Chapter 9
Keenan
Moira squirms, her elbow catching me unceremoniously in the temple. She doesn't notice. She is too focused on making herself comfortable and I keep my scowl to myself, rubbing the offending area bitterly.
"I'm bored." She whines and jiggles again. I dodge the limbs and decide to just be grateful I am not William. She sits upon his lap, her shoulders masking his view, but it is impossible to miss the agony on his face as she grinds his legs into these unforgiving benches.
"Shh." I hiss as the woman in the row in front of us turns around to glare. We sit at the back because we were meant not to draw attention (and only a little because Moira has made us late). But so far we have failed.
"Me too." William moans, displaying a perfect family resemblance.
"William," I chastise, "be quiet."
The priest at the altar continues to drone endlessly on. I am bored too. But Hugh was quite insistent we attend the ceremony and not just the reception. Being here has nothing to do with the plan. Hugh likes weddings.
I lean around the wriggling brother-sister duo so that I might look at his face staring reverently up at the happy couple. The expression Hugh wears is sickening. I do not think he has even noticed the drama unfolding between us.
"You're so bony William." Moira complains, bouncing her substantial eight-year-old body on William's bruised knees.
"Get off and sit on your own then." William snaps, earning us another dirty look.
"You shouldn't have brought her." I remind, "It's your own fault."
"What else was I supposed to do?" William hisses. "Father is away again."
"Leave her with the maid."
"I can't leave her with the maid, Keenan! She always gets left with the maid."
"The maid's dirty." Moira agrees with the certainty of a child. Karem must have taught her that. I know of only two people that would call the Montgomery maids dirty and her brother uses the word with an entirely different meaning.
"You do know this is completely unsuitable for a child, right?" I say, "You do remember why we're here?"
"It's fine, I can look after her."
"I give you two glasses of wine before you have a woman."
William leans back, trying to look casual. The image is only slightly ruined by the child on his lap.
"I am abstaining." He says, as though it were the world's greatest feat of achievement.
"It's been two days." I say. "You're really still waiting for your rooftop girl?"
"She could be at this party." He says.
"She won't be." I glare back at the woman in front of us as she turns this time. Disrespectful commoner. "And even if she was, you wouldn't be able to find her."
"Oh, Keenan, such the disbeliever." William jiggles Moira on his knee. "Uncle Keenan doesn't trust in fate, Moira." He says.
The little girl turns her face away from the distant bride and back to us. Her expression is like magic to me, exactly reminiscent of how I feel; gone lax with the tedium, her bright little eyes dulled.
"I'm bored." She sighs.
"Yeah, me too." I mutter as everyone around us stands. I think it is supposed to be for a hymn but I slouch. I will not be singing.
William prompts Moira to stand up on his knee and Hugh, released temporarily from his hypnotic state, takes her hand. I can hear Moira's crisp little voice as it rises above the rest. She sounds thoroughly disinterested and it quickly becomes clear she does not know the words. The tune is a familiar one to me, a heartening well-wish. The words 'There's a old man in a dress, he's so boooooring. I want to go home.' do not exactly fit in with my memory of the lyrics.
I smile, patting down the hideous rags I have had no choice but to wear. We were supposed to be incognito. So far, we have failed.
The song finishes and everyone sits down again. Someone at the front says something to the bride and she replies very shrilly. It does not sound like words.
"I want to go home." Moira huffs and jumps back onto William's lap. He groans.
"Shouldn't have brought her." I mumble, hiding the words sullenly beneath my breath.
"Why did we have to come?" Moira whines.
"Because we have to help Uncle Keenan." William mutters. "You like Uncle Keenan. You should want to help him."
"What did Uncle Keenan do?" Moira asks, fixing me with a firm stare. "Was it something very naughty?" Her eyes twinkle slightly in her mischief and I smile at the accusation but her lips are still clamped in a sullen pout.
"Uncle Keenan didn't do anything." William explains firmly, as though this were the most serious conversation in the world, "He was talking to a very rude serving girl and now we need to teach her a lesson."
"Why was he talking to a dirty serving girl?" Little Moira asks, sticking her fingers in her mouth. I am quite impressed, she has nearly an entire fist in there and she still manages to talk around it. "Colleen says they're all icky and messy and you mustn't touch them."
Whilst Moira's words are masked rather hypocritically by her knuckles - something I find quite icky myself - this is a regular habit of hers. I managed fluent translation years ago. As she speaks, I realise we have inadvertently stumbled upon a part of the conversation where we may have to choose our words heedfully.
"I was just trying to make friends with her." I say, treading carefully.
"We're not allowed to make friends with servants." Moira mumbles, kicking her feet despondently into her brother's shins. I sense a little resentment.
