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As Edelgard finished tucking her hair into the wimple and veil that were part of her costume for tonight's gala, she inspected herself in the mirror. It was important that not a single strand be out of place to give her away. Satisfied, she slipped the mask over her face and the illusion was complete. Gone was Edelgard von Hresvelg, the newly-ascended emperor of Adrestia; in her place stood a girl in a pale grey dress, whose trim and beading were elegant but not extravagant and suggested someone of minor rank—perhaps a younger daughter—but no one of great import.
"Are you certain about this, Your Majesty?" Monica, already outfitted in a rosy ball gown, was wringing her hands. "Not that you don't look lovely of course, but are you sure it's safe for you to attend in disguise?"
Edelgard sighed. "My personal guard is aware of my plans. They'll be keeping an eye on me from the sidelines. There's no need to be so concerned."
"But what if some lout attempts to impose upon you? Oh I could never forgive myself if a disreputable duke were to make untoward advances because he thought you below his station."
In truth, she hoped her demure costume would attract little attention. The goal was to be overlooked so that she could roam freely and get a flavour for what the members of her court were like when she was not within earshot. Perhaps she'd even get to dance with someone who wasn't vying for political favour; that would certainly be a novel experience.
"If it will make feel you better, Monica," she said with a raised eyebrow that she knew Monica couldn't see, "I'll promise to spend my evening with the duchesses instead of the dukes."
#
There was a certain thrill, Edelgard realized, to being in disguise. Or at least when it was a disguise she had chosen herself, not the "Flame Emperor" suit of armour that Thales had had crafted for her and would have had don had she not driven him out of Enbarr. No, this was a disguise that invited polite indifference, not fear, and it allowed her to move easily among the guests in their brilliant reds and blues and ochre, their sparkling masks glinting with gems.
The Saint Macuil Gala was ostensibly a celebration of the spring planting. As such, the event was intended to be informal, and outdoors. And so Edelgard had invited the guests to visit Enbarr's sprawling gardens—to the consternation of the palace guard who would have to keep tabs on guests as they wove through the aisles of flower beds and decorative bushes, and beneath the vine-entwined arbours, in and out of shadowy bowers sweet with the wafting scents of spring blooms. And all this with only flickering lamplight and winking starlight to see by. The wine poured freely into waiting cups and the masks that concealed people's faces encouraged impropriety and loose talk. People became bolder and less guarded, their tongues wagging like pups' tails.
Edelgard passed a fellow in a lion mask, ornamented with gold filigree, boasting about his days at the academy and a woman with a sapphire-studded mask, brimming with ribbons, complaining about how the former prime minister's son had refused a very generous offer (not to say bribe) just last week. At a distance, she passed the slight girl in a brilliant crimson and gold gown whose hair and face were concealed by an elaborate headpiece studded with stiff black feathers, and who sat in the golden chair reserved for the emperor. She had chosen one of her attendants who was clever and of similar height and breadth to play her part tonight. She'd asked the girl to speak as little as possible and, when pressed, to say she was feeling a bit poorly. Standing next to her in black and silver, Hubert was unmistakably himself even with the crow-beaked mask covering the top half of his face.
She skirted the edges of the broad terrace where the musicians played music for the more rustic line or circle dances that were a traditional part of spring celebrations—rather than the waltzes fashionable among Enbarr's nobility. That was when Edelgard spotted her, hovering on the edges of the terrace, immobile, save her eyes that scanned the environs with a slow, deliberate gaze. Something about her drew Edelgard's attention though she would have been hard pressed to say precisely what.
It was not her garb, which was as simple as her own—dark blue tunic and finely pleated trousers but without any ornamentation—and certainly not her face, which was invisible beneath a mask that covered her from brow to lips, off-white and featureless save for swirls of blue and green, like ocean swells, painted on the cheeks and forehead. It was something else entirely, her alert stance perhaps or the intensity of her gaze… or some intangible air about her.
The woman's head turned sharply and all at once, Edelgard found herself the object of that gaze.
Edelgard resisted the impulse for only a moment before she gave in and marched over to the masked woman. Her head tilted to one side as if she were slightly confused by Edelgard's approach, surprised to be seen at all. But how could Edelgard not see her? Especially now that she was closer and could make out those striking eyes, deep blue like stormy waves. Edelgard's mouth was dry, her hands oddly clammy, but she gathered her nerve and spoke. "Good evening."
