18th of Inandyl - 3rd Velron - Evening

  I arrive at the Great Hall where all the others have gathered in their fantastical garb and opulent masks in every shape, size, and origin. The transformation that has taken place in our massive Court-wide dining hall is nothing short of magical.

  All the long tables and benches have been removed or pushed to the side against opposing walls making a large, open space for dancing. The remaining tables are laden with food and drink and have been set with elegant, shimmering cloths of a soft eggshell color that sparkle in the candle light of the floating lanterns overhead throughout the entire hall.

  The fixtures of which look to be made of black wrought iron and have been enchanted not only to float placidly in place, but also to glow a bit brighter than regular candlelight. The reason for this is clear as all the tall windows lining the Hall have been covered with dark, heavy curtains that give a soft, blue, aetheric glow. The light shed from them is not enough to read by, but they would be bright enough to navigate by if it were darker.

  At the far end of the Hall, the dance floor ends abruptly at the raised dais which is usually used for the faculty to eat and present announcements during Court-wide events. Now it houses an actual stage, the backdrop of which being an enchantment of what appears to be the current night’s sky that extends through the entire Hall’s high-vaulted ceiling. It depicts the very last traces of the blush of twilight in the horizon of the stage and fades into a cloudless, starry night with none of the three moons visible.

  I wander further into the hall, easily meandering through the groups of masked scribes chatting idly. I find it odd that even though no one knows who they are talking to, the conversations sound natural albeit with a joyous or excited undertone. Why shouldn’t they be, this is supposed to be the penultimate event of the term and, according to Cira, the year. Even so, I’m still rather uncertain of myself, even with this feathery veil of anonymity. I take a moment as I weave, light on my feet, to study all the masked faces and visages I can see clearly.

  I am met with small eye masks, half masks, and full face masks of every hue and material, but all stunning as one can only achieve with exceptional craftsmanship. Some like mine are animalistic in nature; a cat with fangs built into the jawline of the mask, a ram with large curling horns, a rabbit with long metal ears, to name a few.

  Others are more magical creatures like a dragon with scales, horns and a long snout, a demon with spiraled horns sticking straight out, a medusa with snakes in her hairline and mask that look so real they seem to be writhing. I avert my eyes quickly from that one, just in case.

  Others still are adorned with masks of creatures or beings that I cannot be sure of what they are, let alone their origin. Before I get a chance to ask one such person in a metallic mask covered in what seems to be leathery wings and covering their eyes fully, my attention is caught by a sound.

  I hear strings and instruments softly playing a jumble of tones and notes without rhythm or unity. Curiosity piqued, I turn in the direction of the music to get a better look as some of the sounds are not familiar to me. I wander toward the dais and find a twenty piece ensemble chatting, playing in a soft, halfhearted tone, and setting up parchment on stands.

  It is a far different scene than what I expected, only really having been minorly exposed to some street bards with a lute or fiddle and small ensembles in the inns around Tranmere. I’m not sure what I did expect, but there are only a few instruments that I am familiar with. A majority of them are a mystery. Even the ensemble itself seems a mystery.

  A far cry from a bard in tattered cloak, this ensemble is dressed as elegantly as any participant of the Masquerade and wearing similar golden eye masks. Even some of the instruments look as if made of gold like the hand held horns with three, long buttons on top, the body of which looks as if it were a tangled up snake. A deep resonant sound erupts from the back of the group of musicians and I find a much, much larger version of the hand held horn being held by a similarly large man. The instrument he holds upright on his thigh is nearly as large as I am!

  Soon they settle in their seats and my attention is lifted to the dais where the backdrop is turning from the blush of twilight to the deep, spotted curtain of night. The lights in the floating lanterns dim as the heavy curtains turn a deep shade of midnight blue, but still giving off a gentle, aetheric light.

  The Hall, full of masked scribes, begins to hush, as if all were collectively holding their breath, while a misty fog rolls in on the dais. It builds slowly in the silence, but steadily and I hear a soft rattle of a drum from the ensemble. It begins soft, but grows in intensity and sound. My heart beats faster in my chest in time with the drum. With it grows the anticipation of what will emerge from the now dense fog on the stage. I am unable, or unwilling, to look away from what may happen in front of me.

