Part 6
"Fireworks"
Stella kept her eyes fixed on her hands
as she stepped through. Surely everyone was staring at her; surely
she would be found out in a moment—was this all an elaborate ruse
to allow her in the gate so that the Drakistos family could have her
arrested and thrown into the prison they surely must have under such
a grand house?
The young man bowed low, prompting
Stella to curtsey. He offered his hand, and she placed hers
delicately atop it.
“Forgive my intrusion,” he said. “I
just couldn’t help catching your name, and feeling as if I’d
heard it somewhere before. Have you been to many functions here in
the Piazza, Miss Nadia?”
Stella could finally raise her eyes and
stare straight ahead of them, as they headed through the vast maze of
hedgerows leading to the garden behind the mansion. The idea of
actually turning and looking him in the eye was still too mortifying
at the moment.
“You would not have seen me much
around this Piazza,” she answered truthfully. “And this is my
first function. But,” she went on, before he could carry on with
his conversation as if they were equals, “it is I who must be
forgiven, because although you were fortunate enough to overhear my
name and speak up on my behalf, I’m afraid I don’t know who you
are.”
He stopped walking, as they stood under
the waving branches of a magnolia tree. He gave a soft chuckle.
“That’s hardly surprising, as my reputation tends to be more
familiar throughout Kadros than my face. I’m Henrik Drakistos—Lord
Sigmund’s son.”
Stella felt the shock ripple through
her, and the shame crowded in on her worse than ever. “Henrik?”
She squeaked, finally looking up at him. His emerald-green eyes
stared straight into her, almost as if he could see right through her
magical disguise. A man like him, used to the customs and
expectations of high society, would surely suspect one such as her
right away, if this went any further.
He gave a light chuckle. “The very
same. Would you permit me to escort you to the banquet, Miss Nadia?”
The banquet? Stella’s heart began to
pound even harder. There would be all the people there, and doubtless
everyone would be watching Don Henrik, and they might even se
her—Agatha might see her! “Er, no thank you,” she responded.
“You’re very kind, but I’m afraid I’ve already eaten, so
there really is no point in going—“ She stopped herself. Why was
she correcting him? Who did she think she was? “Erm, what I mean
is… With all due respect, sir…”
“Please,” The young man waved a
hand. “Call me Henrik; tonight, I think my family will understand
if I waive the use of titles.”
“Henrik, then.” Stella felt her
anxiousness gradually ebb to a level of only mild tension. He was
certainly more affable than Agatha or Jacintha would be in such a
situation! “If you don’t mind, the only thing I would really like
to do tonight is—“
“Dance?” Henrik gestured up the
path, to the side of the house with windows down every wall. Faint
strains of music rose above the babble of the guests. “There is a
marvelous ensemble from Vienna tonight, and the floor is pretty
clear.”
“No.” Stella shook her head. Her
scars might be invisible, but what if the Ring didn’t hide the feel
of them from his touch? “I heard there would be fireworks, and I’ve
never seen those.”
“Ah!” Henrik nodded, pausing to
point her down a smaller path that led toward the gardens lit by
colored paper lanterns and torches. “Well in that case, I had
better take you to the best place to view them. It’s perfect.”
Stella bit her lip as she followed him,
not wanting to seem reluctant as they walked past more and more
people who nodded respectfully to Henrik and stared at her with
undisguised envy and curiosity. “Not too many people, I hope?”
Henrik laughed aloud at this. “Miss
Nadia, I am getting the distinct impression that you are not one for
being seen by the public eye!” He glanced at her with a tilted
eyebrow. “Though if that were true, I am not sure how far you
expected to go being ignored in a dress as stunning as that! But, to
answer your question, you need not fear. Unless by some bizarre twist
of fate others may have discovered it, we should have the place all
to ourselves. This way!”
He led her down the garden path a ways,
and from there, back up toward the top of the slope upon which the
mansion stood. Just off the path, Stella saw a large, round boulder
that was relatively flat on top, and level with the grass knoll above
them.
Henrik pointed to the boulder. “There
it is. We shall be above the heads of all the crowd when they gather
on the patio down there,” he pointed toward the gardens, to the
paved area that was already brimming with people, “and yet this
particular place isn’t very well accessible from the house, so we
can have our own, unobstructed view of the show happening there in
the sky,” he indicated a patch of stars above their heads.
Stella noted the height of the boulder,
much taller than her head, and bit her lip. The uneven surface of the
boulder did seem to provide a bit of a path up to the top, but would
it be ladylike to clamber up a stone in this manner?
“How are we going to get to the top?”
she asked.
Henrik had already stepped up onto the
lowest protrusion. “It’s easy,” he said, reaching out to grab
the rock. “I’ll climb up, then I’ll reach down to help you up.”
He glanced at her warily. “Unless you’re wearing those fancy
shoes that could be damaged by the rock—“
“No,” Stella responded quickly, not
wanting to show the muddy, worn, leather slippers she concealed under
her gilded skirts. “I think I will be safe enough.”
She watched Henrik make his way up the
side of the boulder, noting where he placed his foot, and whether it
would be wide enough for her to step on. Once he reached a wider spot
near the top, Henrik turned around and extended his hand to her.
“Now it’s your turn, Nadia,” he
coaxed.
