Look Beyond What You See

Sweet, alluring notes float out of my beloved piano under my skilled fingers. I know I haven’t much time before someone interrupts me and orders me back to practising with magic. A harried meeting with Malina earlier reminded me that we have a mere two days until the wedding, and most of the time since our schemes regarding the wedding (and, I hope, the defeat of Xenia de Poitiers) were hatched has been spent in training. Two-hour breaks here and there provide, to some extent, for my needs for sleep and nourishment, and because of this insane schedule my sense of time has been completely thrown off. I must rely on Malina to know the date, and I cannot for the life of me determine what time of day it is currently, though I believe, based on the light that comes in my windows with the light breeze that stirs the curtains, it is at least daylight.

I play more softly than usual, hoping against my better judgment that no one will hear me and interrupt. It is terribly difficult to be sneaky with a musical instrument, but I know that servants have been instructed to guard the stables and the exits of the mansion so that I cannot escape to the outdoors. To my knowledge no one guards the roof, but I prefer to go there at night, whenever possible. These guards are meant to ensure that I train with magic as much as possible, but I am so weary of training and so eager for any other means of occupying myself that I simply had to devise some form of escape. It must be said, however, that my abilities have been greatly increased by this intensive practise. I have begun to be able to use ice as well as water, and with the ice I can manipulate light by reflecting it, refracting it, and otherwise redirecting it. Dmitri’s father is most pleased by this progress. I only hope that it will be enough to fill its intended purpose against our dark adversary.

“Would that you could play for our wedding,” Dmitri’s voice remarks behind me. The tune now flowing from my instrument at the bidding of my fingertips is a tune commonly used in weddings; mayhap thus his comment originated. A moment later I feel the warmth that always radiates from him on my back and I lean my head back against his chest, though I continue to play.

“I would do so if your mother would permit for the necessary adjustments to the usual order of the ceremony,” I answer him with a mirthful glance up towards his face. “But of course, that would be too much of a deviation from tradition.”

“Of course,” Dmitri replies with a full measure of resentful irony. “Although it must be said that a better pianist for any worthwhile event cannot be found.”

“You praise me far beyond what I deserve. I trust that someone suitable will be found to play for us.”

“Indeed I praise you but too little, and for you, for our wedding, only the best should be had.” His hands rest on my shoulders, massaging them lightly as a complement to his compliments.

“I know not how to be both bride and musician. Perhaps your father could procure Their Royal Majesties’ Orchestra for this momentous event? Surely they outshine my skills.”

“That remains to be seen, but it is my understanding that they have been hired to prove themselves two days hence. All has been taken care of. Mother says that today our guests should begin arriving, and that final fittings for our attire will also be today. A banquet may even be our occupation of the evening, depending on how many guests actually arrive by evening.”

“Perhaps we shall also have a reprieve from training for the remainder of the day? Or is that too optimistic of me?”

“Not too optimistic, but you may prefer training to what fate has actually sent your way,” Malina interrupts, entering the room with an air that suggests that much is amiss elsewhere in the mansion. “You will be pleased to know that Lady Berkeley has suffered a sort of nervous breakdown brought on by the strain of wedding preparations and her own neuroticism. As such, your presence is required in the entry hall to receive guests until such time as Lord and Lady Berkeley determine that you may be otherwise engaged.”

“Pleased to know that my mother is indisposed? How dare you suggest such a thing!” Dmitri jokes.

“Well, the staff are certainly pleased to no longer be subject to her constant nitpicking and demands that such-and-such be done immediately. But you’d best be headed downstairs now, both of you. Rumour has it that many of your relatives are meant to be arriving rather soon.”

“Any rumours about who?” I inquire with a heavy sigh as I rise from the piano bench, guided by Dmitri’s hands, which now rest on my hips.

