Blackveil
Page 80
“Entertainment uses the servants entrance,” one growled at her.
Karigan held back a sharp retort and thrust her invitation at him. He looked it over, then scrutinized her with a skeptical expression on his face.
“Er, my mistake,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”
Karigan took a deep breath and stepped through the entrance into the ballroom.
MASQUERADE BALL
Karigan paused atop a broad stairway that led to the ballroom floor below, where couples swept around and around dancing to the music of the orchestra. Others clustered in groups conversing or hovered over tables overflowing with food and drink. Chandeliers suffused the scene in a dreamy golden light.
“My lady?”
Karigan pulled her gaze away from the ballroom to discover Neff the herald beside her, attired in his usual tabard, but wearing a simple black eye mask.
“My lady,” he said, “would you care to be announced?”
“Heavens, no!” she exclaimed, and she perceived a narrowing of his eyes behind his mask.
“Rider G’ladheon—er, Sir Karigan, is that you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “Interesting costume.”
“I suppose it is,” she replied.
The bells of her “crown” jingled as she descended the stairs, but were soon submerged beneath a sea of sound: the harmonious tones of the orchestra as it moved into a waltz, the rise and fall of conversation and laughter, and the swish of silk and brocade as dancers rushed by. She did not see King Zachary or Lady Estora anywhere and wondered where they might be. They were, after all, supposed to be the hosts of this event.
The ballroom’s decorations suggested a sea theme. Silk banners and streamers, dyed in oceanic blues and greens, hung from the ceiling. Stirred by the motion of the dancers, they rippled and flowed like waves. A pair of barnacle-encrusted anchors had been placed at the bottom of the stairs, and ice sculptures of mermaids, whales, and fish presided over bowls of punch. Seashells, fishing nets, and dried seastars ornamented tables and walls.
Most impressive of all was the sloop, so very far from the nearest harbor, placed against a near wall with sails hoisted and held taut by lines so it appeared they were filled with the wind, the mast unimpeded by the high ceiling. Through a break in the crowd, she could see the hull was filled to the rails with ice and raw oysters and other delicacies she would investigate later.
Karigan suspected Estora’s hand in planning the decorations. The ocean theme resonated of Coutre Province. Not that the king’s home province of Hillander, or Karigan’s own of L’Petrie, were not coastal, but their harbors were more tame, more protected. Coutre and the other eastern provinces occupied the boldest coast of all, exposed to the wide open ocean and all its fury, separated from the rest of Sacoridia by the Wingsong Mountains and the turbulent currents around the Blackveil Peninsula. The geography had tempered a proud and independent people.
Karigan was relieved to find the ball’s theme had not extended to costuming in any way she could perceive. She would have hated to stand out anymore than she already did. While the dress of other guests was understated and sophisticated, masks came in a variety of shapes and colors. Some bore grotesque countenances with long curving noses, protruding chins, and demonic horns, or appeared to be inspired by animals like catamounts, bears, and wolves.
Others were beautiful works of art fashioned of gold or silver leaf, or plumed with the feathers of exotic birds. Some helmlike masks featured entire stuffed birds on them.
Of the birds represented there were an unusual number of crows—men attired in black with variations of black-beaked masks, then she realized they must not be crows at all, but ravens. Raven. Mask. The Raven Mask. They must be fantasizing about being the gentleman thief who once stalked Sacor City’s finer neighborhoods stealing jewels and seducing ladies in their own bedchambers. The real Raven Mask had met his end trying to abduct Lady Estora, and Karigan thought anyone who would wear such a costume an insensitive clod lacking the wit to imagine the terror their hostess had endured at the hands of that infamous thief. At the very least, it probably wasn’t the best way to curry favor with their future queen.
As she wandered the perimeter of the ballroom, she caught more than a few curious and amused glances aimed her way, and even laughter. To make matters worse, she found it difficult to judge the proper amount of clearance her oversized hip panniers required.
“Sorry,” she said, after bumping a man in an antlered headdress.
“Anytime, my dear,” he replied with a sardonic smile.
She moved on, cheeks burning, only to brush against a woman wearing a beautiful purple silk mask. Her apology elicited only a glare. Karigan decided that on her journey into Blackveil she would not need the bonewood staff the Weapons had given her to defend herself. No, she could just wear the panniers and take down all adversaries with a swing of her hips.
Her passage around the ballroom did not reveal a glimpse of King Zachary or Lady Estora, but among the dancers was a sight that made her want to pound her wigged head on the wall: military officers not costumed, but attired in dress uniform with simple eye masks. This was how she could have dressed, but she hadn’t known and no one informed her otherwise. She tried to console herself with the fact that she didn’t have to contend with the tight collar of her own dress uniform.
Entertainers circulated among the guests, juggling, tumbling, and swallowing swords. They were costumed more brightly than Karigan, but not by much. A couple of gentlemen—one in a boar mask and the other in a furred raccoon mask—stepped into her path and waited as if expecting her to produce juggling balls. She scowled and walked around them, careful to give her hips enough space, and fluttered her fan before her face. Every time she heard someone laugh, she winced, certain it was directed at her.
