-Tales From Meridia, Volume I
The shoes were, in fact, comfortable. Brielle had planned her outfit with careful attention to everything that made up Luci. It warmed her heart and reminded her why she was doing this, even if the plot was flimsy and terrible. Her feet glittered in the light blue slippers that sparkled with a thousand stars—a little bit of Brielle to carry her.
As Luci stared at her reflection, she hardly recognized the orphan girl in the mirror. The woman standing before her was as much a part of the aristocracy as Lady Treveon, who flitted behind her and in front of her, adding coal to her eyes and pink to her cheeks. Luci’s blond hair was twisted into a bun at the back of her head while gentle curls similar to Brielle’s were teased out on the sides of her face.
“There.” Lady Treveon declared with a happy clap of her hands.
“I still don’t look like Brielle.”
As if summoned, Lady Treveon pulled out a beautiful white mask with silver inlay that matched her gown perfectly. When she placed it over Luci’s eyes, it was easy to see the reality of this plan. Easy to see from this angle how, as long as she stayed ten feet away from Lord Treveon, he might be deceived.
“Stunning.” Lady Treveon said, placing her hands on Luci’s shoulders and squeezing. “Now let’s go show Brielle.”
As soon as Luci entered the room, Brielle’s eyes were on her as emotions swelled and burst through her beautiful blue eyes. There was a pride in her eyes that Luci wished she could bottle up and keep for when her mind was old and forgetful. If she could keep one memory, let it be this.
“You were made for this,” Brielle whispered.
Except, she wasn’t. There was no part of her that was made for the clothes that clung to her skin. She was an orphan. All she was and would ever be was because of the woman in the bed staringat her—the one who was actually made for parties and dancing till midnight.
“Well, Lucinda Blackthorn, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Mrs. Blakesley said.
She had been swept away in the moment and hadn’t even noticed the severe woman sitting next to Luci’s bed. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun, which was the only way Luci had ever seen it. Her pale blue eyes saw every imperfection and every thought. In fact, it was much hypothesized that there wasn’t a thing that happened in Blythe that the housekeeper didn’t know.
Unsure what she was supposed to say to that, Luci padded over to her vials and held up the green bottle.
“If she gets a headache, she can have this, but not for another four hours. Too much makes her too sedated.” She reached for the blue one. “This is if she is feeling-”
“I am sixty years old, Lucinda Blackthorn. I do not need you to tell me how to tend to a woman I’ve known since she left the womb.”
“Brielle is-.”
“Fine.” Brielle finished. “Now be off with you. The stroke of midnight, Luci.” She said with a wink and a teasing smile.
There was a fluttering in Luci’s chest that was unsettling—the sense of something there that should not be.
“Midnight,” Luci promised.
The nice thing about traveling with Lady Margaret Treveon was that you needn’t say a word. The lady of Blythe Manor had more than enough words to make a two-hour carriage ride go by like the ripening of a strawberry. By the time the castle came into view and thousands of torches lit the path, Luci was more than prepared to jump out of the carriage and run into the ball.
“Oh. How lovely.” Lady Margaret breathed. “It always takes my breath away.”
Luci highly doubted that, but the vision before her was unnaturally captivating. The castle that housed the Vencia line was made of thousands of spires, twisting into the sky. Each one climbs higher than the next as if trying to outpace the others. Endless rooms were illuminated through windows that rose with each spire. It was larger than anything should be. Crafted in the age of magic, it was said that some of the rooms still had traces of the fairy godmother who had been forced to make it by the first Vencia king.
Small charms might go missing without the owner having left the room. Curtains opened of their own volition. The mirror room was said to show a person’s future if the recipient was found willing.
All stories and fables. Even if magic had been real, it was gone now. Lost because of greedy men who had abused it. If there ever were fairy godmothers who granted wishes, they had long gone into hiding, finding the mortals whom they had once helped unworthy. Gone to the Light Above. Some, like Brielle, believed that they would come back someday, but it was a hope buried beneath mountains of years of truth.
“It looks just as I remembered it,” Luci said quietly.
And so it did. It was just as big, just as gaudy. Blue and gold trim were warring with each other for dominance till it looked like they had merged into one. Mostly, it was what the ornate walls held inside that made Luci feel as if she might lose what food she had been able to force down. Wealthy aristocracy playing at battles of wits and words when their hearts were filled with rot. Time was a powerful being, but it could not erase the memories from ten years ago.
“What a shame such a proud house name went to such a weakling.”
The words and memory rushed her as if summoned by the proximity to the cursed castle. Her cheek stung with phantomhands, and without thinking, she raised her hand to her face. The imprint had long since faded, but some scars were embedded too deep to carve out.
“Mask on, sweets.” Lady Margaret said, raising her own fiercely gold mask to her face.
Luci did as she was asked, hoping that a mask was enough to make an orphan pass for an aristocrat for a few hours. When the carriage pulled up to the stone steps inlaid with a deep crimson carpet, with an obnoxious rose with wisps of gold erupting from its pedals. The crest of the royal family of Meridean. The Vencias.