“I know that Nadezhda and Torcuil are both coming, although separately, and each has a separate train of relatives who generally accompany them to family gatherings. I have also heard rumours that Nadezhda and company are responsible for the transportation of a certain sister of yours, Aerys, one who lives too far away for anything but air transportation to be feasible on such short notice.”

A squeak of excitement, mixed with other conflicting emotions, escapes my lips and I hastily begin my journey to the main entryway of the mansion.

“Thank you, Malina,” I remark over my shoulder to my friend, who is chortling at my expense. Dmitri follows close behind me, no doubt not wanting to miss a second of the fun that’s to come.

“Are you all right?” he asks softly once we’re fairly well alone. I shrug, unsure how to respond.

“I don’t know. If she’s coming....” My voice fails. I swallow hard and try again. “If she’s coming, I want her to just get here and get that initial meeting over with, to see how things will be between us. The way she’s changed, in her letters.... I just feel like things aren’t going to be the same between us, and I’m afraid I’ll be dreadfully disappointed, afraid I won’t even know her anymore.”

That thought so saddens me that I choke up and tears spring to my eyes. Dmitri’s arms surround me with warmth and comfort immediately thereafter. For a few moments that seem to last forever, it’s just the two of us, and the burden of my worries seems to magically lighten for that brief period.

“I can’t make any promises about what this meeting with your sister will bring, if she comes,” Dmitri murmurs finally, “but I can promise that I’ll be here for you, no matter how things turn out with her, with the rest of our family members, with the whole wedding in general. We’ll make it through whatever comes our way.”

I can’t help smiling. As long as we have each other, I add silently to complete the cliché as I return his embrace.

“Thank you. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

No more words are exchanged between us, for we hear a commotion from the front entryway where we are meant to be receiving and rush down the remaining flight of stairs that separates us from our duties. The footmen are just now opening the impressive front doors, and Dmitri and I belatedly take our places in the centre of the entryway to meet whoever appears on the other side of the doors.

“Dmitri, laddie!” Torcuil’s familiar brogue calls out as he and his brightly clad retinue of other young Berkeley males storm into the foyer. “Congratulations to ye and yer lovely lady! The big day’s a’comin’ sooner than ye thought, eh, laddie?”

Dmitri laughs as he and Torcuil share a brotherly embrace.

“Most unexpectedly,” Dmitri agrees. “I never thought Aerys would be ready so soon, and what with the war and all.... But sometimes life sends us unexpected gifts.” A particularly enrapturing smile of his falls upon me, and I catch another meaning to his words. Squeezing his hand in gratitude for this tremendous compliment is the only response I can give; I fear my face might burst into flames from the heat of my blush and suddenly the floor tiles--and Torcuil’s vibrant orange shoes--are incredibly fascinating to me.

“Where’s the lord and lady? I nivver thought they’d be missin’ this,” another of the retinue inquires.

“Lady Berkeley is indisposed. She has been terribly overwrought with all of the preparations, you see, and she has chosen to take rest now rather than be out of sorts for whatever entertainment we devise to wile away the evening hours,” I respond smoothly, having regained my composure, at least for the time being.

“Whatever entertainment we devise, eh?” Torcuil repeats, clearly liking the sound of that. “I don’t suppose ye’er in need of an event planner or anything o’th’sort, are ye? ’Cause I doubt that either of ye has had a decent pre-nuptial party--”

“You’re too kind, Torcuil, really, but we really must abide by whatever decision Lord and Lady Berkeley make on the matter,” Dmitri states firmly. A heavy sigh from a footman draws our attention at that point to the cluster of servants standing nearby, all fully laden with luggage belonging to these Berkeley relations. “Now, I would dearly love to enjoy your company further, but our staff have endured enough stress of late and really ought not to be unnecessarily taxed. Would you mind following them to your rooms and settling in? I’m certain that there will be ample time to continue this discussion later.” Only a little further prompting from the grave and exceedingly tall and thin Berkeley butler is necessary to send Torcuil and his rambunctious retinue on their way to the wing of guest suites. A collective sigh of relief is breathed by all remaining occupants of the foyer once the noise from that procession fades out and a feeling of relative calm settles on the room.

