Anande's Blog

1. 3
   25
   Nov
   

   Several hours later, Trista stood in the shadows on a high balcony, looking down over a railing into the vast Blue Ballroom. The floor below, too crowded for dancing, roiled like a discontented sea. Banners emblazoned with the Glaciet falcon and the Damelyn lion curled and slithered in a draft. Even with the windows thrown open and a breeze to stir the air, the ballroom was stifling with the press of bodies. Every family of consequence from miles around had had its carriage freshly gilded and lacquered and had driven along the narrow cliff road to Balinore House.

   Trista wondered which of her father’s guests had come armed to the party. Her eyes were dazzled by jewels and rich fabrics that continually shifted like the tumbling glass in a kaleidoscope. She had never seen so many people in one place. There must have been those in the crowd who would relish a bloodletting. But the Damelyns and the Glaciets wore fixed smiles as they mingled, circling each other warily but with evident good will. And so, for the moment, peace reigned. The guests only talked amongst themselves, drank her father’s wine, and waited.

   Trista had missed the grand moment when the trumpets announced the arrival of the ruling families, their fanfare soaring up to the frescoed ceiling, where chandeliers blazed like clustered stars. While liveried men shouted the names of each guest of honor, and the breathless audience bobbed endlessly into deep bows and curtsies, Trista was still in her tower room, being violently sick into a basin. Leda had murmured soothingly on one side, while Nell fluttered in distress on the other, with cries of, “Careful – careful! Mind your dress!” Afterwards they dabbed at her streaming eyes, pressed a cool cloth to her flushed face, powdered and perfumed her, and counted all her diamonds, in case any had been lost.

   “No one will notice your absence,” Leda assured her, as Trista prepared to leave the tower.

   “I daresay I can think of one who misses her very much,” Nell argued, archly. “No doubt Esmond – ”

   “Make him wait,” Leda interrupted. “A little anticipation is good for a man.”

   There was movement behind her, and the creak of a hidden door. A tapestry billowed out from the wall, and then Cas appeared, fresh from his supper and bath. “I was lonely,” he said, in answer to Trista’s startled look. “Are you betrothed now?”

   “Not yet. I’m still working up the courage to go down.”

   Cas walked to the edge of the balcony. “Where is Papa?”

   “There,” said Trista, pointing.

   Squinting down at the shifting crowd, Cas followed the line of her finger; as soon as he spotted his father, he began to look wistful. “He won’t come to tell me good night, will he?”

   “He won’t have time. You know that.”

   “He never has time anymore. He hasn’t seen me for age.”

   “It will be better after tonight,” said Trista, though she was by no means certain on this point.

   “Where is Esmond?”

   Again, she pointed.

   “That one in the orange velvet?”

   “Afraid so,” said Trista gloomily. “That’s Esmond Glaciet.”

   “Not really.”

   “Yes, it is.”

   They both watched Esmond poke his finger into a fruit tart, taste the filling, and then return the tart to the heap. “Do you like him?” asked Cas.

   “No,” said Trista. “I have been standing here thinking what it will be like when he kisses me tonight.”

   “Why’s he going to kiss you?”

   “That’s the way it’s done, when you get betrothed. You say yes, and then he kisses you and puts a ring onto your finger. Without the kiss and the ring, it’s not official.”

   “You’ll have to wipe your mouth afterward.”

   “Aye, and I’ll be sick again – I’m almost sure of it,” said Trista.

   Cas patted her arm. “I am sorry for you,” he said, in a tone that made her suddenly want to cry. “I wish we could lock Esmond Glaciet in the airing cupboard. Then after a month they’d forget all about him, and you wouldn’t have to marry him.”

   “Who will I marry, then?”

   “Me.”

   She laughed. “Brothers and sisters can’t marry each other, silly.”

   “Why not?”

   “Because they just can’t. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

   “But I want us to always be together!” said Cas. “I’ll have nobody after you go. I’ll be all on my own.”

   “You’ll have Leda and Nell.”

   “But they are so old.”

   “Well, we can’t lock Esmond in the airing cupboard, anyway. We’d have to keep him there much longer than a month – years probably. It would turn out to be a nuisance (can you imagine how much he would eat, for instance?), and eventually the servants would discover him.”

   “Oh, well, then I wish Peril the Avenger would come and scare Esmond away!” said Cas. He was wearing his cape over his night clothes; scowling, he bit on a fold of black velvet. “If only I had my wolf mask, I would scare Esmond away myself,” he vowed.

   It was at precisely this moment that Trista was inspired with the fatal idea. At first she refused to entertain it, dismissing it as madness. She tried to distract herself by ducking into the secret passageway with Cas, and hunkering there in the dim light of a single candle to tell him a story. But all along, the idea was growing, taking form and substance, and becoming a plan.

   At last, she gave up the story in the mid-sentence and looked at Cas across the candle flame, her eyes flickering with a rebellious light. “Come on,” she told him in a half-breathless whisper. “I want to go and look at the masks again.”

   
   
   

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