A/N: make sure you actually read chapter 16 (which should have been chapter 17 initially), I changed up some chapter numbers.
Another Dance
“Announcing Magister-Adept Liana Aurelia Grace,” House Citrine’s herald announced into the great banquet hall of the Golden Hold. “And her escort, Magister-Adept Willam Adalric Carnation!”
Willam and Liana stepped into the hall, arm-in-arm, with a smattering of polite applause and only a small amount of murmuring from the crowd. The two had—very begrudgingly—agreed to the joint introduction, so as not to arouse suspicion. Brandon had to admit that—visually, at least—they made quite a pair.
The hall itself was as impressive as the rest of the Hold. Willam and Liana walked along a lengthy, elevated promenade above the sprawling dance floor below. The room was all yellow sandstone and ebony accents, a stark contrast to the marble and cinnabar ballroom of Brandon’s home. The bannisters were carved from what appeared to be a single, continuous block of sandstone, polished to a perfect sheen.
The draperies and windows in the room were thrown open, allowing the cool night air to flow into the room and buffet the woodless flame in the braziers and chandelier. Large, round tables seated a few hundred nobiles, surrounding the circular dance floor in a ring. At the far end of the room, on an elevated mahogany stage, sat the Marquis Dolamn. Even from this far away, his massive frame seemed to take up the space of several men. He was seated at the center of a long table, Caliburn at his right, and the rest of House Citrine and their court stretched the rest of the table’s length.
And of course, Brandon did not miss the Citrine guards dotting the room.
Willam and Liana finished their walk along the promenade and started down the stairs. The herald, a narrow man with a moustache that seemed wider than his torso, turned to Brandon and Plum.
“Are you ready for your entrance, Your Graces?” he asked. His spoken voice was surprisingly needly, considering his announcing voice.
Plum snorted at the honorific, and Brandon nodded. The herald turned and cleared his throat as the two magicians stepped up to the doorway.
The herald’s words were preceded by a short blasting of the horns from the band below. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Citrine Court,” he said, his voice booming out into the ballroom. “Now announcing the Lady-Adept Plumeria Violetta Delora, of the House Vermillion; and her escort, Prince-Adept Brandon Edric Vermillion, heir to the House Vermillion!”
Brandon did his best not to wince at the sound of his name—and the lie of his ducal style—as he led Plum onto the promenade. As high nobility, Brandon had the “privilege” of being introduced after most of the guests were seated. He felt the urge to squirm under the gaze of a few hundred nobles, but fought it down, along with a surge of panic at the sheer amount of people.
The room filled with a scattering of applause and a wave of whispers from the crowd. The news of House Vermillion’s absence had spread, it seemed, but that of Brandon’s presence had not. Brandon surreptitiously fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, his nervous energy needing somewhere to escape.
Brandon and Plum finished their walk of the promenade and down the stairs. This was the first time they hadn’t been directly guarded since their first day in the Hold—it seemed as though the entirety of House Citrine’s soldiery were now on duty here. Their table was near the front of the room, at the foot of House Citrine’s imposing stage. To Brandon’s immense relief, the crowd had gone back to their own conversations by the time he and Plum made it down the stairs, and they were able to cross the room to their table without being accosted by any of the gentry. It was difficult to ignore the curious glances, though.
Their table had room for eight people, but only four places were set, facing away from the stage and out into the ballroom. This was customary for such an event—the high nobility must be approachable, after all. Brandon pulled Plum’s chair out for her to sit before seating himself in between her and Willam. Liana sat on Willam’s opposite side, already looking bored.
It didn’t take long for servants to begin bringing out the first courses of dinner. Brandon smiled politely as a young girl, probably no older than 12, gingerly placed a plate of green, leafy salad in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said, as the plate touched the table. The girl did not reply, instead avoiding his gaze and hurrying away once the plate was placed.
