The Kingfisher

XXXV : Ailyn

The ballroom shined brighter than a star at its heart.

The marble floor was polished to perfection, emulating Ailyn's nostalgic grimace as she scanned the area. The walls were graced with delicate swirls of burnished gold and frames of kings and queens, nobles, dated faces. The ceiling soared to a glamorous dome, and the music from the ensemble at the corner of the room bounced on its surface and echoed throughout the room. Most of all, the twirling figures dancing and lingering in the middle of the ballroom were the most impressive ornaments of the palace tonight. She saw every texture she could fathom; satin skirts with lustrous beads and sparkles stitched on their edges, crimson velvet bodices with trimmings of lace adorning their tops, vibrant tweed waistcoats that clinched to the torso in the most flattering manner.

In the same glamorous hall, however, danced peasants, the forgotten children of the kingdom. Their clothes weren't brilliant nor beautiful; they were dressed in scraps, rags they had probably ripped from their huts' tattered curtains. They were like dirt against a gleaming plate of silver, a stray line in a beautiful painting. Still, despite the glaring fact that they were unwanted, the poor wore brilliant grins that far outshined the contrived smiles of the nobles.

It was like a slap in the face of the court. Your palace isn't impenetrable. The triumphant thought crossed Ailyn's mind, as well, as she roamed across the hall.

Nobody cared enough to stop her for a chat, or perhaps a round of waltzing. Her dress was pitiful compared to what she would have worn, had the Kingfisher not vanished. She could almost still imagine how the night would have flowed, her graceful figure standing beside Kage, talking like nothing had happened. The glittering fantasy soon turned sour.

She used to feel love for him. Its pulses dictated her every move, every blink of her lids. That affection had curled into hatred, which she had quickly uncrumpled into what she hoped would resemble love again. Yet now she only felt sorry for the Prince of Shadows.

He, too, walked these tiles, somewhere else in the vast room. And for the first time since Ailyn could remember, she couldn't care less.

The music ended with a grand swish of the strings' bows, followed by a series of quiet claps. The bard was nowhere to be seen; understandably, this early at night, he was possibly getting wasted in a tavern nearby. But not even he would be able to fill the void the three hijacked instruments had left. Not many seemed to get riled up about it, but it was clear everyone noticed.

With a sigh of weariness, Ailyn consumed another fried dough specialty of the chef. Her anxiety had reduced to an obnoxious prickling in her chest, outweighed by the wave of exhaustion overwhelming her bones. The disappointingly unappetizing food didn't seem to be doing much for that, despite her best efforts.

"Can I have this dance, miss?"

Ailyn slowly lifted her head. Her eyes fell on a young man, not much older than her, with faded blonde hair concealing the top of his blue mask. It wasn't difficult to tell why he had chosen her as his dancing partner; his loose clothes were definitely not tailored and the fingers of his extended hand were ragged. A worker's hands. The girl let the unfinished treat on the table beside her and smiled at the man. A little exercise couldn't harm her. "Certainly."

The notes that reached her ears as she let the man lead her to the center of the hall were slow, mournful. Another waltz. She almost wanted to believe that she would have forgotten the comically simple steps of the dance, yet as her partner started moving, so did her feet. The piece was written in a major scale, yet its slow pace, its twirls around the main note; everything made it seem more nostalgic than intended.

The man didn't talk, so neither did she. The silent moment of waltzing they shared was enough company to alleviate the loneliness in her. The music gradually got louder, with sharps and flats tainting the clean surface of the major chords. For a moment, Ailyn could connect it with her own past life; happy, pretentious, ignoring the yawning void her parents had left. The only samples of her mourning were the scarce impulsive tears that ran down her cheeks as she tried to sleep, or the sudden waves of grief that muffled her energy almost completely.