Upheaval: Day 13

Word Count: 78,022

Summary of Events:

Leon managed to escape to the library to look up Lavrinti Soshnikov, but found little more on him than he'd found on his grandmother.  At ballet class Leon was paired with classmate Penelope for a pas de deux and they stunned everyone — even themselves — with how well they danced together. After class Miss Corrine took him into her office to ask him about the bruises he'd received from his mom that morning . . .

Excerpt of the Day:
Miss Corrine looked at Leon sceptically. "I don't think you're going to quite collapse from a toxic combination of opioids and liquor again, but I think there's something up here."
"It's fine," Leon replied. "I can handle it."
"I don't believe you Leon," Miss Corrine said. "And I'm frightfully sorry to say so too."
"I can still dance," Leon said. "And that's what matters, right?"
"More than your dancing ability matters Leon," Miss Corrine said. "You matter. Your safety matters. If you aren't safe there's no guarantee your dancing abilities — or you even — will remain."
"I am safe," Leon said.
"I don't think you are," Miss Corrine said. "Is this the work of bullies?"
"No," Leon replied; it was true, he'd never thought of Mama or Yuri as bullies, even if he hadn't liked Yuri.
Miss Corrine stared at him for a long time. Leon felt frightfully uncomfortable. He wished she'd stop staring at him, and that she'd close the window; in fact, if he could just move on to find some supper and get to the Toronto Centre would be nice.
"Is your mother doing this to you?" Miss Corrine asked. "Or a boyfriend of hers?"
"No," Leon replied. "Mama doesn't have boyfriends."
"Then is it her?" Miss Corrine asked.
"No," Leon lied.
"Is it a teacher?" Miss Corrine asked.
"No," Leon replied.
"Did you get mugged?" Miss Corrine asked.
"No," Leon replied.
"Are they beating you at that contest?" Miss Corrine asked.
"No," Leon replied; that was true too: they weren't beating him, there'd just been an attempt on his life.
"Leon, why won't you tell me?" Miss Corrine asked. "Don't you trust me?"
"Yeah," Leon replied.
"So then why won't you tell me?" Miss Corrine asked.
"It's okay," Leon said. "I'll be fine."
"I don't think you will Leon," Miss Corrine whispered. "I really don't."
"I can take care of myself," Leon said.
"You're making me think about that really sad song," Miss Corrine said. "The one where the little girl tells her dad that her friend at school lies about being abused at home and then the friend ends up being killed. I'm paranoid one day you're not going to show up for class and I'm going to get word from the police that you were found beaten to death at home."
Leon's stomach twisted. Mama wouldn't do that . . . would she? He sure hoped not. He knew Denis and Polina wouldn't harm him, but nothing said Mama wouldn't, and Leon suddenly felt scared.
"Who's hurting you?" Miss Corrine asked.
Despite the fear that chilled him, Leon couldn't make his jaw move, he couldn't make himself say the words. He couldn't tell her. What would happen to him if he did? What would happen to Mama?
He saw tears filling Miss Corrine's eyes. "Who is it Leon?"
Leon shook his head subtly before getting to his feet and leaving the room. He couldn't tell her. He didn't dare tell her.

Upheaval: Day 12

Word Count: 72,014

Summary of Events:

Leon watched the second-last dancer — who had been something of a favourite going in — finally succeed in completing a dance before he did the same. He found himself locked out of the house when he came home, along with finding his neighbours less than helpful, but eventually he did get in, only to get brutally punished by his mom, whose foul mood continued into the next morning . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Pain shooting through his cheek roused Leon as he quickly put his arms up to defend himself, only to have them rapidly and ferociously whacked at. Leon whimpered and tried to grab a hold of the broomstick he was being struck with.

"Stop!" he pleaded. "Let me get up!"

Mama's blows were unrelenting. Leon struggled to his feet while fending them off and was upset when they didn't even stop because he was on his feet, like they usually did.

Finally he seized hold of the broomstick and wrenched it out of Mama's grasp before tossing it at his bedroom door.

"I'm up," he spat.

"You wretched, horrible child," Mama spat back. "You are ungrateful to me."

"Why should I be grateful?" Leon asked. "You don't give me anything good."

"In your dance clothes now!" Mama shouted.

Leon wanted to point out that she'd ignored his question, but he doubted he'd get an answer, so he merely did as he was told and got into his dance clothes before following Mama downstairs to where the makeshift barre was set up.

"We will do everything twice to make up for your missed practise yesterday," Mama said.

"I did ballet class yesterday," Leon said.

"That is not good enough," Mama huffed.

Sighing, Leon put his hand lightly on the barre and worked on slowly, carefully, perfectly, executing every single exercise twice with his left hand on the barre, twice with his right hand.

