Cobweb Bride (4 page)

“Wicked? Who is wicked?” Lady Ignacia exclaimed with a giggle, while Lady Amaryllis said, “It must be us, my dear.” And, without changing the expression of her haughty blank face, she headed straight for the Countess Lirabeau’s group.

“Now see what you’ve done,” the Duchess Rovait said in affectionate frustration. “We must now deal with
les enfants terribles
.”

“Your Grace!” Lady Amaryllis curtsied deeply before the Duchess. She then repeated the curtsey, but lingered mockingly, before the Countess. And then she paused before Marquis Fiomarre, seeing him for the first time. Dark capricious eyes observed another pair of dark eyes of unusual intensity.

“My sweet girl,” the Duchess Rovait said with fondness, nodding in acknowledgement. “You are wicked indeed, as Jain informs us, and none of it is news. But here’s a lovely young man straight from the country of wines and cognac, and you must be kind to him. May I present the Lady Amaryllis Roulle—the Marquis Vlau Fiomarre.”

Fiomarre barely touched the delicate gloved hand of Lady Amaryllis and, bowing, brought it near his lips without making contact, in a semblance of a courtly kiss.

Lady Amaryllis lifted one dark perfect brow but said nothing, for his vacant nonchalance struck her somehow. So very few—indeed, close to none—would forgo the opportunity to press their lips firmly upon her gloved hand. She had never seen this young man at court before, and his manner was more aloof and distracted than she was accustomed to observing in the male sex, especially where it concerned their attentions to her.

Other general introductions followed. Lady Ignacia chattered about the contents of the overladen gift table of the Infanta and fanned herself with a pretty contraption of sandalwood and satin and feathers. Minutes slid away while the grand Silver Hall continued to fill to bursting with the
crème de la crème
of
le haut monde
.

At last the Chamberlains cried for silence and announced the full roster of names, pedigrees, and titles of the Emperor and Empress. And then trumpeters stood forth clad in crimson and silver livery, and they played the processional that announced the arrival of the Imperial Pair.

The morass of nobility parted, making a wide pathway through the middle of the Silver Hall, and the double doors on the opposite side opened wide, revealing two life-size doll-figures of regal splendor.

His Imperial Majesty the Emperor Josephuste Liguon II, frozen in a dramatic pose at the entrance, wore a heavy gold brocade jacket and trousers, Imperial Epaulets and red sash, and the Medal of the Crown and Cross that covered his small chest like an ornate buckler of spun metallic lace. His greying head and bald spot were concealed underneath an impeccable powdered wig of spun silver, and his white-gloved fingers rested like perched doves against the pommel of the ceremonial Sword of State and his wide gilded belt.

Standing next to the Emperor in an equally poised manner was Her Imperial Majesty the Empress Justinia, a similarly petite creature in a gown of many layers of satin and brocade, of a color that was warm golden like a blazing fireplace, and yet silvered through and through with fine metallic thread. The silver wig of the Empress was piled nearly two feet high and topped with a golden coronet from which hung garlands of pearls and topaz. Around her pale throat rested a choker necklace of emeralds, diamonds, and rubies clustered thickly like a colorful bouquet of impossible value. A matching ring of similar stones sat on her gloved index finer, and similar heavy earrings hung from her lobes.

The Emperor had a washed out face and pale brows enhanced by powder and rouge and kohl, while the Empress was likewise wan underneath her layers of Imperial makeup. They stood posed like dolls while the court gazed upon them in awed silence, and then after an appropriate time they stepped forth into the Silver Hall and walked like dancers across the aisle vacated by the court toward their thrones, flanked by two rows of bedecked Guards of the Chamber.

The Emperor sat down first, with a slow awkward movement, and then froze in that position, while the Empress took a moment longer to unfurl her bulging crinoline skirts while two Ladies-in-Attendance came forward to fold and rearrange them at her feet.

Finally the trumpets blared again and then Josephuste Liguon II uttered in a high-pitched voice, “We declare the Festivities Open!”

Immediately the trumpets went mad with fanfare and the musicians placed all around the Silver Hall joined in with lutes and violas, with cymbals and drums.