"And this is why." William says firmly, grimacing as he catches her ankles. "If we made friends with servants, we'd have to spend even more wasted time disciplining them."
Moira wriggles unhappily, freeing her legs.
"Why would he want to make friends with a naughty little serving girl?" She asks, glaring at me accusingly. I shrug.
And then I notice the expression on her brother's face.
William sniggers. I realise that the word 'naughty' has fallen casually into this conversation far too many times for his immature mind. I wait for him to realise it his Moira that has said the sentence before he makes an inappropriate comment.
William actually manages to get his mouth fully open before his brain catches on and his face drains. I chuckle, looking longingly across at Hugh. I wish the man would stop with his idolisation, he would have made a good joke at that.
Taking in a deep breath, William composes himself. He flashes me a quick wink and, somehow, I know that the next sentence will be a genius of metaphor.
"Well he wasn't really making friends with her, Moira," William says, perfectly seriously, "so much as sampling a quick taste of her friendship, just so he could see what it was like. If Uncle Keenan practices making friends with as many maids as he can now, he might be better in the future, when he wants to make friends with a real lady."
"He should have made friends with me." Moira huffs, crossing her arms. "I wouldn't have minded how good he was at making friends. I like him anyway and I'm already a real lady."
I snort. Her brother is simply not equipped for this level of double meaning.
William has always been lucky. I think it has something to do with his attitude. But even as the laughter escapes his lips the room erupts into applause.
It would appear we have missed the vows.
"Told you this wasn't an appropriate situation for a child." I gloat as the woman in front of us treats us to a final withering look before she joins the mass of people filing out. "And look at her;" I gesture to Moira's sparkling purple dress. "We were supposed to blend in. She's wearing dragon scales."
"I'm a princess." Moira pouts.
"Yes," I sigh, "I got that."
"It was the only way to get her out the house." William hisses.
I tug at the corners of my hideous tweed coat. I had to raid the servant laundry to get hold of this. It is disgusting and it reeks that horrible sweet magic smell.
"What's the point in this," I ask, "if she was going to wear that?"
Moira disappears up into the air as Hugh plucks her from a grateful William's lap. He places her on a shoulder and fumbles around in a pocket for a cigar.
"A lady deserves to look beautiful." He says, locating what he was looking for and clamping the roll between his teeth before diving back in for a match. Moira giggles, instantly pacified by his returned presence.
"Well you would say that." I glower.
"Welcome back to sanity, Hugo." William mutters, bitterly. "Did you have fun?"
"I most certainly did, squire." Hugh repositions Moira slightly and she clings lovingly to the top of his head, coiling her tiny hands in his hair. "Not finished yet though, we still have The Walk to watch. Did you enjoy yourself, my love?" He asks of the girl on his shoulders.
"Uncle Keenan doesn't want me." She pouts, "He doesn't like my dress."
"Oh really?" Hugh remains unperturbed and silent for a second. He waits patiently for the room to empty and strikes the match, breathing in deeply through his cigar. Only after he has finished sighing the rich fumes casually into our faces, does he make his reply. "Uncle Keenan is only jealous." He says, placing a protective hand on the back of the girl's head. "He misses his jacket."
"Mourns more like." I sigh.
"Not a chance!" William exclaims, grinning as Hugh begins to negotiate his way out of the room. We follow. "It didn't make it?" He asks.
I shake my head woefully.
"It was Rhion velvet." I sigh. "Rhion velvet."
William cackles, grabbing my shoulder in a tight grip.
"Thank the gods!" He exclaims, "That thing was hideous."
"Hideous!?" I slot easily in behind Hugh as he joins the queue for the door, Moira's head bobbing above the flow, a lot more cheerful now that she has been reunited with her betrothed. "You were the one trying to help save it."
"Oh no, oh no." William shakes his head. "That thing deserved to die years ago. I was just trying to upset Hugh. Everyone knows what happens when Rhion velvet gets wet."
An old woman jostles my arm and I treat her to the full front of my glare. I am not used to disrespect from commoners and I keep forgetting I am dressed as one.
Poor jacket. People know what you are when you wear Rhion.
"Of course I didn't like it, Keenan. What do you take me for? Dragon-kin, boy, it was purple!"
"I like purple."
"So what happened to it?" William asks.
"My shirt was too thin. It didn't just get wet. It was sodden."
William nods thoughtfully. Everybody knows what happens to Rhion velvet.
"What colour is it now?"
I sigh forlornly.
"It's still purple, but so is my shirt, my stomach, and my underwear."
I pull up my top to show him my poor stained body.
"It suits you."
"I've bathed twelve times."
"Did you scrub really hard at it?"
"Of course I did."
William nods knowingly.
"That's a bruise." He says.
"No it's not."
"Yes. It is."
An entire fist thuds into my stomach.
"Ow!"
"See. Bruise."
