Chapter 4
Carrie seemed excited about attending the ball. She clattered noisily and danced around as she brushed Trista’s hair and arranged her dress. Then she wrote on a notebook, “That man says you could be in danger tonight and I should look out for you. Is it his fault you’re in danger?”
Confused, Trista asked, “Do you mean Illian?” Carrie nodded emphatically, and Trista laughed. “You’re calling a king ‘that man’? Well, I guess you’re brave. As for if it’s his fault…I suppose you could say it’s really mine. I told him I’d help him with anything, and he decided that the best way to put me to use would be as bait for his enemies.” Her resentment crept through in her voice.
Carrie shook her head with a reproachful look and wrote rapidly, “He’s not someone you can trust. You shouldn’t fall in love with him.”
Trista started and blushed violently. “I’m not!” she protested. “Why would you think that?”
“I can see the way you look at him. And why else would you be here and putting yourself in danger for him? But he’s not a good person. He’s not a hero.”
“I don’t understand you,” Trista sighed. “Why do you always speak so poorly of him? Did he or didn’t he save you from slavery?”
The younger girl glared at her and wrote with flashing dark lines that were almost unreadable. “Oh sure, isn’t he such a nice man? He blackmails my brother into doing all kinds of dangerous work for him and uses me as a human shield for his fake lover. Just keep doing what he wants, and I’m sure he’ll suddenly turn into a good man who doesn’t even want to kill his own sister to secure his-” The pen tip snapped and she threw the notebook down in frustration.
Outside, General Valen called, “Lady Trista. I am supposed to escort you into the ballroom.” Trista hastily gathered up her fan, her brain whirling with what Carrie had told her.
But she forgot all of it as the giant double doors opened and she saw Illian waiting for her in his white dress uniform while hundreds of nobles looked on. Their eyes were full of contempt, jealousy, and annoyance. But it was Illian’s face that caught her attention. For a moment she forgot he was acting as she saw the gentle smile and how his normally hard, sharp brown eyes had softened.
Get it together, she told herself sternly. She managed a polite smile as she crossed the intervening space to take his hand. Illian turned to the watchers and said, “My dear friends, this is the first time I have the pleasure to confirm the rumors and present to you my fiance, lady Trista Amana.”
The clapping was scattered and halfhearted. Illian’s smile disappeared as he said rather forcefully, “I hope that you all will greet my decision with the joy I would expect from my friends.”
The clapping was much more enthusiastic as he put his arm around Trista, who was wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. She whispered, “Is this really necessary?”
Illian smirked. “Sorry it’s such a chore. But yes, it’s necessary. By the way…” He turned to her and took both of her hands in his, and the smirk widened into a real smile. “Happy birthday, Trista.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She’d assumed no one would remember it was her birthday, and he hadn’t mentioned it that morning. In spite of herself, she felt her heart thumping as the orchestra began to play and he led her to the middle of the floor to dance.
Other couples began to join them, and Trista glanced around with interest, seeing many of her family members and many other people that she recognized. She felt a chill as she wondered how many of them wanted her or Illian dead. Illian said, “So, you’re 17 now, Trista. Is there anything I should get you for your birthday? Besides what I already bought for you, I mean.”
“I’ll answer that after I’ve seen what you got,” she responded easily. “How is it that all of this comes so naturally to you, Illian? It’s as though I’m watching a stage actor play his part.”
“Ah, well, I’ve spent a lot of time honing my skills. I’ve often thought if I wasn’t a prince, I would have liked to act on the stage,” Illian remarked.
That surprised her. Trista looked up at him and thought that he would have made a pretty good actor with those beautiful eyes, chiseled jaw, and intelligent forehead. Then she blushed hard and looked away, berating herself for being so easily swayed by a pretty face.
Illian asked, “What would you do, Trista? If you could do anything in the world, I mean.”
“Hm? I haven’t thought about that,” Trista said quietly. “Honestly, I don’t have any plans. Back when David was around, we used to talk about what we’d do when we grew up. He wanted to be a great hunter. And I loved baking so much, I used to say I wanted to be a cook.” She laughed a little. “Of course, my parents told me that idea was silly. But he never did. He always said I could be anything I wanted, right to the end.” She stopped short and lowered her head to hide her face.
