Night Rose, page 14
Neven made a choking sound behind her, and Briatta glanced over her shoulder.
“Not for that,” she scolded, and Neven’s cheeks flushed. Briatta faced forward and pretended not to notice, though she smiled to herself despite everything.
When they arrived at a doorway on the left, she cracked it open, peering inside to a small, empty room.
“Can you light it up?” Briatta asked Neven.
He stepped into the room, a look of concentration settling on his features as he raised his hands. An Ardor light appeared in each palm. He lifted his arms to send them floating toward the ceiling to reveal they were in a small sitting room with a few chairs and a couple bookshelves crammed with leather-bound tomes. It was, blessedly and thank the Founders, empty and appeared infrequently used, based on the layer of dust on the chairs.
“So, why are we here?” Neven asked curiously after he pulled the door closed behind them.
“I need to show you something. And tell you something. I can’t stand it anymore,” Briatta said, holding up her hands.
Briatta hadn’t tried using her Ardor since that day at the Founders. She had wanted to honor her promise to Owena to never use it where it might be discovered, and her family had been too busy to help her begin training. So it was now, in this odd little room in Malcalaire, that Briatta finally used her Ardor again.
It was reckless. There were so many people nearby. Anyone could walk in at any second.
It exhilarated her.
Shadows bubbled from her palms and spilled onto the ground, and a sense of intense relief filled her as something within her relaxed, both from using her Ardor and from finally sharing this part of herself with Neven.
Neven’s eyes were wide with shock as he watched Briatta.
“What is this, Bria?”
Briatta cut the contact with her Ardor and lowered her hands. “It’s my Ardor.”
“You said—you said you didn’t manifest,” Neven said slowly. His face had drained of color, and she could see his hands were fists at his side while trying to process what she’d just shown him.
“I lied, and I’m sorry,” Briatta rushed to say. “It’s a long story. Can I tell you everything now?”
Neven hesitated, then nodded, and Briatta launched into the tale, starting from the morning of her Choosing ceremony. She told Neven all the details that she’d seen, including the strange man, and continued until the part where her Ardor had flooded the circle of the Founders, and Owena had made all the Belrose children swear never to discuss this phenomenon with anyone, not even Neven.
“I wanted to tell you,” Briatta said as she finished. “It felt so wrong not to tell you.”
“If Owena thought it wasn’t safe to tell anyone, why are you telling me now?” Neven demanded. Briatta was surprised to hear a note of anger in his voice. “Owena is right. You must be extremely careful, Bria. This could get you killed.”
“Killed?” Briatta repeated, stunned by the vehemence in his voice.
“Yes,” Neven said. “People fear what they don’t understand, and…this is new.”
He paced, running his hands through his hair.
“We are going to have to be extremely careful.” Neven shook his head.
Briatta swallowed nervously, her mouth having gone dry as the implications of what Neven was saying began to sink in.
“I can never tell anyone else,” she whispered.
“Exactly. And we’re going to have to train you in secret so that you can control it,” Neven said. He moved to one of the chairs and plopped into it, ignoring the small cloud of dust that puffed up around him.
When he looked back at Briatta, she smiled sheepishly.
“Have you trained at all?” Neven asked.
“No, there’s been…too much happening,” Briatta said, her voice solemn.
Neven nodded. “I understand. We’ll have to start as soon as possible.”
He was serious, rubbing his chin in thought as he leaned forward. Briatta wanted desperately to lighten the mood in the room again.
“You know what the great thing is, Neven?” she asked, brushing off the other chair before taking a seat on its edge.
“What?” Neven was distant.
“You are light, and I am dark; we are complementary. Maybe we were always meant to be friends,” Briatta said, leaning forward slightly.
A slow smile spread across Neven’s face. “The light to your dark.”
Briatta grew quiet then, the levity fading as she realized she and Neven were alone in a private room during a ball, sitting close to each other.
“We should return to the dance before anyone notices that we’ve been gone for too long,” she said, standing and backing away.
“Right.” Neven stood and opened the door, checking the hallway to ensure it was empty before pulling Briatta out of the room. Quickly, he twisted his hand to extinguish his Ardor lights. They winked out of existence, and the pair hurried to return to the dance. Before entering, Neven looked back at Briatta.
“You know, I should have known that you were lying,” he told her, a strange look on his face. He appeared perplexed—perhaps at having ever believed she didn’t have Ardor. “I’ve known you for years.”
“Maybe a part of you did,” Briatta replied, taking his elbow as they stepped through the doors to the party, which was still in full swing. “Have you seen everyone else yet?”
Neven shook his head. “No, you were the first Belrose sibling that I found.” He nudged her teasingly, a dimple appearing on his cheek.
“Let’s walk the perimeter, then.”
Neven nodded and led the way, allowing Briatta to pay attention to their surroundings instead of where they were walking. They passed the table of finger foods, which was notably emptier than earlier. Briatta hoped tonight was one of the nights Preida had set aside some snacks in the kitchen for when they returned.
