Flecks of Gold (26 page)

Sentai flung the door to my room open the moment I reached for the handle.

“Wow, Sentai, you made me jump out of my skin.” I put my hand to my rapidly beating heart.

“We must get you ready, Your Highness. We must make sure that the dress fits you perfectly. Then we will need to start your hair and makeup preparation.”

“But the ball isn’t until this evening. We have hours and hours, I mean portions and portions,” I protested, thinking that portions and portions did not sound as convincing.

“We will need all the portions before the ball to make Your Highness into the most stunning figure present, if Your Highness permits. It would not do for you to be outshone at a ball in your honor,” Sentai said with unusual briskness. I was so impressed, I let her boss me onto the little stool she had moved to the middle of the room while she called in the seamstress from outside the door. I had no idea where the seamstress had come from; I hadn’t seen her on my way into the room.

The seamstress was a petite woman, short and thin, with an outfit that fit her form perfectly. It had no laces or frills, but had an elegant economic cut that made her seem gracefully efficient. I could only see her clothes from the back, however, because she carried yards of fabric in front of her, all of which—I soon found out—were my dress.

She managed to bow, despite the heavy load of cloth in her arms, and then waited patiently while Sentai undressed me. I felt myself going red when Sentai indicated that I should take off even my underwear, but no sooner were they off than the seamstress slipped a golden filmy undergarment onto me almost as if by magic. Scissors, needle and thread appeared in her hands. She snipped off the bunchy parts of cloth and sewed seams back together with amazing speed. I stood as still as I could, wondering if the garment would come off again after such snug adjustments.

Next Sentai and the seamstress had me step into silky golden pants with swirling, dark purple embroidery, which started out sparse near my thigh, but became more dense as it twisted toward my ankle. At my ankles, Sentai clasped bracelets made of a dark purple metal, making it seem to come out of the end of the pants and extend toward my foot in one continuous flow until they reached the golden slippers on my feet.

Over the pants went the dress, split into four sections in the front, but solid in the back. Unlike the pants, the dress was a deep purple material with golden stitching. The golden design started sparsely near the bottom, but became a great tangle of gold in the bodice so that very little purple showed near the top. A diagonal strip of solely purple material was stitched tight to the bodice in the front, but flowed free in the back like a scarf to mid thigh, with golden tracery near its end. The sleeves extended just past my elbows, but were designed for the twisty golden bracelets Sentai clipped into the fabric as a metallic extension of the material winding down the rest of my arm.

As the seamstress sewed me into the dress, Sentai put gold and amethyst rings on my fingers. I started to feel slightly overdone, but I wasn’t even close to finished. I stood for what felt like an hour as the seamstress finished sewing. By this time I had determined that I would, in fact, have to be cut out when the ball was over.

Finally, I was allowed to sit. I plopped into a chair and the seamstress squeaked in horror. I stood, fanned my dress and sat down carefully. Sentai sighed. I couldn’t see a mirror and so was unprepared for the tremendous weight crushing my skull as Sentai lay something upon my head.

“What is that?”

“It is your headpiece, Your Highness,” Sentai replied.

“You mean I’ll have that weight on my head the whole night?” I asked in horror.

“Of course, Your Highness. It is a headdress befitting your station.”

I thought there was a warning in her tone, but I said anyway, “Isn’t there a lighter headpiece that would befit my station?”

“I hope that Her Highness will not be displeased with me, but there is not,” Sentai said firmly.

Where had this bossy Sentai come from? “It’s your fault if I topple over,” I muttered but sat still as she wound hair through the headpiece and worked lacing magic on my hair to make it into a Sentai original. The seamstress took her leave, but I stayed glued to the chair for several hours as Sentai finished my hair and started on my makeup.

Knowing the way the Iberloahans tended to match their makeup to their clothes, I pleaded with Sentai, “Could I at least not be forced to wear purple lipstick? I don’t really feel in the mood to look like a gothic golden pin cushion.”

“Point out the color that would please you, Your Highness,” Sentai said in a voice that indicated she was granting me a huge boon. She was getting much bolder with me despite the constant “Your Highnesses.”

