Page 20 of Her Dark Reflection

‘Why are we dressed like this?’ The question came from Elovissa who stood at the front of the group with her arms crossed.

Master Perunicus flicked his hands at her. ‘I need to see you as you will be in the Great Hall without ruining your costumes.’

‘Costumes?’

But he only clucked his tongue and began prowling through us, sizing us up, fluttering his hands to shoo some of the girls to different positions in the room. When he reached me, he took a hold of my hands and tugged.

‘This way, please,’ he said as he walked backwards to lead me to my own section of the floor, right next to where Vanaria was now standing. She crossed her arms and turned so she was facing the other direction and I rolled my eyes.

When Master Perunicus seemed satisfied with our positions, he walked to the centre of the room so that we were all fanned out around him.

‘Now,’ he said with a clap of his hands, ‘we will begin.’

My excitement quickly faded when the dance I thought we were to be taught turned out to be just a series of poses, each held for a few minutes before cycling to the next. He demonstrated each pose before checking to ensure we were copying to his satisfaction, directing us to slightly lift a hand, turn a little more to the left or just holdstill,would you?

Of the tools in the arsenal of a maisera, dance was one I had long neglected, so my strength and flexibility were not the most impressive in the room. By the time we had cycled through a dozen poses, I was ready to clobber Master Perunicus.

‘You are the marble sculptures of the palace come to life,’ he urged as he moved around us, poking at limbs and torsos when he wanted to correct a stance. ‘When you are still, you are solid, immovable, frozen. When you move, you are swift, graceful until ah! You are still once more. And did we see you move?’ He hid his face behind his hands, then peeked out from between his fingers. ‘We can’t be sure. Now, watch carefully, this one will challenge you.’

He raised himself up on one leg, tilted forward with his arms outstretched, then gripped his floating leg by the ankle and extended it above his head in a display of flexibility I’d never seen in a man before. I huffed a breath and tried to mimic him, my muscles now shaking slightly. He drifted over to me and frowned as I tried to hold myself still.

‘Higher,’ he pressed. ‘Stretch your head towards the roof and pull your leg higher. You should be a sleek curve, pleasing to the eye. None of these angles.’

Gritting my teeth and stringing together colourful chains of curse words in my head, I pulled at my ankle and curved my spine as the leg I balanced on wobbled dangerously.

‘Higher!’

I could barely breathe as I stretched, my face turning red with the exertion of trying to keep my balance, until a pain lanced through my thigh as my muscle spasmed. I gasped and lost my position, tumbling forward in an effort to escape the cramp, knocking right into Vanaria. My hands shot out and grabbed at her shoulder and hair to try to right myself. She shrieked as she lost her balance and we both went sprawling to the floor. I lay atop her, dazed, before she began to squirm.

‘You clumsy idiot!’ She shoved me off her.

‘It was an accident,’ I muttered as I climbed to my feet, massaging at the throbbing rope of pain in my thigh.

‘Youare an accident.’ She made to rise, but as she put weight on her ankle she hissed in pain. I caught sight of Lord Faucher pushing his way past Master Perunicus to bend down and help Vanaria to her feet.

‘Easy does it,’ he said as he hitched an arm around her waist to steady her. She kept her eyes on me, her face twisted and red with fury.

‘You shouldn’t even be here,’ she seethed. ‘If they’d put you through the rest of the rounds like everyone else, they would have realised you are nothing more than a pretty face and you would have been eliminated. Someone who can’t even hold a pose hasno businesscalling herself a maisera.’

Lord Faucher stood awkwardly staring at the ground, muttering ‘now, now’ while Vanaria spilled her vitriol, but once she’d had her say he sprang into action, ushering her away from me. She resisted him for a moment and seemed ready to say more, but then she turned from me and let herself be led, limping, over to his chair against the wall. It seemed as though she spent the next hour trying to glare a hole through me while Lord Faucher brought her drinks and sweets and cushions, but when she eventually joined the rehearsal once more she seemed steady enough on her feet.

By the time the rehearsal was finished, the endless twisting and holding of my body had effectively wrung every drop of enthusiasm for the Armistice Ball out of me. No dancing, no performing, just holding poses, like we were to be nothing more than decoration in the room. What a waste of talent.

Luckily, I had no talent for dancing, so the waste wasn’t mine.

‘Is the theme of the ball lunacy? Because it feels like it might be,’ I grumbled to Senafae as we made our way to the servant’s dining room for dinner.

Senafae rolled her neck, wincing. ‘Likely. I can’t possibly hold that last pose for more than half a breath. What did he call it?’

‘The weeping swan, which seems fitting. Any swan would weep if it was forced to stand like that.’

She sighed as we reached the base of a flight of stairs, looking up as though hoping it might take pity on her and turn into a level hallway. ‘They aren’t going to tell us anything about what to expect on the night, are they?’

‘I doubt Mrs Corkill would trust us not to spill any secret they let us in on.’

‘You don’t think she’s had anything to do with the planning, do you? I hope she hasn’t.’

I snorted. ‘I doubt it. Not unless the theme this year is sobriety and respectability.’

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