Stella took his hand and worked her way
up the side of the rock. After a few steps, there wasn’t a handhold
to grab, forcing her to reach forward and entrust her entire weight
to the young man. At the worst possible moment, her foot slipped.
“Henrik!” she yelped.
“I’ve got you, Nadia!” he said,
tightening his grip and attempting to secure his stance. Balance
proved tricky, and his hand gripped a stone with many edges. Stella
saw him wince as the sharp points dug into his hand, but he didn’t
let go until she reached a secure position. Together, they worked
their way up to the level top of the boulder. Henrik flopped onto the
stone surface with a sigh.
“There,” he declared breathlessly.
“We made it.”
Stella smiled, brushing the tiny bits
of gravel off her hands. She saw Henrik grimace as he clenched his
wounded hand into a fist. “Oh, is your hand all right?”
He noticed her watching, and tried to
hide it. “It’s fine; no harm done! I bet it’s not even
bleeding.” To demonstrate his point, he opened his palm and
surveyed the damage.
Stella peeked over his shoulder and
gasped. Rather than a series of red cuts and punctures, as one might
expect to see, Henrik’s hand now sported a thick white patch of
dead, leathery skin, spreading over almost his entire palm.
He tensed at her gasp and hid the hand
away. “It’s nothing; this is normal—“
Stella’s cheeks flushed to see how
uncomfortable he felt that she had seen such a hideous deformity. Oh,
if he only knew! “Henrik, you don’t have to be ashamed of it.”
She reached over to take the injured hand gently. With soft, tender
fingertips, she traced over the dry, leathery scales of skin. “My
skin does the same thing.”
“It does?” Henrik’s response rang
with incredulity. Stella raised her eyes and found him staring at her
with a mix of awe and confusion. “I thought it was just my family’s
curse.”
“Your family?” Stella caught her
breath. Did that mean she was a Drakistos? Then how did she end up so
poor, while the Family was so rich? Was it possible that Henrik might not be a blood relation to the Family? Regardless, she did feel a surge of relief--if another person with the same affliction existed, then her ugliness could not possibly stem from a personal flaw. “What do you mean? Are
there others with the same condition?” Perhaps she could get some
answers! Henrik certainly didn’t look as scarred as she was—was
it possible that she didn’t have to be this way?
Henrik shook his head, dashing her
hopes. “No; only my father and I have it. It is why my father never
remarried after my mother died shortly after giving birth to me.
Something about the curse only affects him and his offspring, not the
other descendants of our ancestor, Chief Gabbaldur Drakistos.” He
slipped his hand out of hers and gave her his other hand, the
unscarred one, to hold. “And now, I suppose you claim to have it?”
He smirked. “Impossible! You’re so beautiful, I just don’t see
how you could ever have these scales and scars.”
Stella’s heart gave a wrench; of
course he couldn’t see it! While she wore the Ring, he couldn’t
see any of her scars—and yet she couldn’t risk taking it off,
either, lest her disfigurement repulse him. “You can’t see the
places I have my scars,” she said, dressing the lie in a measure of
truth.
Henrik tilted an eyebrow skeptically as
he ran his fingers through his tousled, dark hair. “You expect me
to believe that you, a complete stranger, somehow inherited the same
curse that has afflicted my family for generations?”
Stella let out a nervous giggle.
“Everyone in Kadros is related somehow,” she said. “Perhaps I
might be a long-lost cousin twelve times removed.”
Henrik opened his mouth to respond, but
just then a terrific crash drowned out all other sound, and a cluster
of tiny red sparks illuminated the night sky.
Stella stared up at the sky, a mixture
of thrill and terror rushing through her veins. The fireworks had
begun! Golden flowers, blue-green showers, crystalline towers
exploding in red fireballs thundered over their heads. Stella gasped
and clutched Henrik’s scaly, rough hand, drinking in the beauty of
this moment. She looked beautiful, she wore a pretty dress, she sat
with someone who enjoyed her company, and most of all—she could be
the sort of person she always wanted to be, without worrying what
others would think.
All too soon, the thunderous spectacle
came to an end, and the only gleaming things left in the sky were the
tiny stars and the pale moon. The two of them sat there, basking in
the memory of such a wonderful experience.
After a minute, Henrik coughed, and
staggered to his feet again before offering his hand to Stella.
“Well, those were your fireworks,” he said. “Now, will you do
me the honor of accompanying me into the ballroom for some dancing,
Miss Nadia?”
Dancing! Stella’s heart raced. Still
heady with the excitement of the fireworks, she envisioned the two of
them whirling about the ballroom floor, the golden dress glinting in
the lamplight. She smiled and took his hand in answer.
Henrik led her closer to the high,
arched windows, the gleaming, vaulted ceilings, and the buzz and
titter of conversation. Stella caught herself wanting to duck and
shrink back as people stared at her, or glanced and gestured in her
direction while they talked—but the feel of Henrik’s arm over
hers, the sweeping of her skirts over the floor, and the fingers
entwined with her hand reminded her what they truly saw, and she
lifted her chin, ignoring everyone. She wasn’t Stella, the servant
girl of Lady Jacintha; she was Nadia Stevens, mysterious visitor appearing "out of nowhere," just like the other Nadia in her dream. Stella might not belong among these people, but Nadia fit right
in.
>>>>>>>>>>>
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