Octavia and the Winter Beast: Part I

From the window in the hallway of the second landing, Octavia Garlet looked past her reflection at the snow. It drifted down in gentle, fat clumps from a velveteen sky, kissing the faces of the late arrivals as they stepped from their coaches. It was a sight that had once sent Tavy's heart fluttering with anticipation when she was a child. Now that it was her own Ordainment Ball, she was rather nervous. She would be expected to make an impression upon future employers. A good impression. She could no longer only seek her dances with the handsomest court boys, who would wriggle with discomfort when she loudly threatened to set a curse upon them if they didn’t take her hand. Tavy smiled sadly to herself at that thought. She’d gotten a good smack from Darcianne for that.

“There you are,” Veloura was pacing briskly down the hall, her eyes glinting nervously. She was worse off for these sorts of things. Tavy couldn’t remember a single moment that Vel had even remotely enjoyed the prospect of a ball.

“You look fetching, cousin.” Tavy said. Like her, Veloura was dressed in a gown of the deepest black, as was customary of all newly anointed sorceresses. Her hair was pulled into a decorative pile, styled so that only a few autumn-colored locks spilled over her shoulder. A golden circlet matching Tavy’s own adorned her brow, the mark of surviving the coven's trials.

“Seven spirits, Tavy, we are going to be late with all your lurking in the window.” Veloura scolded, dragging her towards the splotch of light that marked the entrance to the Garlet Manor ballroom.

Inside was a glittering array of red and gold. The curtains of the floor-to-ceiling windows dripped from their rods like rivers of blood. The swells of the strings were accompanied by a lone piano, which of course, played itself. Above, the chandeliers twinkled with magically infused moonlight as serving tables laden with beverages skittered between the crowd on nimble wooden stalks. Tavy and Veloura stood at the edge of the curtained entrance, eyes grazing over the swaths of finery.

Veloura put a hand over her stomach miserably. Tavy grinned. The familiar sight of the Winter Solstice Ball eased her nerves more than she thought it would. Octavia was a sorceress now, but there was nothing she considered to have more magical intrigue than a dance. She snatched up Vel’s hand.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Not so fast,” The snide voice came from the darkened hallway behind them. Tavy scowled. Yulianne was from the other side of the family, Mother Abagaitha’s second marriage. Needless to say, she certainly wasn’t Tavy’s favorite of her cousins. Like her and Veloura, Yulianne wore a gown in the shades of night, a glowing circlet of gold nestled over strait slicked plaits of blonde hair. She too had passed the test. “We’re to be announced,” she said, voice laced with pomposity. “Our great aunts will escort us down the stairs. Perhaps you can muster the restraint to await their arrival?”

“I would fix your silly, crooked brooch before try telling us what to do.” Tavy seethed, pointing to the lopsided garnet at her throat. “Come on Vel.”

Veloura wrung her hands before grabbing her cousin’s skirts. “Wait, what if she’s right? There’s always an announcement before Mother Abagaitha casts the colors. I remember it happening last year.”

Tavy screwed up her noise and scoffed. “Well, I seem to remember the announcement coming after the Ordained reached the foot of the stairs. Besides, were missing all the action.”

Veloura gulped and leaned out from behind the curtain to look down the golden cascade of steps. No one was waiting for them at the bottom.

“It can’t hurt to wait, can it?”

Tavy ground her teeth as Yulianne gave a self-important smirk, mouthing the words told you so. “Vel, if you were half as daring as you were smart, we’d be down there, instead of tolerating the company of this insufferable wench.”

“Octavia,” Vel laughed nervously, “you mustn’t speak that way about our cousin.” She gave Yulianne a sheepish smile, which was only returned with a scowl. Yulianne had never liked her, despite Veloura’s best efforts. Tavy knew it was only because Mother Abagaitha favored Vel the most out of all of them, and the giant stick up Yulianne's butt made that difficult for her to get past.

Tavy’s glare shifted as she caught sight of the posse making their way down the hall behind Yulianne’s thin shoulder. She smacked at Vel’s arm. “Grandmother’s coming.”

The three of them stood to attention, their eyes growing wide, as the Garlet matriarch stepped out from the shadows behind them. A clawed, bejeweled hand wrapped itself around Veloura’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. Veloura squeaked as the smell of flowered smoke filled the air.

“You’ll escort me, child.” Mother Abagaitha croaked, her voice louder than it ought to be. She and her sisters were clad in wine red gowns and headdresses, the color of House Garlet. They were all ancient, but stood almost stick straight, enormously tall, not a drop of elegance surrendered to their age. Despite the fear they instilled in her, Tavy couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of admiration for the women.

Upon Abagaitha’s entrance, the music and chatter had died. Tavy plastered on a smile as Great Aunt Philene’s withered hand guided her to the railing. Above, the lights dimmed, and only the warm glow from the hearths filled the ballroom.

“Esteemed Lords!” began Mother Abagaitha, raising a hand. “It is on this night of the Winter Solstice that I present to you the newly ordained Sorceresses of the House Garlet. First, our most esteemed and learned daughter in household enchantments, Veloura Garlet!”