Illian was quiet for a minute. At last he said, “Well, I can’t give you the job of a cook, but I can give you free access to the kitchens. How’s that?”
“Thank you.” That was all she said.
While Trista and Illian danced, Lenore watched from a quiet corner. Or rather, she watched Dorian.
The man gave her the creeps. There was something about the way he smirked rather than smiled and was all too quick to offer a veiled insult or a self-satisfied statement of his own worth that made her cringe, but the fear she felt was due to something greater and more subtle. Every once in a while, Dorian glanced in her direction, and when he did, he always had the same look. It was smug, but also threatening. Lenore couldn’t imagine why he hated her so much, but at least she could say the feeling was mutual. She hated him too.
Lenore was so focused on watching Dorian move from person to person, speaking to them in low tones she couldn’t hear, that she didn’t realize Sir Leonard Droy had entered the ballroom until she heard the gasps and murmurs from the young ladies. Their comments were disapproving rather than admiring.
“Really, he’s wearing black on her ladyship’s birthday?” several people commented in disgust. “I do believe he’s already drunk,” someone else said.
Lenore turned to glance at Droy, who was in his customary all-black attire, even with a black silk handkerchief. The only ornament he wore was a large gold medallion at his throat, evidence of his former position as Head Warden. In fact, that also was a gross breach of proper protocol, as only the current Head Warden was supposed to wear the gold medallion. He was also unshaven, and his limp blond hair hadn’t been brushed.
The attendant at his arm, an old man with a firmer step and clearer eyes than his young charge, led Droy directly to where Lenore stood. “My lady,” the attendant said, bowing deeply.
Lenore curtsied. “Sir Droy. I am pleased to see you are in attendance,” she began.
He waved the words away. “No need for pleasantries between people such as us. You and I have an understanding.”
Lenore frowned. His rude tone irritated her. “And what sort of understanding do you suppose that is, Sir Droy?”
“Call me Leonard, Princess. I have no interest in my title. Leon is better, if you prefer that. After all, why should we stand on ceremony? I am such an old friend of your brother.”
“That was a long time ago,” Lenore said quietly. “As I recall, it was you who disavowed the friendship.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Disavowed? We are going for prim and proper today then, are we? Very well. I will save my questions regarding your interest in non-traditional applications of opal magic for another time.”
Of course, she couldn’t pass up on a conversation after he’d said that, and she put out her hand to stop him from turning away. “What questions?” she said.
“Boulder magic. You posited that a boulder opal could be used to control metal.”
“Of course, but that is nothing new. The Head Warden has used those opals to shatter weapons during the war in many battles,” Lenore replied.
“That was not what you suggested. You seemed to believe that a sufficiently powerful mage with enough opals could control the metals themselves,” Droy pressed.
“Well, yes, but it would be pointless, wouldn’t it? It’s an expensive use of opals, and there are already people in Hirahja and Tephraya with much better control of metals like iron and gold. Were we to research such applications, it would be better to discover Hirahja’s secrets than to persist using boulder opals,” Lenore explained. It was somewhat surreal to be explaining this to one of the great Heroes of the First War.
“Yes, but in your essay, you suggested that there might be a way to reduce the cost of the opals. That is the topic that is of greatest interest, and you hardly explored it. A ‘greater application of the human will,’ I believe you said.” For some reason, he sounded a bit contemptuous. “Would you like to explain that to me?”
“Sir Droy-Leon, if opal magic, and indeed all magic, is the combined power of human will, of skill, and of gem catalysts, it stands to reason that if you increase the application of one of those, the need for the other two will lessen. It’s the same reason mages in the past have successfully taken on stronger opponents to save their own families.”
“But the human will is not something you can simply muster up out of determination. As you said, those incidents involved severe duress and a threat to loved ones. What you are talking about is a deliberate change, but the will is something that is merely dependent on circumstance.” Leon seemed quite frustrated, though Lenore couldn’t imagine why.