  Suddenly, in a flash of sparking lights in the mist, a figure appears to the clash of a cymbal. The ensemble starts playing softly, a slow, macabre piece as the figure on the dais waves away the mist and smoke. In a sharp gust of air accompanied by another crash of cymbals in tandem with the music, the mist is blown away from the figure whom we can all now see clearly. There are “oohs” and “ahhs” from the crowd as he strikes a pose for us while we all applaud.

  The man is tall with an athletic build, but no other notable features in his physique that I can discern. His garb, however, is ostentatious to say the least. He is wearing a dashing, forest green suit with a royal purple vest and a dark, sky blue shirt with a ruffle of the same color at his neck. The jacket is covered in embroidery to look like falling peacock feathers and is accented with actual peacock feathers draping over his arms at the shoulders. He dons a matching royal purple and green brimmed hat, sporting a brilliant peacock plume. His mask is an eye mask similar to mine with peacock feathers instead of crow ones and an elongated, yellow beak instead of my small black one.

  His unfamiliar voice booms like only a magically enhanced one could. “Ladies and gentlemen, creatures and companions, friends and fiends alike, welcome to the most enchanted night of the year! The Midnight Court’s annual Enchanted Masquerade!” He pauses for the crowd which gives enthusiastic applause. I join in, too, as it feels more than right to applaud his showmanship and welcome. The music starts to change, turning into something more rhythmic and upbeat than before.

  “Tonight,” He continues once the applause dies down to a hum, “we will meet, dance, and make merry as mages and scribes have done on this night for hundreds of years. There will be mystery.” He waves his hand toward the enchanted ceiling and the night sky then changes to an unfamiliar skyscape of a colorful and bright aurora. The crowd, myself included, reacts with collected awe as he continues once more.

  “There will be enchantment.” He waves his hand to his sides and the curtains mirror the aurora above making them look as if they are waving in an unfelt breeze. Once again, all those present react with delight and again, he continues.

  “And there will be spectacle!” He raises one hand toward the crowd and snaps his fingers. When he does, small pops erupt from the floating lanterns to burst and scatter in a dazzling array of lights in multiple concussive events throughout the Hall. They are accompanied by smaller, spinning sparklers directly above each lantern.

  The crowd cheers and applauds in equal measure as the ensemble has built up their melody to match the sound of the small explosions and I am mesmerized by the sight and sound. I feel the smile on my face and my heart lighten with joy. All the trepidation and anxiety from earlier today melts like snow, leaving me warm and glowing.

  “So let’s all make this a night to remember as I will be your humble Host for this evening, guiding you through all the main events from this very stage.” He stands tall while giving this information, a hand placed flatly over his heart.

  Raising a finger skyward, he continues in an authoritative voice. “The most important being the traditional Mage’s Waltz. I hope to see you all there with someone you have met this very night when the smallest moon, Pandia, rises on the dais.” He gestures to the aurora backdrop on the stage as if to indicate where the rising moon will be before dropping his hand. The enchanted sky, curtains, and floating lanterns all slowly return back to their original states when I first entered the Hall.

  “Until our next event, I bid you all, have an enchanted evening!” He gives a flourishing bow, taking off his hat in the process and the crowd once again applauds our host. The music trills its final notes as he straightens and replaces his hat. In the blink of an eye, he disappears in a puff of smoke, just as he had arrived.

  The crowd exalts with shock and surprise for a few moments until the ensemble’s music takes over in a lively, march-like song. Immediately, as if on cue, the crowd disperses from the dance floor, leaving only those couples who join together and begin to dance.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  They move with the grace of familiarity and I wonder idly how long it took them to feel so at ease with the movements. I sway subconsciously to the music as if testing my feet on the outskirts of the dance floor, gazing at those who are bold enough to prove their mettle.

  I am interrupted from my idle thoughts by a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see a gentleman in a clean suit colored with every shade of gray, like swirling mists on a dark night. I smile up at his masked face to find cool gray eyes peeking out from behind a metallic mask of a crown of pewter, a medallion as its centerpiece, the mask itself extending down his cheekbones. The most striking part of it though, are the skeletal hands that are placed on top of the mask, the macabre addition is like some deathly apparatus gasps at his face from behind.

  He inclines his head to me as a small bow and speaks in even tones. “Would you care to dance with me, Lady Crow?”

  I hesitate while trying to place his voice and I am met with an uncomfortable pang in my temples. It is a disorienting sensation which is not exactly painful, but is dizzying nonetheless. I shake my head as if trying to shove the feeling away. “I’m sorry, I suddenly feel a bit woozy.” My voice trails off as I try to steady myself.

