A Beau at the Ball
“Okay, Addie,” she whispered to herself. “You can do this.”
Adelaide Vermillion looked herself up and down in the tall, only slightly smudged mirror and sat in one corner of her dimly lit bedchamber. It was evening by now, and the light of the glowlamps was all she had to go by, their gentle organic glow the familiar soft white light that Adelaide had grown up with. Vines curled up the walls, holding the lamps aloft as they pulsed softly. She met her own deep, dark red eyes—the most visible symbol of her status as the heir to House Vermillion—and took a deep, trembling breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. “You can do this,” she said again, with a bit more gusto this time, and began pulling her hair back.
As always, her shock of bright blonde curls fought her every step of the way. When it was down, it came to just past her shoulders. After wrestling with it for what felt like an eternity but was probably more like ten minutes, she had it gathered up into an untidy ponytail, high on the back of her head. She ended up needing three tied-off cloth strips and at least four pins (she lost count). “Good enough,” she said to herself, with a shrug at her own reflection.
Next up were her clothes. This part tended to be tricky. Adelaide stepped away from the mirror and behind the ornate wooden partition where she kept her wardrobe and dresser. She stripped out of the oversized tunic she used as a sleep shirt (she’d been hiding in her room all day) and into her underclothes. She quickly made sure everything was tucked away neatly where it should be—being careful not to look for too long—and pulled on the white tunic she favored. It clung to her in just the right ways. She buttoned it up, pulled on her trousers underneath, and tied the bright red belt and sash that denoted her as a scion of House Vermillion around her waist—not too tight. She took another deep breath and came around from the partition to check her work in the mirror.
Adelaide fussed with the sash for a few moments, making sure it didn’t give anything away. Satisfied, she sat down at the small table where she kept the rest of her supplies for getting ready. A quick go-over was enough to make sure her face was smooth, and then she started in on her makeup using the small mirror mounted on the dark wood table. She had to make sure she was subtle enough that nobody would question it, so she settled for a quick layer of foundation, subtle lines on her eyes, and an eyeshadow barely darker than her skin tone. Once she was done, she leaned back to survey the whole look. It wasn’t really visible, but it made her feel better. The generous smattering of freckles across her face made her smile, and the small scar just above her lips on the left side of her face barely peeked through her foundation.
Adelaide stood, straightened her sash one more time, and turned back to the mirror. She reached deep into her chest to reach that well of power that she didn’t quite understand. Her family were red magicians, the best in the known world. Red mana, the mana of life, was emanated by every living thing, from the smallest blade of grass to the largest beast and everything in between. She had long been familiar with the feel of red mana, and how to manipulate it through sigil commands instructing the mana to create or destroy; the art of the magician.
This power was nothing like that at all.
Adelaide felt her own mana swell as she pulled in the power from the things around her. The glowlamps sputtered, the room grew colder, and the ticking clock stopped for a few moments as she drew on the energy of her surroundings. Somehow, in defiance of everything her teachers had told her about magic’s only capability being that to create or destroy, this let her manipulate mana, and command her own body to change.
Adelaide mentally pushed on her body, urging it to take the proper shape. She had to do this every day, since her body would slowly revert back to its original shape. She pushed it just a touch farther every day: she figured if she did it gradually enough, nobody would notice, and by now she could stand to look at her own body, even if the clothes she had to wear covered up everything she would want to show.
The nature of this magic was still confounding to her. It seemed to defy all four Laws of Magic, and it didn’t even need a wand to trace the arcane sigils in the air like normal magic did. She had discovered this ability one day, several years ago, when she was in the worst of her self-hatred. She had found herself staring at her own body in the mirror, tears streaming down her face, willing her body to be different, somehow. She was astounded when it worked, and before her eyes her body changed. She’d had to pretend to be sick for a week to wait for the changes to undo themselves. Now, she made these small, incremental changes to herself, hoping she could keep it secret until… she wasn’t quite sure. All Adelaide knew was that she didn’t want to live a single day more without the body she had now, even if nobody ever saw it but her.
