Chapter 34
It was not to be a small meeting, informal in any respect, Wren realised as she stared down at the elaborate gown hung up in her room. A girl had ferried it in, explaining that Helena had arranged it and it was to be worn later tonight. When Wren asked if Lorca was required to wear finery as well, she nodded, explaining a suit had been sent for him also. Two more women came in soon after and readied a bath for her. She was still staring at the dress when the first girl returned, carrying boxes; inside, she explained, was the accompanying jewels, hair ornaments and shoes to be worn.
“Is this really all needed?” Wren asked. She had never worn anything so elaborate in her whole life and the thought of being in a room full of people, acting as though she of all people were of noble blood…well, noble human blood. “Helena did not mention tonight was to be…well, this.”
The girl smiled indulgently. “Such events are needed when meetings of a certain nature are required. After all, not everyone within these city walls feel the same as our great lady does. Images must be upheld.”
It seemed frustrating to Wren that her sister was trapped in a whore house whilst Wren wore fine clothes, dined well, enjoyed riches by her host. The idleness made Wren itchy, pacing her room, trapped within the walls of the mansion. Yet she feared if she stepped out of line before she had the information, she needed then she was risking her people. It also left her at the mercy of Helena, whom had proven adept at lying and manipulation. Her carelessness with Wren’s own dragon nature nearly had dire consequences, yet she brushed over it, as if it were inconsequential.
“I can undress alone. I’ll call when I’m ready to get into that,” said Wren with a look of reluctance.
The women curtsied and left the room, leaving Wren to undress herself. She peeled off the dress, then all the layers underneath and left it draped over the chair in the corner. Into the bathing room through the doorway she found the bath and climbed in, sinking down into the steaming hot water that smelt of flowers. She scrubbed herself down using the cloths draped over the edge of the bath, lingering until the water cooled and she reluctantly dragged herself out. Not looking forward to putting on all the finery she took her time drying herself down and brushing her hair to a manageable mess, though she knew the maids would probably put it up elaborately anyway.
When no more time could be wasted she called out and seconds later the women swept into room, all three. From there the dress and its many layers were lifted, then pulled over Wren and tied into place. When the final outer layer went on it clung to her frame, cinching at the waist, with the collar rising up just beneath her chin. There was a small diamond shaped cut out just above her bust, embroidered gold against the jewel blue gown. In fact, the long skirt, which fell almost straight down, had golden flowers and vines reaching up from the bottom of the skirt and half way to her hips. The long sleeves too were similarly embroidered. Golden shoes were paired with it, though hidden beneath the skirt.
Then she was sat down and all three women fussed over her hair and the jewellery. He hair was brushed again, then pinned up in an elaborate fashion. Golden leaf pins were woven into her hair and two golden ear pieces were fashioned around her ears. The make up came next, though sparser than Wren expected; with only a little dark dust atop her eyes and some red paint on her lips, then it was done and the women stepped back.
“The party is to start shortly. Lady Helena has said when we were done for you to head down stairs with Mr Lorca,” said one of the women.
Wren nodded and followed the women out, feeling a little awkward on the shoes, though they were not too high, so she managed to try and appear graceful. She fought the urge to clutch at her dress, to fiddle with it nervously as she made her way down the lit hallway to the grand staircase. A figure stood at the end of the hall, cut sharply in the dark black suit.
Even in the finery there was no mistaking whom it was.
He turned slowly, eyes widening, saying nothing until she stopped before him and the maids melted away. It was only them, standing in the hall, with music floating up from the ballroom. He took her in, as she did him, then he half turned from her and held out his arm.
“Nervous?” He asked teasingly.
She glanced at him, half smiling. “Terrified.”
“You’ve escaped capture and defeated demons – what is a party to you?” He murmured. “You’re a dragon, Wren. Never forget that.”
They came to the top of the stairs and started their descent. A few people were arriving, being guided through a side arch way and off to the ballroom. They looked up as Wren and Lorca descended, hushed whispers floating up.
“So, how do you think Helena might feel if I set fire to this party?” Wren whispered, leaning in slightly.