  My arm reaches out and meets strong arms that steady me, but instead of a mist colored jacket as I was expecting, they belong to a darkly tanned female decked out in black and gold; from her eye mask decorated with beautiful black roses and lace to her oddly cut gown and tall shoes. Protruding from her jet black hair is a pair of black and gold accented, softly curling horns that seem to be part of her mask by the coloring. She is wearing a knee-length, sleeveless, corseted black gown with gold floss embroidery and while it is knee-length in the front, the skirts cascade to either side down to the floor. The bodice features delicate golden filigree in between rose accents and shapes her feminine features well.

  “Are you alright, Feathers?” She intones to me questioningly. Her voice is deep and rich with a touch of kindness that seems all too familiar and I am glad that she is already steadying me as the vertigo increases. I focus on breathing for a moment and find the exercise taxing but relieving. What is wrong with me?

  “Woah.” I hear her react to the shift of my weight to her. “What did you do to her, Mr. Boney Hands?” From somewhere in my mind, I know she must be asking the gentleman in the misty suit who asked me to dance.

  I hear the gentleman stammer his reply to the sound of hushed conversation over the music, but my vision isn’t working quite right. “What?! Me? Nothing! I just— I just asked her to dance!”

  “Uh-huh. Sure you did. I saw you tap her on the shoulder! I don’t know what game you are playing tonight, sir, but this one will be no part of it!” She shifts my weight on to her more evenly after her accusation and I lean on her heavily as she helps me walk away from the blurry shades of gray.

  Once a bit away from the music and the dais and the misty clad gentleman, she asks me again, “Are you alright, Feathers?”

  Surprisingly, the farther I go with her support, the better I start to feel and I find I am able to stand on my own. Standing on my own helps to reacquire my bearings. I find that we have moved toward the outer courtyard and it is less populated in this area between the Hall and the outside. “I think I am. Thank you, um, Black Rose.” I try to address her as I have heard her address me and “Mr. Boney Hands”.

  She smiles at me with a wide toothy grin and I know that I have seen it somewhere before. Once more, a wash of vertigo gives me that dizzying feeling from before and she makes an exasperated noise. “Stop trying to puzzle it out, Feathers. That will make it worse. It’s part of the enchantment on our masks, remember?”

  With her words, things start to come into focus again. As instructed, I clear my mind of questions and as she alluded to, the vertigo very suddenly dissipates. I breathe a sigh of relief with the knowledge that it was all as intended.

  “I remember now.” I lie and mutter under my breath to myself, “Embrace the unknown.”

  “Are you gunna be okay on your own now, Feathers?” She asks in a more reassuring tone.

  I nod to her once more with a confident smile on my face. “I will.” I state with a confidence that feels real as I fully grasp the mysticism that the masks provide us on this night. “Thank you again for your help and I’ll try not to run into Boney Hands again.”

  We both giggle at the shared experience before she makes her farewells to return to the Great Hall. I instead peek out at the courtyard in its new, enchanted costume for the night.

  The courtyard is a large cobblestone area with stone benches and landscaped foliage scattered throughout. Usually, there would be the benefit of light spilling out through the Great Hall windows, but with them covered, the courtyard is only dimly lit by small pathway lights. The silhouettes of masked people in small groups of twos and threes litter the courtyard sparsely. In the low light, the colors are muted and the details distorted, giving the entire area, and the people in it, an ambiance of dark mystery. It seems much more inviting than the overcrowded Great Hall.

  I decide to remain in the courtyard under the cascade of stars that has appeared on this cloudless night and for a moment I stand staring up in awe. After my short revelry, I wander the courtyard, making my way between the dim lights and the scattered masked party-goers.

  The groups of three or more seem to be chatting and laughing as if they weren’t ever wearing masks; carrying on like any other evening in their own common room. The couples though, are another story. Even though the girls warned me that finding romance is commonplace at this event, I am thankful for the mask that hides the pink forming on my cheeks.

  It feels like around every dark corner I turn, every secluded eave I pass, there is another masked pair in some state of intimacy. True, some are quite endearing, holding hands or whispering sweet nothings to each other. More others, though, are just as passionate about their affections as Zhenya and Mazron. Most are not as bad as that, but few others are worse!