I pointed to a red lipstick with a brown undertone that I thought would work with my skin and was rewarded with an approving nod. Sentai ordered my eyelids closed. She painted several shades of purple onto my lids, used a thin brush for the golden eyeliner which she extended to my temples in the same loopy, twisted vine design on my dress, and then glued several purple stones amid a few golden loops. She applied golden brown rouge and the lipstick, and pushed twisty golden- and purple-jeweled earrings through my earlobes. They dragged at my piercings. I wondered what she would have done if I hadn’t had pierced ears. Probably stabbed the earrings through.

Finally I was finished and allowed to look in the mirror. The person who stared at me in the glass was not Mary Margaret Underwood, that much was certain. It was strange to look at myself, knowing it was me, but seeing someone so totally unlike me. The makeup was like a physical mask, but it didn’t look cheesy. Sentai had done a good job using the different purples to make my golden irises all the more vivid. The web work of golden and purple metal on my head, with hair interwoven throughout, added a regalness to my facial structure I had never detected before. Sure, I felt like I would topple over at any minute, but the feeling of the royal disguise made me straighten my shoulders and hold my chin up to compensate.

“So, when am I expected?” I asked.

“Even now, Your Highness.”

My middle squeezed in nervousness. I didn’t want to leave the room. What if I messed up in the dancing, showing everyone that I was a fraud? I would be toast for sure.

I swallowed a suddenly dry throat. “I’m ready to go.” It was a lie, but I knew it would be even worse if I didn’t show up at all. I stood, wobbled, caught my balance, and walked out ahead of Sentai toward the right, only to have Sentai cough me in the other direction.
I guess a regal mask can only do so much.

My heart thumped in panic. I’d never gone to any dances, but I was pretty sure that if you showed up without a date you’d be branded a loser. I almost asked Sentai, but decided not to as there were other servants in the hall.

We reached the giant doors to the ballroom and waited, just short of being seen by the guests below. I had a horrible feeling, similar to when I first pleaded my case to the king. Was it only five days ago? Time had slowed and stretched out, filled with the many things I had learned since I’d faced King Verone on his throne.

Music drifted through the doors, as did the deafening murmur of many voices. The music sounded vaguely medieval, but with strange instruments. I felt a gentle nudge in my back from Sentai, urging me forward, but I took a few deep breaths before plunging past the door to the top of the steps. The roaring murmur died to a low buzz as the king’s announcer rang out my princess name in a clear, carrying volume. My chin up, I descended the marble steps, trying not to look like my whole concentration was centered on not tripping, even though it was.

King Verone was waiting at the bottom in an amazing outfit of gold and blue. He wore a golden jewel-encrusted chain that fell from his left shoulder to his right hip and back. Breeohan and Sogran stood next to him, Breeohan in a dark purple and golden outfit strangely similar to my own, with a smaller golden chain around his shoulder. Sogran stood stiffly in grey and silver. Trust Sogran to find the most boring color to wear to the ball. He looked regal, however, and I thought the simplicity of his hue actually made him look more distinctive than all the other brightly clad ball-goers.

“Princess Kasala, in the name of Iberloah, I welcome you to this ball in your honor,” King Verone said loudly so that all might hear.

The king looked at me as if a response was required, so I said, “I thank you for your kindness. I am honored to be here.” Sogran nodded slightly, and I sighed inwardly at finding I hadn’t botched my answer.

“Now that you are here, the dancing may begin. Would you further honor me with the first dance?” King Verone asked.

“I would be glad to, Your Majesty,” I replied. I was immensely glad when I saw other dancing partners line up along the floor. This would not be like the king and queen’s dance at prom, where the couple danced alone at the beginning of the song. The music started. King Verone’s familiar lead helped me relax enough to realize that it
was
easier to dance with the rhythmic beat of the instruments. I actually felt confident enough to take a brief glance around at the other dancers, but immediately regretted it when I saw Breeohan dancing with Avana a few people away. She wore a gorgeous maroon gown with green embroidery. Her headpiece was only slightly less elaborate and huge than my own. She looked like Aphrodite come to life.

