Soft music drifts through Rynor Manor’s Atrium. The band nestled in the corner plays brilliantly. A softly whining violin pitches its bright melody over the low tones of its brethren. The jaunty tune is perfect to dance by and Sidhion partakes merrily. His hands rest respectfully on my ribs as he leads my motions to and fro. He always seems happiest when the tune picks up in speed and allows him to send his arms and legs flying in a crescendo of magnificent form. And all the rolling, swirling bodies around us make space for Sidhion to twirl and prance around me, taking up new dance partners and spinning them away just as quickly as he grabbed them. His exuberance is infectious; Even I’m drawn in when Sidhion’s arms coil around me again and pull my feet to keep time with his.
And yet, my eyes keep catching on a silver twinkle deep in the crowd. John smiles bashfully at a young lady beside him. She looks like her grandmother dressed her. Her slim pink dress is high-waisted and drapes to the floor. Her gloved hand twiddles a lock of her tightly curled hair. The make-up painted on her face is over-bright and laid entirely too thick. Even as Sidhion twirls and dips me, my eyes are fixed on John and that girl. She tugs on his arm, trying to usher him toward the dancing crowd. Chagrinned, he shakes his head but she only pulls harder. Finally he relents and follows her in our direction, joining the crowd of dancers.
I force myself to peel my eyes from them and relax my jaw. I look up at Sidhion’s joyful red face. “So I had an idea. What do you think if I tried to get in good with 'John'? Make him think I'm taken in by his glamors and get him to show his hand?"
"You? A honeypot?" Sidhion cannot hold back his mocking laughter.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“No offense but you’re the last person who should try and flirt with anyone.”
“You think I’m not handsome enough?”
“Looks have nothing to do with it. You’re just.. An acquired taste.”
I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as Sidhion mocks me. I push him off and turn away, refusing to face such indignity. "You just watch."
"Break a leg, tiger," Sidhion calls after me as I storm off.
John leads that girl in a graceful waltz across the yard. Her plodding feet can hardly keep up with his perfectly curated motions. Still he smiles down at her, patiently correcting her every flawed movement. A hot little mote of fury rises in the pit of my stomach every time she steps out of tune with him. I have to cut in. She’s making a mockery out of him. A large hand grabs onto my shoulder before I can march toward them and I nearly leap out of my skin.
“Good news, little buddy,” Walter whispers in my ear, “Well not happy news. Successful news.”
“What did you find?” My eyes are still locked on John.
“Lady Ophelia’s on the top floor, holed up in her quarters. They got her knocked out somehow. Too much to tell here.”
“An easy arrest, then,” I respond inattentively.
“What’s wrong?”
It’s no use hiding from Walter. I tightly grasp the sleeve of his jacket. “I need your help. How do I flirt with someone?”
Walter looks down at me, utterly taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m trying to get on John’s good side to see if I can get anything out of him.”
Walter frowns. “Did you ask Sidhion if he was okay with that?”
“Why would I ask him for permission?”
“Because you two are together?”
Walter’s words crash over my head. I can only stare up at him, dumbfounded.
He gives me an equally bewildered stare. “Am I wrong?”
“Very!”
Walter’s eyes bore into mine, digging for the truth. His confused expression cracks when a raucous laugh bubbles to the surface. He claps a hand onto my shoulder, hanging onto me for support as his legs buckle under the weight of the comedy in his head. “My god, egg on my face! Just the way you two carry on like an old married couple! And you never miss a roof-top date! Aren’t those just for you to ‘carry on’ in secret,” He howls.
“Walter, you're the biggest idiot I’ve ever met!”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Walter wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, ”I’ll help you. Just let me catch my breath.” Walter, cackling, tries to center himself. He inhales deeply, though his shoulders still quiver. He lets out a long, slow breath and one final giggle. “Alright. Here’s what you do. Pay him a compliment. Smile a lot, yours is really pretty. And just be yourself.”
“How can I be myself? He won’t like me! No one likes me.”
“I like you,” Walter grins.
“You don’t count!”
