bathing in the chocolate fountain.
"Do not worry, deary," Jezran's voice called out as the man approached the table. "I will watch her while you dance." He placed a hand on Syllest's shoulder.
"Are you sure, Pops?" Dreamer's frown deepened. "I know it's important for you to mingle and all that."
"A few minutes will not hurt, deary. Please, enjoy yourself." He gave his signature mustached smile. Piper tugged on her hand.
"You heard the man, let's go!"
She cast one last, uncertain glance at Jezran and Syllest before she sighed and followed her friend.
Piper cleared his throat and put a hand on Dreamer's waist, interlacing his fingers in her other hand. They began to waltz.
"You're not a bad dancer, Piper!" she said, surprised by his perfect form. "This doesn't seem like it would be your thing at all!"
"I'm full of surprises, Dreamy," he grinned cheekily. He pulled her a bit closer. "Hey. You's knows I'm always gonna be there for you's right? We're always gonna be pals."
"Of course," she giggled.
"And I ain't gonna stop lookin' out for you and Syllest, got it? You're still my girls, and I'll be damned if anyone tries to screw with you's."
"I know, Piper." She gave him a hug. "You're a good man."
"I mean it, Dreamy." He stopped dancing and looked at her with hard, emerald eyes. "If that bastard ever does you wrong, I'll kill 'im."
She blinked, not understanding. "That… bastard?"
"Yeah, you's knows exactly who I'm talking about." He grimaced, but then smiled gently at her. "But hey. I just want you's to be happy."
"I am happy, Piper." She rolled her eyes, fighting a blush at the mention of "that bastard."
"I gots a feelin' you're about to be a helluva lot happier, doll."
Without warning, he gave her a small shove backward. She stumbled on too-high heels and began to fall. She closed her eyes, bracing for an impact that never came.
Arms closed around her. She found herself wrapped in lithe muscle and the peculiar scent of chamomile and metallic rust. Her heart caught in her chest. Her lungs stopped functioning. Her entire body felt paralyzed. She didn't have to look up to know who was holding her now.
"Hello," came the quiet drawl of a voice.
Finally, she looked up at him and took a sharp breath.
No lipstick. No mascara or eyeliner. Just red, swallowing eyes. His hair had been tamed, somewhat, the black pulled back to reveal more of the white underside. He wore no jewelry, no choker, no beads or braids. She would scarcely recognize him if not for those sharp eyes and the smirk, which she could never miss, even without the lipstick.
"M-Macbeth," she was ashamed of the stutter in her voice. "You came."
He looked away from her and said nothing. It might have just been the ethereal glow of the lights, but it looked like his cheeks took on some color.
His hands straightened her upright so that she wasn't leaning into him anymore. She took a half-step back and looked him over. He was in vested formalwear and black cuffs, a far cry from his usual style.
If she had thought Piper was handsome, then this… This was something else entirely.
"Wow," she whispered. Wow? Seriously? What are you, stupid?! What does that even mean?
He said nothing, but his eyes were scanning her boldly over. She felt stripped to the bone by his invasive stare—nearly hungry in its depth. His gaze rested on the rose pendant that sat on her cleavage. He licked his lips.
"H-HEY!" She poked his cheek. "My eyes are up here!" She protectively covered her breasts with her arms and huffed, while a hot blush washed over her cheeks.
He chuckled, sinisterly, but did lift his gaze back to her eyes.
He said nothing, nor made any move to dance. He just stared. She fought the overwhelming desire to activate her magic circles and read his emotions. Was he excited to see her? Was he as nervous as she was? Did he feel the same way she did…?
"D-Do you think I look nice?" she stuttered, instantly embarrassed that she was probing for a compliment.
"No." He answered without hesitation, a cruel gleam in his eyes.
Her heart sank and she had to avert her eyes from his. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, really…
"Hm." He suddenly took her hand and forced her into a dance posture. "It's too easy to torment you," he said, with an unholy grin.
She smiled shyly. "You're too mean," she whispered.
"I've told you before," he slid a hand to the small of her back and pulled her against him, "I like watching you suffer."
Chills ran down her spine. How could someone be so simultaneously terrifying and exciting at the same time? How could someone say things that were borderline cruel and creepy, and yet have such a gentle touch?
They started to dance. She couldn't believe it. It was like a dream. She never would have imagined in a million years that he would dance. With her. And yet, here they were. His hand on her waist, his body flush against hers, his breath on her neck because he'd chosen to press his face against her hair… It all felt like an unreal blur, like the world was spinning around her. The music sounded like distance noise, a murmur that made no sense. All that made sense was the undeniable sensation of his heartbeat in rhythm with hers. Was it beating fast? Or did everything just seem to be swirling too quickly now?