As usual, Mama was eviscerating in her review; and in her corrections.

She would lance her finger into him wherever she wanted him to make an adjustment, which was most commonly at his umbilical scar where the two of them had — once upon a time — been physically connected, and she was near-constantly tightening his dance belt so that he felt like he was going to be split in half.

Whenever he would repeatedly fail to do something up to her standards she slapped him across the face or drove her heel into his toes from the top.

After some time Mama found the other half of her broomstick and used it to beat him with as she demanded the extremes, including legs staying higher than he was physically able to lift them.

Leon had never been so roughly treated by Mama in a ballet practise, and Leon wished he could just run away, except that he'd want to go back up to his room and change out of his dance clothes before he dashed out the door.

"Артемий!" Mama shouted, forcefully striking his left shoulder with the broomstick with each syllable of his name. "Pay attention."

Gripping his shoulder, Leon whimpered, then snatched his fingers away with another whimper when Mama brought her broomstick down on them.

"Battement tendu!" Mama shouted.

In spite of the pain Leon got himself into position and started doing the exercise Mama had commanded him to do, although he grimaced when her forefinger was forcefully jabbed into him or his legs, especially, were wrenched around by her to achieve what she considered perfection.

Pronunciations:

Battement: batmoh'

Tendu: tohndu

Upheaval: Day 11

Word Count: 66,012

Summary of Events:

Leon went to his dance school early and got confronted by a disgruntled parent wanting to know his secret to success — except he didn't know why he was so successful. He had a bit of a private lesson with Miss Corrine before his classmates showed up. Maeve, Justine, and Daphne, his three classmates who were still in the competition, also asked for the secret to his success, to which he again had to reply that he didn't know. That evening Leon got into his costume and then watched in the wings as Daphne was the first dancer called to the stage . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

The crowd hushed. Leon heard Daphne's shoes softly knock on the stage as she took her position at centre stage — the only thing that was the same about every dance so far — and waited.

As the lights came up the music started and Mr. Chekov started giving instructions. Daphne linked the manoeuvres she was told to do smoothly. Leon was glad she was doing well, although he was nervous that she was going first: that meant she had the shortest time dancing before she'd fallen last night, which showed just how close to not making this cut she'd been.

This time she seemed confident, though, and she seemed very much like she would be able to complete the whole dance, but being as no one knew what Mr. Chekov was going to say next, no one really knew for sure.

Toward what Leon was pretty sure was the end of the dance Daphne wavered on her foot in an arabesque and had poor footing out of it that led her to fall down and bring the music abruptly to a stop.

The majority of the dancers performing tonight had gotten more than two minutes into their dances, or even three, on previous nights. Daphne's only chance to stay in had been pretty good, but the question was: was it good enough?

Would other girls perform worse than Daphne tonight, assuring her a place in the elimination rounds? Only time would tell.

The music started for the next dancer and she launched in. Leon couldn't help but feel tense within. He wanted Maeve, Daphne, and Justine to all make it through to the elimination rounds with him — as he was pretty sure he was booked a spot — but yet he didn't necessarily wish any of the other girls did anything less than the best their abilities allowed either, after all, they all deserved a sporting chance.

Leon groaned with the crowd as the girl fell in her dance, and Leon was sure she'd fallen much sooner than Daphne had fallen, which he took a little solace in, but he didn't really want to take too much solace in it, after all, there was the possibility that girl might be eliminated from the competition, which would be sad for her, having worked so hard to get to this point.

Sighing, Leon had a feeling that no matter what everyone was going to be somewhat upset about this competition, it was very gruelling, and it was very unforgiving, even if it did somewhat level the playing field because everyone had to dance on a whim.

Never in their future careers would the dancers have to do something like this, thus it seemed rather unfair to subject the dancers to this sort of competition, but at this point it was far too late for anything to be changed.

Upheaval: Day 10

Word Count: 60,099

Summary of Events:

Leon got beaten awake by his mother again and broke the broom she used in frustration, only to have her use its jagged end against him, forcing him to leave without breakfast. After buying breakfast at a convenience store Leon went to school, where he was detained by the principal and told the substitute teacher was in the hospital with chemical burns and he was responsible for $10,000 in damages. Leon got expelled despite his insistence that it wasn't his fault and so made his way to the local library to see what he could find for information on how to read the Russian language, as well as on his grandmother; information on the latter was somewhat scant, but not altogether nonexistent . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

In 1971 she racked up five more ballets: Petrushka in January, Cinderella in March, Sleeping Beauty in May, La Sylphide in July, and the Firebird in September before reprising her role as the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker once again.

