Don’t Take Life Too Seriously; It Might be the Big Day Part 1

The day had arrived. After six terms of diligent and unethical work hours, the party was nigh, and somehow, we had finished everything on Conroy’s wishlist, including the transforming holograms, with just hours to spare. In my exhaustion, my brain shut off and I collapsed in the ballroom, and there I remained until Amillia woke me just as the first guests arrived.

“Come on, Olavir!” she said, giddy with joy. “The party is starting!” You would think a child held hostage only a week earlier would be more traumatized, but I guess Sistilla did a good job of shielding her from the worst of it.

I let out a toothy yawn as she dragged me with her arm wrapped around mine. She wore a new dress: white with pink trim and extra frills; it looked expensive, though not as expensive as the glittering tiara adorning her head. Her hair also had some work done and hung down, curling just above the shoulders.

We had to weave between all the tables that had appeared sometime between when I had lost cognitive function and been reanimated. The staff had worked swiftly, furnishing the ballroom with set tables and chairs, a massive buffet—I shudder thinking about how much anguish that buffet had inflicted—a fully stocked bar, and an ice sculpture. Of course, all the crap Conroy wanted went on display as well, but I didn’t even want to think about that right now.

“Ah, if it isn’t Amillia,” came the greeting from a familiar face. “Happy birthday to you.”

Amillia gave a curtsy. “Thank you, Lord Norboro.” I followed suit with a bow, feeling it only proper.

“I must say, your father really went out of his way to throw you a party nobody will soon forget,” he said, scanning the room for hidden attractions. “It was all my wife could do to pull the boys from riding up and down on those moving stairs. At least it stopped them from running in and out of doors...”

He let out a sigh just as Lady Norboro dragged the two boys along with her. They squirmed around as she held them by the collar of their matching blue suit coats, but they ceased their struggles as they caught sight of the holographic humanoid amalgamation of shapes performing an intricate dance—don’t ask me how he got the dance steps. Their eyes went wide, and like two eager dogs, they began straining their bonds, but Lady Norboro held fast, resigned, but not defeated.

“Timerthy and Johnry! Where are your manners?” she reprimanded. “Don’t you have something to say to Lady Amillia?”

They both pouted but turned and gave a curt bow to Amillia. “Happy birthday, Amillia.”

They didn’t seem the least bit sincere, but that’s to be expected from children not even five years of age. Lady Norboro rolled her eyes, but released them; they took off running to one of the holographic displays.

She sighed. “Well, I hope you are having a wonderful birthday, Amillia.”

She curtsied, and Amillia returned the gesture. It seemed she could show proper decorum when called for. Thinking about it, I couldn’t say I had ever seen her commit any noteworthy improprieties. Sure, she demanded constant attention, though mostly from the chateau dog—yours truly. Even the tutors only had to suffer her lack of focus.

The Norboros made a final salutation before heading off to find a table, depositing a gift on a table set aside for the purpose. A small box, but among the nobility, smaller usually meant more expensive. Amillia showed no great interest in opening the gift, probably because at this level of wealth, you didn’t want for much.

Once the Norboros had arrived, a steady stream of people came trickling and then surging through; it seemed like Conroy had invited everyone with a noble title. Fair enough; the room looked big enough to accommodate the entirety of Reastera several times over. Normally, I would have hidden myself away from such hustle and bustle, but Amillia's social obligation included greeting all the guests, which she did dutifully and with apparent pleasure. Being a standout—even among all the engrave tech—guests made frequent inquiries about strange creature at her side, and Amillia would answer by saying I was her date; I cringed inside, and she would either grab my hand or wrap an arm around mine every time someone asked, which was nearly everyone. So as much as I would like to have tucked myself away in some distant corner, Amillia had me pinned down, and I had run out of excuses, the main one being this party. Well, her birthday only came once a year. I suppose the least I could do was suffer her foibles.

After an eternity, the spigot had finally closed, and the stream of guests choked off; the towering stack of gifts standing testament to the sheer volume.

