Chapter 63

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: A Guest from Gallico
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Unbeknownst to Ariadne, the Bauta mask and set of accessories Cesare had gifted her were creations of the Collegioni workshop. Isabella, who rode with her in the de Mare carriage to the masquerade ball, recognized them instantly. It was because Isabella had failed in her own attempt to order a fleur-de-lis design this season. Cesare had commissioned the piece from Collegioni’s head of accessories a month and a half prior, sternly warning them not to accept any similar orders. Consequently, when Isabella inquired about having a mask made, she was rejected from the start.

- “My lady de Mare, I do apologize. We cannot accept an order for the same item.”

She had pleaded with them, asking if they couldn't make a different mask, or at the very least an accessory with a fleur-de-lis motif, even if it wasn't a Bauta mask, but Collegioni’s refusal was firm.

- “It was a commission for which we received a significant premium, so it will be difficult this season. Please contact us before the Feast of St. Michael next year.”

And so, the fleur-de-lis bracelet of red rubies and green topaz that had made Isabella tremble with desire when she saw it in the catalog was now sparkling on Ariadne’s wrist. Seeing her older sisters climb into the carriage, Arabella, too young to attend the masquerade, stomped her feet in envy.

“Sisters! You have to come back with lots of fun stories!”

Ariadne smiled faintly, but her warm expression was hidden by the golden Bauta mask that covered her face to the chin. In contrast, Isabella, wearing a silver Colombina mask that left her mouth fully exposed, pouted and offered no reply. Ariadne waved to Arabella, and the carriage soon departed. The atmosphere inside the carriage, occupied by the two sisters, was frigid. They sized each other up but exchanged not a single word. Looking at Isabella, Ariadne couldn't help but be impressed. The mask she wore was a Colombina, exquisitely crafted from pure silver, covering only her eyes. It was a style that wouldn't be in vogue for another two or three years, and for Isabella to find and wear it first was a testament to her remarkable fashion sense. Furthermore, true to Isabella's preference for bright attire, her masquerade gown was a pale silver satin, nearly white, intricately embroidered with pearls—so lavish that even from a hundred piedi (about 40 meters) away, she would be the only one to be seen. It would have been difficult to procure new dresses under Cardinal de Mare’s recent austerity measures, but it seemed she had used her overflowing allowance to pay for this year’s wardrobe in advance. With her typically bright and luxurious clothes, and the beautiful, delicate line of her mouth and jaw visible beneath the silver Colombina mask, her ensemble was unmistakably that of Isabella de Mare, even with a mask on. In direct contrast to Isabella, who had made every effort to reveal her identity, Ariadne was dressed in a manner faithful to the masquerade’s concept, making it impossible for anyone to recognize her. Though unintentional, her deep golden dress seemed made for the mask, and its lining and edges were all trimmed with jet-black velvet. Atop the mask, she wore the golden headpiece she had received as a gift from Queen Marguerite, concealing nearly all of her hair. Ariadne was tall for her age, and with everything so thoroughly covered, she didn't look like a young girl at all. Especially with her youthful face hidden, her inherent quietude combined to give her the air of a high-ranking noblewoman. The carriage ride alone with Isabella could have been an ordeal, but with her face completely hidden by the mask, it gave her a subtle sense of stability. Isabella’s trembling hands, her pouting lips, the sound of her breath, the rise and fall of her chest—all were within Ariadne’s field of vision. Ariadne, on the other hand, had not a single inch of skin exposed. Her face was perfectly concealed, and no one could even imagine her expression. It was a truly strange feeling. A sense of deviance, coupled with a slight feeling of omnipotence. Behind her mask, though Isabella could not see it, Ariadne smiled. Such was the prestige of the de Mare family that they had provided a four-horse carriage, typically reserved for royalty, for their daughters’ trip to the masquerade. To the cheerful sound of hooves, the two soon arrived at San Carlo Palace. At the palace attendant’s announcement of their arrival, Isabella was escorted from the Cardinal’s silver carriage. As if determined not to be outdone, she feigned composure and gave Ariadne a curt nod. Ariadne thought Isabella was wasting her energy, but she returned the nod with a wry smile. Now that Isabella had gone, there was no one in the party who knew her identity. Ariadne had arranged to meet Giulia and her friends at the ball, but before joining them, she decided to take a stroll around San Carlo Palace, her former home, and indulge in a bit of nostalgia. Opportunities to enter the palace were rare, and chances to be alone were rarer still.

