CHAPTER NINE
The Threat in Sago
When Eli reached his fortieth season, Ma Dane announced that Rose Herm would hold a ball.
“You may invite all your friends, my sweet,” she said over dinner one evening.
As the maids cleared away the soup bowls and brought in the second course of fruit bread, Ma Dane described the plush, ritzy affair she was planning.
“Are you sure that this is wise?” asked Pa Hamish, in an unusual bout of clear thinking. “Talk has been different in the club of late. People are shaken by the Magical Cleansing in The Neighbor and—”
“What does that have to do with my son’s fortieth season?”
Pa Hamish looked back at his plate.
“You will want the Shap-se-Georges there, of course,” Ma Dane continued. “For I know how you like that girl Pernet.”
“I think her rather stupid.”
“Hush, Eli! You do not!”
“The dark haired girl with the silly father?” grunted Pa Hamish
“Pa Shap-se-George is running for a State Leadership next season, and I have heard that he is favored.”
Pa Hamish pulled a face.
“Mother, I should like to invite Beauty.”
Ma Dane dropped her knife and the maid carrying out the dishes stumbled.
“What . . . what ever made you think that she would not be there?”
“She has never been to a ball with us before.”
Ma Dane took a large swig of wine. “This is different. We will be holding it at Rose Herm so she will be present whether she likes it or not.”
Beauty staunchly avoided Eli’s gaze.
“But—”
“Eat up your bread, Eli. A boy in his fortieth season must be big and strong.”
Later that evening, Beauty was sitting in bed humming Hillands songs and plaiting her white hair when there was a rap at the door.
“Come in,” she called, wondering if her dress-maid had forgotten something.
Ma Dane entered with a sweep of her bejeweled dressing gown and glanced about the room. It was the barest that she could find without casting the child to the servants quarters.
“I have come to speak to you about the ball.”
Seeing the child in her white nightshirt, Ma Dane could not help but think that she was gaining ethereal beauty as she aged. Her hair shimmered in the lamplight and her violet eyes were warmed to a deep indigo.
“I wish you to be on your best behavior.”
Beauty stared at her.
“The ball is a moon-cycle from now, and you will have a dress made specially for the occasion.”
Ma Dane stepped forward suddenly and brushed a strand of hair back from Beauty’s face. The child shuddered and Ma Dane snatched her hand away, wondering what had come over her.
“I want no trouble.”
Ma Dane turned as if to leave, but stopped abruptly and licked her thin lips.
“Beauty . . . do you dream?”
Beauty’s chest fluttered.
“Sometimes.”
“Have you ever dreamt something that came true?”
She shook her head and Ma Dane looked as though she wished that she had never asked.
“Very well.”
Beauty had a dress made for the ball, as Ma Dane promised, and she thought it very fine until the other girls entered with gowns of velvet, silk, and gauze hung with fat rubies and diamonds that they could scarcely carry on their dainty, slippered feet. In comparison, Beauty’s white cotton dress and purple sash did not appear quite so dazzling.
Unlike these girls from prominent families, Beauty was not introduced at the top of the staircase to descend to the ballroom floor with a flurry of applause. Instead, as the guests began to arrive at the mansion in carriages, her dress-maid guided her to a side door and left her to enter alone.
No one flinched as she appeared. By now, she was well known in Sago high society and of little interest. The curious pet that evening was a tame moorey, captured from the edges of the Wild Lands by a famous explorer who touted it about the ballroom all evening on a chain.
Beauty wandered across the mosaic floor, weaving between gaggles of rich women in yards of embroidered, beaded, silken, shimmering skirts. The men were in the libraries, waiting until the dancing began, and while they were away, the women took the opportunity to assess each other’s outfits.
“Have you seen Ma Dane’s gown?” Beauty heard someone whisper as she paused beside a fountain.
“I do not need to see it! That pink taffeta is as stiff as a board. I would not be surprised if they could hear her rustling in the shantytowns.”
They laughed.
“Yes, it is a good deal grander and uglier than her last.”
