The Kingfisher

XXXIV : Nora

"Stop clutching my hand."

"Only when you stop complaining about every damn thing, girl."

Nora blew a sigh and glared at the old woman holding onto her forearm for dear life. Bela had been grumpy, to say the least; she didn't want to sneak into the house of her son as if she were some lowly intruder, yet she begrudgingly agreed to it after Nora clarified their choices were limited. Now she gracefully walked across the polished tiles, fixing her much-despised mask now and then.

The girl forced a smile on her face as they walked past the nonchalant guard. "If there was nothing to be complaining about I would be silent, wouldn't I?"

"Please try that," Bela muttered, scanning the crowd of shimmering clothes as they stepped into the palace's hall. "Where is my son?"

"We'll know when we get the signal."

The hall was beautiful, adorned with silver and blue garlands that scaled the walls and windows. The music was light, drifting in the air like a distant song. Something was missing, and some nobles' scrunched up faces betrayed that it was apparent to them, too. Nora tried to keep her eyes to the crowd, yet she couldn't help but frown. Ela was not in the room. Otherwise, the three intruder instruments would be raging along with the band.

Among all the glamour, Nora and Bela looked out of place. Their clothes were pitiful, rags that those aristocrats probably washed their legs with. It made them stand out, like a rip in an elegant painting, a shattered gem in the crown jewels. The swirling people glanced at them with a slight twitch of their brows or a dismissive sigh, yet there wasn't much they could do. Once a year, for the grand finale of Seyal's favorite season, some peasants were allowed in the ball; first come first serve.

Nora carefully led Bela away from the center. The sides were almost empty and the buffet untouched; there was enough food for an old woman to concern herself with. "Stay here," she said, warning seeping into her tone. "Don't try anything, please."

"This is a ball," Bela huffed, staring the palace she hadn't seen in years — maybe decades — with awe she failed to conceal. "Can I not dance?"

"No. When you hear the false note, go find your beloved spawn."

And with that the spy spun around, carefully approaching the simple white doors Ailyn had pointed at. Nobody seemed to notice as she cracked one pannel open and slipped behind it. Who would suspect a tatterdemalion like herself? The aristocrats had probably already forgotten about the excited peasant swimming in new water, the servant that wanted to experience the ball for even a moment before being towed back to the kitchen. How they would regret being so thoughtless.

The corridor leading to the ball was the remnant of ashes left behind by a brilliant fire. It was clear that nobody expected guests to wander past the main hall. The candles burned dim, infusing Nora's skin with a ghastly shine. No amount of food had passed through her mouth over the past two days; anxiety carefully guarded her lips. Arden had not left her mind for a fraction of a second, and the detriment of his presence in her head was clear in her weakly flapping limps and her sickly paleness. Salo had warned her. Eat, he had insisted. He would want you to eat. But even the suggestion that Arden could already be buried in the place of the Kingfisher muffled any last hint of appetite not wiped by the disgusting smell of rotten peas.

Now, she was starting to regret her attempt at a hunger strike. She could already feel an invisible weight pull her muscles down, and all she had done so far was walk up a few steps and smile at a few guards.

With a sigh, she adjusted her mask and resumed her discreet step. There was no time to rethink decisions already made. Arden deserved her thoughts and prayers, but failing the mission because of a possibly dead man would be slightly tragicomic.