The final week before the Royal Ball was a crazy affair. Due to a cosmic convergence, as declared by Lady Sigebehrt, all the artisans, traders, and entertainers turned up at once. Such was the following maelstrom of egos, Áberd was ready to agree.

Their hard work, however, had paid off.

The hall was filled with elaborate displays of flowers and ice. Great brass candelabras shed heat and soft, erratic light, illuminating the heaped exhibits of rich food. Different platters held themed sculptures of birds and beasts, indicating the type of food one could expect at each table.

The melting ice sculptures, with their chilled tears and cold sweat bringing them ever closer to their own extinction, do an admirable job of reflecting my mental state.

Large, intensely coloured fabrics hung from every wall and pillar, highlighting the bold arrangements of autumn greenery pinned to each surface. Hundreds of people filled the great hall, dressed in all manner of close-fitting, diaphanous apparel.

In typical fashion, each person had tried to distinguish themselves in some way and thus they all looked the same as they danced to the sedate music played from a small decorated platform in the corner of the hall.

The musicians were even more outrageous. They’d dressed themselves as Wóddréamas and turned their stage into a forest den with live greenery and a small pond filled with a variety of colourful plants and silvery fish.

Áberd, unable to spare the time to make himself a new jacket, had chosen his best one instead, relying on its superior cut and high quality fabric to highlight his charms, rather than attempt to stand out with a more fantastical outfit. He hoped he appeared more dignified and calm than he felt.

“Are you alright, Áberd?”

“Fine, fine, thank you.”

“Ahem.”

Áberd turned, “Oh! Lady Sigebehrt. My apologies.”

Lady Sigebehrt’s face was hidden behind a decorative paper fan, but he could see the tips of her smile dimpling her cheeks. Lady Sigebehrt cleared her throat a second time.

“Is that an original Hartell design, my lady?”

“Why Áberd, it seems nothing can escape your notice.”

“Standards must have fallen since I last worked there though,” he said, shaking his head. “I will have to have a word with Ayleth as soon as possible.”

Lady Sigebehrt’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t think anyone could make the King’s clothes did you? I worked for Ayleth for several years before I received my post here.” Áberd cleared his throat, “You shouldn’t stare at servants like myself so intensely, lady Sigebehrt - your mother is watching.”

*

Gesælþ whipped round. The emerald folds in her pale yellow bliaut flared. She hadn’t known the seamstress’s first name. She was already shocked from Áberd referring to someone by their given name, let alone the presence of her mother. She scoured the sea of costumes. A single, gloved finger tapped her forearm.

“Are you alright, my lady?” They were alone in the shadow of a stone pillar and no one was watching them. Áberd smiled down at her. His gaze never wandered from her face.

It was extremely irritating. The bliaut was expensive and quite revealing yet he’d insulted it, scared her out of her wits, and he hadn’t even given her a look, let alone a second one.

His apparent disinterest was confusing. Was he trying to be polite, or rude?

“I see my comment was in poor taste. Your mother is being served at the table in the east corner. I doubt she can see you from here.”

Gesælþ followed his gaze and sighed. As far as she knew, the two had never met, but that hadn’t stopped him from picking her mother out from a crowd, or turning her flirtatious play for a compliment on its head.

Such an infuriating man!

“As always, your style is unmatched. The bliaut is almost as beautiful as you are, although I would have matched it,” said Áberd.

“I will let Mrs Doucebelle know,” said Gesælþ. “Please excuse me.”

He was still smiling at her, as if nothing could ruffle him. She turned her back to him, but before she could dash away, he spoke again.

“I had hoped to do so, my lady, but I didn’t have the time.”

Gesælþ didn’t turn around, “You will have to do better than that, sir.” Did that sound too sulky? Where was he going with this? Áberd didn’t reply so she glanced over her shoulder.

With a mysterious flourish, Áberd presented a small black box. It was too big to be a ring, but Gesælþ still felt the blood rush to her face.

“Perhaps this will do,” said Áberd. He proffered the terrifying object, “I hope this will be sufficient to convey my thanks for everything you’ve done.”

Gesælþ let her fan hang from her wrist and took the box from his hands. It was made of unpainted wood with copper hinges and clasp. She tapped it, the wood sounded thin but didn’t flex.

She flicked up the clasp and raised the lid. Inside was a tiara woven from hundreds of tiny flowers. How sweet, he must have ordered it just for tonight, they wouldn’t last long. Gesælþ realized she was smiling.

“It’s lovely, Áberd, thank you.”

“You’re most welcome, lady Sigebehrt.”