The room was as crowded as it had been all evening, and the noise level increased in conjunction with the amount of drink that was served. Owena typically liked to leave around this time, though with the Ackmanlee being announced, Briatta was unsure what they would do. Even if they didn’t hear it at the ball, it would be in the papers the next day. Regardless, if they left now, the Belroses’ early exit wouldn’t be unusual, as she had established this reputation long before her nieces and nephew had come to live with her.
They made their way past the now-empty wall where the men often gathered in the beginning, strolled by the drink table, and finally, past the wall of older women watching their younger charges dance and drink and mingle.
“Bria,” Morenna said as they passed, having joined her mother. “I’ve been looking for you!”
“Sorry, Morenna,” Briatta pulled Neven to a stop, smiled, and looked between her two friends. Friends from both halves of her life. “Have you met Neven?”
Morenna looked up at Neven, seeming to just realize Briatta had a man with her. She smiled shyly. “No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Briatta’s eyebrows lifted as Neven removed his arm from hers and bowed shallowly to Morenna.
“The honor is mine,” Neven said smoothly, and a pretty, pink flush rose in Morenna’s cheeks.
Founders, this evening was steadily growing more bizarre.
Aden materialized, glancing from Neven to Morenna with similar confusion but masking it well. Gathering himself, he looked beyond them to his sister. “Bria, Owena will be ready to go as soon as the Ackmanlee is announced.”
He pretended to notice Neven then, and a look of delight overwhelmed whatever other emotions Aden had been feeling. “Ah, Neven! I’m so glad that you’re here. Maybe I will stay later after all and show you around, introduce you to some people.”
Aden pulled Neven away as he spoke, his hand settling on the younger man’s shoulder as Morenna watched them leave wistfully.
“Your family is friends with Neven?” she asked curiously.
“Ah…yes,” Briatta said, trying to think of an explanation. It was rare that families of Ardorists and Ardorless to mix and socialize before a Choosing elevated an Ardorless into the same status as the Ardorists. Though, because Owena was Ardorless, it could be more understandable. Given Aden’s familiarity with Neven, Morenna was rightfully curious that Briatta had never mentioned him before, and Briatta was at a loss for words. Morenna’s reassurance to Briatta also meant she might not think anything of it, but Briatta wanted to make sure she got it right. “It’s a…um, long story. I can tell you next time I see you?”
“Alright.” Morenna sighed, giving Briatta an odd look. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and she leaned in to hug her friend. Sometimes, Briatta thought Morenna was just as good at playing games and getting information as Briatta was.
It was just a different game.
Chapter 13
Briatta watched Aden and Neven for a long stretch of stillness once Morenna had pushed her way back through the crowd and reached Lady Kildenbar. Her brother and her friend arrived at the group of men with whom Aden usually passed the time at these functions when he wasn’t being cornered by mothers; they seemed to make introductions as Neven politely bowed his head.
With each greeting, Neven appeared more cordially removed, as though he paid attention only to please Aden. This would create appeal for the others, who would wonder about this quiet and distant man, and Briatta wasn’t entirely sure that it was accidental. Neven seemed completely at ease despite never before having been to a ball. At least not that Briatta was aware of.
He would fit in well.
Perhaps their training with the Night Roses had prepared him better than she’d realized.
Or maybe there was another explanation for his comfort; Briatta only ever saw him when working and on the occasions he’d visited the Belrose Estate.
Briatta considered what she knew about how Neven spent his free time as he nodded courteously to another man and said something that must have been a question, because the other man cocked his head and lifted his gaze to the ceiling as if in thought.
When they were younger, their time had been spent either training or finishing assignments from their respective schools, with Briatta often helping him when he didn’t know something. She knew of his adventures wandering through Montclair and the people he’d observed through his stories as they grew.
In more recent years, however, Briatta couldn’t recall a time when Neven had shared details about what he did when they were apart. What had changed? Did he no longer trust her the same way that he used to? Did nothing he do seem interesting enough to share? Or was he hiding something?
Briatta stopped momentarily and shook her head, nearly laughing out loud at the direction of her thoughts. Neven was one of her most trusted friends. Maybe the reason she wasn’t aware of what he did in his downtime was completely innocent, like perhaps he’d found a girl he liked and was courting her. That would certainly be an awkward enough topic. Briatta definitely wasn’t privy to everything Neven thought and felt—especially regarding potential romantic partners—just as she wouldn’t tell him how dancing with Simeon had affected her tonight.
Founders, Briatta had never had much interest in men aside from the passing thought that Neven would make a good life partner should their friendship ever head in that direction. She fought the urge to search the ballroom for Simeon again and brushed her hands on the front of her gown with determination.
Finally tearing her gaze from Neven and Aden, Briatta made her way towards the rest of her family near the exit. Just as she reached the entrance drink table, the musicians stopped playing, and the room fell as silent as it could when filled with people well into their cups.
Briatta slowed, her head swiveling at the sound of metal ringing against a glass from the front of the ballroom. On the dais where Lord and Lady Mallon still sat pompously, a young herald was doing his best to gain everyone’s drunken attention, holding the clear goblet high in front of him as he banged it relentlessly with a spoon.
When it had quieted enough, he cleared his throat. “Welcome, honored citizens of Montclair. Your presence tonight in celebration of Lady Raya Mallon’s marriage is greatly appreciated, and we are most thankful. Now, here are a few words from the host. Lord Olrik Mallon, if you please.”