***

“I’ve heard so much about you.”

Lariesa de Valois, who greeted him in halting Etruscan, was quite different from what Prince Alfonso had imagined. The portrait sent from the Kingdom of Gallico had depicted a delicate, peerless beauty who could have passed for Isabella de Mare with different colored hair, which had felt unsettling. But the Lariesa he met in person, while not what one would call a beauty, was a proper young lady with a gentle demeanor and a bright smile. His first impression of her was better than expected—no, it was objectively quite good. Compared to the Gallican envoys, who had been haughty and insisted on using their own language, Lariesa de Valois did her utmost to speak Etruscan. Though it was clear she had only just begun to learn the foreign tongue, she was trying her best to speak in the language of this country.

“A pleasure to meet you. I am Alfonso de Carlo.”

“I am Lariesa de Valois.”

She was a girl with light brown hair and dark brown eyes. A year older than Alfonso, she was perhaps closer to a woman than a girl. She was of medium height, about three piedi and eight dito (around 163 centimeters), very slender, with a slightly aquiline nose that made her look a bit sharp when her mouth was closed. But when she spoke, her down-turned eyes and gentle responses made her seem very affectionate.

“If you would be more comfortable speaking in Gallican, please do.”

“No, I try, Etruscan speak.”

Lariesa, dressed in a golden gown, smiled brightly as she struggled to put on her mask.

It seemed the girl, who was not exceptionally pretty, had fallen for the strikingly handsome Alfonso at first sight. A smile never left her eyes or lips, and she reacted with great excitement to his every small gesture. The adults around them watched the princely boy and archducal girl with pleased expressions.

“Go on, help her.”

Queen Marguerite gestured toward Archduchess Lariesa, who was fumbling with her mask, prodding her son in a voice loud enough for the young lady to hear. Alfonso sighed inwardly, careful not to let it show, and rose from his seat to tie the archduchess’s mask strings behind her head. The prince’s fingers brushed against the edge of her hair. If the golden Bauta mask hadn't covered her entire face, everyone might have seen the wide, toothy grin that spread across Archduchess Lariesa’s face.

“Well now, it is time for us old folk to take our leave. We must let the young people have their time together.”

Leo III was the first to rise, and Queen Marguerite followed with a smile.

“You two have a wonderful time.”

The Archduchess Lariesa gave a cute curtsy and replied.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

***

With the opening Queen Marguerite had provided, the two naturally switched to speaking in Gallican. Prince Alfonso was fluent, partly because his mother was Gallican and partly because he had been thoroughly taught by Gallican tutors since childhood as part of his education.

“My father was very passionate about his daughters’ education. All of my sisters are well-versed in literature, embroidery, music, and art. My older sister, Susanne, was particularly gifted in poetry and painting.”

Like a perfect gentleman, Prince Alfonso nodded and listened attentively to Archduchess Lariesa’s stories. He was kind by nature, and his consideration often flowed unintentionally. As he listened, Alfonso noticed that Archduchess Lariesa’s stories frequently mentioned her deceased sister, Susanne.

“My sister Susanne was truly beautiful. Her fair, translucent skin was beyond compare.”

Alfonso looked at Lariesa and tilted his head.

“But, Archduchess.”

Alfonso continued.

“You have beautiful, fair skin as well. Why do you only speak of your late sister? Please, tell me more about yourself.”

Beneath the Bauta mask, Lariesa’s face flushed red. It was the first time anyone had ever told her to put herself before her sister. Growing up in the shadow of Susanne, who was by all accounts more beautiful and talented, she had learned to be cautious. She had loved her sister, yet deep down, she had resented her. But to the outside world, she had perfected the art of praising her sister with a bright face, as if she adored her, as if she felt no jealousy at all. It was Lariesa’s own way of being loved. But now, before her stood a handsome, blond prince, telling her she didn't have to do that anymore. It was a feeling she was experiencing for the very first time in her life.