Lorca laughed, deep and full of humour. “I don’t imagine she would appreciate it. You recall her panic when you nearly opened your wings in the ballroom?”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Lorca’s hand came over hers clutching his arm, squeezing gently. The smell of floral perfumes and wine filled the air, dizzyingly so, and grew stronger as they passed through the side doorway and proceeded to the ballroom. At the last door they joined a line, moving slowly before they were thrust into the ballroom, packed full of people. Music played from a band at the far end of the room, scarcely loud enough to pierce the laughter and chatter that rose and fell with the room like breaths.
She scanned the room for Helena, whom might help them make sense of all the people but she didn’t see her at all.
“Can you see or sense Helena?” Wren asked, glancing up at Lorca. He was a little taller than her, so he might be able to see her.
He shook his head. “No. Let us search.”
She nodded and together they stepped into the pressing crowd, passing groups of men and women dressed in finery that Wren had never seen before. It was blinding, every person shining, every surface of the room gleaming. For Wren’s sharpening senses, it was so damn loud. It rose in her mind, every sense screaming, when suddenly she was jostled. Her hand slipped free of Lorca and as she turned to grab him, she was ferried off into the chaos. She tried to push back, find her way to him and as she called out her voice was drowned out in the cacophony. In the madness she couldn’t even sense him.
She stumbled through into a tiny reprieve, right into the back of a red cut suit. The man spun, hands reaching out as she went to stumble back, steadying her. For a moment her gaze was on his chest, broad and well defined in his blood red coat. Her gaze lifted up slowly, meeting a face she swore was carved from stone. Pale blue eyes stared back at her, wide, shock in his eyes, like she’d really startled him. She tried to speak but the words failed to come; his dark hair was cut short, yet a few loose curls defied what must’ve been an attempt of order with his hair.
It wasn’t his looks that froze Wren but something else. She sensed magic from him, a kind that she swore was familiar, only she couldn’t name it. Somewhere she’d met him, only it was impossible. He wasn’t from the camp and not from her village, yet the sense that she knew him howled in her mind.
Finally, the shock receded from his face.
Wren stepped back, removing herself from his arms.
He bowed before her. “Lord Claudius Delmont and you might be?”
“Wren Dumare, just Wren, no fancy titles,” she said, finding herself smiling. “Sorry if that disappoints you.”
Claudius smiled wickedly. “In a dress like that? You are hardly disappointing. With whom did you come with?”
“A friend of mine. We’re staying here, actually, as guests of the lady of the house,” explained Wren. “Yourself?”
Something flashed for a moment in his eyes when she mentioned Helena – disapproval? It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by that charming smile and a wicked gleam in his eyes. It was a look of downright trouble; the kind Wren had no time for in the village. Granted, however, no one looked like him in her village.
“My dearest Helena has been persistent in her attempt for me to attend at least one of her parties – tonight I decided was the night to do so.” The music changed and he held out a hand. “A dance?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I don’t know how.”
He smiled. “Trust me.”
She didn’t, not instinctively, even with the sense they’d met before but she still took his hand. Around the crowd thinned and several pairs lined up on either side of them, taking their place, hands on hips, shoulders, hands intertwined. His hand slid to her hip, sending shivers racing up her spine, and the other to clasp her hand. With her own free hand, she grasped his shoulder, firm beneath her grasp. With a tremulous breath she looked up, meeting that blue gaze, searching her gaze again.
“I’m going to make you look silly,” she whispered nervously.
He leant in. “A little magic, then. As for looking a little silly, I dare them to laugh.”
She laughed as the music changed again, fading off; it began a second later, her feet moving without her releasing. Before she knew it, they were moving slowly, nearly chest to chest, in perfect harmony. He spun them off as the group of pairs moved into a circle, gliding across the floor, every step matched by the delicate music.
Wren could’ve closed her eyes and swore she was flying.
A smile tugged at her mouth, returned on Claudius’s face, lighting up his face. “See? You can dance.”