Áberd held out his hand. Gesælþ placed the open box on his palm and reached into the box. The moment her fingertips brushed the tiara, she realized something was amiss. She lifted it to her face and took a closer look.

Every flower looked fresh and bright, showing many different colours and their varied shades. She recognised speedwell, wild basil, winter jasmine, and several others. She frowned, there were twelve different types and most of them weren’t in season.

The petals were warm and dry, but not brittle, and the delicate structures within the flowers sparkled.

Why is there one flower for every phase of the moon?

Gesælþ gasped. Every flower had been crafted by hand. She couldn’t even see the stitches or the wires that held them together. Only by lifting it right up to her eye was Gesælþ able to see the threads in the fabric and the silver stigma tipped with baby pearls.

Did Áberd make this?

It was a gift fit for the nobility. That she was a noble didn’t feel like it should apply. Gesælþ had never seen, let alone held, anything of such workmanship. Even if she pilfered her entire dowry, she could never hope to afford something like this. How was she supposed to accept it? The gift was utterly inappropriate.

It is so well made I could pass them off as real flowers. Would that be acceptable?

“I’ve already miss-placed the box, Lady Sigebehrt, there is no other place to store it now than atop your furrowed brow.”

Gesælþ couldn’t bring herself to give it back. It didn’t flex at all as she lifted it in her unsteady hands and placed it on her head. She sighed - the fit was perfect.

“If you will permit me, I’ll pin it to your hair.”

Gesælþ gave a small nod. Pins appeared between Áberd’s fingers and he stepped closer. She felt the tips of his fingers pressing against her head. Gesælþ could see nothing but Áberd’s delightful jacket.

Her fingers twitched. She wanted to reach out and straighten it, maybe even trace her finger along one of the moleskin lapels, but the jacket was already perfectly aligned so she had no excuse. A minute later, he retreated.

“All done, my lady.” Another object appeared in Áberd’s delicate hands, “In case you wish to see what it looks like.” He was holding a small looking glass. He really had come prepared.

Gesælþ covered her lips with her fan, fluttered her eyelashes, and turned her head from side to side. The late addition to her outfit matched both her dress and fan. She grinned.

He passed her the mirror. It was just as lovely as the tiara, “Please enjoy the Ball my lady, I must return to work.”

“In that case you are excused, but on one condition.”

“My lady?”

“You are to ensure you are free to accompany me on the first dance.”

“Yes, my lady.” With that final question, she’d broken every social taboo she could think of. It felt delicious.

Áberd disappeared. She spotted him standing behind the King. How had he done that? Surely it hadn’t been that long. Gesælþ realized she was still looking at herself in the mirror. She shrugged.

Nothing wrong with admiring a gift.

Áberd rang a small bell.

The king cleared his throat, “Welcome, Ladies, Gentlemen, and other unfortunates. I hope you enjoy the privilege of listening to an old man’s rambling speech. Not that you have much choice. I’ve always found it to be bad for one’s health to interrupt the chap with the crown on his head.” A mix of polite yet nervous titters filled the room, underpinned by a few, out of place, loud, drunken laughs.

“Thank you for coming to attend tonight’s charitable event. Many of you here have lost loved ones during your personal quests for the betterment of us all. This evening is a celebration of all that has been both won and lost.

“As much as we are embarrassed to admit, your joint efforts have exposed a glaring weakness in our internal defences, one that has led to the deaths of many brave men and women.

“It would be poor form for us to let this unsustainable situation continue. With that in mind, we hope to provide every citizen with the training and equipment to defend their own homes and families by extending militia activities.

“We were advised that the best way to fund this new endeavour was to request donations, rather than raising taxes. But given that we are not entirely blameless for the current situation, we feel we must offer a little more than our thanks in return for everyone’s selfless aid.

“Due to some overzealous actions during the last three months, several families have lost not only their kin, but their lands too. They have retired in disgrace. It only seems right that I give these to the most generous souls. As for those in the depths of grief who feel they need a little more than a new title, we offer you hope. Not with shallow words, but successful endeavours.

“The person we are about to introduce you to has an unusual appearance and it took many hours for us to persuade her to appear before you all. We ask that you do not stare, shout, or scream. Miss Elewýs?”

The door behind the dais opened and a stooped figure slid through the frame. Despite an earlier warning from Áberd about what to expect, Gesælþ still gaped. She wasn’t the only one either.

A huge woman stepped into the light. She was dressed in rich furs, a brown leather jacket, and a loose skirt sewn from an entire black bear pelt. The stuffed bear head pressed against the woman’s stomach. Her hair had been brushed to a shine and tied back by a bright yellow band. Tiny silver studs decorated her ears and her skin appeared as if it had been daubed in pale paints.