Does he feel this too?
He brought his lips to her ear, so close, but not quite touching her skin. He parted them and breathed a tantalizingly hot breath that made her body respond in an unwarranted tremble. The words he whispered were less than romantic, however—and far less than friendly.
"I hate you," he whispered.
He said that, and yet he was moving in sync with her, and his grip had tightened, ever so slightly around her.
"Why?" She asked quietly. She still couldn't think straight. His harsh words didn't even register. All she could think about was his closeness. His scent. The proximity of his lips to her skin.
"Because you're irresistible." His words elicited a sigh from the recesses of her throat. Had he really said that? "Because you make me think I'm less evil than I am."
"You're not evil at all, Macbeth," she whispered back. She realized absently that her arms had closed around him, as well—that she was leaning her head against his chest, listening to his heart.
"See what I mean?" he hissed. "Just shut up."
They danced until the song ended. It seemed to end far too soon, and yet the moment lasted a lifetime. Once it was over, he held her for just a little longer, as if reluctant to let her go. Or, at least, that's what she hoped he was feeling.
"Want to know what I really think about how you look tonight?" His tone was teasing, the breath still brushing against the sensitive skin of her ear.
"Y-yes…" She felt her fingertips clutching the fabric of his vest, slightly, while she waited for what he would say next.
Slowly, he closed the space his warm breath had been filling. She gasped sharply as he drew his lips tauntingly along her skin, tracing the shape of her ear, lingering in the space beneath, where her jaw began. He hesitated, and she was sure he would press his mouth there and kiss her. To her embarrassment, there was nothing she wanted more in that instant than for those soft lips to close against her skin. Instead, his lower lip hovered there, just barely teasing her, his breath slightly ragged—hot against her flesh…
Then he pulled away.
Dreamer couldn't help but release a disappointed whine. He smirked victoriously, unashamed of torturing her senses like that. He released his hold on her and plunged his hands into his pockets before turning his back on her.
"Wait! Wh-where are you going?" She called after him, stunned. "Don't go! One more song, please!"
He paused. He looked over his shoulder and there was real reluctance there—a childlike uncertainty—a blush on his cheeks.
"Please, Macbeth…"
To her amazement, he came back to her. He took her hand again, touched her waist, and breathed a heavy sigh into her hair.
Now, Dreamer. You must do it now, she coached herself.
"Macbeth…" she looked up at him and swallowed a lump in her throat. "There's… something I want to tell you."
His eyelashes fluttered in surprise. His lips were a thin line.
"I… I really like you," she said, willing him to understand what she really meant. Pleading with his gaze.
"Obviously," he teased, but there was a tremble in his voice—a highness, the scared child.
"No, Macbeth… I mean." She took a deep breath, looking at his lips. "I…"
"Don't." He suddenly pressed his finger to her lips. There was a pained expression on his face. "Don't say it, Dream."
She felt a cold splash of shock in her chest. "Why?"
"You can't." Tears shimmered in the corners of his eyes. "I'm a monster."
"No, you're not!" She clutched him tightly against her, and cupped his jaw. "You're one of us. You're a good man, not a monster. Not anymore."
He wanted to believe her. There was desperation there, in his parted lips, in the tears.
"You're going to make right all the bad things you've done, and you're going to find your freedom. And I… I want to be there with you, by your side when you find it." She could no longer imagine a future where Macbeth wasn't a part of Team Derelict Heart, where he wasn't intricately woven into every part of her life. It had been less than a year since she found him in the wreckage of Nirvana, and yet... the memories they'd made carried the weight of many years, splintering the fragile wood of time. "I want to always be by your side, Macbeth."
"Dream…" he whimpered, the tears beginning to fall.
"I love you," she said. Finally. Resolutely.
He closed his eyes.
"You don't have to say it," she whispered, soothingly. "Just… Kiss me. Please."
He tilted his forehead against hers and shared her breath. Lips, so close. She parted hers, expectantly. Lips brushed slightly, just enough to send sparks of electricity through her whole body. Her tongue danced, a sigh escaped, and his mouth hovered there, soft lips teasing her yet again. Then...
"No." He pulled away, leaving an icy chill on her lips and a void in her arms.
"Macbeth?" Something broke inside of her. He refused to meet her gaze, just put his hands in his pockets and turned his back on her. "S-Stop! The teasing isn't funny anymore! I just want-"
"I don't love you, Dream."