“That ought to be an exciting discussion. I cannot imagine that Torcuil’s idea of a ‘decent pre-nuptial party’ is anything your mother would approve of,” I mutter. Dmitri snickers.

“Hardly. When my cousin Conaire got married last autumn, Torcuil had him wicked drunk for a week beforehand and they visited all sorts of unsavory places. His bride, Isolde, would have been upset if she had not been kept equitably occupied by Torcuil’s younger sisters,” Dmitri relates.

“He has sisters?”

“Two years younger than him. They’re identical twins, and have a penchant for mischief that perhaps even exceeds his.”

“Are they to be in attendance of this exalted event?” I’m really not certain how I feel about that idea.

“They would have arrived with Torcuil if they were, and I believe his retinue was comprised only of men, but I might have been mistaken. More than likely we will not know until they have already caused mischief of some sort. I’m sure that, once I explain to Torcuil about the events of recent days and the exact reasoning behind the sudden swiftness of our plans, he and they will be appropriately restrained.”

“I should hope so. Besides....” My fingers toy with the necklace that serves as a reminder of our relationship and its contractual nature. “These would interfere, would they not?”

“No more than our natural inclinations, I hope.” His eyes blaze. Passion. Desire. Something deep and potent that makes my insides turn to mush and raises a throbbing deep in my abdomen. Incredible that he can still make me feel this way, after.... Lips on mine. Arms around me, bodies pressed together. In public like this? A cough from one of the staff members who has remained in the hallway, an older man with a perpetually disapproving scowl, brings our passionate embrace to an abrupt end.

“Spoilsport,” Dmitri grumbles under his breath with a furtive, burning glance at me once we’ve resumed facing the main entrance as we ought to have been doing all along.

“We really ought to refrain in public like this,” I murmur. “We should have time for such things not too long from now. Surely you can wait another two days, having waited this long and under far more unpleasant circumstances.”

A rueful smirk crosses his features, and I imagine he would have said something very naughty were it not for another clattering commotion in the driveway. Servants rush from all corners of the room. Footmen propel the doors open, and Dmitri and I once again step forward to greet our guests.

This arrival is less traditional even than that of Torcuil and his retinue, who came in automobiles with loud roaring engines and flamboyant flames hand-painted on the sides. A tornado of sorts, though far less violent and more friendly, touches down on the horseshoe gravel driveway, sending clouds of dust in every direction. Around the outside of the tornado seems to be a spiral slide of rapidly moving air currents, which carries a number of passengers to the ground one by one. I recognise only the faces of the first few--they were present at the engagement ball, but I do not believe I was ever formally introduced to them (not that I would remember, anyway); they are clad in the formal attire of the Russian court (as though the manipulation of air would not give them away as Zinaida’s relatives). Then Nadezhda slides to the ground, somehow without a hair or a ribbon out of place in all her elaborate costuming. Presenting quite a contrast to her, all fluster and shock and general disarray, is a tall, slender blonde I have not seen in at least a year, now far darker-skinned than I ever recall her being, who slides gracelessly down behind Nadezhda and lands unceremoniously on her rump. Nadezhda solicitously (though not without exasperation) helps her to her feet and nudges her in my general direction.

“Kyla?” I ask, hardly daring to breathe. The moment of truth.

“Aerys?” she responds, breathless from the journey and no doubt unsure as to whether or not her eyes are to be trusted. All of this must have been an unimaginable shock for her. Nevertheless, a moment later we are in each other’s arms. Kyla is sobbing and words race in torrents from her lips, endless streams of words of which I only hear about a fifth, all about the dreadful nature of my last letter and how horribly she’s missed me and what a terrible thing it is to travel by tornado and how poor dear Weston almost didn’t make it. Over Kyla’s bony shoulder (she’s lost weight since last I saw her; they must not be feeding her properly in India) I see Weston’s irritatingly handsome visage, watching us with a mixture of amusement and contempt. I had liked him well enough in my grandmother’s chateau, until I learned that he was taking Kyla away from me, but now I have a decided dislike for him. Has she, in spite of my petition for secrecy, shared my last letter with him?