Brandon grimaced. He’d largely not interacted with House Citrine’s servants during his stay in the Hold, excepting the butlers. He’d wanted to help with their chores, as he’d done at the Vermillion Keep, but he had decided that it would be better to lie low until the ball.
I doubt they are treated well, he thought, watching the serving girl scurry away. Poor girl looks terrified.
Brandon picked at his salad. In an alcove below the promenade, the small band had set up and began to play. The music was quiet enough to blend into the background, below the chatter and noise of the crowd, but the noise needled at Brandon anyway. The clinking of tableware, the voices of a few hundred people, and the music all threatened to overwhelm him, and he found himself clutching at the tablecloth with white knuckles.
Brandon practically jumped out of his seat as Willam gently touched his shoulder.
“All is well, cousin?” he asked, his voice thick with concern.
“Yes,” Brandon replied hastily. “Yes, just… a lot of noise.”
Willam pressed his mouth into a thin line. He nodded in understanding and sympathy, and gave Brandon’s shoulder a squeeze that was probably meant to be reassuring.
“Hopefully, we shall not remain overlong,” Willam said quietly.
Brandon smiled tightly. “Yes,” he answered. “Hopefully.” He glanced at Plum, who seemed intently focused on her salad.
The rest of dinner passed agonizingly. The noise was one thing, but Brandon was even more bothered by the silence from Plum. The foot or so between their seats seemed like a mile-wide chasm. Every time Brandon felt an urge to take her hand or touch her leg, he felt the distance between them like a missing limb.
Eventually, dinner came to an end. As the servants brought out a variety of small cakes as dessert, the Marquis stood at his table and drew his wand, quickly casting a spell. The band quieted as his voice thundered out across the hall—but his lips did not move. It was a spell to conjure one’s voice at great volume, well-known amongst all the high nobility.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Marquis’s magically conjured voice began. “House Citrine thanks each and every one of you for your attendance. ‘Tis our dearest hope that your dinner was succulent and filling, and that you are enjoying your evening here at our Golden Hold.
“As you are aware, we have gathered you today to celebrate the engagement of our son and heir, Caliburn, to the Lady Anabetha Olivet. To our great dismay, the Lady Anabetha could not attend today, but her presence is felt in our hearts and hopes.
“As we move into the next portion of our evening, we shall open the dance floor. We hope that the music and the dances are to your liking. Please, enjoy the rest of your dessert, and then make your way to the dance floor at your leisure. And of course, as always, may Radiance bless your light.”
Dolamn sat back down to a wave of applause from the crowd, and then the buzz of conversation quickly picked back up. The band resumed as well, picking up with a livelier tune, clearly meant for light dancing. Brandon was fully occupying himself with picking at one of the little cakes when Liana cleared her throat.
“Now, I do not mean to intrude,” she began sarcastically. “And I certainly do not wish to pry. But the tension at this table is thick enough to cut with a spoon.” She raised an eyebrow in the direction of Brandon and Plum. “I’d not deign to meddle in your relationship, but do we need a different plan?”
Brandon felt the shame wash over his body. “I-” he began.
“No,” Plum interrupted, and looked back to Liana, her expression blank. “The plan is unchanged.”
“Very well,” Liana replied. “Willy and I shall go prepare, then, yes?” She stood, wrapping her shawl back around her shoulders. “And ‘twill be less awkward over… anywhere else,” she added quietly with a vague gesture, though not quietly enough for Brandon not to hear. She wandered off away from their table.
Willam stood and shrugged in Brandon’s direction. “I- well, sorry,” he stammered, before following quickly after Liana.
Brandon and Plum sat at the table alone, in tense, sullen silence. It felt as though another eternity passed before Plum finally broke the aching silence.
“The next dance begins shortly,” she said simply. “Shall we?”
Her words broke the silence, but the tension still remained, thick and heavy, over Brandon. He nodded, and stood to get her chair.
