A House Filled With Night
How We Dance While We Can

The entire ballroom stood perfectly quiet and motionless. Dancers froze mid-twirl, as still as dolls in a shopwindow display. A pair of ladies held their mouths open mid-laughter. The puff of smoke from an old man’s pipe floated just above his head. A pillar of wine stood still between bottle and glass. They were so still they didn’t seem real.

“So, your sudden appearance was just a trick?” asked Runa, following the brothers into the ballroom. “None of you can actually teleport?”

Niko gave her a sidelong glance, still focused on keeping the entire ballroom frozen in time as they strolled in.

“Hey,” said Fiske, “I don’t think it’s fair to call it a trick. Personally, I find Niko’s ability much more impressive than a sudden appearance.”

Sylvain was already brewing a colorful storm of smoke to fill the room, and Runa couldn’t help but feel the familiarity of the situation. Only this time, she was standing on the other side: inside looking out.

She leaned toward Casimir and whispered, “Where do I stand?”

He snorted a laugh. “Just stand wherever you want.”

Fiske stood directly in front of a young woman halfway through sipping a glass of coffee. Casimir had already located the musicians and infiltrated their band.

“Okay, Niko, go ahead,” said Sylvain.

The ballroom began moving again. There was a general shout of commotion at the sudden arrival of the Sons of Midnight. The unfortunate woman sipping coffee had let out a wail of terror at the sudden appearance of Fiske’s gleaming grin above the edge of her cup. He expertly dodged the fountain of liquid which spurted from her mouth.

“Thank you for opening your home to us today,” started Sylvain.

“They didn’t,” Niko pointed out.

“Thank you for your hospitality—”

“Casimir!” shouted Fiske. “Play something already!”

Sylvain was quickly drowned out by a wave of music, so he shrugged and moved into the crowd.

Uncertain of what else to do, Runa remained rooted to her original spot for some time, simply observing the scene before her. Just as they had before, the elegant guests of the party seemed swept into the thrill of the moment and quickly resumed their merriment. She wondered at the way in which the Sons of Midnight took over a room within minutes. What was it? Casimir’s music? Sylvain’s mist? She, too, couldn’t help but feel a little light-headed excitement.

This time, however, there seemed to be much more chatter throughout the room, even after the brothers began their dancing. As she moved through the crowd, Runa realized that the whispers were following her. Then, she realized that the whispers were about her. This discovery somewhat overwhelmed her, having never caught the attention of nobility at all, much less an entire roomful.

Eyes trained on the floor, Runa made her way to a table laden with drinks and fancy foods—familiar territory. She caught a glimpse of herself in a bowl of purple wine and almost started. Her appearance had changed to a point almost beyond recognition. Not only because of her clothing; her cheeks were no longer hollow, her skin was no longer pallid, her eyes were no longer dull. To all the ladies and gentlemen, did she appear to be just another guest?

I suppose this is what happens when I eat and sleep properly…

“Looking for a good table to hide under?” said a voice beside her ear.

Runa jumped. There was Torin, smiling as easily as ever, as if their conversation during the journey never happened. Maybe he could go on with his night as if everything was fine, but she couldn’t. Every time she looked at him, she was reminded of his whispered promise: Tonight, at the ball, we’ll slip out together, but I won’t return with you. Truth be told, she had been avoiding him ever since they left the horses because of it. Nor did it help that she had to look at him face to face now. This was only the second time she had seen him so lavishly dressed. He was always handsome, but he glowed in a ballroom. It made her feel a little breathless.

“I think I would feel more comfortable under a table right now,” she mumbled. “I feel so out of place.”

“You don’t belong under a table. You—”

“Runa!” shouted Fiske, grabbing her by the arm. “What are you doing by the food with Torin? Boring. Come dance with me!”

“W-wait! I—”

Fiske dragged her into the sea of dancers. Instantly, her body went stiff, lost in the chaotic and unfamiliar movement around her. Fiske, on the other hand, was in his element; a fish flowing through water. He finally stopped when he realized he was just dragging his companion along by the hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to dance.”

His face fell, as if she had told him she grew up eating mud.

She sighed. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t have time to dance. That’s all.”

“We’ll fix this! It’s okay. Don’t worry.” It sounded more like he was comforting himself. He dragged her to the piano where Casimir sat. “Can you play something a little slower, something we can dance to together? Runa wants to learn how to dance. I need a good song so I can teach her.”

“Does she really want to dance?”

“Of course she does!”

Despite the skeptical look on his face, Casimir obliged him, slowing the melody into a gentler, sweeter tune. Fiske took Runa’s hands, showing her where to put one on his shoulder, where to hold the other out with his.

“I don’t know, Fiske—”

“I’m a great teacher,” he said with a winning grin. “And you’re about to learn to love dancing.”

