Eternal Winter

Golden Opportunities: Part IV

Before long the sun had set and we stood at the entrance of the Grand Hall, waiting in line of others dressed just as, or even more...expressive. Expressive of fashion or of wealth or of both. We passed along our invitation and were ushered inside without issue.

Passing through a long, twisting hallway lined with various statues stationed at several intervals, we arrived at the Grand Hall. The ceiling towered more than two stories high with smooth, stone supports curving up along the walls and arching to meet in the center. Glass panes were inlaid between the supports—these were dusted of any snow and allowed in the full moonlight of the First Moon of the new year. Glowing baubles of light, with flickering flames captured within, were stacked on chandeliers and sconces smattered throughout the hall. Together, they cast light onto a large, brightly-tiled floor decorated with narrow rugs along the sides of the room. It left the central most space clear for dancing. A second-floor walkway rimmed the entire room with a set of large doors on each side. Matching sets of stairs curled down to the floor and was crowding with more and more people.

We arrived just as the conference adjourned and the committee of Shifters had begun to trickle directly into the Grand Hall from the opposite door on the second floor. This was when most of the other guests not directly related to the conference had arrived as well—we were perfectly in place. Nonetheless, my heart continued to thrum, for as well as the space was lit, there was a cold undertone of darkness that seeped into it all.

I glanced to Julian just to my left, but nothing in his demeanor gave way to how he was feeling, he merely rolled his shoulders once and then stepped into the fray with a crooked grin on his face. Sammy was jittery at my side. He fiddled with his bowtie, straightening its already straight setting, but even still, he did not stray far from my side.

After another moment, music added to the cacophony of noise in the crowded space. There was a string quintet raised on a dais off to the left side of the room. The rest of the noise began to soften as the delicate music took up priority. Then, the people moved to the dance floor in pairs with hands held loosely together.

Sammy grabbed my hand and started to pull me forward, looking back at me with bright eyes and an eager smile. Although, my nerves reminded me of my past failures, I gave in to my excited brother, and we added to the dancing crowds.

As we spun, the scenery swirled around us. The gold-plated décor, the sweltering white lights, the too loud people in a too small space: it all blurred and was overlaid with sporadic images of other people, other decorations. Another place. 

A shot pierced through my head and the babble of the surrounding crowd was drowned out by familiar laughter and more jovial, twangy music. There was a flash of a small banner with Happy Birthday written in sloppy ink across it. Bright, warm, blinding light scattered across the bluest water with the gentlest waves dancing in it. The sweet smell of a bakery filled my head and swirled around with the whoosh of a breath.

My mind focused only on the memories that flooded in. I barely managed to keep upright with Sammy holding me up tightly. A worried frown peeked from under his mask. The music swiftly ended a few measures later, and he mutely guided me off the dance floor into one of the many chair that lined the hall's walls. I gave him a weak smile. He could not see the beads of sweat that pasted my hairline, nor the crinkling between my brows as I strained to remain calm. He hovered at my elbow for a few breaths. He would start to garner attention from the nervous glances he kept giving around.

"Go find him, if you must," I whispered to him. He took off like a shot, weaving between other partygoers with practiced ease. A skill he undoubtedly picked up from Julian.

I took in a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment, pretending I wasn't surrounded by crowds of people upon people. My breath always felt too light and my pulse too skittish when there were others around. Being contained this close made it worse. Regaining a piece of a lost memory did not help the cause, and, additionally, had me drained. Instead, I imagined the endless, wintery forests of Olym, where the only sounds were of skittering animals, the baying of a distant wolf, and the shuffling of the trees. Behind that, I could even fool myself into hearing the crackle of the wood in a firepit, warming me as I sat on the rugged floor of Teacher's cabin...

A gentle yet distressing caress on my shoulder immediately jolted me out of my stupor. My head snapped towards the perpetrator and I bit my tongue trying to hold back my initial outburst. I stood and nodded stiffly at the unfamiliar man. I clenched my hands tightly together and hoped it was enough to stop them from trembling. "Good evening, sir," I murmured.

The man grinned widely, his eyes squinty and his gaze disturbing behind his half-faced mask. His stance was too relaxed and his shoulders were far back, artificially puffing his chest out even further. "Good evening. I could not help but notice your dazzling form from across the room. I am Apprentice Theodore Hughes, to whom do I owe the pleasure of acquainting myself with?"

My smile felt more like a grimace, and I hoped it didn't show. "It is a pleasure, Mister Hughes. Please, call me...Olivia." It was Julian's suggestion, as an allusion for my home place.

He ran a hand over his well-slicked hair. "Well, Miss Olivia, may I have the honor of your hand for this dance?" He leaned forward with an outstretched hand landing a little too close. From the odd edge in his voice, he would not accept a refusal. If I did not want to attract attention, I would have to go with him.

Over his head, my eyes quickly bounced from one person to the next. Theodore Hughes peered up at me with a smooth, arched brow. Impatience glittered in his expectant stare. I quickly collected myself and replied with a soft, "Of course." 

As I placed my hand in his, they felt starkly different to the warm and calloused hands I had practiced with. Where Sammy's were worn rough from work and travel and Julian's from years of handling the hilt of a sword—this man's were cold and clammy and, otherwise, soft. What all had he accomplished to earn his place here?

I knew nothing of this man, but the one thing I did know: the hands I held were not claws.