Petrushka was a ballet of significance as it turned out to be the last ballet the Bolshoi's primary dancer Lavrinti Soshnikov ever danced, doing an iconic job of dancing the beleaguered puppet that led the 1971 staging of Petrushka to be one of the most renowned in history, having two short-lived bright stars of Russian ballet in some of their finest performances.

Unfortunately Soshnikov was catastrophically injured at the end of the showing and was unable to dance again. He committed suicide at the age of twenty three, leaving a young wife and an infant son behind to mourn his loss along with all of the Russian ballet world.

His death came during the run of Cinderella, where Kozlova was dancing alongside Konstantin Svechnikov, and even though Kozlova was saddened by Soshnikov's death, the show continued on and no further mention of Soshnikov was made, although Petrushka has never been staged by the Bolshoi since then.

Kozlova's penultimate achievement was her role as the Firebird, which was lauded as even greater than Petrushka by some, but time has favoured Petrushka as the greater ballet — even though few photos or films of it exist — in Kozlova's repertoire.

January of 1972 played host to what is considered one of the greatest stagings of Swan Lake in the ballet's more-than-hundred-year history. Kozlova played the double role of Odette/Odile alongside Svechnikov as Prince Siegfried.

What Petrushka was to the career of Soshnikov, Swan Lake was to the career of Kozlova: the ultimate achievement of their careers, and, also, their final performances.

Kozlova brought the opposing swans to life with incredible beauty and grace unlike had been seen in years, but the most amazing thing was the infamous thirty two fouettés.

Many a ballerina would quit after twenty, or would show obvious signs of wavering, or would travel across the stage as they executed the fouettés, or strove to. Kozlova was straight, unwavering, hardly travelled more than an inch or two in any direction, and did not stop until all thirty two fouettés were accomplished.

Recognising that they were witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime event, the assembled crowd gave Kozlova an immediate standing ovation. She was lauded as a heroine by many, and people looked eagerly forward to her next performance, only to get the shock of their lives.

Immediately after the last performance of Swan Lake had finished Kozlova announced that she was marrying a Soviet ambassador and retiring from ballet in accordance with his wishes that she give him children while she was young.

Pronunciations:

Sylphide: sillfeed

Kozlova: causelowvah

Svechnikov: svetchnihkohv

Fouettés: fwehtay

Upheaval: Day 9

Word Count: 54,023

Summary of Events:

Leon's class turned out to be highly frustrating, as some of his classmates were upset at their having already been eliminated from the competition. When he left class it was actually the mother of an eliminated student who seemed okay with her elimination who got upset at him to the point that she actually followed him until he lost her in a nearby grocery store. That night, after warmup, Yuri took Leon to a dressing room and nearly choked him, after getting his air back Leon went to talk to Mr. Chekov, forgetting Mr. Chekov wasn't in his office, and so snooped in Mr. Chekov's desk, where he found files of information on each of the competitors . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Returning the file, he looked around some more before he found another one that looked like it might belong to someone he knew: Артемий Богомолов.

Aside from the P the first five letters looked to make Artem, the Ns appeared to be representing the I at the end of the first name; for the surname, as in English, every other letter was an O, and there was an M in the right spot, not to mention he knew from Maeve that the B represented V, in English, it read Artemi Bogomolov.

Opening it, he found his class photo, featuring him in a black business suit that was made for dancing in — unlike most, naturally — with a bright yellow shirt, black tie, a yellow flower in the lapel, and a yellow triangle of cloth in the breast pocket of the coat, all finished off with a black top hat that had a bright yellow band around it where the brim and hat joined.

Miss Corrine had let them have a little bit of fun last year, although she'd managed to keep the performance still a serious show of ballet, even if the music had been upbeat and lighthearted.

Leon was surprised to find the photocopy of his form filled out in Russian with English translations in parenthesis, such as Artemi 'Leon' Bogomolov written above his name, Sept. written above the Russian word presumably for the same month, and many more.

Again, more notes in Russian were behind that, but even though there were a lot of notes on him compared to Rhoenne and Maeve, there was also more papers behind that which were typed up with official letterheads that featured the word Россия, which Leon recognised from seeing photos of Olympic coverage, especially the hockey, where that word was on the front of the Russian teams' jerseys.

Leon saw 913 a few times, which he knew as his house number; more frequently appeared Богомолов, not always immediately following after Артемий, as sometimes it followed after Милана, Валентина, or Анисим.

Stealing the documents — especially considering Mr. Chekov had a handgun in his desk and Yuri had already tried to kill him — was out of the question. Leon wished he had his iPod so that he could take pictures of some of this and maybe once he got his hands on some Russian language books he could translate what it said and figure out what it was all saying about him.