"Maybe now." I mutter bitterly, rubbing away the sting.
"Boys might I request a little decorum?" Hugh asks, his mockery colouring the words only slightly. "Just a little longer and we can return to our task."
He sweeps an arm out, gesturing to the doorway. Moira giggles, clinging to his hair as Hugh's garish motion threatens to topple her.
I sigh and precede William into the reception room. He trots happily after and Hugh swings into place behind.
The reception is packed, people crowded all the way back to the walls. It is a large hall but simple. I do not exactly know what I had expected from a common function but this is certainly far less dressy than my previous wedding experience. I'm not sure why, but something about the atmosphere is appealing. Nobody has even started drinking yet.
No one is trying to impress anyone else.
I think I like it.
"There's no space." William whines. "And everyone smells funny."
I take in a breath and nod. Magic. It hangs thickly around these people. Low, working people. I like their attitude but I cannot help but feel tainted by the presence. I accept that magic is useful but am glad I am of a class that does not need to use it.
"I'm going to the front." Hugh announces suddenly, "I can't see anything from here. The Walk is the most important part."
"We're not pushing to the front." I say. Even at the doorway the magic smell is strong. I do not want to force my way through to its densest part.
"Moira can't see." Hugh pouts.
"Moira doesn't care."
But Hugh is already leaving, shouldering past withered hags and eager, but oddly sober, young men.
William throws me a glance. I sigh and look back to the wide swath our broad shouldered friend has left behind him.
"Come on." I growl and leap into the temporary opening. It would not be right to leave him alone.
"Hugh." I hiss, too many minutes of struggle later. "Stop now. This is close enough."
We are almost at the front. A scowling trail coils away behind us, all the way to the door, and our incognito is officially ruined.
I am ignored but William leans forward to murmur in my ear.
"We kind of are more important than these people, Keenan. If Hugh wants to go to the front, you shouldn't stop him."
"We have no issue with the bride." I say, wondering if it was the right idea to extract our revenge this way. This punishment is being done in my name, but I'm not exactly sure I want to be held responsible. "We should make as much effort as we can not to ruin her day."
"Our presence honours her, Keenan." William hisses, placating. "I don't see why you should forget your place all of a sudden."
"That's the problem, Will. This isn't my place. This is their place, with their magic and their scowls and their strange traditions."
"Wait for the alcohol, Keenan. Wait for the girls. You'll see their gratitude soon enough."
William points to Hugh, just one row from the front. I cringe as he makes his way into the ranks of the first line; the men in suits and the bridesmaids in their cheap, shiny dresses.
"Come now." William prompts, pushing me forwards.
I pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders, huff, and stride forwards. People are looking, I know they are, but I sidle to a stop beside Moira and Hugh and keep my eyes strictly forwards. William pushes in next, shoving me across to one side. My shoulder barges into a slender bridesmaid and she almost topples.
I launch out to save her, expecting a scene, a poor girl spread-eagled on the floor. But somehow she remains standing, somehow she is smooth, is calm, and has righted herself instantly.
"Dragon-kin!" I hiss, elbowing William as she brushes herself down. He glowers.
"Sorry miss." I fumble, expecting a mouthful. Women get particularly self-important at weddings.
But the maid just shrugs, staring blankly out toward where the newlyweds prepare themselves for The Walk.
I tilt my head, caught instantly by the pose. I've seen it before, I know I have. But no one noble would stand that way, no one noble should even be here.
"It's ok." She murmurs. "People don't usually bother with their sorries."
"Well let it never be said that Keenan Nottinghan was not a gentleman." I mutter absently, allowing the charm to run smoothly from my tongue. But my attention is elsewhere, the words dead.
She has not even looked at me yet.
Her brow darkens, though she still remains intent on surveying the bride.
"Nottinghan is a noble name." She mutters dispassionately.
I blanch. How could I let such a simple thing slip? She will know I am here uninvited.
"You will want Melissa, they always do." The girl sighs eventually, unperturbed by the knowledge I have let slip, and gestures to a familiar face opposite. "She is on the other side of the Walkway."
I recognise the face of the woman we have come to punish and pat down my tweed sin-suit self-consciously. She chats harmlessly with the girl beside her, dark hair falling perfectly about her shoulders. In this one, crucial, sense the disguise seems at least to have worked.
"Thank you." I murmur absently, keeping an eye on my silky ingrate. Of them all, she is the only one able to make the cheap dresses look anything other than tacky. Something about the way she stands is always exotic.
"You're welcome." The girl beside me drawls. And I find my gaze drifting back to her stiff shoulders.
I correct my previous thought. The dress might remain ugly on this one, but in herself she is strangely... hypnotic. She watches the bride intently, that much is obvious - she hasn't moved her eyes once. But something about her, and I am already kicking myself as the thought drifts across my mind, something about her is focused further away.