“Okay, that’s everybody,” Amillia said with an eager gleam in her eye. “If anybody comes late, we can find and greet them later. Come on, Olavir!”

She took my hand and pulled me through the... I would like to say throng of people, but the room could have housed an aircraft carrier, and we had no trouble navigating. Though she had greeted everyone, Amillia only knew a relative handful, which made sense for an 11-year-old girl. As such, she sought out enclaves with people she knew. If I had learned anything from Amillia’s endless stream of tea parties, she lived for this kind of social event, and she inserted herself into any group where she could address someone with familiarity. The birthday girl found easy admittance, though the topics of conversation went well above her head, mine as well, lacking the proper context.

“We need our own colonial influence on the Mystic Continent. Londane has already deployed a viceroy to the Fowtherland Access...”

“Pssh, how long before he gets sent back with a wang tattooed on his forehead? I’ll take bets!”

“There is a lady present.”

“Oh... My apologies.”

It was probably fine, as I didn’t think Amillia was familiar with slang terms for male genitalia. Needless to say, she didn’t fit in with this boisterous boys' group. However, the women’s circles proved just as enigmatic.

“It’s not that I have a problem with our housekeeper courting the coachman… in principle. It’s just... when you find her with her hair set differently halfway through the day, knowing full well she has not left the chateau...”

“Oh my! You don’t think...”

“I am certain that they are!”

Amillia looked at me, disappointed. “I don’t know what they are talking about...”

“Yeah, well. That’s probably for the best,” I replied, eliciting a glower from her.

With the casual conversations of the partygoers outside of Amillia’s reach, perhaps the people she knew best would be more accommodating. She easily located her father, a large group having gathered to listen to him speak.

Conroy was in rare form tonight. Once we got into earshot of his sales pitch—as it could only be described—it became clear that this night meant more for him than Amillia. He wasn’t trying to sell any products, but from what I gathered, he was trying to drum up support for a new bill that would expand Alocast's technological know-how by giving scholarships to anyone displaying scientific merit to study in the Gelcic Republic, and that included the common folk. To my ears, this sounded like a rubber-stamp issue, but many expressed concerns, and others downright disapproval. That explained this day’s importance to Conroy; what better chance to win people to his cause? Not that I cared about the outcome.

“Hello Father,” Amillia broke in during a lull in the sermon as the audience studied a hologram. “Thanks for the party. It’s really nice!”

“O-Oh, Amillia,” he said, just noticing her. “Yes, well. I’m glad you are enjoying yourself.”

He turned back and addressed the group. “As you can see, gentlemen, this technology could be expanded to multifarious uses, from real-time visual communications to battlefield subterfuge. And with the recent developments in the Vardent Valley, Alocast cannot afford to fall behind technologically. The Magocracy of Londane alone has already invested heavily in sigilric development and has a long-standing merit-based scholastic system for developing talent. Rumor has it they intend to expand more into engrave tech in the coming years.”

A general murmur passed through the group. While fascinating, the mention of the Varden Valley in particular caught my attention. A large place by any measure, but my ears canted, almost certain it pertained to what happened at the Two Trees. I hoped he would say more, but as it seemed more of a tangent, I doubted he would return to the subject, and it didn’t seem prudent to broach the topic myself.

“What have you been talking about?” Amillia cut in.

“U-Umm, nothing that would interest you,” he said with suppressed irritation. “Why don’t you go try out the buffet? They have all your favorites.”

He gave her a gentle push and went back to selling his wares. Amillia pouted, and I shared her sentiment but for different reasons; what did he know about my home? At any rate, we headed to the buffet. It had a nice selection, though I could have told you that before the first egg had been broken. The captions spoke the name and gave a brief description with a wave of the hand; I hoped it moved units. I helped myself to one of the meat-skewered kebabs and pulled the first piece off with an exposed canine. Sweet and sour with a kick that would ensure you didn’t wolf it down in one go. Quite tasty. I grabbed another for the road while Amillia took a pastry.

