Revival - Chapter 222 The Southern Ball

Chapter 222 The Southern Ball

The hour was the first thing everyone questioned.

The ball would begin late.

Not merely after supper, when summer twilight still lingered over the valley, but well after darkness had settled across the southern lands of Avalon. The musicians would not formally begin until the evening was fully established, and the great hall would not open for dancing until long after most noble households would normally have lit every lamp they intended to burn.

Matron Flavia Bellacor took breakfast beside the windows of her chamber while her senior maid reviewed the day’s arrangements.

“The gardens will open during the late afternoon, my lady. Refreshments and music will continue until sunset, after which the guests will prepare for the ball.”

Flavia lowered her cup.

“The ball will begin after nightfall? Will it truly be held so late?”

“Yes, my lady. We confirmed that there will first be a garden party, followed by the ball once darkness has settled.”

“How very odd.”

Flavia looked toward the enormous windows overlooking the southern valley.

“This manor is unique. It is bold and beautiful, yet everything about it was designed to capture the daylight. The great windows, the open terraces, and even the position of the galleries celebrate the view and invite the sun inside. To hold the ball so late must require extraordinary expense.”

She lifted her cup again, considering the matter.

“Perhaps Avalon merely intends to display its wealth.”

Even so, she could scarcely imagine the cost in candles and lamp oil required to illuminate such an enormous household.

“There was one other strange detail,” her maid said. “I asked whether the ballroom would use beeswax or tallow candles, knowing how the smell of tallow displeases you. The Avalonian servants told me they had received no instructions concerning the manor’s lighting.”

Flavia slowly returned her cup to its saucer.

“No instructions whatsoever?”

“None, my lady.”

Her attention drifted back toward the sunlit windows.

A late ball, an immense manor, and no preparations for candles or oil could not be an oversight.

A small smile touched her lips.

“It appears Avalon has arranged another surprise for us.”

By the end of breakfast, questions had begun to spread to every Matron.

By midmorning, theories had followed.

Then another detail emerged.

The ball might not begin until late, but the festivities would begin considerably earlier.

House Avalon had arranged a garden party.

The gardens and broad southern terraces would open during the late afternoon, allowing the visiting matrons, their young ladies, and the arriving southern nobility to gather while sunlight remained. Tables would be established beneath the trees and along the terraces, with light wines, chilled juices, fruit, pastries, cheeses, and smaller dishes served throughout the afternoon.

Musicians would perform outside.

Several games had been prepared upon the lawns.

The fountains would be opened fully, while the paths through the gardens had been decorated with ribbons and flowers.

The announcement immediately made more sense.

It also created another question.

Why separate the garden gathering from the ball?

Nobody received a useful answer.

Lady Seraphine found that increasingly amusing.

The Southern Manor had hosted the Matrons' Council long enough that Avalon's household had learned an important truth concerning the great women of the kingdom.

Matrons noticed everything.

They noticed flowers changed between breakfast and supper, servants assigned to unfamiliar corridors, and chairs moved without an obvious purpose. They noticed musicians arriving through service gates and additional wine coming from Litus Solis.

They certainly noticed when gardeners began preparing the lawns for several hours of afternoon entertainment while the servants inside the manor were instructed not to prepare the usual quantity of candles for the evening.

That last detail circulated particularly quickly.

Nobody explained it.

That only made everyone more interested.

By sunrise, the Southern Manor had already become an organized campaign.

Council furniture disappeared from the great hall first. Desks that had supported weeks of political debate were carried into adjoining rooms, followed by smaller tables around which those debates had invariably continued after everyone supposedly finished for the day.

Servants polished floors, hung banners, carried flowers, arranged serving pieces, and transformed the terraces overlooking the gardens.

Outside, preparations possessed an entirely different character.

Tables appeared beneath flowering trees. Bright cloths were stretched above several areas to provide shade. Benches and chairs were arranged around the fountains, while a smaller group of musicians tested their instruments beneath a temporary pavilion.