  I pause for a moment, ducking into an alcove surrounded by foliage, to escape one such couple. When I discover where I have landed, I feel like I have wandered into a totally different world. The ivy covered walls are unseasonably lush with green and spotted with small, colorful blooms. Before me lies a path lined with small luminescent crystals for light and leafy vine covered archways. I check to make sure I‘m not suddenly in the entrance of the Forbidden Grove, which I could have sworn was on the east side of the grounds. I peak my head back the way I came and see the courtyard and windows of the Great Hall in the distance.

  Well, I think to myself, it’s definitely not the Forbidden Grove. I shrug and continue down the enchanted pathway of beautiful foliage that gives off a light, floral scent in the night. I take my time gliding down the cobblestone path, unhurried to get to any kind of destination until my senses pick up a strong, soothing scent. Before I have even decided, I am following it at my leisurely pace.

  Soon the path opens and I find myself in a softly luminescent garden in full bloom. The glow of crystals scattered throughout give only the barest hint of light. The rest of the light comes from the blooms of whites, blues, pinks, and purples that shimmer with a magical aura of their own. I am breathless at the beauty of this place and in my awe only catch sight of a man near a small pond filled with water lilies when he speaks.

  “It is always quite the view to behold, I know.” He has a strong voice but it is soft in volume. I try not to think that it sounds familiar, not wanting to get dizzy and faint in this lovely garden. I focus instead on picking him out in the dimly lit foliage. It is no wonder that I could not see him before as his attire blends in perfectly to our surroundings.

  It is our Host for the evening in his brilliant plumage and dark green suit, matching perfectly in this magical botanical garden. He catches my eye, turning in my direction, and smiles broadly. I cannot help but think he is quite dashing up close.

  “Do you come here often then?” I ask boldly.

  He gives a chuckle. “Not as often as I would like, unfortunately.” He turns back toward the pond and the trellis next to it filled with blooming, white flowers.

  I tentatively inch closer toward him to see what he is doing, my curiosity piqued. I come up beside him and breathe in the strong sweet scents that lead me here. “Mmm.” I muse, “that’s so lovely.”

  He smiles at me over his shoulder, a wide, charming grin, and I can now see that he is tending and harvesting some of the blooms. I gasp, my eyes wide.

  “Calm down, miss.” He starts with even, nearly bored tones. “I’m not taking all of them. I just need some components for a class next term and I couldn’t pass up this perfect night.” The Host stops to glance up at the curtain of sequined night and heaves a contented sigh before turning back toward me. “What about you, miss? Will you help me?”

  I nearly laugh at the suggestion, but after catching his smile and too blue eyes behind his mask, I realize he isn’t joking. Giving a weak chuckle and a nod, I respond. “Sure. Tell me how to help.”

  Gently, he instructs me on the flowers in the garden and why the ones that grow here are magical. It sounds complicated and I’m certain that Cira would have understood it all perfectly, but me being, well, me, I only really understood that it had something to do with the leylines on cloudless nights that help mana flow to make the flowers bloom. Or, something.

  Our generous Host even taught me how to harvest a few of them and under what conditions they should be harvested. As we do so, he tells me how to dry them and what they are used for. We come back to the trellis and I finger the delicate bunch of white trumpet petals on it, inhaling deeply and sighing with the contentedness of a light heart. He tells me it is night blooming jasmine, the magical kind, and I bask in their sweet aroma.

  My trance is interrupted, though, as he proffers a closed hand in my direction. It is clear to me that something is inside it. My head tilts with curiosity and I give him a questioning expression, but remain silent. He chuckles and gestures for me to take it by waving it in my direction. “For your help tonight, miss.” There is an earnest tone in his voice that puts me at ease and I open my hand to him to receive it.

  He drops several, small berries in my hand and the confusion is clear on my face. His chuckle grows to a laugh at this and explains.

  “These are from the night blooming jasmine you love so much. If you take out the seeds in those berries, wash them off, and plant them, you can have your very own magical night blooming jasmine.” His charming smile is back in full force and I beam back at the thought of having something so lovely to tend. Cira will love it too!

  I take out a handkerchief from a pocket in my dress—yes, there are pockets— and carefully fold them in it. Just as carefully, I return the kerchief to my pocket. I thank him genuinely and he nods at me, inclining his head further in a bow to show me the ostentatious peacock feather in his hat.

  “You are most welcome, but I must get back to the Great Hall and you should too, miss.” He looks up at me seriously, straightening. “Pandia is about to rise.”