“You’re doing this with magic,” she whispered humorously. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Well, perhaps we shall simply have to outshine them all. I don’t think they’re nearly appreciating you or that dress enough,” he said, winking.
Without warning he drew her out from the formation and into the middle of the it, stepping back several steps from her. Panic flooded her. Oh gods. He was still smiling at her, then bowed suddenly, deeply at the waist and then rose slowly. The smile had fallen away, looking at intently at her, as though that very gaze bore right down into the depths of her soul. He straightened up and took a step to her, the music shifting suddenly as his foot hit the ground.
It was a slower song, deeper…and as he drew to her, he stepped suddenly to the side, hands shooting out – and hers moved out, as if predicting. The second their hands touched she drew forward, like she knew every step and they spun together, drawing closer, pushing away. A dance between them, a kind of story; in every breath he seemed to be reaching for her, only for her to slip out of his grasp and spin away. He drew to her again, his hands slipped to her waist and suddenly she was up, lifted by him and her back arched backwards. She looked to the ceiling with its shining gold and glittering chandelier, sparkling dizzyingly before her.
The music shifted, grew faster and suddenly she was drawn back down rapidly, the tips of her shoes barely touching the ground. Their faces were only inches apart. Her heart was racing and she then put her hands to his face, as though her body know moved without her, commanded by something else. Her feet fully touched the ground as he let go.
Another change came and the music grew sadder, mournful even as she found herself spinning further and further from him. She reached up to the ceiling, twirling on her own. As she slowed her hands fell back down to her side and she stopped. He was in front of her again, grasping one of her hands as she dropped back, arching down as his other hand slid to the small of her back. He caught her…and somehow, she knew he would.
Her gaze was on his, so focused she barely noticed the music bleeding into silence until applause suddenly erupted around them. Blinking, she carefully rose up and stepped away from him, her cheeks on fire. They stood side by side, bowing to the crowd. As the applause faded away, he held out his arm but she shook her head. The magic of the dance had fled her and her mind roared with a thousand different thoughts, her heart still racing. She had to get away, think and being around him made her feel like she was someone else.
“I have to go find my friend. He’ll be worried…thank you for the dance. Whatever magic you spun on the second one was certainly different,” she said hurriedly.
His gaze shuttered, disappointment and hurt momentarily flashing in his eyes. It almost made her stay but with a deep breath she finally wrenched herself as gracefully as she could away, slipping into the crowd before he could catch her.
She kept going until she made it to the side of the room and pressed her back against the wall, finally exhaling. Her gaze closed for another breath, then opened and, frustratingly, she found him across the room, as if instinctively she knew where he was. He was talking with someone now, a woman with her waterfall of black hair hiding her face. She couldn’t stop staring at him, however, unable to shake that feeling that was gnawing at her mind.
Who the hell was Claudius Delmont and why the hell was he so gods damned familiar?
“Wren?”
She flinched at the sound of Lorca’s voice. He squeezed through the crowd and stepped out to her, blocking her view of Claudius. She took him in now, framed by the golden light of the ballroom, a striking figure. It was enough to snap her out of her reverie.
“Have you found Helena?”
He didn’t react immediately; his gaze searched hers, as if it might give him answers to questions he didn’t ask. Ones he might not feel able to ask. She hoped that wasn’t true. Finally, he nodded and closed the distance between them so that he stood before her.
“She’s close and says she will fetch us later on when its time to meet everyone,” he explained but, clearly, it wasn’t what he really wanted to say. Finally, he cleared his throat, as if dragging up one of those questions – finally. “When did you learn to dance?”
“I didn’t. Lord Delmont asked if I wanted to dance but when I said I didn’t know how he said he would help,” she said quickly.
“With magic?” It sounded almost jealous coming from him.
She arched a brow. “Yes.”
“Wren.”
“It was fine. I am fine.” She stared at him defiantly. “Are you jealous? You shouldn’t be. Helena said we need to act the part, that we can’t stand out, lest we ruin our chances. That’s all that was.”
Even as she said it, she knew it sounded heavy with lies. By Lorca’s sceptical expression he didn’t much buy it either.
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