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themoonlitsojourner · 10 months

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“What brings you here, anyway?” He tilts his head. “Who are you?”

“No one,” she says without thinking. Pulse spiking and palms going clammy, a moment later.

His eyebrows shoot up. “‘No one?’ Huh, your parents were certainly creative. I’m Gar.”

Flustered, she shakes her head. “Tara. My name is Tara. It’s just…” She folds her arms. “I’m not exactly supposed to be here.”

“But of course, the price of resources has skyrocketed. Our product, in turn, has been forced to…”

“How is your mother? Ever since I caught word of her illness…”

“I do relish the caviar. I believe our gracious hosts have opted for the Beluga sturgeon variety. It has a certain note of…”

It’s… It’s huge. Huge, and bathed in gold and silver, half-filled with whirling reds, and greens, and blues fanning out in full, elegant skirts. Spotted with crisply tailored tuxedos in shades of black and charcoal and white. Tables laden high and heavy with more kinds of food than she could imagine.

A shoulder hits her back.

Tara stumbles and flushes and catches her balance and turns around, but there’s no one there. Er– there’s lots of people there. People looking her way, wondering about the underdressed, unaccompanied, and awkward girl gaping like a waif off the street–

Tara forces one foot forward. The next. Step by step, and she’s ghosting across the edge of the echoing ballroom. Avoiding the tide. Struggling not to get pulled adrift into the sea of well-dressed, well-mannered bodies. But she can’t keep her eyes from wandering the room.

They’re all so tall, and confident, and dressed in silks and shades she’s never even heard of, talking about things strange enough to be another language, about owning companies, and kingdoms, and ships, and–

Tara freezes. Her heart lodges in her throat.

Gregor stands tall and proud, talking eloquently and energetically with a couple dripping with… diamonds. Those are diamonds. Gregor makes a point, tilting his head and lifting his eyebrows, and the red-handkerchiefed gentleman nods. An impressed smile graces his mustached lips. The lady next to him, color-coordinated with the handkerchief, looks ready to adopt Gregor. And Gregor, he… He isn’t looking this way.

Tara breathes out and shuffles a few steps back. She turns and ducks behind a pillar, careful to keep her movements casual and– and normal. This is normal. These things happen every day, she attends these things every day, she– she knows what she’s doing.

With long strides, she walks away from her brother. Ha, brother? Who? What brother? Don’t mind her, just keep talking, don’t look back…

Tara stops in the corner. A vantage point, where she can see– well, not everything, but most of it. But a lot of it. And…

She sags back against the cool, marble walls.

No sign of Brion. No sign of… of anyone else she knows.

Which is good, right? No one she knows, then no one who knows her. No one who can recognize and tell on her, no one who can get her into… trouble.

Seas, and seas drift by. Dress, after suit, after dress. Talking. Laughing. Back and forth, and all around, and no one– No one looks her way.

Why was she worried?

Tara curls her hand around the bruises on her wrist, squeezing her eyes shut as the pressure wells in her head. T–this was dumb. She’s risking Elodie’s wrath for this? Why did she even–

Rippling, care-free laughter rides the air. Above the clamor, above the static of nonsense. It rolls over her ears like a message, light and musical like a– like a river stream or something. Nothing like the false brass of forced belly laughs, or the broken glass chitter of a mouth-covered giggle…

It rings in her head. Bouncing off the walls of her skull long after it’s finished. Tara bites her lip and lifts her head. She pushes off the wall. She lifts onto her toes, peering over a hundred heads of perfectly coiffed hair…

There. A boy halfway across the room, dressed in a sea green tuxedo with his dark hair neatly slicked, his head tipped back.

Face still quirked in laughter to the amusement of the handful of adults stationed around him.

How old is he? About… could he be twelve? He… seems to be having fun. He seems to know how these things work.

He seems to belong here.

The boy opens his eyes. It’s too far to really see, but she thinks they might be green. And he… looks directly at her. And scrunches his nose in another smile.

Tara drops onto her flat feet. She checks over her shoulder.

No one in particular. No one looking his way. No one he could be… smiling at.

She looks back at the boy. He is looking at her, and he tips his head to the crowd around him, whose focuses have all shifted back to each other. And he rolls his eyes.

Tara’s heart thuds in her chest. A slow grin spreads over her face. She lets the tip of her tongue poke out, just for a second.

The boy crosses his eyes.

The sound of her own laugh under her breath startles her. Tara sets her finger on the skin beneath her eye and pulls it down, zombie style, and he…

Oh. He’s turning away. Nudging the shoulder of the man next to him, deep in conversation with a sharp-eyed, clean-shaven monolith. The boy says something. The man dismisses him with a gesture, never tearing his eyes or his attention from the conversation. The boy makes a face.

Tara glances around. She takes a step back, toward the balcony. It’s, um, it’s quieter out there, and less crowded, and there aren’t nearly as many people, or as much chance of getting spotted, and–

Surprise ties her in place as she takes one more glance. One more look over her shoulder that she shouldn’t. And sees the boy slip past the adults. And begin making his way across the floor to her.