“That’s perfect! Act just like that. You won’t get far if you aren’t genuine. If John doesn’t want a bratty boyfriend, just let it go. Don’t think you could be anyone else if you tried.” Still, Walter is failing to contain giggles.
The music swirling through the atrium fades into a soft, relaxing melody. Dancers slowly disperse into smaller groups. The grand doors at the far end of the atrium swing wide and an elegant woman in servants’ garb emerges. She loudly addresses the crowd. “Ladies, gentlemen and those that lieth betwixt. Master Balric Rynor, lord of the manor, welcomes all of you to his lovely estate. Dinner will be served momentarily and he asks that you all find your placecards. Guests of high honor will be seated at the long-table and all others are asked to find their place at the private tables.”
The banquet hall is a huge, towering space, lined on the far walls with tall, equally-spaced panes of glass. The dark, polished wood of the floor contrasts magnificently with the ivory walls. And down the center of the room, a long table stretches for yards upon yards, easily seating 50 guests. Already, huge plates and tureens stacked with food run the length of the table. Every dish the mind could conjure can be found here. Many smaller, but no less full, tables are set around the room, ready to accommodate those of less importance.
White chiffon drapes from the colossal chandelier and streams toward the walls. The fabric diffuses the candle-light brilliantly, casting the entire room into a warm, cozy atmosphere despite the enormity of it.
Many people have filed in before I manage to wrangle my companions. There are several faces I recognize seated at the long-table. Close to the center, I spot Kellerman and a portly woman who is presumably his wife. That overly-painted girl is thankfully placed far from anyone important. Balric is placed at the head of the table, in the seat of honor. Three chairs to his left are open still. And at the end of those three, John sits impassively.
Anticipation wells in my chest, filling my lungs and allowing no air to pass. I rush ahead of my companions toward the open seats, hoping against hope I will see my name where I want it. My heart sinks when I spot Sidhion’s place card beside John.
Walter breathlessly catches up to me. “You found our seats?”
“Yeah. Hold on.” I flick Sidhion’s place card out of the way and quickly sit next to John.
Sidhion sighs deeply and accepts the seat with my name on it. Walter takes his own beside Balric.
And now the banquet begins proper, as servants swirl around the room, filling glasses over and over again, replacing empty tureens, and taking away dirty dishes. The room swells with laughter and conversation.
John hasn’t glanced in my direction once. I have to come up with something to hook his attention. My eyes fruitlessly bore a hole in the back of his head. I lean forward to speak but my stomach twists in a horrible knot. With shattered confidence, I lean back in my seat. For now, I can only eavesdrop on the conversation around me. My eyes relax and close, allowing me to focus on my ears. The rumble of revelry nearly drowns out the voices near me but I manage to focus on Walter.
“Y’know, Balric, I can’t help but notice there’s no lady of the house,” Walter ponders. Quickly he adds, “Or gentleman.”
Balric’s tone is dour. “I suppose you could say my mother is the lady of the house. She was too ill to attend tonight.”
“Hope it isn’t anything too serious.”
“She has uh,” Balric falters. His eyes search for something to grip onto as he calls over the crowd. “John, do you remember what disease mother has?”
“Consumption,” John responds dryly.
“Consumption! That’s what it’s called. I consider it lucky we can afford her treatments.”
“Oh,” Walter exclaims, “Is your partner taking care of her?”
Balric’s face turns grim. “I’d rather not speak of my wife, Moon rest her soul.”
Walter places a sympathetic hand on Balric’s shoulder. “Let’s talk about something else. Why don’t you tell me about that fighting pit out there?”
As the conversation moves to drier things, my mind drifts back to the man beside me. John hasn’t spoken much since the meal was served. There’s no merry conversation to slither my way into. I have to come up with something to strike up a conversation.
Absently, my hand drifts to a plate in front of me, taking up a meat-filled fritter. My nerves chew at me just as I chew at the crust of the thing. I can’t even taste it. An opener comes to mind. It’s weak but it’s all I have. “Say, John, did you try these yet? They’re very good.”
