Chapter Thirteen

Ornamental Facades

The Solstice Eve Ball would have been harder to avoid than miss. While access to the party itself was invitation only, it seemed that every carriage in Hightown had been reserved to transport guests to the exclusive event. Elias couldn’t understand why people didn’t just walk, but then again he had never tried trudging through snow in a gown and heels.

“Here we are,” their driver announced, as if they could have been anywhere else.

Irvin stepped out first. He helped Mable avoid the worst of the slush puddles that were everywhere along the side of the road, lifting his small wife before setting her back down on the cobblestone sidewalk. Elias exited with abandon, but he was good on his feet. Bertrand was more careful and still somehow splashed his trousers.

“Damn it all to hell,” he sighed.

As Bertrand looked down, Elias peered up at the most magnificent mansion in all of Sailor’s Rise: the estate of Bartholomew Grimsby, chief proprietor of The Transcontinental Trading Company and the richest man in city, if not the world. The black iron gate that was the veritable castle’s first layer of defense had been opened wide for guests, though it remained adequately guarded against those without invitations.

The four of them strolled through and flashed theirs, which Elias felt were scrutinized more closely than most. He hoped no one would scrutinize him too closely, for he felt like an imposter in his imperfectly fitted outfit. Though to her credit, Mable had done an admirable job resizing the suit, and he did, according to her, look rather dashing in it.

Elias was pleased with his hair, at least. He’d learned that pomade was best applied sparingly.

All around him, everyone was looking their best, or a version of it anyway. Elias found the dress code for men to be rather dull and uninspired. He had nothing against his white tie suit—only that it looked like every other man’s white tie suit. Mable, on the other hand, was dressed for the season as much as the occasion in her mulberry gown.

There was no question that Mr. Grimsby’s lawn was the largest and grandest in all of Sailor’s Rise. The man’s property was bigger than some neighborhoods in the land-constrained city-state. For tonight’s event, the walkway to his front door was a tour itself. Ornate ice sculptures had been carved for the occasion, and as a fellow artist, Elias could scarcely resist examining each one: a sculpture of swans lifting off from their pool of ice, an enormous elk that was taller than most guests.

Bertrand told him to keep up.

Fortunately, the view inside was no less remarkable. The two-story foyer was larger than most houses, with polished marble floors and white pillars that reminded Elias of ancient civilizations. He nearly mistook the entrance hall for the venue itself. Hundreds of people filled the crowded ballroom, the men in their matching suits, the women in their glorious gowns.

Not to be undone was the Solstice Eve tree at the center of it all. The evergreen stood as tall as three men and had been generously decorated with red, gold, and crystal ornaments that were only outshone by the few hundred slender candles tied to as many branches. The entire tree sparkled.

In comparison, the Solstice Eve tree they erected annually in Acreton’s town square had looked like a shrub. Perhaps, in retrospect, it had been a shrub.

“Is this your first Solstice Eve, Elias?” Mable asked as they settled into the room.

Elias shook his head. “Not my first, though now I can’t help but think ours was a sad imitation.”

“They say Mr. Grimsby will spend days just searching for the perfect tree,” she replied.

“I doubt the world’s richest man spends days looking at trees,” Bertrand chimed in.

Mable shrugged. “You never know. He is an eccentric man.”

On that point, there seemed to be no disagreement.

“I’m going to take your mother to the dance floor” were words Elias hadn’t expected to come out of Irvin’s mouth.

Bertrand told his parents to have fun and suggested he and Elias find the dessert table and acquire some sherry as soon as humanly possible. “It’s the good stuff, and I mean the really good stuff.”

Elias trusted in Bertrand’s refined palate for such things. Elias himself, meanwhile, was anything but palatable to the young man he spotted leering at him. Edric Graystone. Edric looked briefly confused and then suddenly disgusted at the mere notion of Elias’s presence here, as if Bertrand’s wasn’t bad enough.