With a flick of her wrist, the enormous ruby on the ring of her first finger shot into the air and exploded into a cloud of glittering orange and red light. Thunderous applause resounded. Abagaitha allowed it to go on for several seconds before she held up her hand again.

“Second, with a specialization in Kolgrim’s daemonology, Yulianne Garlet!” a sapphire dripped from her thumb and burst into a swirl of blue and purple. The audience oohed and ahhed.

"And third,” Abagaitha paused, her eyes passing over the silent crowd. Tavy bit her lip. “Apprenticed in both animacy and the Isenfeld apothecaries, Octavia Garlet!” from her pinky, a golden gemstone popped over the room in a blinding flurry of green light. She had said the name with less prowess than Tavy’s cousins, and green was the least accomplished of the colors, but she hardly cared. She was officially ordained.

The strings burst into triumphant sound as Mother Abagaitha lead the procession down the staircase. All the while, Aunt Philene’s hand dug painfully into Tavy’s shoulder as she muttered into her ear about the importance of presenting herself accordingly. She was now a representative of their coven after all, and her graces and mannerisms must be the very picture of excellence if she was to attract potential employers. Tavy nodded briskly at each instruction, with all intentions set to be on her best behavior.

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“Excuse me, what are you doing?”

Tavy whipped around from the serving table as it scurried out from the corner and back into the crowd like a tortured animal. Standing in front of her was a boy that reminded Tavy entirely too much of a sheep. He had snow-white hair, like the people of Noerland, and was practically deflated with nerves. She had barely enough time to catch the startling blueness of his eyes before he'd glued them to his boots. Tavy smiled knowingly. She’d dealt with such advances before; she silently thanked her father for his ebonwood skin and the glossy cascade of tight curls which she now tossed alluringly over her shoulder.

“Why, not a thing,” Octavia said with a flit of her lashes. This, was in fact a lie. Aunt Philene’s very specific instructions about Tavy’s behavior had been forgotten nearly an hour ago, when the frustration that she hadn't yet been asked to dance darkened her better judgement. She had been right in the middle of enchanting some drinks with sweetspice and an persuasion charm, which she would have sent straight to the most desirable employer.

“Oh, good.” The boy said, toying nervously with the tassels on his sash. He had a distinctly perturbed expression, as though the shades locked in Tavy’s upstairs armoire had popped out and given him a scare. “I – I was wondering…” he began, his voice as soft as a lamb. She rolled her eyes and took a step nearer.

“Come now, I haven’t got all day.” Tavy indeed had lots of time, but she hardly believed a Noerdic princeling had leave – nor the desired funds – to hire her as a housewitch. Best to let him down gently and focus on the original plan. The spellpaper was tucked nicely into the folds of her gown, all she had to do was burn it with the sweetspice and slip it into a drink.

He glanced around again, glassy blue eyes flicking to the crowd to ensure he wouldn’t be heard. He was clutching an arm at his side, as if to hide it. Just as Tavy began to suspect this wasn’t a declaration of fancy, the boy hissed: “I need your help.”

Tavy gazed at him for a moment. This was entirely un expected. A slow, devilish grin broke her face as she realized what had happened.

This princeling had gotten himself cursed.

Probably just a sunweed rash or a splinter from one of the guest suite’s animated wardrobes, but cursed, entirely, nevertheless. It was amusing, and would doubtless be an easy fix. But of course, Tavy didn’t have to tell him that. She snatched him into one of the curtained alcoves, the princeling giving a small yelp of surprise.

“I will help you for a price, of course. Show me your arm.” the prince bit his lip. He was really quite attractive, but so obviously naïve that Tavy didn’t find him at all that way. Before he could get out another word, Veloura flopped against the wall beside them.

“If one more hopeful brute tries to sweep me up for a dance, I shall blacken their loins.” She complained. She had been rather busy tonight - practically every duke or lord east of the Chasms wanted her for hire, much to Tavy’s annoyance. Octavia wheeled on her cousin with a frown.

“Yes, what a horror. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?”

Veloura’s brilliant blue eyes flicked curiously between the two of them before narrowing. “I know that look,” She breathed, horror creeping over her already deathly pale features. “Oh, not here Octavia, please. It’s The Ordainment Ball.” Veloura’s voice crept up an octave with every word. Tavy shook her head and held up a finger as if to tame a horse.

“It’s not what it looks like, swear to The Seven.” Vel’s face was already buried in her hands. “In fact, I am glad you’re here, cousin. I could use your help with…..” Tavy’s eyes flicked expectantly over to the princeling.

“Killian,” he answered hastily. “Ulfersson.” Octavia nodded astutely.

“The Prince of the Western Noerds?” Veloura hissed, glaring. “Octavia Garlet, tell me you haven’t enchanted –”

“What? I didn’t enchant – ”

“Um – ” Killian held up a tentative finger to interject before doubling over, clutching his arm even harder. It had begun to stretch the fabric of his coat.

“Do you realize how important this ball is? I cannot continue along with these – these escapades if I am trying to secure my future!” Veloura went on furiously.

“Your future? Oh, surely! What a concern it must be flouncing about with…the…” Octavia had been quite intent on setting her cousin straight until the shadow of an enormous white beast nearly smothered all the light in the ballroom.