A shiver runs up my spine.
I want to ask her name, but I am not William, I was not born lucky, and the room goes black.
Disappointing as it is, I must simply accept the turn in fate and remain patient. The lights will turn on again after The Walk and I will be able to soothe the itch of my curiosity.
My gaze drifts toward the beginning of The Walk and I am surprised to see one other beside the groom and his bride. As the unexpected companion's eyes flicker and magic swells, suddenly throwing a wide spotlight beam across the happy couple, I realise the meaning of her presence.
It is a common wedding. The bridegroom does not have enough money to pay a professional light-weaver to imbue him and his wife with the glow that the newlyweds don at every noble wedding. This girl with the spotlight magic is their cheap alternative.
"Never seen that before." William whispers.
"It's certainly unique." I say.
At William's other shoulder, I can already hear Hugh explaining the significance of this tradition to the little girl on his shoulders. His words drift softly over me as the pair begin their slow procession up through the guests.
"It's a symbol, my love." Hugh whispers. For once there is no sign of derision or mockery in his voice. I sigh. Hugh likes weddings. And as he explains their intimate detail to his future bride, his voice takes on a strangely disturbing reverence.
"The darkness represents the past," He says, "it represents all the struggles of their lives alone. The spotlight is hope and the sign of their future together. As they walk up the aisle, they symbolise their last few, dark moments of single life. The only light is on each other, on the hope of their future. As they reach the back of the hall, the main lights will turn back on, showing a future of companionship, a future filled entirely with hope and happiness. As the light touches everything again, they will be officially and completely married. It is, my love, quite possibly the most beautiful message in the world."
"There's something wrong with Hugh." William murmurs. "I think we ought to have him put down. It would be a kindness. He is sick."
I ignore his words and mimic the girl on my other side, watching the couple carefully. The Walk is quite a serious thing. In most noble weddings the couple are instructed to remain sombre in this moment and while the groom, a man easily a foot taller than the Moira-Hugh conglomeration, seems to keep to tradition, the woman at his side is completely unable to keep the grin from her face.
I smile as they draw near. The spotlight is not nearly as magical as the glow of noble ceremony but, somehow, that smile seems to make up for it.
"She looks so beautiful." I murmur softly, leaning down to whisper in the ear of the strange maid at my other side. "The light is lovely."
The glow in the darkness has blinded me slightly and I cannot see anything other than the brightly lit strangers. The maid's sigh seems completely bodiless, drifting out into the black.
"I will never have that." She whispers. And her voice is tiny. It is even, it is controlled, but it is tiny; so, so tiny. The protector hidden in every man wants to take her into my arms, this dirty, common woman, and prove her wrong.
I do not.
"My companion over there, the one with the girl," I gesture but it is pointless, she will not be able to see. "He tells me there is someone for everyone." I say. "The other one tells me there shouldn't be. He is quite happy to share everyone with everyone." I shrug. "Be thankful only that you will choose your love. That scenario is not likely for a man like me."
The girl snorts.
"I was not talking about love." She sneers.
"You were talking about the light?" I ask. "That is not so important, it doesn't matter if you cannot afford the magic. I have heard stories about people using lamps and candles and all kinds of things."
There is another sigh but this one is less mystical. I fear I am being stupid; she sounds frustrated.
"Money is not an important thing, noble-boy, I could afford a woman to use the magic on anyone but myself." She mutters as the glow loses focus, disappearing toward the final steps of The Walk. "The world takes for granted the important things."
"And what are the important things?" I ask. "Not money, not for an easy life? Not love? Tell me, I am curious now, what else could such a beautiful girl desire?"
Another sigh, the shuffle of movement. I wish I could see what she was doing.
"Would you have more?" I ask, joking a little. "How about the sky?" I chuckle. "We could find you a Dragon man, perhaps he could take for you the entire world."
"Dragon magic is dark magic." Not only is her snarl sudden but it is also further away, as though she had been leaving, as though she has only spoken because my words are so unbelievably offensive.
"My apologies," I murmur. "I meant no offence. There has been no Dragon magic here since then. I insinuate nothing."
"Insinuate nothing and know nothing. The important things are things to be dreamed of. Not everything is something Father can buy."
All my life I have been shown nothing more than the courtesy I deserve. And now, twice in the space of a week, I have been spoken to like a child.
I think, strangely, I might like it.
"So name them." I command, "tell me what is important to a woman who wants neither nothing nor everything."
She does not reply.
More movement. I step to follow it. But there are people everywhere. I cannot move.
And I am not William. I was not born lucky.
By the time the lamps switch back on, by the time hope and love and light have filled the room, she is already gone.
A.N. Dedicated to Oceancat, thanks for reading :D