“Let’s go find Sistilla,” she said, scanning the room. Out of everyone, Sistilla probably indulged her sister’s whims the most. It made sense that she would seek her out if she felt bored.

We waded from island to island of people. It took us some time to trek through the massive hall. Lucky for Amillia that she had me, as she had no system for sifting through the eddies of people and would have surely doubled back and never gotten around to surveying everybody. Regardless, we still couldn’t find Sistilla and had to ask partygoers if they had seen her.

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping I would get a chance to speak with her; everyone is mortified about that attack.”

This was the general theme of the responses, and it seemed that knowledge of Amillia or my involvement had not widely spread outside of Reastera. That would probably change before the night was out; staff tended to talk.

“Mmmm! Where is she?” Amillia groaned.

I couldn’t say, perhaps somewhere with more oxygen. And if she didn’t want to be found, it would prove impossible to locate her; of this I had no doubt.

“Oh, were you looking for your sister?” a maid said, manifesting out of the ether.

Amillia stared, just as surprised to find her standing there like a conspicuously convenient answer-granting statue.

“Yes, I’ve looked everywhere,” Amillia said, though that only encompassed the ballroom.

“My apologies, Lady Amillia,” she said, giving a small bow. “Lady Sistilla was getting accosted about what transpired a few days ago, and had to retreat to a more secluded location.”

Well, I could understand that. Personally, I would have done the same if not for a particular someone.

“Can you tell me where she went?”

“The lady went with Prince Orland to the observatory.” Yes, this place had an observatory. Didn’t I mention that?

I shrugged. “I see. Well, best to just leave—”

“Let’s go, Olavir!” She pulled me along with a jerk.

Guests milled about in the halls as well, those looking for a bit more privacy than a bustling ballroom provided. Romantic engagements mostly, though we passed an arguing couple as well.

We reached the spiral staircase leading to the observatory. The stairs wrapped wide against the walls of the tower with several platforms between the observatory and the third floor. While sparse on the decor, they were on theme, with old telescopes, star charts, and other astronomy-related furnishings, though it didn’t look like any of this stuff had seen use in some time. Still, everything sparkled—the maids were meticulous.

Amillia was huffing and puffing when we reached the observatory—girth and stairs are not friends. Still, her eyes gleamed, fixated on the door as she caught her breath. I had my reservations about intruding; however, Amillia did not share this sense of prudence, and now I grabbed her sleeve.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to disturb them.”

She pulled in her lips. “Why not? It’s a party. People mingle at parties.”

Pulling her arm free, she marched up the handful of remaining stairs, undeterred. I grimaced; this could get awkward fast and might scar Amillia for life. Well, maybe I exaggerate, but we should still not disturb those two; nobody enjoyed being disturbed during... the act.

Unfortunately, by the time I had resolved to stop her, she had thrown open the door. “Amillia!?”

I reached out a futile hand and grabbed at air. Damn, I rushed up the stairs to pull Amillia away to minimize the damage, only to find...

“You gave me quite the start, Amillia,” Sistilla said, putting a hand to her chest.

The two of them just sat against the far wall with a blanket draped over their laps, fully clothed. Rather wholesome, really. I sighed with relief at having misread the situation. Still, I doubted they appreciated the intrusion.

“It seems we have been discovered,” Orland said in that theatrical way of his.

“What are you two doing up here? The party is downstairs,” Amillia said, framing out on her hips.

“But for us, the party is right here,” Orland quipped, turning and locking gazes with Sistilla.

Uck... I forgot how cringe he was. They continued to just stare into each other’s eyes with an unsettling set of smiles. Well, I guess we had intruded on them; best we just leave. Turning to Amillia, she appeared oblivious to any deeper subtext; a child after all, and still naive about these things.

I gave a tug to her sleeve, but she had cemented herself in place. “What have you two been doing up here?”

“Stargazing,” Sistilla said, still looking into Orland’s eyes.