Plum looped her arm through Brandon’s, and let him lead her to the dance floor. Even through the chatter and music, her heels clicked against the polished sandstone floor as the two magicians made their ascent onto the elevated platform in the center of the room. The band’s music slowed from a faster, lighter melody into a slow, rhythmic waltz. Something about it felt somehow mournful to Brandon.
He glanced around the room, and saw that Liana and Willam had met up with Caliburn. The prince had come down from his place on the stage, likely under the guise of mingling amongst the crowd. He chatted casually with the other two, affecting an air of casual disinterest, but his golden eyes remained locked on Brandon and Plum.
The two fell into the familiar pattern of a Vermillion waltz. Brandon held his hand in front of him as if a blade, his palm facing inward and his fingers pointing upwards. Plum mirrored his stance, and placed her hand against his, so that their palms pressed together and their arms intertwined. It was one of many waltzes that they’d learned growing up.
They broke into the three-step pattern of the waltz. Brandon had plastered a forced smile on his face, and so had Plum. They twirled slowly across the dance floor, weaving between other pairs of dancers. Their motion was contrary to the other pairs—they spun in the opposite direction, and the Citrine waltz involved much more of the dancers’ bodies pressed together—but no one paid much mind. During a House waltz, a variety of dances were expected, after all.
In spite of her forced smile, Plum’s eyes remained downcast. She seemed unable to meet Brandon’s eyes, instead fixating somewhere between the buttons on his tunic and the base of his throat.
“Have I done aught wrong?” she asked quietly, barely loud enough for Brandon to hear. The question threatened to break his heart.
“Plum, I-” he began to reply.
“I thought it was…” Plum interrupted. “I thought we were well.” She glanced at him for a fraction of a heartbeat, and his heart truly did break a piece when he noticed tears in her eyes.
“So what changed?” she asked, her voice pleading. “Was it because I kissed you again? Have I misjudged all of this after all?” She scoffed, her voice thick with pain. “Or are you going to leave me too?”
“Plum, no,” Brandon responded, almost desperately. The band changed songs, breaking into a faster, more energetic waltz, and he pulled Plum along with him as they sped up. “You’ve done nothing wrong, and you were right to think that I… that I wanted it.”
“Then why?” she pled. “Why did you push me away?”
Brandon’s mouth opened and closed once, twice. He couldn’t begin to think of how to explain everything he felt—not here, and not now. But the look on her face hurt him worse than anything. He struggled to make the words come out, to say anything, but he just couldn’t get them to start.
So, instead, he reached for his magic.
The air around the two magicians chilled, and the light dimmed almost imperceptibly. For a brief moment, Brandon felt as though he were moving his limbs through molasses as he gathered the energetic yellow mana from the light, heat, and motion around them. He used the familiar warmth of his dawn magic to turn that swell of yellow mana into red, and then he reached for the connection that he’d felt with Plum at the Lightline.
Brandon reached for Plum’s mana, and he felt the flame of her warmth. At first it seemed distant, as if held just out of reach. But as his metaphorical fingers brushed against that heat, he felt it grow closer, and suddenly it grasped onto his like a drowning man reaching for help. Plum’s mana poured into him, and his into her, their energies mingling once again.
Into that tangle of warmth and power, Brandon poured every ounce of his feelings. His anxiety, his sense of duty, his need to be useful, and most of all, his feelings for Plum—all the emotions he’d felt in the past few days, mingling into one burst of mana.
Plum gasped as the mana rushed into her. Her face washed over in a surge of emotions, like she was feeling every feeling Brandon had in turn.
Brandon kept pushing, the red mana flowing out of him and into her like a tidal wave. Even for Plum, the mana was overwhelming, and it threatened to spill outwards. At the back of his mind, Brandon was astonished at the sheer amount of mana pouring through them. This was far more than he’d thought himself capable of even drawing, much less channeling.