The lawns nearest the manor were left deliberately open.

That interested several younger ladies watching from their windows.

Something was clearly intended there.

Nobody told them what.

The entire day seemed designed around anticipation.

The garden party would begin first.

Then the sun would descend.

Only afterward would the manor doors open for the ball.

Whatever House Avalon intended between those moments remained unexplained.

Officially, the evening belonged to Lord Branric of Litus Solis and his son Marcus.

Lady Seraphine Avalon and Matron Elena Avalon had extended them the honor of serving as the ball's representative hosts, an intentional recognition of Litus Solis and the southern nobility that had supported Avalon throughout the gathering.

Everyone understood the courtesy.

Everyone also understood reality.

Lord Branric and Marcus would greet the guests.

They would formally welcome the Matrons' Council and the southern nobility.

They would open the evening beside House Avalon.

Everything else remained firmly under Avalon's control.

The manor belonged to Avalon. The White Company controlled the gates, Avalonian servants controlled the household, and Lady Ventresca controlled those servants with an efficiency that occasionally suggested the Warden himself would require permission before moving a chair.

Lord Branric understood the arrangement perfectly.

More importantly, he possessed enough confidence to enjoy the honor without pretending otherwise.

Lord Branric stood upon the upper terrace, watching the gardens below. His son Marcus joined him, following his gaze toward several young gentlemen gathering near the eastern lawn.

“This garden party matters more than the ball,” Branric said.

Marcus glanced toward him. “Because there is no formal order to it.”

“Precisely. Every local lord has been given access to matrons they might otherwise meet only at court. A conversation beneath a tree may appear harmless, yet by tomorrow it could become a trade agreement, an alliance, or the beginning of a marriage.”

Below them, both men envisioned a young southern noble approaching three young ladies beside the fountain.

Marcus sighed. “Or the beginning of an insult.”

“That is the danger,” Branric replied. “Our matrons understand what this gathering represents. Our young men see pretty women, open wine, and an opportunity to demonstrate qualities they do not possess.”

“You speak as though you were never young.”

“I was young. That is why I am concerned.”

Branric closed his eyes briefly.

“Speak with them,” he instructed. “Remind them that these young ladies are accompanied by women who remember discourtesy for generations.”

“And if youthful exuberance proves stronger than good judgment?”

“Then ensure it encounters you before it encounters a matron.”

Marcus looked toward the gardens and sighed.

“Suddenly, hosting the ball seems simpler.”

Branric smiled faintly. “That is because the dangerous part has already begun.”

For the southern nobility, however, the afternoon represented considerably more than entertainment.

Lady Seraphine was considering those implications when she found Lady Alessa and Lady Ventresca near the entrance of the great hall shortly after breakfast.

Ventresca already carried the writing board that seemed permanently attached to her during any large household event. Three servants waited nearby for instructions, while two others remained far enough away to pretend they were not listening.

Soon, young noblemen began to “ride” near the manor, finding reasons to water their horses.  Lady Alessa stood beside one of the great windows overlooking the courtyard.

Seraphine followed her gaze.

"How many unattached young men have suddenly discovered a compelling reason to visit us?"

Ventresca consulted her list.

"Would you prefer the official number?"

"I would prefer the actual number." Lady Seraphine said.

"Those are unfortunately different numbers."

Alessa laughed.

Seraphine regarded her. "You find this amusing only because you don’t have a young daughter."

"I have still spent enough time around young men to recognize the warning signs," responded Alessa.

"Then you should find it terrifying."

Ventresca permitted herself a smile.

Several families had interpreted their invitations generously. Younger sons had appeared beside elder brothers, nephews accompanied uncles, and cousins who had not visited the Southern Manor in years had suddenly rediscovered their devotion to family obligations.

One young noble had even returned from an extended hunting expedition two days earlier than expected.

"Remarkable timing," Seraphine murmured.

"Eligible young women possess a powerful influence upon travel schedules," Alessa replied.

