Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(64)

“Beautifully done, my dear,” Mrs. Winter told me, adding quietly, “Though, snickering while mid-stair was a bold choice.”

“Owen started it,” I told her.

Owen gasped. “Slander and lies, Mother.”

“Children, do behave,” she chastised us as we followed her into the ballroom.

“No promises, Mother.”

I swallowed an enormous lump in my throat as Owen led me toward the ballroom. It was the most beautiful room in the house, with its mirrored walls, vaulted white ceiling and shiny maple floor, lit with hundreds of wax tapers floating in chandelier formations. It was also completely terrifying, because in a few minutes, I would be expected to dance at the center of that room, in front of everybody. More than ever, I wished I was back in the kitchen, with my family, putting food on trays, where no one could see me, no one could judge me. I was on the verge of living out a Snipe fairy tale… if the tale ended with the Snipe-born princess wishing she could turn back into a scullery maid.

Maybe if I wished hard enough, the Mother Book could make me invisible?

This was not helpful. I needed to focus on the task at hand, waltzing without hurting bystanders. I waved nervously to the girls from school, who seemed to be led around by their own bossy adults. Behind us, the orchestra’s master tapped the time against his stand. Owen cleared his throat and smirked just the tiniest bit as he slipped his hand to my waist. Over Owen’s shoulder, I could see Mr. and Mrs. Winter, in a very proper dance frame. As the host family, the four of us were expected to dance the opening set. Under normal circumstances, Owen and I wouldn’t perform in such a capacity, but an exception was being made so I could be formally introduced to the public as the Translator.

Everyone was staring at us. I couldn’t hide. And I was going to have to dance. How was I going to remember the steps? What if I stomped on Owen’s feet? Or tripped over my own feet?

“Breathe,” Owen told me, his gloved hands folding over mine. “Again, if you pass out, I can’t haul you off the floor when you’re wrapped up in that much fabric.”

“You are an awful person,” I sighed.

“But a talented dancer, graceful enough to compensate for even the clumsiest of partners.”

“Keep going. I’m going to have Phillip attack your eyebrows while you sleep,” I murmured through my smile as the first notes of the waltz rang out.

“Really?” he chuckled. “What else?”

“I’m going to ask the Mother Book how to curse you so you only speak in limerick form.”

“And then?”

“I’ll charm all of the mirrors in the world to cloud over when you look into them.”

“That’s harsh,” he agreed. “Also, you are waltzing, I might add.”

I looked down. My purple-slippered feet were moving in perfect accord with Owen’s as we moved in a neat box-step. I was dancing in front of people. A lot of people. I needed to stop thinking of how many people there were, before I lost my step.

Over Owen’s shoulder, I spotted Ivy and Alicia. They bounced on their toes, waving and grinning in a very unladylike manner that made me love them more than a little bit. Alicia’s mother had dressed her as a pixie, in a light green dress with leaf details and a shiny green mask. Ivy’s mother had stuck with the Cowell house colors of purple and tan, and she was a… pile of leaves? The shapeless brown and purple gown did nothing for her and the mask sewn with dull fall leaves. Ivy was still lovely, because she was Ivy, but honestly, I was going to have ask Mrs. Winter to introduce Ivy’s mother to Madame DuPont.

I saw Owen’s eyes go wide, when he turned and caught sight of Ivy. “Be nice,” I told him. “Ivy’s a very sweet girl, and she gets enough abuse at school. Don’t give the other Castwell girls something to tease her about.”

“I am always nice,” he protested.

“Do you forget, sometimes, that I’m the same girl who’s known you since we were both small children?”

He smiled down at me. “No. I never do.”

Thanks to Owen’s needling, I got through the dance without injuring anyone. We bowed politely, making room for the guests as they invaded the dance-floor. Despite several invitations, I declined hands offered by several of Owen’s Palmer classmates. Or... Owen declined for me as he ushered me toward my friends. We bowed politely, making room for the guest as they invaded the dance-floor. Despite several invitations, I declined hands offered by several of Owen’s Palmer classmates. Or… Owen declined for me as he ushered me toward my friends.

“Much too exhausted by her efforts, you understand,” he told them breezily. “Move along to some other unsuspecting fellow’s cousin, thank you.”

Alicia and Ivy pushed through the crush, laughing as we threw our arms around each other.

“How are you?” Ivy asked, eyeing me closely. “I hope you got some rest today before they strapped you into that gorgeous gown.”

“I am so glad you’re here,” I told my friends, hugging them both carefully so I didn’t rumple their costumes. Around us, the party ground to life like a wind-up toy. Couples moved in carefully orchestrated patterns. Warm, savory foods were circulated by servants who weren’t seen or heard. Violin music and floral perfume and firelight overwhelmed my senses, and I was grateful for this little island of quiet, three people who – even if they didn’t know everything about me – wouldn’t judge me for not arching my pinky correctly when I drank the oversweet cider punch.