Steeling herself one more time, Adelaide turned and left her chambers, tucking her curled ivory wand into her sash as she walked. She quickly made her way towards the ballroom, hoping that none of the servants or guards stopped her for anything. She wanted to get this over with as soon as she could. One guard gave her a nod as she approached the small chamber her family used to prepare for entrances into the ballroom. She knew that after being announced by the herald, she would be up on the balcony of the ballroom, and everyone would see her entrance. She swallowed hard, and greeted the herald, a middle-aged, bald man named Hyde, who had always reminded Adelaide of a particularly sad horse.
“Are you ready for your entrance, Adept Vermillion?” Hyde asked, using the term for a magician-in-training to address her, as Adelaide had asked him to years ago.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, Hyde,” she said, and Hyde nodded knowingly. Adelaide had not bothered to hide her discomfort with these kinds of events. She closed her eyes and braced herself as Hyde reached for the door. She followed him onto the balcony as he began his announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Vermillion Court,” Hyde began. Adelaide was again shocked by how loud his unassuming frame could project his voice. “Now announcing Prince-Adept Brandon Edric Vermillion, heir to House Vermillion and future Duke of the Redglades!”
Adelaide tried not to flinch as the name she was born with was announced to the onlooking crowd of at least 150 people – rather small for a Vermillion ball. She knew it would be coming, but hearing it didn’t get easier. She hated having to be him again every time she had to leave her rooms, but the alternative was unthinkable.
Adelaide—Brandon, for now—made his way down the stairs to the crowd. The ballroom was always overwhelming to him. The massive chamber had a large, circular raised platform in the center for dancing, and a stage to the right for the orchestra that had already resumed playing a slow waltz. Brilliantly dyed red tapestries strung up with vines draped the windows, and the off-white marble of the walls was inlaid with garnets and organically sculpted red coral. The floor itself was all marble and cinnabar, with flowering and flowing wood patterns almost giving the illusion of movement in the firelight. Elaborate flower arrangements of carnations and roses decorated nearly every surface that wasn’t the floor, and overhead a chandelier larger than Brandon’s bedchamber lit up most of the room. The chandelier, Brandon knew, was a single, solid piece of wood, given life and shaped by the best red magicians that House Vermillion had to offer. Its lights were more glowlamps, pulsing softly with that soft, white light. The massive, pale wooden staircase—47 steps, Brandon knew without counting—was lavish with red carpet and ivory inlays, and threaded through with flowering vines.
Brandon put on appearances, mingling and socializing, and pretending it didn’t feel like having his heart squeezed by a hand of ice every time someone addressed him as ‘Prince Brandon’ or ‘my lord.’ Brandon floated through the ballroom, going through the motions of pretending to be the idealized prince almost in a daze.
Before he knew it, he had ended up in front of his mother, the Duchess-Archmagician Philodora Vermillion. Philodora clicked her tongue like a mother hen and began fiddling with Brandon’s sash and hair and tunic collar. She was surrounded by the usual crowd of lords and ladies and courtiers.
“You know, darling,” she began, and Brandon braced himself. “You should really cut your hair.”
“Mother-” he began, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“No, no, I know,” Philodora sighed. “I just prefer your hair short, is all.”
“Come now, Philodora,” said one of the surrounding courtiers. Brandon was grateful for the rescue. “Leave the poor lad alone.”
The speaker was a man who rather reminded Brandon of a fox, taken human form and gone grey. His silver hair was slicked back over his head, and a matching moustache quirked across his face as his lips curled into a knowing smile. A pale, lightning-shaped scar cracked across his face from the upper left, and his eyes were a deep, dark blue. As those eyes met Brandon’s he was struck with the unsettling feeling that the man was looking right through him.
“Magician Laszlo Tolemas, at your service, my Lord Vermillion,” the man said with a deep bow. Brandon noticed the blue sash at his hip, denoting him as a banneret of House Azure. “‘Tis always a pleasure to meet the scion of a Royal House.”