"Especially eligible young women accompanied by powerful matrons of the great houses."

"Those appear even more inspiring."

Their amusement lasted only briefly.

Seraphine watched another pair of young gentlemen crossing the courtyard.

"Will they behave?"

Alessa considered the question.

"Most of them probably will."

"That answer contains too many qualifications."

Ventresca looked up from her board.

"Lord Marcus has already spoken with several of them."

Seraphine remained unconvinced.

"Marcus remains young enough to remember how they think."

"That is precisely why Lord Branric asked him to intervene."

Young men possessed a remarkable ability to abandon judgment when introduced to attractive young women.

Pride encouraged the worst of them.

Wine assisted everything else.

A young noble who appeared perfectly sensible among his father's retainers might suddenly feel compelled to describe horses nobody had asked about, battles he had barely witnessed, or an income that technically belonged to his family.

Lady Alessa folded her arms.

"The young ladies will hardly be innocent participants."

"I am also aware," Seraphine responded.

"Several have spent weeks surrounded by matrons, priests, tutors, and one another. Now we are going to put them into a garden filled with handsome young men."

Ventresca sighed. "Followed by dancing in a ballroom."

"Precisely." Seraphine could hardly disagree.

Several of the younger women had spent the council enjoying freedoms they rarely experienced at home. They had explored the gardens, visited the Hollow, formed friendships across political divisions, encountered strange magic, and spent hours talking among themselves beyond their households' immediate supervision.

Now they would dance.

Before that, they would have several hours in a garden.

"Perhaps we should worry equally about both sides," Seraphine admitted.

"That would be prudent," Ventresca replied.

Marcus joined them before the conversation could continue.

He had apparently heard enough while approaching to understand the subject.

"They will behave," he promised.

Three women looked toward him.

Marcus stopped. "Most of them will behave."

"Better," Alessa replied.

Seraphine studied him. "Most?"

Marcus sighed. "Roderic Valeran concerns me."

Lady Alessa immediately understood. "Of course he does."

Roderic Valeran was twenty years old, the second son of a prosperous southern noble family, and had been blessed with enough physical beauty to ensure that nobody had allowed him to forget it.

He was tall, broad through the shoulders, accomplished with horses and a sword, and excessively proud of every favorable feature the gods had granted him.

Unfortunately, Roderic also drank.

He drank enthusiastically.

Worse still, he possessed the unfortunate conviction that every additional cup made him more charming than the previous one had managed.

Seraphine regarded Marcus.

"Why is he attending?"

"Because excluding his family would create considerably greater difficulties than admitting him."

The answer was politically sound.

Seraphine still disliked it.

Marcus continued before she could object. "I have assigned someone to watch him."

Ventresca lowered her writing board. "You assigned a guard to one guest?"

"An unobtrusive guard," Marcus confirmed.

"Does Roderic know?" Ventresca asked

"Absolutely not." He responded.

Alessa smiled.

"What are his instructions?"

"Watch his drinking, discourage adventures upon the upper terraces, and remove him politely if he forgets that every pretty woman here possesses relatives capable of remembering an insult for generations."

Seraphine regarded Marcus more favorably.

"Perhaps you are qualified to manage them."

Marcus bowed.  "I shall treasure that praise."

Ventresca pointed toward the corridor where a new group of young men gathered. "Treasure it somewhere more useful."

Marcus departed with appropriate haste.

Alessa watched him go.

"The younger ones are manageable."

Ventresca nodded. "The older guests concern me more."

That ended the humor in the conversation.

Young men might boast.

Older men calculated.

Older women frequently calculated better.

Every experienced southern noble arriving that afternoon would understand precisely who had gathered beneath Avalon's roof. They would recognize daughters approaching marriageable age, younger sisters of heirs, widows controlling valuable property, and matrons whose approval could transform a pleasant introduction into a relationship between houses.

The visiting matrons would be doing precisely the same thing.

The garden party made that easier.