Never had words been so sharp. It was like every sword in Erza's repertoire had stabbed her all at once. Like she was shredded to ribbons. Like Gildart's magic had reduced her to tiny pieces or Gray's ice had shattered her. Like all the magic in the world imploded in her chest.
"You don't mean that..." she said, as cold tears fell onto her chest.
He didn't answer. He didn't look at her. Just tucked his head lower, as if he were ashamed, and practically fled into the crowd.
Her arms went limp.
Why, Macbeth? What are you so afraid of?
She put her face in her hands and cried. Sobs wracked her body, salty tears splashing on the pendant she wore. She wept, alone and rejected and so, so cold...
Until a gloved hand rested on her shoulder.
"Pardon me," said a voice she'd never heard before.
She lifted her head and was met with a red gaze. She was confused for a moment, thinking it was Macbeth again. These eyes were just as consuming as his, but no… They were sharper, somehow.
He was a man she'd never met, with skin as white as snow, and pale lips to match. His hair was long, and as equally colored, draping along a slender neck. He held himself in a way that declared regality. He wore a black masquerade mask that framed his red eyes, and was dressed in something of a royal robe, trimmed by black and red. He was possibly the most elegant man she'd ever seen.
"Forgive me," he said. His voice was deep and formal. "I could not help but notice a beautiful woman weeping on the ballroom floor. Are you alright?"
She bit her lip and shook her head vigorously before wiping tears away with the back of her hand. "I-I'm fine."
"I find that unlikely," he said, gently. "I must assume that the man you were dancing with had less than kind words to say to you?"
She blushed in shame and looked at the roses on her dress. A white petal fell to the floor.
"He can be cruel," she said, honestly.
"How unfortunate." The man took her hands into his own, white-gloved palms. "In what version of reality is it acceptable for a man to treat such a lovely young woman with anything but reverence? To stoop so low as to engage in cruelty is detestable, at the very least. A divine creature such as yourself, a goddess of feminine light, should be worshipped—not made to weep alone on a floor that should bend to her will."
She blinked, caught again in his sharp red eyes.
"Um… Excuse me. Who are you?"
He gave a light smile. "I am but a humble man, unworthy of speaking my name to a goddess." He bowed low. "Lovely goddess, please, allow me to have this next dance, if it may mitigate some of the pain my fellow man has dished upon you."
She wiped the last tears with her wrist, a bit flustered by the elaborate praise. Part of her wanted to run after Macbeth, but another part was angry—bitter and frustrated. It was this part that prompted her to lift her chin and do a slow curtsy before taking the stranger's hand once more.
"I would be honored to dance with a gentleman like yourself."
He smiled and drew her against him. She allowed herself to be lost in the moment, pushing away the pain of Macbeth's cruel words. This man was right. She shouldn't have to be treated like that. Teased all the time and turned down, repeatedly. It was all just a game to him. She was just a toy, nothing more. To think Macbeth might have real feelings for her…
"It is quite a shame," the man whispered, close to her ear. "You really are quite beautiful, and kind. You hardly deserve all that life has cast as your lot."
She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. "What?"
He was smiling wanly at her. "I hope you can forgive me, Dreamer." He touched her hair. "I serve him because I too have lost someone I love, and he has given me a means to find her again. I am sure you would do just as I have done, if it would bring your sister back."
She stumbled back, out of his arms. "Who are you?!"
"I am truly sorry."
A high scream split the air. The crowd began to panic, running in all directions as snakes suddenly littered the floor. The man who had been standing before her opened his arms wide, and from his shoulder blades sprouted wings that dripped red—with blood.
"DREAMER!" Jezran's voice called out to her, and the man shoved through the crowd to reach her. "Are you alright, dear me?!" He grabbed her shoulders and looked around her, desperately. "Dreamer, where is Syllestra?"
"Where is… She was with you!"
"No, Dreamer," he shook his head, eyes grave. "I was with my father this entire time! I have not seen her!"
He'd said "deary."
The Jezran who had taken Syllest… He'd said "deary." She thought she was hearing it wrong. No, it wasn't a fault of hearing, it was a fault of the illusionist who didn't know Jezran's mannerisms.
She'd handed Syllest directly into their hands.
"This is the work of Giseld, Sânge, and Jacque!" Jezran's usually calm face was alight with terror.
Something fluttered to the ground in front of Dreamer. When she looked at it, dread clamped onto her heart like a vice.
It was a card.
"This was Resmond's plan all along!"
A king of diamonds.
A/N: And cue... The final arc. The ultimate showdown! Are you ready? What are your thoughts, predictions, worries? Let me know in the reviews! And, as always, thank you for your support, friends. ^^