Her drum of a heart takes up a pulsing rhythm again at the sight. At his hands in his pockets. At impossibly green, gold-flecked eyes gazing out beneath perfect dark hair, and perfect dark lashes. They are locked on… on her. And they sparkle.

He stops a few feet away. “Hey.” He rocks back on his heels. The smile never left his face. The best Tara’s ever seen, boyish and charming and shy, all wrapped up in a gap-toothed grin. “Where do cows go dancing?”

Something in Tara’s brain stutters. She blinks. “Excuse me?”

A sparkle. And a mischievous glint. “The meatball.”

There is the strangest, longest, briefest second, between his joke and her understanding, before the gold-inlaid floor fills her vision as she doubles over laughing.

When she straightens, it’s a new grin gracing his lips. Delighted. Relaxed.

“You came all the way over here to tell me that?” Tara shakes her head.

He shrugs, shoulders nearly touching his ears. “I–uh… Wanted to hear you laugh up close.”

Warmth floods her face and arms. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she lets out another laugh, this one nervous and not by choice.

She has never heard anyone say anything like that before.

“What brings you here, anyway?” He tilts his head. “Who are you?”

“No one,” she says without thinking. Pulse spiking and palms going clammy, a moment later.

His eyebrows shoot up. “‘No one?’ Huh, your parents were certainly creative. I’m Gar.”

Flustered, she shakes her head. “Tara. My name is Tara. It’s just…” She folds her arms. “I’m not exactly supposed to be here.”

Danger. Slipping from her lips. She checks over her shoulder, no one around, there’s no one around, right…?

Gar’s grin catches and pulls her attention back to him as it turns crooked, tugging on one side of his mouth. Revealing neat, white teeth. “A stowaway!” He holds out his hand, nodding to the doorway behind her shedding moonlight. “Let’s hide on the balcony.”

Tara stares at the offered palm. Her blood clamors in her veins, an uncertain marching band composed entirely of drums and cymbals.

“They’ve asked for my help upstairs. Just stay here.” Elodie had tied and untied the apron around her waist with a faraway look in her eyes. “Don’t go anywhere, and don’t talk to anyone. They’ll all be up there. Dukes, and earls, and countesses… And the last thing we need is you meeting the prime minister.” Her hand on the doorknob. Her mind on the dance floor. “Stay here.”

And she forgot to lock the door.

…But that doesn’t have anything to do with Gar. He won’t know unless she tells him, she won’t tell him, and everything will be fine. And the ‘don’t talk to anyone’… That wouldn’t even mean him, would it? Not Gar, with the beautiful eyes and the gentle smile. Not a boy her own age, just looking for some… Company? Fun? What is he looking for?

…It doesn’t matter. She’s knee deep as soon as they find out, anyway.

So Tara fits her fingers between Gar’s. And together, they escape into the crisp night.

The polite din of a party nearly two hundred strong fades into static. Tara hears her own breath, slow and shallow.

“Do you like constellations?”

She tears her gaze away from her hand, wrapped up in the secure, warm brown of his. He sees her looking and quickly lets go. Immediately, the North wind turns her hand cold.

Tara rubs it with her other hand and swallows. What was his question? “I– yeah. I love them.”

Gar looks at her like it’s a secret. Like the commonality is a shared shred of soul. “Me too. Show me your favorite.”

She folds her arms across the top of the banister, searching the skies for what she knows isn’t there any more. “Hydra. The sea serpent. But you can’t see it after May.”

“Funny.” Gar huffs a laugh. “We get that one in the southern hemisphere too.”

From the corner of her eye, Tara steals a glance. “The southern hemisphere?”

“I live in Africa. My parents are scientists.”

Her heart twinges painfully. “They’re here for the charity ball.”

He nods. “Why the sea serpent?”

Tara swallows. “I don’t know. I guess… Well, it’s the largest constellation in the sky.”

“Cool,” Gar says softly. Not good enough. He already knows that.

“It takes hours to rise at night,” Tara blurts out. “And…” She hesitates. His question ringing in her head. Why, why… “I like… how it does its own thing,” she finishes lamely.

“I like the Jewel Box cluster.” Gar hops up onto the railing. Like, actually sits on it, dangling his tuxedoed legs off the side and revealing rumpled black dress socks falling down his ankles. “It looks like four stars. Until you get a telescope and find out it’s hundreds.”

Tara bites into her lip. She steals a glance over her shoulder.

Half open doors, hesitantly admitting the night. It’s immediately drowned out by dozens of chandeliers and a ten piece instrumental band. There is no sign of her brothers.

Tara breathes out. And she turns back toward the stars, taking Gar’s hand and swinging herself up onto the bannister next to him. She pushes her hair out of her face. She asks, a little breathless, “What else do you like, Gar from Africa?”

His eyes shine stranger and deeper than the gaps in the galaxy. “Dude, so many things.”

“Tell me.”

Hours fall by, sand in an hourglass. The magnetism of his smile, his laugh, his casual attention draws her ever nearer. A black hole of infatuation. A night sky of potential.

It is worth every silent, locked-in hour that follows.

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