People could circulate without formal introductions. A mother could observe a young man speaking with her daughter without appearing to supervise them. An older noble could join another family beneath a tree with nothing more threatening than a cup of wine.

By the time the dancing began, half the room might already know whom they wished to meet again.

"They will be measuring our nobles," Alessa said.

"And their children," Ventresca added.

Seraphine nodded.

Nobody pretended otherwise.

That was when the first crate arrived.

The wagon came from the Hollow shortly before midday, passing through the service gate beneath the escort of six workers and a White Company soldier.

The wooden container occupied nearly half the wagon bed.

Six men were required to unload it.

The second crate arrived fifteen minutes later.

That was when concealment became impossible.

Two young ladies noticed from an upper gallery. Another appeared beside them moments later, followed by a maid who had obviously been dispatched by someone unwilling to reveal her own curiosity.

Matron Elena arrived before the second crate reached the service entrance.

She stood beside Seraphine and watched the laborers maneuver it toward the manor.

“This came from Caelen’s Hollow, I presume?”

"From my son." Seraphine sighed

Elena nodded.

“Yes, that is precisely what I feared.”

Lady Alessa retrieved the instructions attached to the second crate and handed them toward Ventresca.

Ventresca read them carefully.

"Both crates are to be placed within the western service room. The doors are to remain locked, and “nobody” is permitted to open them until Lord Caelen arrives."

She stopped reading.

Elena noticed. “And what else has he written?”

Ventresca looked toward her. "He wrote that the nobody specifically included Avalon’s matrons."

Elena held out her hand.

After reading the instructions herself, she looked toward Seraphine.

“Your son is acquiring a regrettable taste for impertinence.”

Seraphine smiled. "That comes from his father."

Elena nodded without hesitation. “Of that, I have not the slightest doubt.”

Lady Alessa laughed.

Elena folded the parchment.

“Eldric was much the same at that age, though in time he learned to conceal it beneath rather better manners.”

"I shall tell him his mother said so,"  Serephine said in a not-quite-mocking tone.

“You will do no such thing,” Elena stated.

Soon the crates disappeared into the manor.

Their existence did not.

By luncheon, nearly every matron knew something unusual had arrived from the Hollow under Caelen's personal instructions.

Nobody knew what the crates contained.

That uncertainty made the surprise of them considerably more interesting.

Some younger ladies suspected magical devices. Others suggested elaborate gifts, while one became convinced that something alive occupied the larger crate despite having no evidence supporting her theory.

The matrons were more cautious.

They had learned enough about Avalon to become suspicious whenever the young Lord Caelen arranged something without explanation.

More importantly, several details were beginning to gather.

The pieces were beginning to form an unmistakable pattern: the unusually late ball, the absence of candles, the two mysterious crates, and a garden party carefully arranged to occupy the hours between afternoon and darkness.

Someone had clearly designed the day to ensure that every guest would remain outside until sunset.

Nobody yet understood why, but as that realization spread among the matrons, their curiosity only deepened.

By midafternoon, the manor began changing again.

The first formal guests descended into the gardens.

Bright gowns appeared among the terraces and shaded walks, while matrons settled beneath trees with wine and refreshments. Southern nobles arrived through the gates and were directed toward the gardens rather than the great hall.

The atmosphere became lighter almost immediately.

Young ladies and men gathered around the lawn games. Older women established conversational territories beneath shaded pavilions. Young southern nobles discovered opportunities to introduce themselves without the terrifying formality of approaching a woman across a ballroom floor beneath the direct observation of her entire family.

Their mothers watched anyway.

So did the matrons.

Somewhere behind all of it, Caelen remained busy.

He had spent an unusual amount of time around the kitchens throughout the day.

Nobody understood why.

The cooks clearly knew something.

Unfortunately, whatever Caelen was preparing had been divided among enough servants that nobody seemed to possess the entire answer.

Lady Seraphine suspected that arrangement was deliberate.

