Page 24 of The Ballad of a Bard

M use was a Saint, that was never in question. And her skills solely lay in the wonderment of art, the style that made most fall hopelessly in love over and over again, to find themselves and then lose themselves in any forms of art. But when it came to throwing balls, revels, fetes, she always outdid herself.

Which was hard to do, considering the amount of rich opulence she surrounded herself with on the daily.

As West stood in the massive room, surrounded by beautiful people, beautiful things and beautiful music, he couldn’t help but let a slip of awe take him over. The entire event was planned to resemble the sea that surrounded the continent that was Tazali.

The four walls that made up the ballroom had been painstakingly painted with ceruleans, corals, ivories and everything needed to make them seem as if they were at the bottom of the ocean. The gargantuan chandelier looked to be made of dappled sea foam, with floating bubbles that passed through people and popped once they hit the chequered floor. The tables were decorated with vibrant forms of food, from all over Hisaith.

Scarlet lobster, floating in pools of creamy butter.

Tender lamb, roasted in garlic and parsley.

Squash, strung into an orange mix, sprinkled with brown sugar and salt. Even the drinks seemed to be from all over, ordered in finery to add to the spectacular event in any way, shape or form possible.

Muse herself was resplendent in a soft, shell pink gown that left nothing to the imagination. It hugged her every generous curve and made her look as if she’d been plucked from the sea itself, instead of the heavens above. Pearls dangled from her neck, on one of the thinnest strings possible. She wore a crown for once, atop her golden head that reminded him of the waves. Gems of the purest clarity crashed into others, with stunning viciousness and beauty.

Two things that went hand in hand.

“You look absolutely wretched, dear North.” She tsked, sighing at his expense. “Is it the clothes?”

He gestured down at himself, at the metallic yellow jacket that she selected for him and basically shoved him into on pain of death. Or whatever the counterpart for Muse was. She could never take a life, it wasn’t her style.

Blue twined about his shoulders, the buttons, making him out to be a living, breathing star. “I can lay part of the blame on your ridiculous selection for tonight. Did you want for all to know who we were?”

Because they were all there.

Except for one, who would never show.

If Heartache made an appearance, then he would have a heart attack . But Muse informed him before the ball, pulling him aside to let him know that even though she sent out an invitation to all his known hideaways, that no response came.

Which left him to believe that Heartache wasn’t going to be easy to find. Not that he’d suspected that in the first place, of course.

Imp was over in the corner, teasing a rather unpleasant looking Satori with their jester’s wand. They wiggled and jiggled it in her face, cackling with mad delight when she tried to swat it away from them. They were dressed in their colour scheme as well, with purples and greens on half their form. Imp’s face wasn’t painted like all of the portraits portrayed them to be, but anyone with eyes could tell who they were.

Dream was by the food table, in a gown of periwinkle that shimmered with each turn of her hips. A high slit rose up from the rough hewn hem and she wore moon earrings that dropped down, almost reaching her lovely neck. Stars and clouds embedded into her grey hair, the colour shining under the candles that danced with the tempting music.

Even War was here, but he didn’t follow the dress code it seemed. Because he wore his fighting leathers, a sword attacked on his hip alongside his two fighting axes. And yet he still looked as though he belonged with them all.

The Saints, all made out to be their most eternal selves. A show, a parade of powers.

“I don’t think it’s just the clothes that are making you miserable.” Muse tucked a strand of straight hair behind her ears. “You can’t fool me.”

“It’s nothing.” West swore, needing a drink. He excused himself with a half bow in her direction and made for the refreshments. Imp was there, fiddling with something within the many pockets. There were at least sixteen that he could count out .

“Don’t you even think about adding something to the punch bowl, Imp.” West immediately growled at him. “If I wake up tomorrow with relentless hiccups, or boils that burst with confetti I’ll pay it back ten fold.”

“South, East, North and West!” Imp chittered with an insane warble. “My, my, looking not your best!”

“You don’t need to remind me.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But, it’s good to see you, regardless of whatever pranks and tricks you have planned up your sleeves for tonight.”

“Never-” The Saint frowned as something caught their attention on the stairs, trying and failing to create the opposite expression on the other side of their face. Sanity took over it seemed, because their voice was as clear as water. “Did you know that Heartache has a daughter?”

West spun to see what he was looking at, and forgot the required drink completely.

Crimson descended the stairs, nervously twisting her fingers back and forth in a gown of pure ruby that fell behind her in a fabric trail. Two capes attached at her shoulders, dropping off and showing her collarbones, unadorned. Stars were woven into her hair, creating constellation patterns that matched the simple golden belt across her high waist.

“ Saints be damned. ” He uttered, dragging a hand over his chin as he took her in. Muse’s work, no doubt- considering she was the only one who knew that that particular shade of red, the same colour as Crimson’s hair, was his favourite colour.

Mesmerising, alluring, gorgeous.

All the compliments and more came to his mind at the sight of her.

West instantly understood why the intervening Saint dressed her that way. If Heartache wouldn’t show, then his daughter would take his place, and would represent him in his absence. It was a foolish, terrible idea since her son was the one searching for Heartache’s daughter. For Heartache, himself.