Karigan held back a sharp retort and thrust her invitation at him. He looked it over, then scrutinized her with a skeptical expression on his face.
“Er, my mistake,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”
Karigan took a deep breath and stepped through the entrance into the ballroom.
MASQUERADE BALL
Karigan paused atop a broad stairway that led to the ballroom floor below, where couples swept around and around dancing to the music of the orchestra. Others clustered in groups conversing or hovered over tables overflowing with food and drink. Chandeliers suffused the scene in a dreamy golden light.
“My lady?”
Karigan pulled her gaze away from the ballroom to discover Neff the herald beside her, attired in his usual tabard, but wearing a simple black eye mask.
“My lady,” he said, “would you care to be announced?”
“Heavens, no!” she exclaimed, and she perceived a narrowing of his eyes behind his mask.
“Rider G’ladheon—er, Sir Karigan, is that you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “Interesting costume.”
“I suppose it is,” she replied.
The bells of her “crown” jingled as she descended the stairs, but were soon submerged beneath a sea of sound: the harmonious tones of the orchestra as it moved into a waltz, the rise and fall of conversation and laughter, and the swish of silk and brocade as dancers rushed by. She did not see King Zachary or Lady Estora anywhere and wondered where they might be. They were, after all, supposed to be the hosts of this event.
The ballroom’s decorations suggested a sea theme. Silk banners and streamers, dyed in oceanic blues and greens, hung from the ceiling. Stirred by the motion of the dancers, they rippled and flowed like waves. A pair of barnacle-encrusted anchors had been placed at the bottom of the stairs, and ice sculptures of mermaids, whales, and fish presided over bowls of punch. Seashells, fishing nets, and dried seastars ornamented tables and walls.
Most impressive of all was the sloop, so very far from the nearest harbor, placed against a near wall with sails hoisted and held taut by lines so it appeared they were filled with the wind, the mast unimpeded by the high ceiling. Through a break in the crowd, she could see the hull was filled to the rails with ice and raw oysters and other delicacies she would investigate later.
Karigan suspected Estora’s hand in planning the decorations. The ocean theme resonated of Coutre Province. Not that the king’s home province of Hillander, or Karigan’s own of L’Petrie, were not coastal, but their harbors were more tame, more protected. Coutre and the other eastern provinces occupied the boldest coast of all, exposed to the wide open ocean and all its fury, separated from the rest of Sacoridia by the Wingsong Mountains and the turbulent currents around the Blackveil Peninsula. The geography had tempered a proud and independent people.
Karigan was relieved to find the ball’s theme had not extended to costuming in any way she could perceive. She would have hated to stand out anymore than she already did. While the dress of other guests was understated and sophisticated, masks came in a variety of shapes and colors. Some bore grotesque countenances with long curving noses, protruding chins, and demonic horns, or appeared to be inspired by animals like catamounts, bears, and wolves.
Others were beautiful works of art fashioned of gold or silver leaf, or plumed with the feathers of exotic birds. Some helmlike masks featured entire stuffed birds on them.
Of the birds represented there were an unusual number of crows—men attired in black with variations of black-beaked masks, then she realized they must not be crows at all, but ravens. Raven. Mask. The Raven Mask. They must be fantasizing about being the gentleman thief who once stalked Sacor City’s finer neighborhoods stealing jewels and seducing ladies in their own bedchambers. The real Raven Mask had met his end trying to abduct Lady Estora, and Karigan thought anyone who would wear such a costume an insensitive clod lacking the wit to imagine the terror their hostess had endured at the hands of that infamous thief. At the very least, it probably wasn’t the best way to curry favor with their future queen.
As she wandered the perimeter of the ballroom, she caught more than a few curious and amused glances aimed her way, and even laughter. To make matters worse, she found it difficult to judge the proper amount of clearance her oversized hip panniers required.
“Sorry,” she said, after bumping a man in an antlered headdress.
“Anytime, my dear,” he replied with a sardonic smile.
She moved on, cheeks burning, only to brush against a woman wearing a beautiful purple silk mask. Her apology elicited only a glare. Karigan decided that on her journey into Blackveil she would not need the bonewood staff the Weapons had given her to defend herself. No, she could just wear the panniers and take down all adversaries with a swing of her hips.
Her passage around the ballroom did not reveal a glimpse of King Zachary or Lady Estora, but among the dancers was a sight that made her want to pound her wigged head on the wall: military officers not costumed, but attired in dress uniform with simple eye masks. This was how she could have dressed, but she hadn’t known and no one informed her otherwise. She tried to console herself with the fact that she didn’t have to contend with the tight collar of her own dress uniform.
Entertainers circulated among the guests, juggling, tumbling, and swallowing swords. They were costumed more brightly than Karigan, but not by much. A couple of gentlemen—one in a boar mask and the other in a furred raccoon mask—stepped into her path and waited as if expecting her to produce juggling balls. She scowled and walked around them, careful to give her hips enough space, and fluttered her fan before her face. Every time she heard someone laugh, she winced, certain it was directed at her.
