Emma's Birthday

A sickening scent wafted through the grand halls of Galinding Manor. A bunch of self-proclaimed gentlemen walked through the halls, each with a woman more pompous than the last. For Emma’s eighteenth birthday had finally arrived.

I had quickly squashed myself into one of the ballrooms' numerous corners, overlooking the lamp-lit entrance surrounded by the night. 

Even now, carriage after carriage marched towards our front step, some rich brat steeped in a suit more expensive than the entire budget of some cities stepping out of each. How Father convinced apparently every noble on the continent to attend was beyond me, but dang did he pull out all the stops.

I glanced down at my suit—pale white with a deep purple trim. My blonde hair gently laid freshly curled against my forehead. There was something extravagant about it, so extravagant it made me nauseous.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” From the upper balcony, Father glared down at the crowd. “I welcome you to this grand celebration of my daughter's eighteenth birthday. I hope that she gets to meet each and every one of you fine folks, and who knows, maybe something more can be arranged.”

It took all the willpower I had to prevent a scowl from creasing my face.

“Tonight, I would like to take this opportunity to introduce my two oldest, my pride and joys in life: my daughter Emma and son Edmund!”

A polite applause followed as those two slowly walked down the aisle.

Edmund slowly and stiffly waved to the crowd. For being a pompous prick, he handled the sudden spotlight with the grace of a pig. I’d seen squirrels more elegant. 

His midnight black suit blended into the shadows, with a golden lining ornately swirling down his sleeves. Silver cufflinks reflected the chandelier's light. Underneath, a navy blue tie completed the look of a noble hellbent on anything but humility.

Emma, however, stole the show.

Her hair was curled much like mine. She had decided to forgo a crimson dress, as tradition stated, instead preparing a simple rose-colored gown with a pearl choker. She looked completely at ease. Compared to Edmund’s statue impression, a picturesque noble was all I saw.

Of course, any mention of me joining them was discarded long before it could ever be mentioned, not that I minded much. Walking down that aisle with all those nobles glancing up at me? I would rather take death by firing squad.

Edmund snapped his fingers; a glowing ball of air appeared around his fingertips—Alfie’s work for sure.

As he spoke, the condensed air amplified his voice. “I guess it is my turn to speak out. Emma, as your brother, I am more than proud to wish you a happy birthday! I know we have had our ups and downs throughout the years, what siblings don’t, but on this special day, I wish you nothing but the best.”

Wow. Honestly I didn’t know he could say something so nic—

“And to all the single ladies in the crowd, you know where to find me.”

There it was. Ringers, I wanted to puke into the nearest vase.

“Thank you for that… riveting commentary.” Emma snatched the ball of air quicker than Edmund could blink. “Now everyone, let's have a riveting dance!”

An hour passed without much of note. Emma and Edmund smoothly moved throughout the crowd, chatting up each noble in turn. The spiral of carriages dried up after what felt like an eternity. Now, only an infrequent cart arrived to pick up its honored guests—self-proclaimed.

“Hello sir, may I have the honor of knowing your name?”

Oh, this was going to be fun.

A noble-looking girl had walked over from my blind spot. From the looks of things, she was around my age, maybe sixteen at most, with light brown hair that reflected the chandelier and blue eyes to match. A vibrantly orange dress covered her chest. Certainly a bold pick.

Better to just get this over with. People like this weren't exactly my type. “Clair.”

“It is nice to make your acquaintance. I am Georga Pine, the daughter of Duke Pine.”

“Splendid.” Wow, did she ever have that pompous noble accent down.

“Would you care to join me for a dance, Mr…”

“My name is Clair.”

“Right! Mr. Clair, how does that sound?”

“I am afraid I will have to pass. Someone of my lowly standing, the second son of a viscount, could never hope to dance with someone of such high prestige.”

“Nonsense. As the daughter of a duke, such things as being second born mean little when dealing with someone with your father’s status.”

“Sadly, my leg is injured as well due to a recent accident.”

“That is a bit of a problem.” She sighed, clearly still not taking the hint. “What dared to injure the leg of a beautiful man?

“A monkey that couldn't leave well enough alone.”