Brandon bowed his head, as was custom for addressing a banneret. “Likewise, Magician. The Family Azure have always been true and great friends to us.”
Laszlo grinned, his moustache dancing across his face. “I am truly glad to hear the friendship between your House and the House of my Lord reaffirmed. Tell me, Prince-Adept, have you studied our blue magic?”
“No, sir,” Brandon replied sheepishly. “I am… still embroiled in my studies of the Carmine and Rose.”
“Of course, of course,” Laszlo replied with a nod. “Indigo and Silver magic are quite different from the schools of red. Might you know any magicians who have studied the blue in your House? I find the interactions of color school fascinating, but alas mine own House disdains the study of other colors.”
“My friend and peer Plumeria Delora is a very talented magician, sir. She has dabbled in the blue, I believe, but you would have to ask her for specifics. I’m afraid her skill far surpasses mine own.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, my lord!” Laszlo’s mustache quirked again. “I’m certain your own talents are plentiful. Have you ever considered yellow magic? Something tells me you might have an affinity for it.”
In spite of himself, Brandon felt shame rush to his cheeks. His first thought was that he could barely understand even his family’s own red magic, much less learning an entirely different school.
“I-” Brandon began, futilely willing his blush to go away.
“No, no need to respond.” Laszlo interrupted him, which Brandon was grateful for as he had no idea what he was about to say. “Consider it food for thought,” the magician continued with another knowing smile.
Brandon made some excuse about needing to continue mingling and stepped away from his mother’s gaggle of courtiers. He set out across the ballroom searching for Plum.
She wasn’t hard to find. Plumeria Delora tended to draw the focus of whatever space she was in, and today was no exception. She stood at the center of a group of courtiers, only some of which Brandon recognized, currently laughing politely at some joke or jibe one of them had made. She flaunted a deep red gown, tastefully low-cut, and glittered with silver jewelry. The deep brown skin of her face was perfectly made up, and her bluish-black hair resembled the freshwater jellyfish that lived in the river behind Vermillion Keep. Everything about her seemed perfectly sculpted, decorated, and shaped, but for the latticework of scars that covered her right arm from the back of her hand to the far end of her bicep. Her eyes, so black that the line between pupil and iris was impossible to see, met Brandon’s, and on seeing his face her brow creased.
Plum excused herself from her gaggle of eager courtiers and floated towards Brandon. She looped an arm through his, and even if she hadn’t been wearing heels, she was taller than him, so he had to raise his arm awkwardly. Without a word, she ushered him into one of the private parlors off the ballroom.
“How are you holding up, Adelaide?” she asked, her voice tight with concern.
At the sound of her name—her real name—Adelaide’s shoulders released a tension she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying. She collapsed into one of the cushy chairs and raised a hand to her forehead, rubbing her temple where she could feel a stress headache starting to form.
“It could be worse,” Adelaide grimaced as she forced out the words.
“Addie…”
“I know,” Adelaide sighed. “What can I say? ‘Tis hard, having to pretend that I am him.” Plum just nodded and placed her hand on Adelaide’s. Adelaide gave it a brief squeeze, and continued. “Besides, I have to keep up appearances. Nothing to be done.”
“Fine, but I’m still doing your hair tonight.”
Adelaide flushed. Plum often liked to do up her hair for her, even if it was just to put it in a bonnet for sleeping.
“Oh, um,” Adelaide stammered out, eager to change the subject. “There was a magician from House Azure that was asking after magicians who have learned aught from other schools. I mentioned your name.”
Plum raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “My name?”
“Your name.”
“Although I appreciate the flattery, love-”
“‘Tis not flattery if ‘tis true.”
“Nevertheless, I am far less proficient at the blue, in spite of what Mother would have wanted,” Plum said with a roll of her eyes. Plum’s mother had been a magician originally from House Azure, but her father was a knight in service to House Vermillion. Her father was well-meaning, but was very insistent that Plum stay in touch with her mother’s heritage, despite the fact that Plum wanted nothing to do with it. “‘Tis not like I dislike the blue but… Am I not good enough at the red for your taste?”
