Part 5
"The Dragon Festival"
The Grand Opening of the first Dragon
Festival of Kadros had arrived. Agatha leaned out of the chaise
window as they pulled up to the gates of the Piazza.
“Ooh!” She squealed, bouncing in
her seat. “Let me out! It looks amazing!”
The hired coachman secured the reins
and opened the door of the chaise, and Agatha Farfalle alighted,
dressed in her new gown: a tight, squeezing bodice with a neckline
that barely contained her burgeoning figure, complete with wide,
billowing skirts in a garish pink silk, weighted down with gold and
crystal embellishments. On her head, amid a curling, twisted
hairstyle painstakingly pinned by Stella early that morning, perched
a glittering, gold-plated tiara.
Stella, herself, stepped down behind
her so that Jacintha could emerge, clad in a deep-purple gown of not
much more taste than the one her daughter chose.
“Remember, dear,” she said, taking
Agatha’s hand. “This festival represents all that we’ve worked
for, all that we are—so have a good time and enjoy yourself!”
“I will, Mother!” Agatha answered.
Stella winced as Jacintha’s gaze
fixed on her, and the benevolent smile transformed into a pinched,
angry frown. “Now then, Stella, do not forget your veil and
gloves.” She handed Stella the black netting sewed into a hood that
would obscure her face, and the heavy silk gloves to cover her hands
and arms, from fingertip to elbow.
As she handed the items over, Jacintha
leaned in and whispered. “Remember your place, little toad. Do not
speak unless spoken to—on second thought, don’t speak at all,
unless it is to answer Agatha. Tonight is all about her, and I
don’t want your attention to drift anywhere it doesn’t
belong.”
Stella felt the warning deep inside
her, reinforcing what she already knew: she didn’t belong
here. She had no place among the well-to-do of Kadros. Her
scaled skin was an affront to the eyes and a blight on all the beauty
surrounding her.
“Don’t forget the basket!” Agatha
called over her shoulder, as Stella struggled to unload the large
wicker vessel with small wheels attached, like a wagon. In
anticipation of buying many things from the foreign vendors that had
been streaming in all the previous day, Agatha had decided that
Stella would pull this contraption around behind her, to carry all of
her purchases.
“Have fun, my darling!” Jacintha
climbed back into the carriage. She would be on her way to a party at
the house of an old friend of Giorgio’s who couldn’t make it to
the festival.
Stella tugged the rope attached to the
wheeled basket, and it rumbled over the cobblestones.
“Hurry up!” Agatha urged. “If I
miss anything, it will be all your fault!”
Underneath the veil, Stella allowed
herself a small smile. Only she knew of something already contained
in the basket, something for herself that could have earned her a
sound beating if either Jacintha or Agatha had been aware of her
enough to realize that she was hiding something.
Stella followed Agatha all over the
Piazza all day long. Silk scarves, exotic trinkets, spectacular
jewelry and articles of outlandish clothing filled the basket; every
stop they made added weight to it, making it harder for Stella to
pull. In spite of the gloves, she could feel the roughness of the
rope rubbing the skin of her hands into hard, leathery pads. There
were magicians and musicians all over the square, and plenty of
treats from faraway countries to sample.
As the sun passed its zenith, the
crowds in the Piazza swelled, and Stella heard people confirm more
than once that Sir Henrik would indeed make an appearance at a party
on the grounds of the governor’s mansion itself, and only those
with direct connection to the Drakistos family were invited, and
there would be a fireworks display after dark.
Agatha sniffed. “Good thing Mother is
connected, because there isn’t anything that would keep me
away from that party, Stella!” Agatha declared, walking directly up
the walkway leading to the gates of the Drakistos mansion.
“State your business!” growled the
guard. “Who vouches for you?”
Agatha tossed her head back, nearly
upsetting her tiara, and declared, “I am Agatha Farfalle, daughter
of the late Giorgio Farfalle, who fought in the Great War alongside
Albert Drakistos.”
The grizzled soldier nodded, unlocking
the gate for her, but he shoved Stella back when she tried to move
forward.
“No servants allowed at the party!
This event is by special invitation only!”
Stella froze in her tracks and gazed
helplessly at Agatha, Jacintha’s warning ringing in her ears.
The young woman waved a lazy hand. “Oh,
that’s all right; she can wait for me here with the basket.” She
pointed a finger at Stella. “Make sure no one steals any of my
things, is that clear?” Agatha chuckled, tossed her head, and
willingly followed the escort soldier up the path toward the house.