They were signaling the entrance of the Infanta.

“Oh, here she comes, the poor dear,” the Countess Lirabeau whispered, while the Duchess Rovait trained the full power of her attention and her lorgnette upon the grand doors.

Next to them, Vlau Fiomarre stood and watched the doors intensely, his dark soulful eyes unreadable, while Lady Amaryllis threw several irritated and ignored glances in his direction as she exchanged barbs of wit with the sarcastic Lord Woult.

As the fanfare died away into silence, the Chamberlain announced: “Presenting Her Imperial Highness, the Infanta Claere Liguon, making her Debut as the Grand Princess and Heir of the Realm!”

The Infanta, all in winter white, entered the Silver Hall. She was thin and shallow-chested, with arms like twigs, and her small pinched face nearly drowned under the elaborate monstrosity that was her powdered silver wig sprinkled with diamonds and pearls that created the illusion of a sparkling snowdrift from a distance. Delicate curled ringlets of hair rested sadly against her bony sagging shoulders. Her smoke-grey eyes appeared great and luminous in the hollowed sockets, encircled by darkness of exhaustion or disease, and were her only feature of beauty.

The Infanta moved slowly, taking uncertain steps that lacked grace but disguised her shortcoming by the care taken in each placement of small tiny-heeled slippered feet, one before the other, as though she were counting the paces in her head. Indeed, maybe she was. Maybe she measured and timed each pace and each shallow breath, and each flutter of her weakling heart and lungs.

The Infanta walked the length of the Hall and paused before her Imperial parents. Clutching her crinoline skirts, slowly she curtsied—first before her Emperor Father who gazed at her enchanted with an adoring smile, then before the Empress her Mother, who smiled and nodded.

Then, the Infanta walked several steps forward and a silver chair was brought for her, which she took almost with gratitude, folding her skirts around her feet and placing her impossibly thin white-gloved hands in her lap. The pre-arranged placement of her chair had assured that she was thus seated in the center of the Hall, half-turned to face her Imperial parents and also turned to face the crowds of the nobility.

The Gift Ceremony was about to commence.

“Happy sixteenth birthday, my dear child!” said the Emperor. “May this be the beginning of greatest joy! We love you dearly and we all wish you well in your youthful entry into the ranks of the world. Now, the Silver Court would like to express their great adoration for you and to honor you with Gifts on this Great Occasion.”

The musicians around the hall struck up a gentle stringed melody while from the grand entrance of the hallway entered a line of beautiful child pages dressed as fanciful fae in wispy delicate silk and gauze, and carrying the edges of a long white carpet that they unrolled as they moved. Behind them came more children holding filigree gilded baskets filled with cut hothouse blossoms of various pale hues which they scattered along the white carpet and threw into the crowd of courtiers lining the aisle on both sides.

Soft gasps of pleasure, female giggles and exclamations were heard as the blossoms and petals rained upon the Silver Court.

“Ah!” Lady Ignacia squealed and moved back a step, nearly falling into the arms of the Marquis Fiomarre. A great white carnation struck her in the face, followed by the cream petals of pale winter roses that rained upon her wig and stuck to her exposed décolleté, then slipped down the layers of her crinoline skirt.

The Marquis obliged her by reaching out a somewhat stiff hand to hold up her elbow, while Lady Amaryllis gave a charming peal of laughter and exchanged a superior look with Lord Woult.

“Careful, Marquis,” Amaryllis Roulle said. “For you will only have the flowers to blame for an untoward caress.”

The Marquis Fiomarre had not been paying her the least bit of attention all this time, and now he turned the soulful dark gaze of his eyes to Lady Amaryllis. Then he glanced back to Lady Ignacia whose gloved elbow he continued to hold absentmindedly and now released with abruptness as though realizing the impropriety. He said in a somewhat stumbling manner, “I beg pardon of Your Ladyship, I meant no offense. . . .”

Lady Ignacia continued her breathless giggling, while Lord Woult turned his handsome head closer to the dainty beauty of Lady Amaryllis and whispered, “I see we have a country buffoon.”