"Good evening," the woman replied and gave a little bow.
"You don't look as if you're enjoying yourself," Edelgard said.
She shook her head. "I wasn't sent here to enjoy myself. I was sent to observe and listen and report back."
Beneath her mask, Edelgard's eyebrows shot up. She was not accustomed to such candour. "Is that so? Who are you meant to report to?"
"I'm not supposed to say."
"Hm, I suppose that would take away the air of mystery, wouldn't it? Can I at least have your name?"
"Byleth," she said simply. And then, after a moment's hesitation. "And you?"
It was now Edelgard who found herself hesitating. "You can call me 'Edie'," she said finally, thinking of Dorothea's pet name for her.
"Edie," Byleth murmured. And then her eyes seemed to drift upwards and it was only when she spoke again that Edelgard realized she was looking at the white feathers decorating the edges of her mask. "Your mask, is it meant to be a goose?"
And at that Edelgard couldn't help but laugh. "A swan I think."
"Oh," Byleth said. "I suppose they are more ornamental. And less edible."
And the peculiarity of that reply—with none of the obsequiousness she was accustomed to from court officials, nor even the gentle formality of her attendants and the delicateness of even her friends—delighted her. "Would you like to dance?" The words fell from her lips unbidden and, as Byleth stared at her in silence for a beat, blue eyes fixing her with an unblinking gaze, Edelgard nearly lost her nerve. She had faced down the Adrestian Ministers and Thales himself, but Byleth somehow put her off balance in a way they never had.
"Yes," Byleth said and then, hesitating, gestured towards the open area where the dancers were moving into rows for a line dance. They took a place near the end, standing across from each other. The vielle and lute sprang to life in a lively jig. It was much more in the style of rural village dancing than Edelgard was used to, but Byleth clearly knew the steps and hopped along in perfect time. She turned and spun and moved across the line at all the right moments, while Edelgard just managed to keep up. If she had had any doubt that her dance partner was not from Enbarr it was made clear in that jig. She was not from the court. Perhaps from some outlying territory then. The realization put a tiny smile on her lips.
The jig came to a conclusion but within moments the musicians were playing again and the guests forming up for another dance, a round this time by the look of it, one of the oldest types where everyone clasped hands to form a circle that broke apart to clap in time with the music. Byleth had not stepped away or suggested that she needed to be elsewhere so Edelgard held out her hand. Byleth reached for it and they danced.
When the circle broke apart—with much laughter and cheering—the tune that replaced it was slower, the flute louder, the stings of the vielle playing only softly. The melody was familiar to Edelgard, though she noticed her partner's eyes darting to the left and right as if looking for cues from the other dancers. "It's the Sun and Moon," she whispered. It was not quite so intimate as a waltz, but it remained a popular couple's dance. Byleth nodded, settling into the opening pose, left hand held out to Edelgard, right hand held above her brow. Edelgard grasped her hand as the music rose into the first sequence, and even though they were both wearing gloves, she could feel the warmth of Byleth's fingers in hers.
Left hands clasped, they began to spin around each other in a tight orbit. Byleth made a sweeping motion with her right hand, which Edelgard then mimicked. Then they each turned and repeated the gesture towards their neighbour's partner. And then they repeated the sequence in the other direction. All the while the music played, their hands remained clasped but their eyes never met; their gazes went past each other, over the shoulder or to their neighbours, but never quite meeting, the one always looking away just as the other turned back. It was meant to be the story of the sun and moon, intimately connected as they chased each other through the sky, but never meeting.
During the final repetition, as the music rose to a crescendo, they turned and turned, spinning around each other, always glancing away before the other looked back, until the very last bar when they stilled and looked directly at one another. Those blue eyes fixed Edelgard with all the pull of ocean tides.
It wasn't until the final notes faded into the din of laughter and cheers that their hands fell away from each other and Byleth offered a little bow.
"That was lovely. Thank you." Edelgard's heart was pattering faster than it should from the gentle exercise of dancing. "I think I need something to drink after all that dancing. And perhaps we could find somewhere quiet to talk—if you don't need to do more listening and observing that is."
"I think I've gathered the information I need," Byleth said. Her tone gave away as little as her mask.