“Stargazing?”

Amillia looked up. The architects had designed this room with that vary notion in mind, with large windows—more of a missing wall—to accommodate broad viewing of the night sky. However, tonight was overcast. She frowned.

The two continued to snuggle up against each other, having finally broken eye contact, looking about ready to drift off. Sistilla especially looked ready to depart from consciousness. Orland put an affectionate arm around her.

“Are you both going to sleep up here?” Amillia asked, with a creeping sense of disappointment.

“Maybe...” Sistilla muttered as if about to do just that.

Amillia stood there a short while longer, as her eyes turned downward to the cold hardwood floor. “I’ll just go...”

By the time we arrived back at the party, Amillia’s mood had bounced back. The party showed no sign of slowing down, and by my understanding, it would go late into the night. A sigh vacated my body as I glimpsed a clock indicating that not even half the party had passed. Things were only getting started, and the dance floor was gaining traction—probably at the encouragement of Conroy as the disco lighting cast trippy sparks, playing across the whole venue. The band, too, had taken up playing appropriate dance numbers.

“Everyone is dancing!” she shouted with glee. “Come on! Let’s go dance!”

She pulled me along. However… “I don’t know how to dance.”

She looked back. “That’s okay, I can show you!”

“Yeah... I’d rather not,” I replied, but seeing as she didn’t like this answer, added, “I’m sure you could find someone who knows what they are doing to dance with you.”

She blew out her cheeks but accepted the proposition. Unlike the rest of the ballroom, you could scarcely squeeze your way through the area around the dance floor; mosh pits had more space. Couldn’t people dance anywhere? There was plenty of room. Sure, the band played not 5 feet away, and the disco lighting hovered directly above, but was it worth fighting your way through the ring of onlookers? Even the birthday girl needed to elbow her way to the dance floor. However, once you got there, the space opened up. I guess dancing was a spectator sport.

The song ended, and some dancers made their way to the periphery, but many stayed. Among the departing, Lucial stepped off looking red-faced and out of breath—I suppose that number did have a quick tempo.

“Lucial!” Amillia cried out.

“Oh, *huff* Amillia,” she replied, winded. “How are you *huff* liking the party?”

“Mmm... It’s okay,” she crossed her arms. “Sistilla and Prince Orland are snuggled up, stargazing. I don’t know how, though; you can’t even see the stars tonight.”

Lucial covered a sly grin with a dainty hand. “Tee hee, I’m sure they are.”

Amillia stared perplexed as the band struck up the next song. Lucial had caught her breath when a prominent absence came to mind.

“It looks like your father couldn’t make it?” I said with a knowing tone.

She returned a small but genuine smile. “No, he apparently isn’t feeling well; it’s been a stressful week.”

“Your Highness, if I might have this dance?” One man on the periphery of the dance floor stepped up with a courteous bow.

I turned to my right and noticed several eager-looking young men looking at Lucial, probably waiting for our conversation to conclude, but this one had broken with propriety and jumped the gun; the others shot him surly scowls. She extended her hand.

“Aren’t you engaged?” I ask without thinking.

She smirked. “He’s not here, and I doubt he would care at any rate. Not that it’s improper to dance with those to whom you are not betrothed.”

Amillia looked longingly as the brazen gentleman whisked Lucial away, but then remembered why she had elbowed her way through the throng of people. You would think that there would be more people her own age around, and there were. But boys that age are not all that interested in girls, and the holograms and other engrave tech oddities had captured the lion’s share of their attention. In fact, I could see several groups of them trying to discover secret Easter eggs hidden about; it was only a matter of time before they discovered the soundtrack in the bathroom. The older boys would be a better bet, though from what I could see, their attention tended towards the more developed young lasses.

But those destitute men Lucial had left high and dry still hung about; Amillia noticed as well.

“Would one of you gentlemen care to dance?” she said, walking up and doing her best flirtatious strut.

“I’m next!”

“No, it’s me! I’ve been waiting the longest!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s about who is quicker!”