John glances at me. “Yes, I tried them. They’re okay.” He looks away, quietly casting his gaze down the length of the table.
Time to pivot. “I must say, it’s refreshing to meet a man confident enough to carry a tussie-mussie.”
“I like them,” He remarks without even turning his head.
Walter’s advice echoes through my head. Pay a compliment. Smile. Be yourself. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you too much. I just found you so fetching, I had to try at least a little to get your attention.”
John’s body stiffens and in an instant he is facing me wholly. For a split second I spot a wild, carnivorous glint in his eye before he restrains himself. “Did you now?”
“Yes but.. Well perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to tell you that. After all, I saw you dancing with that.. Girl of yours.”
John rests two dainty fingers on his magnanimous lips and chuckles, “Oh, you must have seen me with Mathilda. She’s only a colleague. Trying to get me out of my shell, as she puts it.”
A sly grin crawls across my face. I rest my head in my hand and lean my elbow on the table. “Why don’t you order me a drink and we can get to know each other a little better.”
The persona known as, “John,” is teeth-grindingly tedious. He’s polite and self-effacing to a fault. His manner is perfectly polished, smoothed into an inoffensive, boring sphere. A tortured grin plasters itself to my face as he spends an eternity explaining the intricacies of his stamp collection to me. My eyes search wildly for another sign of the man behind the persona but I’m frustrated at every turn. No forward remark stirs his hunger. No ludicrous request is met with resistance. Never do his eyes shimmer like the night sky.
Still, if I wish to encounter Diantha, I must play John’s game. “Listen, John. Are you going to be busy after this?”
He chuckles, “Yes, there’s some midnight oil I must burn.”
“Oh, come on. Politics can wait. Tonight is for merriment!”
“Yes but that merriment is reserved for the banquet.”
“Then at least save a dance for me,” I pout.
He pays me a stunning smile. “Of course.”
Guests are filing back into the atrium. Some appear to walk their rounds to say farewell for the night. Many more linger, goading the band to strike up again in raucous order. They oblige only with soft lilting tunes, perfect for sinking into a lover’s arms.
John has excused himself to the atrium, tending to guests who approach him. That Mathilda has already latched herself onto his arm. There’s a food stain on her bodice. A dull pain rises in my teeth as they grind against one-another.
Sidhion leans over to me, still munching on a dinner-roll. “It’s probably better that you were rebuked. He’s acting all civil now but you saw what he’s really like. Pure evil.”
“I’ll show you rebuked!” I indignantly rise to my feet. “He still owes me a dance and I’m getting it.”
Darkly, I storm out into the atrium. John has migrated to the front of the atrium’s grand fountain. I’m single-minded in my pursuit of what I am owed. My eyes are fixed on the object of my conquest. Everyone else fades into empty shadows. My eyes dig deep, past the cloud of unimportant shades which vie for his attention, past the elegant decor which tries to compete with his brilliance, past the lifeless persona which seeks to dissuade my advances. And at the center of it all is the bright golden star blazing in John’s chest. Diantha burns brightly; His blinding glimmer cannot mask itself from eyes which have the power to uncover it. Though the shadows around him are fooled, I am not deterred. Diantha’s star is all I can see in the dense fog of night.
My view is marred when a heavy shade stumbles into my path. I’m met with the red, bulging eyes of Kellerman. His body is doubled-over and his knees quiver. A choked gurgle rises in his throat. Kellerman’s sweaty palm reaches for me and I slap it away. “Find your wife and go home, drunkard.”
Kellerman’s groaning voice calls after me as I storm away. I ignore him, focusing instead on centering myself and putting on a regal air for my conquest. I drift through the crowd of shadows surrounding John, lingering in the warm aura of his star. His long fingers curl around the hand of a shadow as they shake. Then his eyes catch sight of me. I long to see a brilliant shade of blue but I am met with John’s dull, brown glamor. Still, he pays me a small smile and an acknowledging nod. “Ah, I was wondering when you’d come.”
“I’d never miss an opportunity to dance with you,” I breathe.
A shadow in an ugly pink dress pouts, “I had to beg you to dance with me for even one song and you promised you’d dance with some stranger?”
