Beneath Ceaseless Skies 008 by Scott H. Andrews

Author:Scott H. Andrews [Andrews, Scott H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Periodicals:Fantasy
Publisher: Beneath Ceaseless Skies Online Magazine
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

♦ ♦ ♦

It was the fifth masquerade I had attended at Chateau Décembre, and I swear Pascal fought to outdo himself each year. The ballroom was decorated as a winter wonderland, with strings of crystal wrapped around the columns and dangling from the chandeliers. Thick folds of white diamond-studded linen hung over the balcony railing, dripping all the way to the floor like a frozen waterfall. In place of the customary ice-sculptures and wax fruits, thousands of beadwork roses served as centerpieces on the massive banquet table.

Like his sister, Pascal had chosen his costume from the Metamorphoses: Orpheus, in a loose cobalt robe that brought out the blue in his eyes just as Celeste’s gown deepened the green. Instead of ribbons, he wore a crown of silk leaves in his black hair.

He greeted us at the foot of the balcony staircase, kissing his sister on the cheek and me on the wrist. “Leonide, love, I’m so pleased to see you’ve brought your own weapons to the ball this time.” He nodded towards the sword at my waist.

“Your grandfather’s suit of armor wasn’t using it, darling, and we all know Yvon was asking for it.” I smiled at the memory. “What about you, Orpheus? Do you plan on playing us a song?”

“Do you see a lyre anywhere?” Pascal gestured broadly, making his golden armlets ring together like bells. “If you’re looking for music, I’m sure Celeste will be happy to sing for you.”

I laughed and turned to ask Celeste’s opinion on the matter, but she was gone.

“Now where in the world....”

A silvery laugh sounded across the room, and I looked over to find Celeste standing at the far end of the banquet hall, deep in conversation with the Lord of Winter himself.

I’m not one for omens, but the young man’s costume sent a shiver down my spine. In addition to the black coat, white half-mask, and silver riding quirt that were the distinguishing features of my family’s legendary nemesis, he also carried a white rose in his pocket; a detail that, so far as I knew, was only included in the Sang d’Hivers’ tale. It didn’t help that the young man in question was extraordinarily beautiful, and Celeste clung onto every word he said.

“Who is that?” I asked, lowering my mask to get a better look. His hair and eyes, both the deep brown of a sparrow’s wing, seemed to trap the candlelight and grow darker by it.

“The lovely young man who seems to have attracted my sister’s attention? Who knows?” Pascal shrugged. “I’ve never seen him before. Some new pet of Rosemonde’s, no doubt.” He must have seen the expression on my face then, because his smile softened. “Never fear, Leonide. You know Celeste isn’t the flighty sort....”

“But she has a preference for men—particularly beautiful ones.” I raised my mask again. “No matter. I’d had or could have had every man and woman at your Bal Masqué last year, Pascal. Your wife’s exquisite little jewel will not put a stain on that record.

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