“In this part of the country? Things must be moving fast indeed. Very well, but if you happen to pass by the Pine Dutchy, feel free to call out for me.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Have a good ball in my stead, Ms. Pine.”

With those parting words, she soberly turned back to the crowd to headhunt her next victim. At least, compared to your average heir, that could have been much more dreadful.

I glanced back at the frolicking nobles. Edmund was trying his hardest to chat up some redheaded girl, while she slowly backed away into the shoulders of a dancing couple.

Yet, other than Edmund, everyone else was gone. Emma had vanished from the crowd, and even Father no longer glared down from the upper balcony.

“Emma?” I called out, my voice quickly fading into the party's ensemble. She surely couldn't have gone very far. Last I saw she was chatting away with some duke from the upper part of the country, judging by his fur-covered cloak.

She had simply… disappeared.

Outside the ballroom, only a few maids scuttled about with a variety of refreshments. The thick smell of food wafted out from the kitchens, candles flickered against the eggshell walls, and the shadows from outside seemed to shake the very foundation of the manor.

Just beyond the corner, Father marched along with a convoy of guards, armed with their shiny swords and uniforms straight out of a stage play. In the middle of Father's toy soldiers, however, a single bob of brown hair stuck out.

“Emma!” I dashed towards the group. With a shout, one of the soldiers hurried the group up, past a nearby hall, and down a set of stairs.

I leaped down, barely avoiding a crash into the stone floor. Where the hell were they taking her? This was her eighteenth birthday! Whatever could be so urgent, so necessary that she needed an armed guard to escort her in her own home?

No, escort wasn’t the right word.

If anything, it looked as if Father was kidnapping her.

I burst through the kitchen doors. Pots and pans went sprawling as the chefs reacted with fright, Father and company shoving aside everything in their way.

“Excuse me! Sorry!” The guards clearly didn’t care much for subtlety, leaving the floor a steaming mess in their wake. Bubbling concoctions smoldered on the floor. Against the fallen silverware and chefs, enough dishes to feed a village were ransacked from their counters.

They descended another few floors, just out of reach yet barely in sight. The rusty chandeliers creaked from the commotion upstairs. Weak candlelight flickered gently in the dim corridor, not a window to be seen.

I slowed my dash to a crawl. In my years at Galinding Manor, I had explored every nook and cranny of the upper floors, but this, down here closer to the dungeons, was unexplored territory.

Suits of armor, well worn with age, cast shadows as they nobly guarded whatever lay up ahead. Any sight of Father and Emma were long gone, just faint footsteps now. Shadows loomed larger than the greatest of dragons. I found myself slightly shaking against the chilled air, every bit of my brain fighting off my doubts.

This wasn’t the time for fear. I slapped my cheeks, making my way forward.

Running now, I burst open another dark wooden door. Inside, a maze of candles and stone wound round and round. The light stone from above had been replaced with a sinister gray.

For every potential path, there were two more at its end.

What to do, what to do… At this point, Emma’s footsteps were getting fainter by the second. The echoes didn’t help much either. Turn after turn after turn, just making it back would be a miracle.

Yet I ran on. Whatever Father had planned, it couldn’t be good.

In this damned household, only Emma stood up for me! It was only Emma who dared to speak up against Father. Wherever I could only cower in fear, she would shove me behind her and take whatever Father threw head-on. A manor without Emma wasn’t a manor I could survive in.

Soon after, I reached a set of doors, one blacker than night and the other aglow in flames. I pushed against the former. With a shudder, it collapsed into a pile of ash.

Just beyond, the faint trace of a head disappeared just as another door slammed to a close.

I ran harder than ever before. My ankles screamed as the clatter of my shoes repeatedly pounded against the floor. The door got closer by the second, the final obstacle between me and Emma.

I threw myself against the door, splintering the wood.

Yet, all that awaited me was a mirror image. The same two doors from earlier sat ahead, still intact. All the frantic pounding, the shattering of wood, all for nothing.

“Emma! Emma!” I shouted, over and over again, a single tear falling down my cheeks.

Any trace of the guard's footsteps was now long gone.