All the while, they kept dancing. He and Plum whirled across the dance floor, their steps in time with the brisk waltz, mana pulsing through them. At some point, Meeks had appeared, and he wove through their legs effortlessly, glowing the familiar red glow of Plum’s magic. He met Plum’s gaze, and to his shock, he noticed that the deep black of her eyes had shifted, and become a deep, vibrant purple.
“Plum,” he said softly. “Your eyes!”
“Yours, too,” she responded, awestruck.
Brandon grasped onto the mana that threatened to erupt from between them. He wasn’t sure how else to describe it but that he took hold of it as one would a rope, and he twisted it like a knot into the shape he desired.
Brandon pushed the mana into a familiar spell—a simple one to grow flowers and vines at their feet. He’d cast it dozens of times, though the ease at which it flowed from him—without a wand!—was startling. Brilliant red flowers blossomed on twisting vines around him and Plum, flowing and bending with the movements of their dance. Brandon thrilled with energy and hummed with mana, and he could feel Plum’s exhilaration too. He realized that this emotional connection he’d forged went both ways, and he relished in the feeling of connection with her.
As they danced, Brandon was dimly aware that the horns had begun blaring again, announcing the arrival of another high noble. He barely noticed, continuing his swirling dance with Plum. He found himself smiling, genuinely this time, and saw with elation that Plum was too. He could feel a sense of understanding from her, and he knew that after this was done, they would be back to the way they were.
The band stopped, and he and Plum whirled to a halt. Their breaths were heavy, and over the course of their dance they’d moved closer together. Their faces were nearly touching, now, and Brandon watched as the purple glow faded from Plum’s eyes. He could smell her perfume, the familiar scent of flowers and sandalwood filling his nostrils as his breath heaved. The air around them glowed faintly, too—orange and purple energies swirled together around them, pushing and pulling against each other like eddies in a river.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that the rest of the dancers had circled around them, staring in shock at the two magicians. What they’d done wasn’t supposed to be possible, Brandon realized with a start. They’d just used their dyadic magic in front of a crowd of high nobles, but he had someone more important to focus on at the moment.
“Plumeria, I-” he began.
“Announcing the Duchess-Archmagician Philodora Vermillion, lady of House Vermillion!” The herald’s cry echoed through the room, bouncing off the yellow sandstone and into Brandon’s unbelieving ears.
Brandon felt like he’d just been doused in icy water. His blood ran cold, and his stomach dropped through the floor. All of the exhilaration he’d felt just moments ago fled him in a rush, and he stared, wide-eyed, at Plum.
Plum, for her part, seemed just as discombobulated as he did. Her eyes, now fully black again, stared at him in shock, and her hand on his squeezed him back tightly.
Brandon turned toward the promenade, dreading what he would see. To his dismay, his mother walked slowly along the length of the bannister. Her greying blonde hair was elaborately styled, and she wore a simple but fashionable gown, appropriately in Vermillion red. A group of her knights followed behind, fully plated and carrying blades at their hips. Philodora stopped at the top of the stairs, and though she was too far away for Brandon to see her eyes, he felt, rather than saw, that she looked directly at him.
A hush had fallen over the ballroom. Between his and Plum’s spectacle and the unexpected arrival of the head of a Great House, the surrounding nobles seemed stunned into inaction.
Philodora slowly and casually drew her wand. She brandished it in third position, and drew a sigil in the air with practiced ease. As she closed it, her voice boomed out across the ballroom. It was the same yellow spell that Dolamn had used to make his announcement.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Philodora’s voice echoed across the ballroom. “Congratulations to the Prince-Magician on his engagement. I apologize for my unannounced arrival—I had urgent matters at home to attend to.” Brandon could almost feel the condescension dripping from her tongue.
“I did not expect this, however.”
She began making her way down the stairs.
“I shall be taking my vagrant son home now, should it please the Marquis.”
“Well,” Brandon began simply, the mana from his dance with Plum still swirling in the air around them. “Shit.”
Cambria's Corner 
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