“Prick,” he heard Bertrand mutter not so quietly, followed by: “They have macarons!” Bertrand immediately grabbed three—one for Elias and two for himself, apparently.

“Never much liked macarons,” Elias said.

“Then you haven’t had these macarons,” Bertrand insisted.

Elias took a bite and shrugged.

“You really are terribly basic sometimes, Elias.”

An expressionless waiter approached them with a silver tray in hand, on which there remained two frosted glasses filled with a mahogany-colored liquid. It may as well have been the discovery of water in a desert for how desperately Bertrand downed the drink.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Elias took a sip and nodded approvingly. “Now this, I like,” he said.

“Bertrand Fairweather,” came a voice from behind them. It was not a voice Elias recognized.

Bertrand spun on his heel and, judging by his reaction, was pleasantly surprised. “Noah, you son of a bitch! How long has it been?”

“Since school, I think,” the man named Noah said. He was a short, young-looking lad, assuming they were of an age.

“Fill me in, my old friend,” Bertrand said. “Down what path has life taken you since last we spoke?”

Elias stood silently and awkwardly as minutes passed and life updates were exchanged, wishing his empty sherry glass wasn’t so empty. He did not know the names they spoke of, nor did he understand the references. This was a side of Bertrand he simply couldn’t relate to. While he had found plenty of common ground with his well-to-do friend, they had arrived together from very different pasts.

And so, as one does in such situations, Elias headed for the cheeses. There were soft cheeses and hard cheeses, adventurous blue cheeses and familiar cheddar cheeses. He went for it all. When the waiter came back around with a replenished tray of sherries, Elias grabbed himself another.

“Hungry?” a woman asked from across the table.

Elias looked up with a piece of brie dangling between his lips.

He recognized her the second she smiled at him—her dark hair, her olive skin, her inquiring eyes. He had only seen her for a fleeting moment a couple of months ago, but she had a face Elias didn’t want to forget. The rose-colored gown she wore for the occasion was slimmer than most, albeit no less eye-catching. Indeed, a few of the gowns sported tonight flared so widely at the hips that they stood out as obstacles more than anything else. The only thing Elias was tripping over now were the words he wished to come out of his mouth.

He swallowed his brie and took a quick swig of his drink. “Just filling my mouth so no one finds it awkward when I don’t say anything,” he told her.

She smirked at that. “The shooting competition at the Night Market. That’s where I remember you. You were quite the marksman.” She extended her hand over the table of cheeses. “Abigail.”

Elias received it and regretted shaking a little too firmly. “Elias.”

“You’re new here,” she said. “I would know. I’ve been to every Solstice Eve Ball since I was a babe.”

“I’m here by chance,” he admitted. “My friend’s family had a spare invitation.”

“We’re all here by chance, Elias, in the grand scheme of things.”

“In the grand scheme, perhaps, but it sounds like you don’t even need an invitation.”

“Very astute of you. I would need an excuse not to be here,” Abigail said as she circled the table, approaching him so that they could better hear one another. “What do you do for work, assuming you don’t sustain yourself winning shooting competitions?”

Elias took another drink as she stopped a foot in front of him. She was nearly his height in her heeled shoes. “I work with the Fairweathers at their shop a few blocks from here,” he said. “Before that, I did a lot of things, a lot of odd jobs. I moved here a few months ago from a small town. You wouldn’t know it.”

“Try me.”

“Acreton.”

“That sounds made-up.”

“It’s in Sapphire’s Reach,” Elias said. “You may have mistaken it for a speck of dust on the map. Understandably.”

“A speck of dust on the map.” Abigail seemed to enjoy those words. “And now here you are, hardly a few months later, as a guest at the Solstice Eve Ball. You’ve come a long way in a short time.”

“Like I said, I’m just here by chance.” And yet, Elias now questioned that assumption. After all he had learned from Jalander, was it truly chance that brought him here, or had he always been destined for something more? Still, Elias preferred believing himself a master of his own fate, and he couldn’t take credit for tonight. Tonight was Mable Fairweather’s doing.