The woman took several slow measured steps to the King’s side. She curtsied towards him, faced the stunned crowd, and curtsied to them too. The woman shot a glance over her shoulder at the King. He waved her forward with a smile. The woman faced the lords and ladies a second time.

“Hello,” she said in a deep, musical voice. There was not a single rustle of clothing or the slightest sound of breathing in the entire hall. The only noise came from a single chandelier, ill placed within a guttering draft - its whipping flame and dripping wax tapped against a metal plate.

“This is Elewýs Tessel,” said Firgen. “It is because of her experiences and the insight of Letholdus Wulfslæd, under the leadership of Sir Thorold Wulfslæd,” Firgen pointed to two other people on the dais, “that I am able to share with you the nature of the threat we face. A Cwylla, a magical wellspring, has been discovered in the Wúduwésten. Not only is it one of unprecedented size, its primary element is Feorhlíf, or life.”

A slow ripple of excited murmurs took hold of the guests. Gesælþ caught snatches of their wild speculation. She felt quite lost.

What does that mean?

“It came as a great shock to us when we learned there has been an undiscovered community living in the Wúduwésten for over twelve-hundred years. Our own history becomes murky after four-hundred or so, but to hear nothing of the Galdorcwide, as they called themselves, is nothing short of astonishing.

“Over this incomprehensible period of time, the Galdorcwide, through an almost unrepeatable feat of magic and great personal sacrifice, have limited the influence of the Cwylla so they could, along with the rest of the surrounding lands, live in peace.

“A few months ago, the Galdorcwide were wiped out. For an unknown reason, this stoic society lost control of the Cwylla and it exploded, obliterating their entire culture and leaving us at the mercy of unrestrained life magic. The lady beside me is the last known survivor.”

If it wasn’t for the huge woman standing next to the King, Gesælþ wouldn’t have believed it. She knew that was the point, but it didn’t make the tale any less incredible.

“What should we do next?” said Firgen. “I imagine a few of you have already thought of several ideas of what we could do with this great power. Grow crops of unbelievable size, enhance our soldiers, expand our territory.”

Several embarrassed laughs and patriotic comments flitted around the great hall.

“Perhaps we could even hope to live forever,” said Firgen.

Gesælþ tensed. Of course, it was a fountain of life and eternal youth!

“While you all consider ruling in luxury for eternity, overseeing a society with no famine or disease, I would like to remind you that it means living under my rule for all time as well.”

The guests murmured.

“Have you ever considered how you might achieve this? Surely anything is possible with magic?” Firgen clapped his hands together once.

Gesælþ jumped.

“On what do you base this?” said Firgen. “What do you think happens when life is left to run wild?” He gestured at the last Galdorcwide.

“This is the effect of constrained life magic, controlled using a knowledge we do not possess.” Firgen brought forward two other people, “These are Elewýs’s parents. Until five years ago, she looked much like them.”

Polite pandemonium erupted. Gesælþ saw jostling, shouting, cries of outrage, calls for action, and some well acted fainting by several noblewomen.

Firgen banged his tankard against the table, denting both tankard and table in the process. Áberd winced.

“That’s enough! Anyone who continues to act like windfall addled swine can entertain the spit boys,” said Firgen.

Was he joking? Gesælþ was starting to understand why Áberd had nerves of finest steel. Order was restored. No one seemed willing to see if it was a bluff.

“We are glad you have all managed to retain the remainder of your senses. We haven’t quite finished yet. Anyone who is bored can bugger off, but you will miss the new rules for the succession and be out of the competition.”

It was like pointing a lantern at a bunch of rabbits, everyone froze.

“Before we reach the stunning conclusion of our speech, we have one final demonstration.”

A bleating, two headed goat was hauled to the front of the dais by a blonde haired man in dark blue tunic and black hose. He didn’t look happy.

“This is Weard and his goat, Godfrey. It’s very friendly, but I warn you now. Godfrey has a pretty mutation. Most of the animals who ate food or drank water contaminated by life magic died.

“Those that survived suffered from excessive growth, bad tempers, or an unfortunate mix of the two. Weard, Tessel family, Godfrey,” Firgen nodded to them all in turn. “Thank you for your assistance. Go find another spot to stand in.”

Godfrey bleated.

Firgen straightened, “The man or woman who finds a solution to sealing or controlling the Cwylla in a socially and politically acceptable manner, will be named heir. The charitable auction will be held in two hours. Until then, please enjoy yourselves.”