The guard slammed the gate shut, and
Stella stood alone, with that heavy, ridiculous basket to look after.
A few breaths later, and everyone had completely forgotten about her.
Guests streamed in and out of that gate, those entering required to
claim a member of the family to vouch for them—and if they
couldn’t, the guard refused them entry and sent them on their way.
Stella took advantage of her
invisibility, slipping the basket into a small thicket so it wouldn’t
be visible from the road. There, in complete privacy, she dug into
the certain corner of the basket and pulled out a lovely dress
covered in golden embroidery. Slipping it over her scarred, unkempt
body, she adjusted the bodice to fit, and at last, she withdrew the
mysterious Ring from the pocket of her old dress. Once it was on her
finger, she felt her skin tingle as the magic of the Ring covered
over her old scars as well as the new.
Carefully, Stella used her reflection
in an ornate mirror among Agatha’s purchases to apply some of
Jacintha’s cast-off beauty paint to enhance her features, as a
young woman in high society would. She combed her hair and pinned a
few strands in place to complete the look.
Finally ready, she slipped out from
among the trees and joined the milling crowd, with no one realizing
that the exchange had taken place. So long as she could be back in
her old clothes and waiting for Agatha by the time the fireworks
ended, Stella could do whatever she wanted.
The Festival seemed poised to exceed
everyone’s expectations. As the sun began to set, the music swelled
louder, and some circus performances, with fire-jugglers and daring
acrobatics performing for the eager spectators. Stella watched a
puppet show and clapped and laughed along with the audience. She
purposely stayed away from the amazing smells coming from the carts
of food vendors, as she lacked the money to pay for anything, but the
performances offered much to take her mind off her hunger. After a
while, though, even this got old, and Stella found herself wandering
back toward the mansion.
“Who vouches for you?” She could
hear the guard’s obligatory question, even from this distance. A
couple flounced past Stella, their faces sour with disappointment.
“What sort of nonsense is this?”
The woman grumbled to her husband. “Isn’t the house big enough to
accommodate the whole town? Why do we need to be vouchsafed by the
Family, anyhow? We’ve lived here long enough, haven’t we?”
“It’s an outrage, really.” Her
husband saw fit to take out his frustration on the flagstones, which
he stabbed with the blunt end of his cane, so loudly Stella could
hear the noise long after their voices had faded.
The Ring on her finger hummed deeply, a
sensation that seeped down to her bones. A yearning welled up inside
her as she stared up at the tall spires, watching the multicolored
silhouettes wander back and forth against the light. What would it be
like if she thought to join those people? Would Agatha notice her?
After all, she wasn’t toad-faced any more, as Jacintha had called
her.
“You, there!” The guard barked. “No
loitering around the gates! Give your name, or be on your way!”
Stella felt the nervousness grip her
throat, as the hot blush of shame washed over her face. She dipped
her head instinctively, but instead of her old, tattered dress and
scarred, gnarled hands, she saw smooth, fair skin and a glittering
golden gown. Perhaps she could be someone different tonight,
after all.
Stella advanced toward the gate. The
guard eyed her, but his face held no disdain for her.
“Name?” He asked.
Oh! Consternation seized her tongue.
She couldn’t dare use her real name, in case word of this ever got
back to Agatha or Jacintha—but she wasn’t prepared to give any
other name! Her hands gripped her skirts out of habit, and the
recollection of her dream, and the other woman who wore that dress
(or one very like it) returned to her.
“My name is Nadia,” She answered.
“Nadia… Stevens.” It would have been the other Nadia’s
surname, wouldn’t it?
The guard hesitated, and Stella could
feel her heart beating wildly in the silence; had she dreamed of
someone who actually existed? Would there be another Nadia Stevens in
attendance today?
“Very well, Miss Stevens,” The
guard nodded back to a scribe at the table behind him, who busily
recorded the name on the large scroll spread before him. “And…”
The inevitable moment arrived, “Who vouches for you?”
Stella was ready with Giorgio’s name,
but before she could speak, a male voice declared, “I do.”
Stella watched a guest approach, a
young man in a rich, dark suit. His ashen, fair hair lay in sleek, sculpted
waves around his head. He smiled at Stella, the total stranger who
happened upon the gates to his home.
“I vouch for her, Diggory,” he
declared.
The scribe recorded the name, and the
guard nodded. “Very good, sir.” He unlocked the gate, opened it,
and stood aside, extending his arm in welcome. “Enter, Miss Nadia
Stevens.”
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