“Oh look at them. All those Vilkons flocking
here in their hundreds and gathering in their little groups!”
Dorania had not attempted to hide her anger.
Rowan puzzled at her mother. “There can’t be any more than 200 my age.”
The Ball was held in a hall of grandeur, in which
the walls and ceiling were painted navy while the remaining woodwork
was painted white. The floor was of cold black marble. Tables draped in
cream tablecloths each had a candle atop a cold, silver candlestick,
whose lights reflected from the silver cutlery. The thin curtains were
ghostly white and the open long windows led to a balcony of glowing
white marble. In one corner was the buffet table; in another was a
table decorated by rows of glasses, with servants standing behind them
ready to pour champagne. Music was provided by a flute-player, a
violinist and a pianist, who only played solos and never together.
“I saw the look of hatred that Dorania gave the Vilkon elders,” said one Lady.
The other Lady she talked to, who had grey hair to
show her age, stoically shook her head. “She is too bold. It
would be so pitiful for the least powerful territory to become an enemy
of the Vilkons.”
“As well as less entertaining,” said the first Lady in a bored monotone.
The older Lady sighed mournfully. “The story
of the downfall of the Rarum family was such a glorious one.”
“Did you instigate that?” asked the first Lady curiously. “You know you can tell me.”
Many couples were dancing on the polished floor. The
brightest piece of clothing was blood red; everything else was coloured
dark. Men mostly wore shirts of dark purple or navy, while a couple of
richer or more powerful Lords wore white shirts as a bold statement. A
certain amount of men wore short capes around their shoulders, while
others chose leather vests. Women wore dresses of every colour from
black to red. The few Vilkons who wore white were regarded with
suspicion. Most people in the hall wore an expensive necklace of some
type.
“It becomes more obvious why this Ball was
held,” stated a young man with Kiyor. His shirt was navy, while
his gloves and trousers were black. He also wore a black waistcoat,
which was richly embroidered with various designs. Some of the designs
were winged figures. Like most men he wore no tie. His hair was short
and black.
“Lady Kirilian is keen to find a husband for
her daughter,” said a young woman softly. She wore a black dress,
netted black gloves and had her long brown hair clipped back.
“The champagne’s nice though,”
commented the second woman, looking at her glass. Her hair was blonde,
curly and shoulder length. Her eyes were sharp green and her burgundy
dress matched the long hair of her cousin. Her silver necklace had an
intricately carved thorned rose hanging on her exposed chest. These
four young people sat primly round their table.
The man sat back on his chair. “Rowan seems so
nice. It’s unfortunate she has a mother like that.”
“I know what you mean,” said the blonde,
looking up from her glass. “I couldn’t bear having Dorania
as my mother.”
“You seem disrespectful all of a sudden,” commented her burgundy-haired cousin.
“Anyone interested in talking to the victim?” asked Kiyor.
“It speaks,” mused the other young man. Kiyor narrowed his eyes at him.
Rowan saw Kiyor sitting at a table with some people.
She looked amazing: her dress was the same dark mauve as her lipstick.
Her eyes only showing the smallest hint of curiosity, she walked over
to the table.
“Good evening Miss Rowan,” began Kiyor
politely. “Allow me to introduce you to a few of my cousins:
Korat-” the young man bowed his head “-Lona-” the
burgundy-haired woman bowed her head “-and Kirrinis.” Rowan
sat down.
“How do you do?” greeted the blonde. “They call me ‘Niss’ for short.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow. “May I?”
‘Niss’ gave a friendly smile. “Course.”
“I’ve been inspecting the security detail,” said Lona.
“Personally, I don’t know the entire
detail,” explained Rowan. “But what do you think of
it?”
“I’m very impressed,” answered
Lona honestly. “A pack of guards at every entrance, a certain
amount dressed up and playing parts of servants and guests. I have got
to hand it to your bodyguard.”
“We’re often observing the security of
everywhere we go,” explained Korat. “It helps us
to…relax.”
“Hm, Manar,” murmured Kirrinis.
“Our bodyguards keep gossiping about her. The woman who melts
through shadows, strikes like lightning and dictates plans like a
Warlord.” She looked straight at Rowan. “Where did you find
her?”
Instead of shrugging as is human to do, Miss
Kirilian answered honestly but with her sombre expression. “I
don’t know. My mother first employed her 6 years ago.”
“She was 18 then,” said Kiyor.
“How did you know that?” Rowan turned to him. She was surprised to find he was watching her.
He quickly looked away. “I know someone who
knew her.” Kiyor, despite sitting right next to her, seemed
strangely distant.
Manar was wearing a black Ball Gown, long black
gloves and her hair wavy. She was standing in a corner while a young
man attempted to converse with her. She responded, but her eyes left
him to search the entire scene for trouble or danger every now and then.
The five sat as statues around their table. Kirrinis finally stirred. “I feel like dancing.”
Curiosity flashed through Korat’s eyes. “Kiyor, what’s your mother doing here?”
Everyone at the table looked in Korat’s
direction. Zareen was with Scythe, who led her by the arm. Scythe still
wore his make-up but with a black shirt, black trousers and purple
waistcoat. Zareen was wearing a violet Ball Gown, which had no sleeves,
making her seem vulnerable. She did not have the brightest adornments,
but the sight of her was still unnerving to many Dark Citizens.
Kiyor seemed neutral, but a flicker of anxiety
appeared in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he finally
answered. He casually got up and strolled to his parents as if he was
greeting them.
Rowan continued to stare after him. His more
muscular build made him more masculine than his slender father. And his
mother seemed so open; though not afraid, her eyes were filled with
expression and vibrance, a presence so unheard of in the Dark Kingdom.
Rowan tensed suddenly. “His mother is a Light Citizen.” She dared to face her new companions.
“Rowan?” enquired Lona, softly spoken,
with her eyes fixed on Rowan rather mechanically. Manar was being led
by her courtier to the dance floor.
Rowan answered with malice. “Members of your
family wed Light Citizens. In fact…all of you: one of your
parents are Light Citizens. So what are you? Light or Dark
Citizens?”
“We’re both and neither,” answered Korat with strength.
“You will not tell anyone this!” Niss
threatened, emanating anger, but her sharp intake of breath showed
panic.
“You will be pleased to know that this
information is not worth anything,” stated Rowan as
diplomatically as she could. She quickly stood up and walked away as
briskly yet gracefully as she could. She was followed by the eyes of
her bodyguard.
Miss Kirilian entered the bathroom and immediately
went to the mirror. She released a large breath. She quickly made sure
that there was no one else in there with her, then recomposed herself.