Adelaide rolled her eyes. “You know ‘tis not what I meant, Plum. You are House Vermillion’s brightest bloom at the red, after all.” Plum’s face broke out into that gleaming, self-assured smile that always made Adelaide’s heart soar when she saw it, and she felt her face grow warm. “But I happen to know that you have been studying the blue as well.”
“Of course. And the yellow.”
“You should talk to him. Magician Laszlo. Tolemas, I think was his surname. He might be able to give you some pointers.”
Plum nodded. “Well, I suppose I’ve never been one to turn down a chance to learn more about the art. Very well, I’ll speak to him. Care to introduce us?”
Adelaide nodded and made to stand, but Plum caught her by the sash and pulled her back into her chair.
“Sit here with me for a few more moments, love,” she said. “You don’t have to go back out and pretend quite yet.”
“Well. Alright then,” she replied gratefully. “Are you enjoying the ball?”
“‘Tis quite lovely, actually,” Plum crooned. “I’ve been chatting it up with this lovely lass from the provinces. She has quite the… assets,” she said with a wry grin. Adelaide tried to ignore the complicated rush of feelings this revelation made her feel. “What even is the purpose of this ball again?” Plum asked.
Adelaide shrugged and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Mother said it had something to do with making connections in the Azure Court, but I suspect she just wanted to throw a party.”
“That does sound like your mother. How early are you going to leave?”
“I am… not sure. I should show my face a bit more, and should take a dance to keep up appearances but…”
“Dance with me, then,” Plum said suddenly. Adelaide felt the blood rush to her cheeks.
“I- you- with me?” Adelaide stammered out the words.
“Yes,” Plum said emphatically. “You don’t need to worry about my hands finding something they shouldn’t, and most of the Court expects us to marry in a few years anyway.” Adelaide flushed somehow even deeper at that, and Plum raised an eyebrow again. “Come now, Addie, we’ve known each other our whole lives. Surely we can have a dance together.”
Adelaide had to admit that it made sense. The Prince-Adept was expected to dance at a ball, and she was usually terrified of whichever noble girl she picked finding something out of place and exposing her in front of the entire Court. But even so, the thought of sharing a dance with Plum made Adelaide’s heart race.
“Very well,” Adelaide stammered out, and Plum broke out into that radiant smile once more.
“Excellent!” she beamed, and reached out a hand to help Adelaide to her feet. “Shall we?”
Plum looped her arm through Brandon’s again as the two of them exited the parlor and made their way towards the polished wood and marble dance floor. The crowd naturally parted for them. The Prince-Adept arm-in-arm with such a presence as Plumeria Delora tended to have that effect.
A dance between two Adepts of a Royal House was expected to be a magnificent show. It was not enough to merely dance: the splendor of such an event was equal parts physical challenge and magical performance. The two Adepts stood about five paces apart, facing each other, as the orchestra began a medium-paced waltz. Brandon drew his own wand, a simple twisted rod of ivory, and bowed deeply to Plumeria. Plum conjured her own wand, a dark wooden rod inlaid with rubies, from somewhere within her skirts, and curtsied back. With a flourish of her wand, Plumeria cast the first spell of the dance.
She held her wand like an oversized pencil in her left hand—second position, her favorite. The tip of the wand danced in front of her as she traced arcane sigils in the air. A faint red afterimage lingered where her wand passed, and after she enclosed the entire sigil in a circle. As she closed the circle, her spell began to form, and Brandon saw what she was doing.
By now, a crowd had formed around the two Adepts. That made plenty of mana for a talented red magician to draw from. A small, red flower bloomed at Plum’s feet. Then another, and another. Before long, there was a small bed of flowers under both hers and Brandon’s feet, and she met his eyes with a grin.
Brandon felt sweat coat his brow as he pondered his response. It would have to be something equally showy, equally dramatic. He brandished his own wand, held like a conductor’s baton—third position—and grinned as he started tracing his own sigils. The afterglow was a brighter, oranger red, and as he closed the circle there was a spark and a bang as he tried to direct the red mana. He struggled to pull in enough mana, even with the surrounding crowd, and he saw the imperfections in his sigil standing out like a splash of blood on a bedsheet. With some effort, he scrounged up enough mana to create small firework explosions overhead.