Late in the afternoon, a kitchen steward approached the terrace where Seraphine, Elena, Ventresca, and Alessa had gathered briefly between obligations.

Two cooks followed him.

All three men looked exhausted.

Ventresca noticed immediately. "What happened?"

"Nothing unfortunate, my lady," the steward volunteered.

"That expression suggests otherwise."

The steward glanced toward Seraphine before looking toward Elena.

"Lord Caelen has developed another item for this evening."

Four women stared at him.

Seraphine answered first. "Another item?"

"He says it should be served during the ball."

Alessa immediately became interested. "What has he made?"

The steward hesitated. "He specifically asked us not to name it, but..."

Elena’s eyebrows rose. “He presumed to include his grandmother in that prohibition?”

The man's expression became miserable.

"Especially to his grandmother."

Seraphine laughed before she could stop herself.

Elena did not.

Ventresca rescued the steward.

"What does Caelen require?"

"Another serving table, additional small bowls, more spoons, and the finer flatware from the second pantry."

"How much more?" She asked.

"Enough for every guest."

Ventresca closed her eyes.

The others wisely remained silent.

After several moments, she looked first toward Seraphine and then toward Elena.

"You need to make that boy sleep."

Seraphine laughed. Elena sighed.

"I have attempted that," his mother declared.

"Then attempt it more vigorously."

Alessa was openly amused.

Ventresca pointed toward the manor.

"He has spent days arranging mysterious crates, interfering with my kitchens, changing serving requirements, and apparently inventing new things while I am trying to host the nobility of half the kingdom."

"That sounds like Caelen," Seraphine replied.

"That is precisely the problem."

Elena smiled faintly. “His father was considerably worse, I assure you.”

Seraphine looked toward her. "You cannot blame Eldric for everything."

“I brought him into this world. I believe that grants me particular authority where his faults are concerned.”

Even Ventresca surrendered to laughter.

Beyond them, the garden party continued.

The sun had begun touching the western hills.

That realization gradually changed the gathering.

Conversations drifted toward the terraces.

Young ladies who had spent the afternoon playing games began noticing the deepening sky. Musicians finished one piece and quietly began packing their instruments.

Nobody yet entered the manor.

That was strange.

The great hall should already have been blazing with candles.

Instead, its enormous windows were darkening with the sky.

The matrons noticed.

Of course they noticed.

One by one, women began looking toward the manor.

Then toward the servants.

Then toward one another.

Behind locked doors waited two enormous crates from the Hollow.

Inside the kitchens waited another secret Caelen refused to explain.

Lord Branric and Marcus would soon assume their places as the represented hosts of the evening.

The southern nobles had spent the afternoon meeting the kingdom.

The matrons had spent the afternoon measuring the South.

Now the last sunlight stretched across the terraces, turning the windows of the Southern Manor briefly golden before beginning to fade.

Still nobody lit the candles.

Still nobody opened the ballroom.

Around the gardens, conversation gradually softened as curiosity replaced it.

For the first time, the strange hour of the ball no longer seemed inconvenient.

It seemed deliberate.

Whatever Caelen and House Avalon intended to reveal, they had been waiting all day for one final guest to arrive.

Darkness.

The Surprise

The summons came as the last direct sunlight disappeared beyond the western gardens.

A footman crossed the terrace with considerably more purpose than any servant had shown during the leisurely final hour of the garden party. He approached Lord Branric first, bowed, and spoke quietly enough that only Marcus beside him could hear. Whatever message passed between them caused the older lord to glance toward the manor before looking back toward the servant.

Marcus followed his father's gaze.

Neither man appeared enlightened.

The footman bowed again before crossing toward Lady Seraphine, Matron Elena, Lady Ventresca, and Lady Alessa.

"My ladies, Lord Caelen asks that you join Lord Branric and Lord Marcus near the main entrance."

Seraphine looked immediately toward the manor.

"Is he ready?"

The footman maintained the remarkable neutrality cultivated by servants who survived long service within noble households.

"He said everything is prepared, my lady."