“Well, then I am pleased chance favored you this evening,” Abigail said. “I wish chance favored more interesting guests.” She turned from him. “What do you think of the tree?”

“It’s… tall,” he said, “and perhaps a fire risk.”

“The tree is meant to represent the promise of new life in the dead of winter,” she explained. “And yet I’m quite certain you’re the only new life in this entire ballroom.”

Elias thought he understood. “In the parties I went to back home, the point was to let loose,” he said. “This is the opposite. The invitations, the costumes, the sideways glances: it’s a pageant of power, and power is stubborn in my experience. Power doesn’t like extending invitations to us regular folk.”

Abigail approved with raised eyebrows and a slow nod. “From Acreton, you said.”

“I had an interesting mother.”

“Clearly.” Almost at once, her placid demeanor shifted from wise-beyond-her-years to positively giddy as she exclaimed, “Oh, I do love this song!”

Elias, of course, didn’t recognize the upbeat melody, though he recognized Irvin spinning his wife in circles as the two Fairweathers danced with more passion than the other guests combined. He struggled to believe what his eyes confirmed. Who would have imagined the tightly wound captain could be so utterly unraveled on the dance floor? Perhaps dancing was their other religion.

“Do you dance as well as shoot?” Abigail must have seen him staring.

“Not exactly,” he confessed.

To which she clarified, “I’m asking if you want to dance.”

Elias blushed. Her unexpected invitation jolted him like the bump of an elbow, and his usual cleverness lay in shattered pieces. “Sure,” he said, “but I don’t really know how.”

“Just follow me.” Abigail took his hand and led him onto the dance floor.

Worried thoughts riddled Elias. Had she thought he was merely being humble? Did she expect him to surprise her once more? Perhaps she would be surprised when he toppled over her feet. With nowhere to hide, Elias burrowed his free hand into his pocket, squeezing the sole relic inside, praying to any gods that might listen. He didn’t need to be good. He just needed to not embarrass himself in front of the city’s entire ruling class.

So nervous was Elias that he failed to realize the relic he clenched tightly had disappeared. His fingernails dug into flesh.

“Take my hand,” Abigail instructed him, “and follow my lead.”

Elias took her hand and stared down at their feet. He didn’t know a waltz from a two-step, having seen little utility in the skill growing up. He wouldn’t dance his way to the top, or so he had once believed. Evidently, there were many things Elias hadn’t prepared himself for, things he would need to learn in the moment.

Lucky for him, he had an advantage over moments. He hadn’t meant to do it, but there was no doubt he had wished for the help. It was as if an invisible hand was actively sketching faint green lines overtop the checkered floor. If Abigail saw them too, she said nothing, but of course she did not. This was Elias’s gift, and he was another relic poorer for it.

Best not let them go to waste, he decided. Elias knew what the lines were this time, after all, and how to use them. He simply needed to let his feet follow the path laid out for him. And so, with renewed confidence, he danced.

They were halfway through the song when Abigail leaned forward and asked, “Are you sure you don’t know what you’re doing?”

“Quite sure,” he said.

“How about a twirl,” she replied.

Elias followed the lines as Abigail did the rest.

At the end of the song, she released him from dance partner duties and thanked him for indulging her. “You’re a quick learner, or maybe you’re a natural dancer.”

He shrugged as they walked off the dance floor. “It’s sort of like shooting a gun.”

Abigail looked less impressed by that comment. “How is dancing like shooting a gun?”

Elias couldn’t come up with an honest answer, at least not one he was prepared to share, and so he laughed it off.

“It appears my brother is beckoning me,” Abigail said, her tone shifting as she looked to the left of them. Elias followed her gaze, though there was only one man he recognized in the crowd.

It couldn’t be.

“I didn’t get your full name, Elias, in case chance unites us again.” Abigail turned back toward him.

“Elias Vice,” he said.

She shook his hand. “Abigail Graystone.”