John’s glowing face bestows a kind smile upon the world. “Now, you must calm down, Mathilda. Detective Goldenfist is a guest of honor. It would be horribly discourteous for me to decline.”
The shade folds her arms. Her overpainted face twists into a pout. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
John gives her a conciliatory gesture. “I’ll be back.”
The pink-dressed shade stares daggers at me and I respond only with a triumphant grin as I hook my arm through John’s. She fades into obscurity as John follows me toward the crowd of slowly dancing bodies.
On our way, headed in the opposite direction, I spot Walter with his arm slung over Sidhion’s shoulder. He’s dragging his captive along toward the fighting pit. Sidhion’s eyes catch mine and he gives me a pleading look. I lean into John’s arm and give Sidhion a sly wink.
Shades clear out of our way, bending under the weight of Diantha’s light. His arm slides along the small of my back and his free hand lightly grasps mine, holding our arms aloft and forming the first steps of a waltz. I feel his breath on my ear as we step through the crowd. It sends a lovely shiver down my spine.
Dancing with John is like dancing with water. His fluid motions draw me closer, washing over and around me. His stance is perfectly practiced when he lifts our arms for me to twirl beneath them. It’s an old-fashioned allemande but no less enjoyable for being so. Over and over he raises his arm, inviting me to pass again before we glide back together. And when the song ends his arm supports my waist in one final dip.
Even before he speaks, I know what John is going to say. I cannot allow it. “Will you stay for another?”
“Really, I have other things-”
I muster my best puppy-dog eyes. “Please, just one more. I’m having so much fun.”
John looks down at me, bewilderment twisting his alluring features. “Alright,” He sighs. “One more.”
The music slows to a placid pace. I take the opportunity to drift closer, nearly pressing my chest to John’s. I close my eyes and let my mind wander about the man in my arms. Glamors are a simple magic. They hold sway over the eye and nothing more. When I breathe deeply, it is Diantha’s scent which fills me. If I brush my fingers along his temples, I would be met with the smooth curve of his horns. If I kiss him now, he may even taste the same as I’ve dreamed.
When my eyes are closed, it’s easy to imagine I’m dancing with my blue-eyed celestine.
I allow myself another peek at John’s comely face. My mind grips tightly around his scent in an effort to hold onto my vision of Diantha. When I speak, my words slip past John, searching for the true object of my affections. My voice can only form a dreamy whisper. “May I share a secret with you?”
"Of course." His smile is a perfect construction of kindness. Even without saying a word, his face tells my eyes that he is present, listening and wants to hear what I have to say.
I lean in close. My lips are so close to his ear I can almost kiss it. "I know this isn't the real you."
John's expression freezes into complete neutrality. He just watches me, searching for a sign as to my meaning. I press on. "I’m a diviner. And I had a dream about you. But you were someone else. Someone greater."
John’s face hasn't moved a muscle. His body still dances with perfect precision, like an automaton.
I lower my voice even further. "I know who’s behind that glamor of yours. And I’d like a proper introduction.”
Now my voice is at its lowest tone. When I pronounce the syllables, I can hardly be said to be speaking them rather than mouthing them. "Diantha."
John's face twists into a mask of confusion. "Mister Goldenfist, I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about. Just because you had a strange dream about a real person doesn't make it so. Now if you’ll excuse me.."
John’s hand slips out of mine as he steps back. Cold shadow fills the space between us. A sharp pain rises in my chest when Mathilda swoops in and takes John in her arms. When his light disappears behind a crowd of shadows my heart cracks. A spiderweb of fractures crawl, unbidden, across the surface, joining together and creating deeper and deeper gouges. I can almost hear the sound of glass splintering and falling as it lands in my chest. At first it’s slow, only a few shards here and there splitting apart from the whole. But their absence is felt by larger and larger shards who, with nothing to keep them in place, fall and crash. Then the entire structure comes tumbling down, a shower of broken hopes and dreams. I can feel the prickle of tears welling in my eyes. It was always too much to hope for.