The three men didn’t even notice Amillia standing there with a coquettish turn of the hips as they argued over who got the next dance. The smile slid from her face, that visage of disappointment returning. However, she turned her gaze to me.

“Olavir, dance with me!” she ordered with a resolute scowl as she grabbed my arm and began dragging me onto the floor.

I cast about for a lifeline like a man washed overboard; I had no desire to make a fool of myself, and as a beacon for attention, there would be more eyes on me than I would want in a lifetime.

“Hey, isn’t that your mother over there?” I said, pointing to Valarina.

This got Amillia’s attention. We had not yet seen her at this party; Valarina sightings, like finding a unicorn, were random and somewhat rare. Outside of meals, trying to find her was like looking for Bigfoot: hopeless, and the best you could hope for was a grainy photograph, which, considering that photography hadn’t been invented yet, would be rather impressive. At any rate, my action had the desired effect.

“Mama!”

Valarina could be rather indulgent with her daughter’s fancies; she was quite fanciful herself. We found her staring intently at the buffet, bent at the waist, scrutinizing the selection.

“Mama, I found you!” Amillia exclaimed.

Uncharacteristically, she didn’t turn to face her daughter, but continued to scrunch her face up as she stared. “How do you think these nameplates know when someone is near?”

“Uhh...” Amillia put a finger to her mouth.

Valarina waved a lacy, gloved hand over the caption. “Galcic king crab, wrapped in laliwood smoked bacon.”

“Oh, that’s what you meant,” I said, eager to explain. “The captions actually sense heat. When there is a change in temperature that surpasses a certain threshold, the engraving activates.” A simplified version, of course, as humans didn’t really know about the electromagnetic spectrum or infrared light, and even the hozenlo only seemed to have recently discovered its existence.

Valarina nodded. “But how does it know what the temperature is?”

“Well, there is actually a sigil that reacts to temperature shifts. Depending on whether there is an increase or decrease in temperature, it will respond differently.”

“Mama, did you see? I greeted everyone who came!”

“I see. But how do you get it to talk? Did you capture someone’s voice?” she said, tapping a finger to the side of her mouth.

“If only,” I said with an eye roll. “Getting those captions sounds down was the most difficult part. You would not believe how intricate a single sound that passes so effortlessly through the lips actually is!”

Valarina pressed her lips. “Really?”

“Yes, for instance, consider the sound—”

“Mama!” Amillia interrupted.

“Oh, Amillia. How are you, my daughter?” she said, seeming to notice her for the first time.

“Did you see Mama? Did you see—”

“Oh! What are those?” she said, looking off to the dancing holograms. “Are those shapes dancing?”

In her typical whimsical fashion, she rushed off to investigate without casting us so much as a parting glance. Well, that is Valarina for you. She tried poking and prodding the 3D projection as they swayed and shifted, passing through her completely once or twice, but when that failed, she tried to emulate the dance, or rather succeeded; either she was brimming with talent, or she already knew the dance Linglang had based them on. Despite how flighty she could be, I almost admired that free spirit of hers.

A tug on my sleeve pulled me out of my trance; Amillia was turning to walk away. I grabbed one of those bacon-wrapped crab things before getting pulled away. Only the tug didn’t have the force I expected, more a suggestion than a demand; out of character for Amillia. She had lost much of her good cheer, replaced with downcast eyes. Well, her entire head at this point. And I couldn’t be sure, they had dimmed the room’s light for maximum disco lighting effect, but I thought I saw a glisten pulling around the edges of her eyes. My appetite waned; I still ate it, though, not believing in wasting food.

I paid little attention to where Amillia was leading as I reflected on the events of the party. She had seemed so excited about it when it first started. She could barely contain herself as she greeted her guest, so eager to interact with everyone, a true extrovert, the complete opposite of me. Yet, despite it being “her” party, she had been brushed off at every turn. No wonder she was upset. My stomach turned over the morsel as she pulled me through the crowd.