She said softly, “I do not believe it is merely dependent on the circumstances of the moment. If there are mages who have a greater affinity for opal magic from birth, then there are undoubtedly mages who have a greater will. There may also be events that forever shape the will of an individual in the future, rendering them either the better, or the worse in terms of their abilities. As to whether an event will result in the greater or the lesser potential for the application of human will, I believe that is up to the individual alone to determine.”
“That is where we disagree, then,” Droy said flatly.
Lenore reddened. “Sir Droy, if you simply wanted to criticize my essay, there are more appropriate times and places,” she snapped.
Before he could reply, Illian’s voice startled them both. “Sir Leonard! It is a pleasure to see you. I assumed you would not come.”
Droy kept his back to his king and said without even turning his head, “Your majesty.”
Droy’s attendant looked as alarmed as Lenore felt, but Illian seemed unconcerned. “I hope that you two are enjoying each other’s company. Please tell me if there is anything I can do to ensure the night is to your liking.”
“You could leave.” Droy’s words could have been enough to land him in a dungeon. But Illian only raised an eyebrow slightly.
“You certainly haven’t changed,” he said dryly. “Anyway, carry on your conversation. I won’t disturb you.” With that, he left.
Lenore let out the breath she’d been holding and whirled on Droy. “Why would you take such a great risk?” she exclaimed angrily.
He shrugged slightly. “Not so great, really. He wouldn’t kill me in front of everyone. Though perhaps it would be better if he did,” he remarked in a rather regretful tone. His eyes, normally so expressionless, were suddenly quite sad.
Lenore shuddered a little at the dark words and said hurriedly, “I think my friends are calling me.” She left him there and he returned to drinking without seeming to mind her absence.
The evening passed peacefully enough. At one point, Trista’s aunt approached her as she was standing by Illian, and she tensed, expecting the woman to insult her or try to intimidate her again. But instead, the woman said, “How lovely to see you again, dear! Happy birthday. I’m so glad to hear about your good fortune. Your majesty, you chose a wonderful young woman to be your bride. When will the wedding be?”
Trista shot a warning look at Illian. She had no intention of doing a ‘pretend marriage.’ A ‘pretend engagement’ was bad enough already. He caught the look and had to hide a smile as he said politely, “We haven’t set a date yet. Suffice it to say it will be soon. She’s a gem, as you said, and I fully intend to look after her and protect her from anyone who I see as a threat.”
The warning in his words was clear, and the aunt flinched as she said ingratiatingly, “Of course. We all love Trista dearly.”
Trista rolled her eyes, but restrained herself from any other demonstrations.
But after her aunt walked away, the girl burst out, “What a conniving, insincere, hypocritical old woman.”
Illian laughed out loud. Trista glared at him, and he managed to quiet down to a chuckle. “It’s true,” she complained. “She’s always been like that. Pure venom one minute, and sweet as sugar the next.”
“Ah well, not everyone can be the bundle of joy you are, my dear,” he teased her.
Trista tossed her head but couldn’t think of a reply.
At long last, the tiresome evening was over without even one glimpse of an assassin. Trista’s frayed nerves made her very tired as she began walking back to her room with Illian by her side. He said, “You did well tonight. Thank you.”
Trista shrugged. “I feel like I didn’t do anything. We didn’t even draw out any assassins. Are you sure this whole thing is working?”
“Hmm…I don’t know,” Illian replied. He decided there was no point in telling her about the poisoned wine his server had quietly removed from her place. But he unwittingly clenched his fist at his side as he considered who might have put it there in the first place.
“Anyway, it was fairly boring,” Trista sighed. “At least Carrie was there to keep me company.”
Illian stopped outside her door and opened it for her, giving a quick cursory look inside. Valen said from behind him, “Don’t worry, sir; we had the room guarded throughout the party.”
The king said nothing, but he looked relieved. He smiled at Trista. “Good night, Trista,” he said.
“G-good night, Illian.” Trista didn’t know why she stumbled over the words, or why her face felt hot. She hastily pushed her way into her room and shut the door behind her with a bang.
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