FINALLY, LADY ELEANOR cried gaily from the other side of the door, “Come and see me!”
I followed Mandy in. Lady Eleanor twirled between the vanity with its small mirror and the cheval mirror, yielding three beauties. “The stripes are the best part.”
She was lovely enough to bring hope to the despairing, a breathing, human tonic. If only I could look a tenth so comely. The stripes—vertical in the bodice and halfway down the skirts, where a hem introduced the horizontal—showed off her slender form. A tiny pale green slipper peeped out from her skirts.
“Do you approve, Mandy?”
“Yes, Lady. You’re splendid.”
For a moment I thought they were flaunting her beauty at my expense. Then I realized how much worse it would have been if she’d apologized for looking pretty or pretended she was ugly, too.
“Mistress Evie, Mandy is bossy. If you weren’t here, I would never have had the pleasure of surprising her.”
Voices came from the front of the house.
“Come, guest of honor. Meet the grateful of Frell.”
Mandy returned to the kitchen. Lady Eleanor and I crossed the dining room, where a long table had already been set for the supper after the ball. Beyond the dining room, in the library, small tables had been put out for refreshments and card games. Those who preferred not to dance or had exhausted themselves would come here.
At the door to the drawing room, Lady Eleanor held out her arm. We made an awkward couple—the fairy tale come to life, Beauty with the Beast.
A knot of people stood near the distant vestibule door. I didn’t see Wormy or Squire Jerrold.
My stomach rumbled.
A man and woman whose backs were to us turned. The woman held out her arms.
“My good mother,” Lady Eleanor whispered. She tugged me toward them: two of the highest peers in Kyrria.
After her parents hugged Lady Eleanor, they turned to me. Their faces were calm, the guests’ agog.
Let everyone see how civilized I am.
I extended my right leg as far behind me as I could and bent my other knee almost to the ground. My skirts pooled around me. Smoothly done, I thought—and then discovered that, between my depth and the weight of my skirts, I wouldn’t be able to rise without capsizing.
What to do? How to explain?
“Um . . . Er . . . It’s customary among us,” I said, beginning to pant, “to extend a curtsy, sometimes for half an hour, when we want to signify great respect.”
Lord Evesby bowed—and held it. His wife curtsied and remained almost as low as I was. The guests followed suit, all of us two feet shorter than we should be.
Lady Eleanor’s mouth was a perfect O. I suspected she didn’t know whether to laugh or join everyone. I sent her a look of appeal.
She curtsied as close to me as could be but shallowly, so her balance would be secure. I let go of my skirts and seized her elbow. I felt her shoulders shake in silent laughter. We rose together, and she took enough of my weight to keep me from collapsing.
Everyone else stood. Now that I was upright, I, too, had to fight not to laugh.
Lord Evesby pumped my hands. “Frell will never stop being grateful to you.”
Already untrue, alas.
His wife kissed my cheek. “How nice you smell! I had no idea you og—your people had customs. Are there others?”
Were there? “We’re ancient creatures. You saw our chief one for new acquaintances. Among friends”—ogres had no friends—“of long standing, there are more. Many more.”
Lady Eleanor said solemnly, “I hope we’re friends long enough to learn them all.”
I hoped that, too.
More guests came. I curtsied briefly and less deeply or we would have spent the entire evening making obeisances. Here, no one fled from me. No one backed up against a wall.
From the musicians’ gallery—a balcony above the drawing room—a flute, violin, and pianoforte began a simple air, not meant for dancing but to introduce the idea of dance to come. With the others, I progressed farther into the chamber as more guests arrived, none of them Wormy or Squire Jerrold. Were they coming at all?
But the music soothed, despite my worries. My breath steadied. I forced myself to notice my surroundings: the high ceiling, the vast carpet patterned with canaries on leafy branches against an azure background, the three chandeliers of polished gold, their many candles casting a warm glow. In the soft light, the guests reminded me of roasts just beginning to turn on a spit.
Benches lined the walls for those who preferred to watch the dance, or who lacked partners.
Lady Eleanor had stayed with her parents to greet new arrivals. In the middle of the room, I became an island, everyone aware of me but afraid to approach. I distracted myself in the old way, by looking for signs of illness. I saw only health, but I wanted to deliver a lecture on slouching.
I checked the entry again.
Sir Peter stood close enough to Lady Eleanor to make my skin crawl. She whispered something in his ear. Then she pushed his shoulder playfully. He bowed, turned, and headed for me.
When he came close, I curtsied—and tingled.
And felt both furious and frightened. Did he have a plan to finish me off here?
He bowed. “Lady Eleanor has commissioned me to beg you for the first dance, and I’m happy to oblige.”