That was not quite the answer Seraphine wanted.

Around them, the garden party was already changing.

Nobody had announced anything, yet House Avalon's senior family moving toward the main terrace accomplished what an announcement would have done. Conversations shortened as people noticed. Groups that had spent the afternoon scattered throughout the gardens began drifting toward the manor, first casually and then with considerably less pretense.

The musicians noticed as well.

Their current piece softened toward its conclusion, and no new melody followed.

Without music filling the gardens, the murmur of several hundred conversations suddenly seemed much louder.

The matrons had begun gathering together.

Some remained seated along the upper terrace, while others stood in small clusters beneath the trees nearest the manor. Younger ladies gathered around them, bright evening gowns replacing much of the lighter clothing worn during the afternoon.

A short distance beyond them stood the young men.

They were pretending not to stare.

They were failing magnificently.

Seraphine noticed several young southern nobles standing together near one of the fountains, their attention fixed upon a cluster of young women from the council. One gentleman appeared to be receiving urgent advice from two companions before approaching them.

He took three steps.

One of the matrons looked toward him.

He reconsidered immediately.

Lady Alessa noticed.

"Perhaps they possess survival instincts after all."

"Give them wine," Ventresca replied. "We shall discover how long those instincts survive."

Seraphine smiled, although her attention had already returned toward the manor.

The windows were nearly dark now.

Still no candles appeared.

That had become impossible to ignore.

The northern matrons seemed particularly fascinated. Several had spent portions of the afternoon discussing the expense of illuminating a manor this size. In contrast, others had quietly examined the light visible through the windows and reached the same conclusion.

Their existing lamps and candles simply were not enough.

Something was coming.

The remarkable thing was how eagerly they awaited it.

These were women accustomed to royal courts, great temples, ancient estates, military ceremonies, elaborate weddings, and generations of noble excess. Many had spent decades cultivating expressions designed specifically to conceal surprise.

Yet they waited, expecting, like young girls.

Several seemed aware of that themselves.

Matron Flavia Bellacor laughed softly when she realized she had drifted several steps closer to the entrance without consciously deciding to move.

"This place is becoming dangerous."

Another matron glanced toward her.

"Why?"

"I have discovered that I am always expecting something."

That earned knowing smiles.

Avalon had already given them sufficient reason.

They had seen the Hollow.

They had seen strange medicines and unfamiliar crafts. They had encountered fairies, tasted foods they had never known, received gifts they had not expected, and watched Avalon's youngest generation treat discoveries as though impossible things were merely problems awaiting sufficient attention.

Now there had been two mysterious crates.

A late ball.

An unexplained shortage of candles.

The matrons had learned enough to anticipate the unexpected.

That realization pleased some of them considerably more than they would have admitted.

It worried Lady Seraphine.

She stood beside Matron Elena near the entrance while Lord Branric and Marcus waited several paces ahead.

“Have you any notion what he intends?” Elena murmured.

“Indeed, we have not.”

“You are his mother, my dear.”

"You are his grandmother."

Neither argument helped.

Lady Ventresca stood beside them, watching the servants with increasing suspicion.

"I know where every chair in this manor has been placed tonight, and somehow I still do not know what is happening inside my own ballroom."

Lady Alessa smiled.

"That must be painful."

"Deeply."

Seraphine looked toward the closed doors.

Expectations had become dangerously high.

She loved her son dearly.

That did not prevent her from understanding that Caelen occasionally possessed a spectacular inability to recognize the difference between something interesting to him and something appropriate before half the kingdom.

She leaned slightly toward Elena.

"Please let him avoid embarrassing us."

Elena looked at her.

“You mean Caelen?”

"Who else?"

Elena considered the doors.

“Then perhaps a prayer would not be misplaced.”

Seraphine almost laughed.

Then something sounded inside the manor.

Metal scraped against metal.

The laughter disappeared.

Another sound followed.

A heavy clinking rolled through the entry hall beyond the doors.