He should have never enlightened Altivar to the fact that Red Lyric was female. It would have stretched his search for far longer.

With the way she walked, the way she’d been presented on the massive stairs that led down into the ballroom, it was clear as day who she was. Even if no one knew her name, Crimson Bard was as good as announced as the daughter of a Saint. In that shade, she practically glowed with immortal youth and unlimited gifts.

“Does he know?” Imp squinted, crouching down. “I think perhaps if he did, that he would be here now.”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t when he left eight years ago. She’s twenty-six.” West informed him quietly, quickly searching the heads of the party for a dark brown one in particular. One crowned in a silver circlet, swathed in vivid amethysts and emeralds.

The Prince, who would have no doubt seen her.

To his utter dismay, Altivar had already spotted her. He cleared a path through the folk and offered her his hand, dipping low at his waist as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Crimson seemed to hesitate.

Good girl, he silently praised her inside his head, but she eventually gave in to the Prince and let him lead her onto the dance floor. It parted for him, emptying a space as the musicians began to play a slower, gentler melody.

A reason to pull her in close, he realised.

Crimson may have not been able to touch a single vein, tap a nerve or control his heart in any way, but it certainly felt like it at the moment. Because it was tethered to her, pulling behind her as the Prince wrapped his arms around her .

Altivar smirked down at her, a smile that meant nothing but nefarious intentions and deceitful ways. His hand found her lithe waist and tugged her closer until there was almost no space between them.

“My my, you look like the living embodiment of a perfectly working, beating heart.” Altivar held her firm as he swept them around the black and white tiled floor. Onlookers watched, fanned themselves, enjoying the swaying music that allowed the Prince to steal her for a private moment and a quick conversation.

“I’m sure it’s merely a coincidence. The Empress, your mother, was kind enough to lend me a gown and this seemed to be the only one that fit my height.” Crimson pulled a false, flirtatious smile onto her red lips. The one that she used to score extra tips at the end of a night as one of Roland’s girls. The ones that men liked to see, because they never saw anything beyond it. “Besides, there are stars in my hair, nothing else.”

Osira helped her into the pretty gown before the ball, as well as talentedly pulling her crimson hair into a whimsical braid that fluffed out, adding each star pin into place. She applied the cosmetics as well, with extreme skill that could only belong to a Saint refined for their love of beauty.

For the second time in her life, she actually felt beautiful. When Muse had shown her the final look in the mirror’s reflection, she almost didn’t recognize herself. Stunned silence filled the room as a wide smile broke out on Muse’s delicate face. She’d felt it when West told her that she was, but now, she’d seen it for the first time. It was a sort of high that she was riding, one that toyed with her nerves .

“A reasonable excuse, but an excuse nonetheless.” He sent her flying in accordance with the flute and harp notes, drawing her back in. “I think there’s another reason.”

“What would that be? That I look fantastic in red?” She snapped back at him, his chest digging into her back as they rocked back and forth.

“It’s true, you do.” He admitted as his fingers crept along her arm. He guided her through the dance, and she would have looked like a complete fool if he hadn’t. She didn’t know any of the steps, and had no reason to. There were no balls in the Bronze Gate.

“So there. It’s settled. I look marvellous in red, and there was nothing else. Let’s leave it at that.” Crimson stomped on his foot, entirely on purpose and hard as she could.

He hissed and dropped her wrists, letting her flee before he could assault her with any more questions. Her skirts were longer than she’d ever been used to, and as she gathered them in her hands, a second male whisked her into the crowd.

Moonlight on water and stardust filled her senses.

“West!” She gasped as he ushered her away from the dance floor, towards the back of the room. “Thank the Saints.”

“I do like it when you thank me.” He was flabbergasted, unable to conjure up anything to say. But then a muscle in his jaw twitched and he opened his mouth. “I can’t deny that you look stunning, Heartstrings. But perhaps something a little more obvious?”

Her lungs fainted, or at least that’s what it seemed like as he gazed upon her with those stunning eyes. Her heart pinched her, grew wings and flew away.

“Not too shabby yourself.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “And blame Osira. She’s the one who dressed me like a porcelain doll. Insisted, truly. ”

“Oh, I do blame her. Fully.” He let out an amused sound that turned his lips upwards. “But she does a wonderful job of taking already stunning things, and only adding to them.”

“You think I’m stunning?” Crimson refrained from biting her lip. The red paint there would smear on her teeth if she did.

“Of course. Anyone would.” West swallowed, turning his head away from her. “Especially in that gown.”

Her hand found his, lacing in between his fingers.

He looked down at it, startled.

“People are looking.” Crimson whispered.

But that wasn’t the reason she held his hand, not even close.

“So they are.” West tightened his grasp on her hand, letting all see. “Then I suppose we should continue this charade.”

A sizzle crackled inside of her, licking her veins, winding around her bones and making her heart feel as though it would burst. Crimson giggled, going one step further. They were in public after all, she would need to sell the thought of them as a couple.

But she couldn’t deny, that this next part was mostly for herself. She rose up on her toes, and kissed his cheek.