Dominick's Heart I

Dominick's Heart

Part I

The party had begun so perfectly; a simple fête, really, especially by the Princesa's standards. Liveried servants passed the finest Belcadiz cava and a delightful array of tapas among the noble young ladies, who swirled and preened in their evening best. The guest of honor—the irrepressible Ysabel de Fedorias—anchored the center of the gaily whirling mass of ruffles and lace, looking dignified and self-assured in her green satin and a flowing mane of wavy black hair. And of course there was The Ring: a band of sparkling diamonds, surmounted by a flawless ruby the size of a man's thumbnail, all couched in a filigreed platinum sheath decorated with magical runes of devotion and protection. "Dominick's Heart," the gossips were overhead to be calling the blood red gem. So fitting, as the lady wore her betrothed's "heart" wrapped about her slender finger.

Princesa Carnelia herself presided over the entire gala, perched on a blue and white-tiled dais at one end of the townhouse garden in air perfumed by the most delicate of roses. Glowing as though she, and not the somewhat dumpy elven matron to her right, were the young maid's mother, the Princesa positively commanded the party festivities from her chaise, dismissing a dish with a wave of the hand, calling for a change in the music tempo with a lift of a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Below, ladies from all the "right" Glantrian houses celebrated the impending alliance between the "Maid of Belcadiz" and the heir to the throne of Sablestone...not as prestigious a match, of course, as if the girl had wed Prince Ralindi of Krondahar, her former paramour, but an excellent match, nonetheless, for she who was first cousin to the heir of Belcadiz.

A path of tile opened before Ysabel, as the swath of ladies parted to make way for that heir; the low hum of conversation in the garden turned suddenly to a sibilant rush of whispered objections: was this not a pre-nuptial party for the bride and her ladies only? Men were not permitted at such a ball! Even the Princesa sat forward on her chaise for a moment, but then pursed her lips, suppressing a wry smile, and sat back. Miguel stood upon no ceremony, of course, she regarded, giving no impression to the startled guests that she either approved of this breach or objected to it. He would never miss an opportunity to be near his little prima; he doted upon the slightly younger Ysabel like a proud brother.

Miguel de Fedorias—so like his handsome, long-dead father, now that the curse of that failed spell which had rendered him so diminutive had been lifted (though neither Miguel nor his mother were saying exactly how this had been accomplished, despite persistent rumors linking the mysterious "cure" to the high clerics of Valerias in Thyatis)—bent forward over his cousin's outstretched hand, lightly brushing the tips of her fingers with his lips. Maids nearby sighed at the sight: such gallantry! Yes, Carnelia thought from her perch, Miguel shall be the new "most eligible" bachelor of Glantri, once Dominick Haaskinz is safely married. She sighed. A shame that his heart belongs to someone he cannot have.

Suddenly, Miguel jerked back, away from Ysabel's hand, as though it were poisoned. The girl started, but had no sooner begun to pull her hand back, confused, when her cousin grabbed her hand once again, this time so harshly that she cried out in alarm. Immediately he dropped it again, and instead dropped to one knee on the tiles, seemingly searching for something in alarm. The ladies near Ysabel stepped hastily back, as the young elf lord scrabbled on the tile at the fringe of Ysabel's hem. The girl was so startled, she could scarcely move.

Closing her black lace fan with an audible snap, Carnelia slid from the chaise and to her feet in one fluid, catlike motion. "Miguel!" she said in a voice like the crack of a whip.

At that instant, Miguel jumped to his feet, brandishing a red stone in one outstretched hand.

Simultaneously, Ysabel cried out, "My ring!"

Ysabel's closest ladies gasped and wailed in alarm.

Carnelia glided across the floor, lace-bordered skirts barely brushing the tile in a motion more like floating than walking. Behind the Princesa, her dueña Marta de Galdarres y Montoya stifled a smile; the glide was a subtle cantrip the Princesa used in situation where she needed to claim attention subtly, without raising her voice or using flashy gestures. This was certainly one of those times, as it appeared that hysteria was about to break out in Ysabel's inner circle.

"What is the meaning of this?" Carnelia quietly demanded, upon reaching the center of the floor.

Grabbing Ysabel's already reddened hand, Miguel thrust it forward, even as he plunked the red stone into his mother's hand. "The stone just feel from its moorings as I kissed her hand," he shrugged.

Carnelia gazed dispassionately at the empty setting in Ysabel's heirloom ring, then at the red gem in her palm. The frenzied whispers began anew as a wrinkle of confusion, then alarm, crossed the Princesa's brow.

"This stone is a fake," she said. She only whispered, but tongues waggled, and in an instant every guest at the party was aghast. They clucked at one another as the Princesa's personal guard surrounded the garden. Such scandal! Busybodies speculated at who was the devious "thief," and how would they react when caught by the systematic search of the departing guests?

But those more seasoned gossips at the fête, including not a few veterans of the Paparazzi Glantri, wondered if the gem had, in fact made it onto Doña Ysabel's hand in the first place...

Author: Jennifer Guerra