Then came the unmistakable rattle of chains.

Several nearby conversations stopped.

Seraphine looked toward Ventresca.

"What was that?"

Ventresca looked equally confused.

"Chains."

"I know what chains sound like."

"Then why did you ask?"

Another metallic groan came from somewhere above the great hall.

The sound traveled through the closed doors and into the gathering twilight.

Now everyone heard it.

The matrons looked toward one another.

Several young men moved instinctively closer. A priest near the rear of the gathering stopped speaking altogether, while one of the younger ladies laughed nervously and asked whether Avalon traditionally chained its musicians to the ceiling.

Nobody answered her.

Lady Elena's expression became severe. “What, precisely, is my grandson attempting?”

Seraphine had no answer.

Inside, something heavy moved again.

Chains sounded again.

Then everything became silent.

A pair of servants emerged through one of the smaller side doors.

They immediately began directing the remaining guests toward the broad terrace before the main entrance. Whatever uncertainty the strange sounds had produced now became concentrated anticipation.

Lord Branric looked toward Marcus.

Marcus shrugged.

"Do not look at me," Marcus said. "You are supposedly hosting this."

"Apparently only officially." Branric

That earned several laughs from those close enough to hear.

Another servant emerged.

This one approached Lord Branric directly and whispered into his ear.

Branric listened without interruption.

His eyebrows rose once.

He glanced toward the doors.

Then he looked toward Caelen's family.

The confusion remained upon his face, but the servant had apparently given him instructions clear enough to follow.

Lord Branric stepped forward.

The remaining conversations faded.

"My lords and ladies, honored matrons, and distinguished guests, I have been informed that everything within is finally prepared."

A little laughter followed his choice of words.

Branric smiled.

"I have also been informed that I am not permitted to explain anything further, largely because nobody has seen fit to explain it to me."

The laughter grew considerably warmer.

Even Elena smiled.

Branric turned slightly toward the manor.

"Therefore, with considerably more curiosity than a proper host should probably admit, I have the honor of inviting you all to enter the ballroom."

For several heartbeats, nothing happened.

Then the great double doors opened.

Golden light poured through them.

A collective sound moved across the terrace.

It was not applause.

It was something rarer among experienced nobles.

Astonishment.

The light did not flicker like candlelight.

It did not possess the harsh white brilliance of powerful essence magic, nor the orange instability of burning oil.

It was warm.

Steady.

Golden.

The entire entrance hall beyond the doors seemed filled with it.

Through the tall exterior windows, the effect became even more startling. Windows that had been black only moments earlier now shone from within, transforming the Southern Manor into something almost luminous against the gathering darkness.

Lady Seraphine forgot herself first.

She simply walked forward.

Matron Elena followed immediately.

Ventresca lasted perhaps two seconds longer before abandoning whatever protocol required Lord Branric to enter before them.

Lady Alessa came directly behind her.

Marcus watched the four women disappear through the doors.

"Excellent hosting, Father."

Lord Branric laughed.

"Apparently we follow."

Inside, Seraphine stopped.

She could not help herself.

Neither could Elena.

Above the center of the great hall floated an enormous sphere of glass.

Another hung farther along the ballroom.

They were beautiful.

Each glass sphere was almost perfectly round and large enough that a person might have struggled to encircle it with both arms. A broad wooden ring embraced the middle of each globe, the wood polished almost black and worked with subtle carved patterns.

Bronze chains descended from the ceiling.

At first glance, they appeared to suspend the lights.

Then Seraphine understood why the chains had sounded so strange.

They were not holding the spheres upward.

They were holding them down.

The glass globes were floating.

Several bronze chains attached to each wooden ring descended under tension toward fixtures anchored into the walls and supports, controlling the position of something that apparently wanted to rise toward the ceiling.

Within each sphere grew moss.

At least, Seraphine thought it was moss.

It covered an interior framework in soft layers and delicate curling strands, yet every portion of it glowed with rich golden radiance.

There was no flame.