Lady Amaryllis’s lips trembled in sarcastic rapture. “Yes, apparently there won’t be much sport. It is too easy.”

Fiomarre did not show any indication that he’d heard the exchange. He now stood stiffly at a polite distance and watched the procession.

The child pages swept the length of the hall and emptied their baskets at the feet of the seated Infanta, strewing the most fragrant and delicate petals directly closest the hem of her resplendent white dress. Then, like fae creatures they ran back and disappeared, while in their place came a lovely solitary boy, no older than seven. He was dressed all in white and silver, his face and hands and long platinum-flax hair dusted in silver powder, and his lashes and brows silvered to highlight his pale grey eyes. The Snow Child walked the length of the white carpet, stepping like a dancer upon the strewn flowers, and carrying before him a white silk cushion upon which rested a coronet encrusted with so many diamonds that they eclipsed the metal and it was impossible to determine if the crown was silver or gold.

Pausing before the Infanta he kneeled delicately and waited, his head inclined before her.

“My dear,” the Emperor Josephuste said. “Behold Our Gift of the Imperial Crown. May you take it and wear it at all Court occasions until it is your time to succeed me and wear my Medal of the Crown and Cross, at which point you will be free to wear any other headdress as is befitting an Empress of the Realm.”

The Infanta paused for an instant while the Silver Court made a collective “ah” of admiration.

In that moment, outside the Palace came a sudden strong gust of gale-force wind which rattled all the windows, and then just as suddenly there was perfect silence. The wind died away into oblivion, yet no one inside paid the least bit of attention to it. For they all watched the Infanta as she reached out and took the Imperial Crown with slightly shaking hands, and then she placed it on top of her wig. Immediately the Snow Child stood up and readjusted the Crown so that it sat just right, and the Court “ah”ed once again, for now that the Crown was elevated nearer the chandeliers it shone like a cluster of stars.

“I thank You dearly, Your Imperial Majesties, my Father and my Mother,” said the Infanta, speaking for the first time, and her voice was hollow and faint, that of a child, in the new silence. She rose and curtsied deeply before the Imperial Thrones, then lowered herself down once again with barely perceptible difficulty. She would stay in the seat for the remainder of the evening, for the other gifts and well wishes would be from the rest of the nobility, and would not warrant more than a polite nod of acknowledgement.

“Line up for the Presentation of Birthday Wishes!” cried the Chamberlain. At this point the Snow Child disappeared along the length of the white carpet and at the far end of the carpet nearest the entrance a line of nobility formed. All present came to stand in the queue to have a chance to express their well wishes and congratulations to the Infanta. At the head of the line stood the young King of Styx—the only non-Imperial Royal present—then the highest-ranking aristocrats, dukes and marquises of the three kingdoms, followed by counts and viscounts and baronets.

“Time to speak a pretty word or two to the dear child,” the Duchess Rovait said as she moved with a grand rustling of skirts into the line of well-wishers. The Countess Jain Lirabeau tapped the elbow of the Marquis Fiomarre with her fan, and he blinked, then nodded shyly, and with a peculiar expression that may have been confusion, he followed her into the greeting line.

Lady Amaryllis stepped forward just behind Fiomarre, and stared at his tall back and well-proportioned shoulders. She also noted his slightly trembling hands.

“How wildly provincial,” she turned around and whispered to her accomplice Lady Ignacia.

“A wager?” retorted Lord Woult who stood just in back of them. “Fifty standings on the Marquis stumbling when he bows before her.”

“No, I do believe he will remain upright, but I insist he will stutter,” hissed Lady Ignacia.

“I say his voice will crack, and he will start to cough,” Lady Amaryllis snickered. “Fifty standings, and you are on, my dear Nathan.”

“This is wicked precious, and he will do at least one of these things or otherwise make a fool of himself!” Lady Ignacia whispered. “I can’t wait! Now the tedium of this night will surely be alleviated. Oh, how I adore wagers as a cure for everything!”

“Thank heaven for such prime fodder for our wicked fun,” Lady Amaryllis replied, stealing another glance at the pleasing form of the young man before her.