The herald stepped back, slipping behind the curtains on the side of the platform and disappearing.
Lord Mallon pushed to his feet with what appeared to be a great deal of effort. He was neither a young man nor a strong one; his great belly protruded, and it was a surprise that the buttons holding his jacket didn’t burst, despite it appearing to fit well. His thinning, plain brown hair had become unkempt throughout the night, and beads of sweat glistened on his brow that Briatta could see even from her position nearly all the way across the room.
“It is nearing the time of night when some of you will take their leave,” Lord Mallon said, approaching the front of the dais and gesturing at the crowd, which had finally stilled. The goblet in his hand sloshed dark-red wine over the side with the jerky movement. Lord Mallon pulled the cup back to him, glancing down at the liquid on the ground with an irritated frown before clearing his throat and looking at his guests.
“There are a few announcements I must make before you go,” the Lord continued. Briatta could have sworn he looked pointedly at Owena, who was respectfully watching from the opposite side of the ballroom, though that might have been paranoia from her interaction with Simeon. “Firstly, I must bring up why we are all here tonight. My recent journey to Srila has resulted in my eldest daughter, Lady Raya Mallon, making a wonderful match and marrying her new husband, Duke Ezio Valenka.”
Clapping and cheering appropriate for the Ardorists of society—subdued and restrained—filled the room, and Briatta raised her hands to join in the soft applause.
“Thank you, thank you,” Lord Mallon beamed, waving his chalice-free hand dismissively. Though he seemed to act as if it weren’t a big deal, the marriage of a young lady to a Srilan duke would lift the Mallons’ social standing even further—despite already being at the top in Montclair. He waited for the adulations to die down as he sipped his wine, then turned his beady eyes back to the crowd before him.
“There is one other matter of business that I am obligated to bring to your attention. This year’s Ackmanlee.”
The room went deathly still. The Ackmanlee did not affect most of the guests, but some surely had family to whom they would take this information. If what Morenna said was true, and the Kildenbars didn’t agree with the discrimination, perhaps there were other minds changing. Maybe a family wouldn’t discard their own the way they might have once.
Her own assuredly wouldn’t. But, that was different. Wasn’t it?
Briatta straightened, her gown suddenly feeling tight and hot, and her mouth drying with anticipation. For some reason, her eyes flitted around the room in search of Simeon. She silently cursed herself for turning in that direction and snatched another brambleberry lemonade from the table behind her, squaring her shoulders to the dais and Lord Mallon as she downed the contents.
“Nasty business, and it won’t apply to most of you, though it will be amusing to observe, to be sure. Applications will open starting tomorrow morning,” Lord Mallon said. “They may be dropped off at your local Weiler station. While it is always an opportunity for someone to accomplish greatness where they might not otherwise, this year’s Ackmanlee is looking for a particular sort of young man or woman. I am told that a special position in the Weilers will be available to the winner, should they prove themselves worthy. I will leave you with this warning: It will not be easy, and it will not go to just anyone.”
Briatta could have heard a pin drop in the silence of the room. Then, the excited whispers began as people turned to each other, their curiosity aroused by the mysterious words and the implication that this year’s Ackmanlee would be different from the previous.
A rope of nausea turned in her belly, and Briatta placed a hand on her stomach, immediately regretting the drink she’d just consumed.
Of all the years Briatta could have turned twenty-one, it had to have been this one—the one where the Ackmanlee sounded far more selective and far more complicated than usual. Though Briatta was physically skilled and capable, she had always been riddled by anxiety with tests; even those administered by the Night Roses would plague her with the concerns of failure right until the moment she was on the mat or breaking into the testing house.
Still, Briatta couldn’t help the thrill that traveled down her spine as she finally turned and closed the distance to her aunt and sister. This was precisely the sort of thing she’d been raised for—if only she could succeed against the mental blocks.
“Wonderful,” Owena said, realizing that she now had both Ellery and Briatta with her. “Where did Aden go?”
“He’s introducing Neven to some of his friends,” Briatta supplied. “He said he’ll come home later.”
Owena nodded and walked with purpose through the halls and outside after retrieving their cloaks, where Petyr was already waiting with their cart. The pair of horses stood placidly, swishing their tails against the few bugs that had been permitted to exist within the biodome for their necessary contribution—the animal conservation department based in Srila only allowed the most essential life to be preserved in the biodomes.
As if summoned by her thoughts of bugs, a flurry of small pink flutterflies, glowing in the bionight, swarmed the great flowering bush behind the cart by the circular landscaped section comprising the center of Malcalaire’s driveway.
Briatta watched the vibrant little insects for a heartbeat before following her aunt and sister into the carriage. It lurched forward as soon as she closed the door behind her, and once again, Briatta wished she hadn’t had that last drink as her stomach turned with the motion.
Owena eyed Briatta curiously with a strange expression, though she didn’t speak until they cleared most of the commotion and were on a quieter street. One with fewer eyes and ears, though Briatta knew her aunt would still refrain from talking about anything confidential. Owena just lived her life that way.