“And that amulet again. Pa House of Rose may have been a House, but he was a gambler and a lout all the same. Does she think we do not remember?”
Beauty glanced over her shoulder to see Ma House of Glass, her own amulet nestled proudly on her bosom. She had met her in the drawing room a few times, and it was clear that neither she nor Ma Dane liked each other.
“The desperate must cling to something. After helping Pa Coo-se-Nutoes to Leadership, she has fallen out of his favor.”
“Yes, perhaps she wishes to remind him of her heritage.”
Another lady joined them and they began discussing the latest fashion for high, boned collars instead, so Beauty moved on.
After a dozen more stricken girls had trodden the staircase to be limply greeted by Eli below, Ma Dane called the men in and the orchestra started up. Dancing began at the far end of the ballroom and food was brought out on heaped platters. Servants came to open the long windows that ran the length of the ballroom and were already steamed with the heat of the crowds. The warm night’s air did little to alleviate anyone.
As Beauty ambled about the room, drinking in the sights of her first ball, she noticed Eli standing alone. His forehead glistened with sweat and he looked uncomfortable in his grand, frilled clothes. Pernet Shap-se-George was lingering by his side in a pretty gown, but he took little notice of her. His eyes met Beauty’s. He stepped forward, as if to make his way toward her, but a throng of people swept past on their way to the food tables and Beauty slipped away. She did not wish to be near him.
As the evening wore on, the air inside the ballroom grew hotter. Ladies fervently fanned themselves and couples dribbled onto the moonlit veranda, tugging at their heavy clothes. For the first time, Beauty was glad that her dress was so light.
The dancing stopped and the orchestra played a soft melody to accompany the loud chatter that had broken out. Groups stood in wide circles, tumblers trembling in their hands as they gossiped and discussed politics.
“Well, we should stop trading with them!” a shout echoed about the ballroom and caught the attention of most of the guests.
Beauty peered around bodies to the largest of the groups in the middle of the ballroom, where Ma Dane was nodding her head vigorously.
“And what gives you the right to make such statements?” said Pa Coo-se-Nutoes, exchanging glances with a fat State Leader next to him.
“The Neighbor has been building its Magical defense for seasons,” replied Ma Dane. “Do the rebels not think that they will rise up? This Magic Cleansing is only infuriating the Magic Bloods and Magic Beings. They will triumph in the end, and then where will we be? We cannot afford to take the rebels’ side!”
Pa Coo-se-Nutoes smoothed his dark moustache. “What makes you so sure that the rebels will not win? They have taken the capital and its surrounding cities. They are driving out the Magical beasts.”
“This is just like the Red Wars! The Magics won then, and they will win now. We cannot afford to get involved again.”
There was an audible intake of breath among the onlookers.
“If I remember correctly, you wished us to side with the rebels,” said Pa Coo-se-Nutoes in a low voice. “It seems you have changed your mind rather quickly!”
“It was right then, but now—”
“I think you are nothing more than a Magic sympathizer!”
The women around Beauty gasped.
“How dare you!”
“Just look at the Magic thing you house.” Pa Coo-se-Nutoes pointed across the ballroom and Beauty felt all eyes turn to her. In the sea of faces, she saw Peony and Bow, their expressions hard.
“My ward? She is not Magic! She is—”
“I have always been suspicious.” Pa Coo-se-Nutoes leaned toward Ma Dane’s red, damp face. “I remember the circus,” he whispered.
Ma Dane visibly trembled.
“I think that I should like to dance with my husband,” said Ma Usa Coo-se-Nutoes, appearing from the crowd. She had not forgotten how Pa Coo-se-Nutoes had forged a place in State and it did not do to make enemies of one of the largest, richest families in Sago. Not yet.
“Yes!” cried Ma Dane. “More dancing!”
She signaled to the orchestra and they began to play a boisterous tune.
“Mark my words, the rebels will be here soon,” said Pa Coo-se-Nutoes. “They are stronger than you think.”
Couples flooded to the end of the room, anxious to dance away such thoughts.
That night, Beauty dreamt of fire, swords, and death.