Edelgard led them to the table where refreshments were being served and chose the weakest wine on offer. Her preference most of the time was tea, which helped her keep alert where wine dulled the senses. But calling for the staff to prepare her favourite beverage would belie the plainness of her costume. She sipped the wine. It quenched her thirst but did nothing to make her feel less flushed when those blue eyes lingered on her.
Edelgard wove her way past clumps of guests, with Byleth close behind. She turned down a row of shrubs not yet in bloom, and continued until she reached a gap. Byleth was looking at something over her shoulder. "Byleth?"
"There's a guard who seems to be following at a distance."
Beneath her mask, Edelgard's eyebrows shot up; the palace guard were like shadows when they wanted to be and it was no small feat to spot them. "The palace guard will have been instructed to keep an eye the gardens. Guests can become… overexuberant when wine flows freely."
Byleth nodded, though her gaze darted back once more.
Edelgard stepped through the gap in the bushes and into a small, paved area surrounded on three sides by tall hedges. On the fourth side a gnarled crabapple spread its branches through the space, creating a shaded area over a stone bench at its trunk. It was a favourite spot of hers, a place she could escape to think. Soon the hedges would be in bloom with tiny sweet-smelling flowers and the tree above her would flower and rain pink petals down with every breeze.
She sat down on the stone bench, sipping her wine, and Byleth joined her, though she kept a polite distance between them. She had stopped looking over her shoulder and Edelgard supposed the guard had taken up position close enough to hear if anything untoward should happen.
"It's much quieter here," Byleth noted.
"Does that suit you?" Edelgard asked.
Masked as she was, Byleth was almost unreadable. "Yes. I don't often attend this type of event."
"And yet you dance so well."
Byleth shrugged. "I was told I should learn. So I did." And then, her eyes fixing Edelgard, "You also dance very well."
"Thank you. I was required to learn at a very young age."
"I suppose most people here were," Byleth said, nodding.
The comments struck her as a curious one. It suggested that Byleth did not include herself in the "most people" at the gala, and Edelgard found herself wanting to pin down just who was under that mask. She had thought perhaps Byleth was a younger daughter from an outlying household, but perhaps something more distant. An illegitimate child? A former ward of the household?
They fell silent. Voices wafted to them as a couple strolled along the garden path, the lady giggling at the gentleman's slightly tipsy storytelling. Edelgard sipped her wine and darted a glance at her dance partner. Byleth sat very still and straight, seeming alert but relaxed in a way that reminded her of her weapons instructor, General Norstern. She wondered though, if she revealed to Byleth here and now who she was, how would it change her manner? Would her cool demeanour shatter into bowing and scaping or slink into an attempt to curry favour?
Turning away from her masked companion, Edelgard looked to the sky and spotted a silver crescent of moon peeking out overtop of the hedge. "What's the saying?" Edelgard found herself asking. "When the moon is high, the stars belie?"
Byleth nodded. "That's right. The moon drowns them out, makes them more difficult to see."
"Ah," Edelgard said. "Well I'm afraid I'm a poor student of the stars even on the clearest night."
"I can teach you," Byleth said, scooting closer and leaning towards Edelgard. Edelgard's heart skittered and she was grateful that the mask hid the flush creeping up her cheeks. Byleth pointed up to wedge of sky visible between a wide fork in the crabapple. "Do you see that very bright star between these two big branches?"
Edelgard leaned a little closer to more easily follow Byleth's line of sight and stared upwards. The sky was as glittering as the gala's guests, the stars winking like gems sown into a velvety black gown. "I do."
"That's the bottom star of Cichol's spear. See the two dimmer ones that line up with it?" Edelgard nodded; her mask scraped against the side of Byleth's. "The second one at the top of the spear is the Guide Star. It's always visible in the north. Once you locate it you can orient yourself even at night."
"A useful skill. What else can you see?"
She was a little surprised when Byleth took her hand and tugged her along as she rose. Edelgard let Byleth lead her to the centre of the garden nook where they had a clearer view of the sky.
Her hand pointed to an area to the left. "That triangle there? That's part of the Pegasus Constellation. You can only see it in the spring and summer." And then, spinning around, "And those four stars that make up a sort of box? Those are the Wyvern's wings."
"What about that very bright one?" Edelgard asked.