I hurriedly looked back toward the king, who appeared amused. “You are doing very well, Princess, but I would advise keeping your attention on your partner,” he said as I risked another quick look in Breeohan’s direction. I zoned back in on my own dancing, narrowly avoiding a stumble. The dance finished, and King Verone and I bowed to each other in thanks.

I thought perhaps I would get to sit out the next dance, or maybe even the next few, but Sogran approached. “Your Highness, may I have the pleasure of a dance?”

“Of course, Training General. I would be honored.” I tried not to smile. But once the music started, I couldn’t help but whisper to him, “I thought I would never hear you utter ‘pleasure’ and ‘dance’ in the same sentence.”

“It is a ball. I must observe the pleasantries. Besides, if I don’t dance with you, I must dance with one of the schemers.” Sogran tilted his head to the side where a gaggle of women gossiped, glancing often in our direction.

“Isn’t it the guy who asks the girl to dance?” I asked.

“Not always. It is acceptable for a woman to ask a man, and they do, believe me.” Sogran sounded aggrieved. His face was the most emotionally expressive I’d ever seen on him. I had to concentrate on my steps so I wouldn’t laugh or trip. At the end of the dance, the training general and I bowed, and I tried to slip to the wall but was stopped by a young man in a dark green and light purple outfit that made him look remarkably like a peacock.

“May I have the extreme honor of this dance, Your Highness?” He bowed low with flourish. Normally, I would have smiled, but I wasn’t sure if I could say no, and I was nervous about dancing with someone new.

“I would be honored, uh . . .” I trailed off, not knowing his name or what bow to give him.

“Doln Zemph, Your Highness,” he supplied, bowing again. I gave the appropriate bow back and let him lead me back to the dance floor. The dancing went surprisingly well. Doln Zemph turned out to be a good dancer, easy to follow. After I bowed my thanks to him, he was quickly replaced by an older man in orange, then a young man in red, then green again. I gave up trying to remember their names. They all started to blur together. Dancing began to be painful. I had a stitch in my side. My head became heavier with each step.

The king or the training general always managed to snag me away from the dance floor during the dances that I didn’t know, so I was spared having anyone discover my ignorance, but the dancing still seemed endless.

I bowed to another colorful fabric, looking more at my feet than the man, and wondering if it would be worth the energy to perform the lacing to fix the ache in my soles when the man’s voice caught my attention.

“Princess.” Then softer, his breath touching my ear, he said, “Mary.”

I jerked my eyes from the ground and found my face inches from Breeohan’s. The music began. We moved apart in the graceful flow of the dance’s steps. Breeohan kept his eyes on mine.

“You seemed absent,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I’ve danced with so many men. Everyone was starting to blur to me.”

“You don’t have to accept every offer. If you like, we can stop, and I’ll take you to the refreshment area. There are tables and chairs there. You could sit down and rest for awhile.” He looked concerned.

The dance steps brought us close again, our cheeks a breath away. For a moment I forgot my pounding head, the stitch in my side, and my aching feet. I felt an unreasonable desire to keep dancing, to bring my cheek the fraction closer that would . . . I pulled away quickly.

“I
would
like to rest. Thank you, Breeohan.” I was shaking. Breeohan noticed. “I must be more tired than I thought,” I added.

“I should have noticed before. I am sorry, Your Highness.” Breeohan bowed. He offered his arm, and I took it, dreading the need to hold my arm up, but Breeohan whispered, “Put your weight on me; I won’t bow under it.” So I did. His arm flexed in response to my weight.

We soon reached an unoccupied scrolled metal table that looked like patio furniture. I sat with a sigh while Breeohan left to get me a drink and some food. The table area reminded me of a French café. The people at the tables scrutinized those who were standing and dancing from the comfortable obscurity of seats while sipping their drinks and nibbling their food. Across the room were the entry stairs and adjacent was the throne dais, leaving only the area directly opposite the throne’s platform out of sight. The tables were small, with only two chairs each so that couples could converse.

I watched the ebb and flow of the dancers, enjoying the view from a seated position. My serenity was shattered, however, by the sight of Aphrodite Avana looming before me with hatred on her thickly painted and jeweled face.