There was no smoke.

There were no candles requiring replacement and no oil waiting to spill.

Only light.

Warm golden light filled the ballroom from end to end.

It reached into the adjoining corridors through open arches and reflected from polished wood, glass, bronze, and pale stone. The enormous windows that made the manor so beautiful during daylight now multiplied the effect, catching the glow and throwing it back across the room.

The Southern Manor had been designed for sunlight.

For the first time, it possessed its own.

Guests began entering behind them.

Their reactions repeated in waves.

Conversation stopped at the doorway, then began again inside, twice as intense.

"What is holding them?"

"They are floating."

"Where is the flame?"

"There isn't one."

"Is that essence?"

"Look at the chains."

"Why are they chained downward?"

"Because they would rise."

"That cannot possibly be right."

Then someone from the Hollow entered.

A young craftsman accompanying one of the service parties looked upward and immediately recognized what he was seeing.

"Sunmoss."

The word traveled.

A servant repeated it.

Then another voice answered from farther inside.

"That is sunmoss."

Several people from the Hollow began laughing in disbelief.

They knew of the plant.

The dwarves had found it growing in the deeper reaches around the Hollow, where it gathered light and gave back a soft glow after darkness. They had used small quantities around workshops and passages, while children occasionally delighted in seeing pieces carried into darkened rooms.

Nobody had imagined this.

The matrons began asking questions almost immediately, their practiced composure surrendering beneath a rising tide of excitement.

“How long will it remain illuminated?”

“Does it require essence, or does the moss create the light?”

“How much sunlight must it gather before—”

“Can it be transported?”

“Surely the glass must serve some purpose.”

“But why does the sphere float?”

“Is that the moss, or something hidden inside the frame?”

The questions came too quickly for anyone to answer, overlapping one another as matrons called across the ballroom and pressed closer beneath the glowing spheres.

Then a sharper voice rose above the others.

“How much would one cost?”

That last question came from three different directions.

Lady Alessa laughed.

"Now we have found the merchants among the matrons."

“They are matrons,” Elena replied. “When necessity requires it, every one of them becomes a merchant.”

Father Oren stood beneath one of the spheres with his head tilted backward, studying the glowing moss. Several other priests had gathered around him, their expressions ranging from admiration to deep intellectual discomfort.

The younger ladies were less restrained.

They moved directly beneath the nearest globe.

Several reached upward despite having no possibility of touching it. In contrast, others walked around beneath the sphere, examining the chains and trying to understand how something so large could simply hang upon the air.

The southern nobles reacted differently.

They looked first at the lights.

Then they looked at one another.

Seraphine noticed.

They understood what this might mean.

A noble house could illuminate a hall without burning hundreds of candles.

A merchant could illuminate a warehouse.

A healer could work through the night without smoke or flame.

Workshops could remain open after sunset.

Temples could illuminate sanctuaries.

Ships might carry light without open flames near sailcloth and rope.

The possibilities began multiplying almost as quickly as the questions.

Matron Elena stood beneath the nearest sphere and stared upward.

Her earlier anxiety had disappeared.

In its place came something considerably more dangerous.

Understanding.

“So this is why the ball was made to begin after dark.”

Seraphine looked around the transformed ballroom.

"Apparently."

Ventresca was still staring upward.

"How long has he been planning this?"

Lady Alessa smiled.

"Long enough to make certain none of us knew."

Outside the great windows, night had finally taken the gardens.

Inside, golden light shone across gowns, jewels, polished floors, and hundreds of astonished faces.

The matrons had entered expecting a ball.

They were already discussing mines, workshops, temples, estates, roads, shipping, cost, safety, and whether sunmoss could be cultivated beyond the Hollow.

Seraphine listened to the questions spreading around her.

Then she looked toward Elena.

"We have not even started dancing."

Elena's eyes remained upon the floating lights. “Indeed, we have not.”

A slow smile touched the older woman's face.

“And yet your son has already altered the course of every conversation in this hall.”