19 | The Omen

                                    

                                          
Anyone else would have noticed the way Reide looked at Andreya. Anyone else would have noticed how he brightened when she was in the room, how he always seemed to be searching for her when she wasn't. He smiled and laughed and joked when she was there, and when she wasn't, anyone could tell he was thinking about her from the affectionate curve to his mouth. It was obvious to anyone who knew what love looked like that Reide loved Andreya hopelessly.
But Andreya did not know what love looked like, and she did not know she loved him back.
So when he confessed his feelings for her, she misunderstood her heartache and shook her head, pulling her hand from his and leaving him alone in the wilted lavender garden. There, he would bury his head in his hands and remember her anguished expression—hating that he was the cause and that he'd failed to convince her to live. All the while, Andreya returned to the room she had been given and subjected herself to a painfully sleepless night.
She wanted her curse to end. She wanted it, and this was the only way. If she were to age as Reide had suggested, how would they know it had worked? How long would she wait? How could she know it was even possible?
It would not work. It wouldn't.
She did not expect her own thoughts to pierce her so deeply, so unbearably. She did not know why it hurt, and she refused to accept the answer she kept finding. If she loved Reide, it would ruin everything. If she loved Reide, she loved life, and she wanted nothing more than to end it. End it all.
She was confused, and doubtful, and frustrated again, because of him.
In this pain, she clutched her chest and cried into her pillow, and in this way, an entire day passed. Reide did not see Andreya, and Andreya did not see Reide, and the preparations for the Heiress' ball came to a close with a lantern-lit evening neither went out to see.
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When came late morning the day of the ball, Andreya was sitting in her bedroom's arching window, staring out at the courtyard and the wind in the trees and the breathtaking view of the city surrounding the Isantad Court in all its splendor, glistening in the morning light and bustling with its foreign peoples.
It was truly a beautiful day to fulfill a curse.
At a knock on her door, Andreya sprang to her feet and her heart suddenly pounded. Was it him?
I'm in love with you, Andreya.
Andreya swore and pressed a hand to her chest again, dispelling his image from her mind and steeling herself to confront him.
If you love me, Reide, she would say, let me have peace.
But Reide was not there, offering flowers or leaning against the doorframe. In the place she had expected him to be stood a gaggle of servants in petite white dresses and annoying smiles.
They all bowed in an almost unison and one chirped, "Greetings, Duchess Marivatan. We have come to prepare you for the Heiress' ball."
And they presented her with an equally petite white dress box.
Andreya blinked down at it as if it were intended for someone else, and the girls invited themselves inside with their hairbrushes and their ribbons and their paints.
Even in her youth when the Marivatans had had a population of servants to dress and care for them, Andreya had at least had the freedom to sit down without assistance. Now, the servants pulled out her seat and brushed her hair and braided it back and wove ribbons through it. They painted her eyes and lips and added color to her cheeks and concealed every hint of sleeplessness from her face. Finally, one of the servants placed the dress box on her vanity and they waited for her to open it—apparently, this part, she was to do on her own.
With a glance behind her at the fidgety girls, Andreya placed her fingers under the box's lid, lifted it up, and placed it to the side.
Inside, swaths of white silk mixed with navy blue and beads of silver, on top of which was placed a note with matching lining and formal ink. Andreya traced its edges and lifted it with both hands.
Duchess Andreya Marivatan,
we of the Council hope you accept this dress as a humble gift for tonight's ball. As per our agreement, we believe we have discovered a means of ending your curse. At the ball will be a woman versed in ancient mythology and folklore, and another in every type of herbology and poison. They will meet with you when the dances have concluded, and will guide you from there. We wish you the best of luck and the truest of peace in your endeavor.
Head Judge Makaira Emeradille Keslith of Isantad
It was as if the Judge herself had said it, again in that echoing chamber with the podium and twenty paces between them. But Andreya was still in the bedroom they had lent her, the dress still on her vanity and her hands slightly shaking.
Next, she delicately removed the dress from the box and let the fabric fall to brush the floor at her feet—seven layers of skirt from white at the bodice to navy blue at her ankles, the same color as the Marivatan House. Truly, the gown was magnificent, but it was wasted on her.
She handed it to a servant and they slipped the many underskirts over her head and laced the back of the dress, which left her neck and her collarbone and most of her shoulders scandalously bare. They fluffed the many skirts and Andreya's gaze lingered—for a moment only, she promised—in the mirror one servant held up. There, a Nasavtean woman stood where a Nasavtean woman should never rightly stand, in the palace of a people who hated hers, wearing their clothes and learning their tongue.
But one more thing came out of the dress box, nestled in the hands of one of the servants—a silver hair clip connected to a veil matching the dress both in elegance and in lace. The servant fastened it to her braids so the tulle covered her face all the way down to her rouged lips. Andreya thought it an interesting choice for the Judges to make in her outfit, given veils were only worn on the deceased.
In all practicality, it was an omen of death.
The servant girls stepped back and smiled at one another as if she were a painting they had just finished, then one stepped forward and announced, "We wish you every happiness at Heiress Jenriset's ball, Duchess Marivatan. You will be escorted to the ballroom shortly."
They bowed again like a patch of bobbing flowers before wishing her well again and filing out the door. It closed behind the last one with a click and Andreya took a moment to look back at the window. Gaudy carriages were now filing through the palace gates in a fashion similar to the servants, one after the other, colorful nobles emerging from them and flocking to the grand doors of the twin right palace, where she assumed the ball would be held.
She sat again at the window, lifting her veil from her face for a single moment to watch. No sooner did her thoughts have time to settle, though, than another knock rang through the room. If left to her own devices, she likely would have returned to her heartache or the tingle of nerve over what breaking her curse would really be like—if it would even work at all. But, at the call of the door, she rose to her feet and crossed the carpet, her dress swishing as she went. "Yes, who is it?"
She opened the door and froze at a man wearing a gem-studded masquerade mask, matching the green of his elaborate Isantadi vest and collar. His tawny hair had been braided above his ears and away from his face, and she had never seen a sword at his hip in place of his bow, but his hesitant smile gave him away instantly as the very man she had fled from two days before, still very much tall and handsome in a noble's clothes.
Reide dipped into a bow upon seeing her and extended a gloved hand. "May I escort you to the ball, Duchess?"
When he lifted his head to meet her eyes, his smile unmistakably faltered at her veil—a cruel reminder of something he had been hoping to forget. He recovered just as quickly, but his expression was the smallest bit dimmer. Andreya might have missed it if he had not stolen her attention so entirely.
She placed her hand in his and managed something like a smile, though they both knew the real reason either of them were attending the ball.
"Yes, you may."
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Hiya, peoples! Did you spot the ONC prompt in this one? I'm hoping it isn't too cryptic. Let me know in the comments and don't forget to vote if you enjoyed!
Also, this makes 31k words! \(>0<)/