I accepted and thanked him. “I’m as happy as you are.”
A Kyrrian fredasta began. The room organized itself into dancers and observers. Two lines formed, women facing men.
There was Wormy, next to Sir Peter!
He nodded and smiled at me, his smile warm, but I grew even angrier. Why hadn’t he said hello as soon as he arrived?
I turned to see who his partner was: excellent posture, pleasant expression. Small, if not truly dainty, but this must be Mistress Chloris.
We began. Sir Peter had grace, command, and lightness. My body, though I’d been in it for fifty-eight days, felt too large. My heart raced, and my stomach growled.
The nearness of all these people—all this meat—made me light-headed. I took in great gulps of air, thought of the sight I’d be, laid out on the floor, and didn’t faint.
The moment came when Sir Peter and I had to clasp arms at the elbow, my right with his right, swing around, let go, and dance off to the next in our line. Unbalanced as I already was, I thrust my arm out too high. He could have adjusted, and the mistake would have had no consequences, but he placed his arm properly and let me sail by.
I glimpsed astonished faces and the beginning of laughter. Unable to catch myself, I stumbled into Wormy, who took my arm in a natural way. He smiled.
Wormy and I spun once. I was stiff with rage—at Wormy for not seeking me out, at Lady Eleanor for inviting me. At Sir Peter for half my misery and most of the danger I was in.
Gentlemen and maidens returned to their separate lines. How stylish Wormy looked, in an ivory waistcoat, brown breeches, and a narrow-brimmed hat set at a rakish angle. I’d never thought I’d call anything about him rakish. How at home he looked in the line of courtiers.
The dance returned me to Sir Peter, who said, “My apologies. I should have anticipated how you’d go. My partners aren’t often so tall as you.”
I considered scratching his face and passing it off as more awkwardness. “Mine aren’t often so ungallant.”
The dance ended.
Lady Eleanor appeared at his elbow. “Peter!”
Not Sir Peter?
“I hope you apologized for your heedlessness.”
“I did. I am covered in remorse. You promised me the next, love.”
Love?
She blushed. “Mistress Evie, I hope you can forgive him—and me. I’m a failure at staying angry at anyone.”
Anyone included me earlier. I nodded.
The musicians started a gavotte. Sir Peter and Lady Eleanor took their places. I was blundering toward the benches when a young man begged a dance. I was sure he wanted to dance with the ogre so he could forever boast that he had.
I begged off, saying I had tired myself.
But from the bench, I felt guilty. Lady Eleanor would be disappointed if I didn’t seem to be enjoying myself, so I accepted a request to dance a saraband from a young man with a hairy mole on his cheek.
I pitied him for the mole until he asked me, during a moment in the dance when conversation was possible, to describe the flavor of human. Through clenched fangs, I said that it depended on the human. “I’m sure you would be delicious.”
He said no more. I regretted my words but was too angry to apologize or explain. We danced on.
In one sequence, we passed, hand to hand, from one dancer to the next. Even through gloves, I tingled at every touch. More at some, less at others, but no hand entirely failed to thrill me.
I watched for Wormy and discovered him with the same partner as before. Would he dance eternally with her? Had he forgotten about asking me?
His partner was a gentle dancer. Insipid, I thought. Wormy, whose dancing I knew to be more energetic, softened his steps to match hers.
The dance moved us away from them.
When it ended, Squire Jerrold, resplendent in a blue satin redingote and tan velvet breeches, arrived to claim his dance. I’d never seen him look so happy.
He bowed. “Before we begin, I’ve been eager to introduce you to my close acquaintance, my dear friend.” He gestured.
A young woman squeezed between two other guests and curtsied to me.
He smiled. His voice smiled. “Mistress Daria. She . . .”
I didn’t hear what he said, but I curtsied, too. Mistress Daria was the reason for his happiness. She answered the question I’d failed to think of in the carriage: Had he already given his heart to someone?
She had a wide face and tawny skin. I swallowed repeatedly. I hadn’t really expected to marry him.
Squire Jerrold and Mistress Daria.
Wormy and the dainty young lady.
Of course they were pairing up, as healthy young people do.
Mistress Daria said something polite. I answered with words that must not have been strange, because she replied in turn.
I excused myself from dancing, saying I wanted air and refreshment. Preservation of myself and others took me to the kitchen, where Mandy, without a word, sat me at her worktable. She put a thick steak before me. Each swallow sank like iron.
The fairy bustled, chopping, slicing, stirring, and issuing orders to three dismayed kitchen wenches, who certainly preferred to be where the ogre was not.
Why return to the ball? I’d find only misery there.