“Welcome to Switzerland, sister,” I greet Kyla more formally once I can finally convince her to release me from her too-tight embrace. “I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Dmitri.”

Dmitri steps forward and bows elaborately before kissing Kyla’s hand like the gentleman he is.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kyla. Aerys has told me much about you. She’s missed you greatly. We are very pleased that you have consented to come here on such short notice,” Dmitri says in the same rich velvet tones that I have found enthralling even since our first meeting. Kyla says nothing for the longest time, only stares at his eyes. Here we go.

“You weren’t making things up, were you?” Kyla asks me without acknowledging Dmitri’s kind words. “Of course, what with the way we were brought here, I knew that some truth was in it. But his eyes.... It must all have been true.”

“Why would you think otherwise, Kyla? When have I ever lied to you?” This is not going well. I can see a switch flip in her brain, and suddenly she is all smiles and politeness. She won’t speak of this again until we are alone.

“Oh, never, never! Forgive me, sister. Something strange just came over me.... It must be because of the time difference. Dmitri, it is a pleasure for me to make your acquaintance as well. Aerys has written of you only in the most praising terms, and I sincerely hope that you will make her as happy as my dear Weston has made me. Speaking of, Weston darling, you remember my sister Aerys, and this is her fiancé, Dmitri.” Weston comes forward with a tight smile and shakes hands awkwardly with Dmitri before stiffly bowing to me and brushing his lips through the air directly over my hand.

“Greetings, and heaven help you both,” he says with haughty disapproval. I understand only too well now from where the tone of Kyla’s letters has come. Perhaps I spent too much time blaming the woman I called mother for interfering with our correspondence when I should have been blaming him and his family. “Kyla, must we really--”

“Would you risk another journey by tornado just to get home, and insult my sister so harshly just before her wedding?” Kyla interrupts in the sickly sweet voice that she always used with her mother to win arguments. Weston sighs heavily and reluctantly consents to be led to the mansion. Our staff follow, lugging their baggage with disgusted faces. I wince inwardly. This was a mistake. I never should have invited them here. I should have just asked Malina to be my Maid of Honour. But how could I have known? And how could Kyla have borne the insult if I had not at least invited her?

Wesley stands in the mansion’s doorway waiting for us.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. So kind of you to join us on such short notice for this most happy occasion,” he greets my sister and her husband.

“Our pleasure, Your Lordship,” my sister responds with a bright smile and an appropriate obeisance. Her husband is much more dour and stilted as he goes through the motions of courtesy and says not a word. Wesley arches an eyebrow and looks at me over Weston’s bowing back as if to say ’Did he have to come?’ I shrug helplessly. Everyone else present, except Kyla, is asking the same question. What did Kyla ever do to Grandmother that she should set her up with such a horrific husband? Zira should have married this wretch, and Kyla could have been with Norbert. With the necklaces, it would make the same difference to her, I’m sure.

“My servants will show you to your rooms. Dinner will be served in our main hall in approximately one hour. Please, make yourselves at home.”

“You are too gracious, Your Lordship. If it pleases Your Lordship, might Aerys also accompany us? I would like to speak with her before dinner, since we have not seen each other in more than a year and were once such close friends as well as sisters.”

“If Aerys is willing, I see no reason why not.” I glance at Dmitri long enough to mouth my apologies before expressing my absolute joy to Kyla in accepting her invitation and walk arm-in-arm with her to the guest wing to meet my doom. Dinner and whatever festivities accompany it--even if Torcuil and his sisters plan them--cannot come soon enough.

***~O~***