"That's the pommel of the Knight's Constellation."
But Edelgard had turned to study Byleth instead of the stars. It was difficult to make any sort of evaluation when she couldn't see her face. Most people's expressions gave away so much: a narrowing of the eyes, a twitch of the lips, a rise of the brows—all these things could speak volumes and often told a truer tale that the words that fell from people's lips.
"What is it?" Byleth asked when she caught Edelgard looking.
"I don't think you're a typical guest at this event. I'd like to try to guess what you do."
She tilted her head. "Should I guess as well?"
"If you like."
Byleth nodded. "You live in Enbarr, at the palace. You're a noble. Of much higher rank than your clothes suggest. A member of the court. Someone important. Important enough to have two royal guards following you."
Edelgard's breath caught but she forced herself to let out a slow breath and keep her tone even. "You're very perceptive."
Byleth bowed. "Thank you."
There was something about those eyes… Even though they were all she could see, she felt a strange tug towards Byleth. It was more than the litheness of her form or the calm that radiated from her. It was as if Edelgard were recognising in her some part of herself. "Before I guess, there's one thing I'd like to know."
"What's that?" Byleth asked.
Edelgard felt like her entire body was quivering as she peeled the glove off her right hand and then reached out and took Byleth's. Byleth froze, eyes widening, as Edelgard tugged at the fingers of her black glove, one by one, methodically loosening each digit until the glove easily slipped off Byleth's hand. And then, with her ungloved hand, Edelgard traced her fingers across Byleth's bare palm, over the pad of her thumb and each fingertip, feeling the rough calluses. She recognised those calluses, those of a hand accustomed to holding a blade.
"You're employed by a noble household," Edelgard said softly. "As a guard or an armed attendant."
"Close," Byleth said, her gaze tracing the path of Edelgard's fingers on her palm.
Edelgard supposed that was part of why Byleth had so intrigued her—like Shez, she was from a different walk of life and had a novel perspective. But it also meant they were unlikely to ever meet again. Byleth would return to the lord she served, in whatever capacity, and report back whatever information he'd been interested in obtaining. And Edelgard would return to being the emperor and preparing for the war with the Central Church. "I suppose I won't be seeing you around the palace then."
"No," Byleth agreed, "that's unlikely." Her fingers closed around Edelgard's, enveloping them in warmth. When Edelgard looked up she found herself instantly snared by the intensity of those blue eyes, like ocean swells pulling her out to sea. "Shall we dance again then? I won't have much opportunity to after this."
Hubert would probably disapprove. After all, she had nothing to gain from spending more time with this woman. Monica would surely disapprove, claiming that it was some ploy to obtain imperial favour, even if Byleth was neither a duke nor a duchess. But then it seemed that Byleth had long since surmised her high status and it had not changed her behaviour; she'd neither revealed whom she served nor asked Edelgard for favours. She'd asked only to dance.
"Nor will I." Edelgard squeezed those callused fingers. "And I would like to very much."
And so they danced under the moon's slow arc across the sky and walked among the guests, listening to their idle chatter and the secrets hidden among it like pearls. They learned of scandals and intrigues, plots and rivalries, all the while remaining unnoticed themselves. And they clasped hands and moved in time to the plucked notes trilling through the air until the moon fell below the horizon and the sun began to peek above it.
As the first rays of that new dawn began to smudge the western sky, Byleth offered a little bow. "Thank you for this evening, Edie. It was very informative." And then, tilting her head to one side, "And more enjoyable than expected."
Edelgard smiled. "It was indeed both of those."
For a moment longer they stood looking at each other, and Edelgard felt again the pull of those sea-blue eyes. Byleth's dark hair was visible past her plain mask and Edelgard was seized by an impulse to reach out and slide the mask away so she could see her face. She quashed it immediately. She could not afford to reveal herself so she could not ask another to do so.
Byleth gave another bow before she turned and left, retreating beneath the rising sun. Edelgard, in turn, slipped back into the palace, mindful of tipsy guests staggering to their rooms, and finally stripped off her mask as the morning sun poured itself through the eastern-facing windows.
But in the years that followed, as she planned her war, and lords and their retinue of guards came and went through Enbarr, Edelgard often thought of the woman who'd danced with her under the moon, and of the pull of her sea-blue eyes.
The End