The crowd “ooh”d and “aah”d as the two Adepts came together. Brandon reached up slightly to wrap his arm around Plum’s waist, all his earlier embarrassment forgotten. He led her through the waltz, weaving back and forth across the dance floor. Their movement was exquisite, perfectly in time and bolstered by the rush of magic. By the time the piece finished, they were both flushed with exertion. They stood together, arms around each other, for a few moments as the applause died and the fireworks sputtered away. Brandon looked into Plum’s dark eyes, and found his gaze drifting downwards to her lips. They were painted a red nearly as deep as her gown, slightly parted, and Brandon could see the small imperfections that had formed during the ball. Brandon was suddenly aware that he could smell her perfume, a floral and woody smell that reminded him of the flowerbeds ringing the palace.
Brandon suddenly remembered where he was and what was happening. He felt his cheeks grow hot in an entirely different way, and he released his grip on Plum’s waist, half-stumbling backwards a few steps. He almost fell into a deep bow, and Plum curtseyed back. Brandon thought he heard a giggle from her lips.
Brandon straightened out as the crowd approached. A courtier he did not know, an older woman with a dress at least three sizes too small, was lauding his skills; “What a beautiful casting, my lord! A fine performance!”
“I thank you, my lady, but Madam Plumeria-”
“Yes, yes, she was wonderful. Tell me, have you met my granddaughter? She is quite…” Brandon tuned the rest out as he watched Plumeria. She had drifted off to the fringes of the dance floor, her own splendor temporarily forgotten by the adulating crowd. Brandon excused himself from the conversation and went after her.
She had a soft smile on her face, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She squeezed his hand, and Brandon was about to say something when a familiar voice came from behind him.
“You must be the Lady-Adept Plumeria, yes?” said the voice of Laszlo Tolemas. “‘Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Brandon turned to see the older gentleman in the same bow he had affected for Brandon earlier in the night. The emotion behind Plum’s eyes quickly vanished, replaced by her usual confident and sardonic smile.
“You flatter me, Sir Magician, but I am no Lady,” she said with a shallow curtsy.
“My deepest apologies, madam,” Laszlo replied with what sounded like a genuine apology. “‘Tis good that magical talent lies not exclusively with the nobility, yes?”
Plum glanced sidelong at Brandon. “Indeed, sir. But talent is only half the battle.”
Laszlo laughed, loud and harsh like cracking ice. “True enough, true enough. Regardless, might I ask you a question?” Without waiting for a response, he asked, “Have you dabbled much in the other schools of magic? I have heard that your mother was a proficient blue magician, yes?”
Brandon caught a flash of irritation wash over Plum’s face. “This is true, my lord,” she said. “Though as you said, blood means rather less than talent, where magic is concerned.”
Laszlo barked out another laugh. “You do have as sharp a tongue as they say, Madam Delora. But I am no member of the peerage either. Tell me, would it please you to learn aught of the blue? I shall be staying here in Vermillion for a few nights before my business takes me elsewhere, and would dearly love the chance to impart what little wisdom I hold to the next generation of magicians.”
Plum curtseyed again. “I would be honored, sir magician.” She glanced at Brandon again, and her polite smile quirked into a smirk. “Might Adept Vermillion join us as well? I feel it would be unfair to otherwise gain an advantage in our… friendly competition.”
“A competition, eh?” Laszlo chuckled. “Well of course! I would be honored to give my humble teachings to the Prince-Adept of House Vermillion as well! Provided he wishes to join us, of course?”
Brandon hesitated. “I-”
“Excellent! My companion will pass along the details, yes? I shall see the both of you on the morrow.”
He turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Brandon rather bewildered. He looked at Plum, a smirk still dancing across her face.
“Well,” he said, exasperated. “I suppose we have class in the morning.”
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