He let her look at her feet as he spoke the next steps into her ear. She caught on little by little. The music was irresistible, pulling her into the dance despite her uncertainty. She looked up to see Fiske’s expression, but instead caught Torin’s eye in the crowd, watching them from a distance.

“Could I steal her for a bit?”

It was Sylvain who had spoken. He stood with his hand outstretched, patiently awaiting a reply.

“Go ahead,” Fiske answered, and then quietly to Runa: “You’re in luck, he dances like a broomstick. He’ll make you look like an expert.”

She laughed at the older brother’s mildly irritated expression. As they began to dance, she quickly decided Fiske had exaggerated. If anything, Sylvain kept to a steadier pace.

“I must admit,” he said, “since the beginning, I thought the others were foolish to bring you to the House.”

“Me too.”

“I thought that. I don’t anymore. I’m not sure what we expected when we first brought you here, but I don’t think anyone could have predicted how quickly you would become a part of our lives. Just look at how they act around you. I’ve never seen any of my brothers pay attention to another living thing for this long.”

She averted her eyes. Was he trying to make her feel guilty? Did he somehow know about her conversation with Torin? It couldn’t be—but then again, she could never figure out what was going on behind that impassive expression of his.

“I’m just thankful I wasn’t eaten or thrown into a dungeon,” she replied, with her best effort at looking humorous.

He just raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. Over her partner’s shoulder, Runa caught sight of Torin again. He was still watching her. This time, when their eyes met, he began walking in their direction.

Just before Torin reached them, Sylvain leaned in quickly and whispered, “If you ever need help with anything, just ask me. I’m on your side. I’m the only one with any sense.”

“I’d like to step in.”

Sylvain backed away to look at Torin. “Go ahead. And stop smiling like an idiot.”

Torin smiled even wider and pulled Runa in to dance. She found she couldn’t smile the same way. Sylvain’s words echoed in her brain. Was it a genuine offer of kindness? Or a threat? What she had thought would be a simple outing had quickly evolved into something much more distressing.

“Your hand—it’s shaking. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

Her eyes absently flitted up to see Torin’s worried expression. It took her another moment to process what he had said.

“No, I’m fine. I really wanted to dance with you.”

“But if you’re unwell…”

Her grip tightened on his shoulder.

“Don’t go. It’s just…the crowd overwhelms me.”

He laughed. “I’m not going anywhere, I just mean that we can sit down somewhere if you aren’t feeling well. But if you insist on dancing—” The hand on her back gently pressed her closer to him, fireworks blooming in the pit of her stomach. “I won’t complain.”

His fingers folded into hers, and Runa felt the warmth from that contact spread throughout her body. He led her farther from the edge, into the fray of the dancefloor, amid twirling ballgowns and heady music. For a moment, her fears slipped out into the fresh, night air. She was caught up on a breeze with Torin, floating into the sound of piano keys and the sparkle of crystal chandeliers.

“I should have been dancing with you the first time we met,” he said. “You’d have to be crazy to hide someone this beautiful under a table.”

Belatedly, he realized everything he had said out loud and coughed awkwardly. Runa turned beet-red and looked back at her feet, focusing on where to step next (or at least doing her best to look like she was focusing on this).

“All of us thought it—I mean, my brothers were saying the same thing. And it’s not just the dress, you know—you always looked—you always look—” He sighed. “I don’t know what I’m saying right now.”

“Th-that’s okay. It’s very kind of you.”

Torin had stopped dancing. He looked left, right, back, and then forward once again. “Hey, I think all of my brothers are distracted right now. Do you want to…go outside for a bit?”

She looked up at him, wondering if she correctly understood the hidden meaning of those words. The significant look in his expression told her she had. Runa swallowed the thick saliva that suddenly blocked her throat.

“I…I…” She glanced to the right and caught sight of the refreshment tables. “I’m thirsty!” she exclaimed, and darted away.

Inwardly, she cursed herself for acting so foolishly in front of him all the time. “I’m thirsty,” she scoffed under her breath, pouring herself a generous glass of wine. “Of course, thirsty. Everyone gets spontaneously thirsty right after they’re asked a difficult question.”

“You came with the Sons of Midnight?”

She jumped and turned, splattering the tablecloth with red wine. At the sight of the woman who had spoken, Runa’s eyes widened. The woman’s head, ears, neck, and arms were laden with jewels. Her face seemed somehow, horribly familiar.

“I beg your pardon. Who are you?”

“I am Lady Sabia, daughter of Lord Cargan. I just asked you a question, which you completely ignored.”

Runa’s lips formed a small o. It was that daughter of Lord Cargan. And if this conversation went anything like their last one, it was not going to end well.

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~ A/N ~

This is why I never go to parties.

Thank you to @Nana for all the SUPER helpful comments!

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