Hearing footsteps, Leon quickly put the file back and closed the drawer before hiding under the desk until the footsteps receded. He needed to probably get over to the wings before even Yuri got to wondering where he was at.

Pronunciations:

Rhoenne: rowehn

Милана: Milana

Анисим: Anisim

Upheaval: Day 8

Word Count: 48,057

Summary of Events:

Leon was improperly instructed in how to give a chemistry demonstration by the substitute teacher and ended up requiring the school to be evacuated. As a result, he got to the ballet school early, where he took advantage of a studio not in use to dance the Petrushka dance he'd done the night before again and refine his puppet-likeness . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Applause startled him and Leon instantly popped to his feet to find the rather diminutive —  especially in relation to him — slim, fully grey-haired, thoroughly wrinkled, but by no means droll and lifeless Mrs. Zinnia standing in the door, leaning against its frame so as to applaud without the support of her cane.

"You are the pride of all my achievements with this school," Mrs. Zinnia said. "I have wanted so much for more boys to dance, and for them to take it so far as you have, but you have achieved so much more than that."

Leon flushed, he felt honoured. He knew Mrs. Zinnia's list of accomplishments was long, including a stint with the Bolshoi herself,  which was something not even Miss Corrine had accomplished.

"You not only know how to dance, you know how to act," Mrs. Zinnia said.

"What do you mean?" Leon asked.

"You were dancing Petrushka," Mrs. Zinnia replied. "I could tell because you brought him to life even without the costume, you got into his character, you wavered like a floppy puppet, you bent and moved as if his arms and feet were floating after him while his body was moved across the stage. You have an innate knowledge of character, and you immerse yourself in it so that you are the very character you portray."

Leon nodded.

"I haven't seen Petrushka danced that well since I last saw a ballet put on Petrushka," Mrs. Zinnia said. "And I last saw Petrushka put on by the Bolshoi in nineteen seventy one. I went to see it because I've always loved the story of Petrushka and I was dancing in Paris at the time, so it was close. I do believe it was Lavrinti Soshnikov dancing Petrushka, and I have never seen Petrushka so alive as when Soshnikov danced him as I have seen him now."

Leon had never heard of Lavrinti Soshnikov; he didn't even recall the man being mentioned on бабушка's Wikipedia page as having danced the Petrushka to her Ballerina.

"It was a shame we lost Lavrinti so soon," Mrs. Zinnia said. "Petrushka ended up being his last ballet. He got injured when a set-piece fell during takedown, and then it wasn't long after that when I found out he'd committed suicide because he'd been told he'd never be able to dance again."

That was almost as sad as the tale of Petrushka itself.

"I do believe it was your grandmother who danced the Ballerina in that staging," Mrs. Zinnia said.

Leon nodded.

"Of course, Valentina was a wonder to behold," Mrs. Zinnia said. "I was only able to see her perform Petrushka live, but she was one of the most amazing dancers the world has ever produced, I do believe her spirit is in you, you have a near-magical gift for dance."

"Thank you, Mrs. Zinnia," Leon replied hesitantly.

Mrs. Zinnia smiled. "I will be there tonight. I cannot afford to miss out on seeing you dance, especially with the level of skill you just displayed."

Upheaval: Day 7

Word Count: 42,022

Summary of Events:

As ordered by Mr. Chekov, Leon looked around for a hairdresser, but found — as he'd expected — that there were none open on Sundays, so he went to the theatre early to get a haircut from the hairstylist. He was then garbed as a clown for the night's performance and immediately assumed himself to be the puppet clown Petrushka from the early-1900s ballet. After his performance — where he, once again, was the only one to dance without falling — Leon was taken to see Mr. Chekov again . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"You certainly have all the looseness of a rag doll," Mr. Chekov said.

Leon said nothing.

"We might have to revive Petrushka for you to dance it," Mr. Chekov said. "You certainly seemed to enjoy the role."

Still Leon said nothing; he wasn't really sure what he was supposed to say anyways.

"You overdid yourself, however," Mr. Chekov said.

"How?" Leon asked.

"You are to do exactly as I tell you," Mr. Chekov replied. "And I did not tell you to do a cartwheel. Your flopping about after the dance was over was also more than was necessary. I do not deny your excellence as Petrushka, but I saw enough of it in your dance. You overstepped your bounds."

"All of this is to say that I am disqualified then?" Leon asked.

"Нет," Mr. Chekov replied. "It means you have been warned."

"What of Yuri?" Leon asked.

"What of him?" Mr. Chekov asked.

"He drove me off the stage and took me to a different dressing room where he slapped me," Leon replied. "Was that because I overstepped my bounds?"

"Yuri is not a man of patience," Mr. Chekov replied. "Years of dancing for the humourless has made him humourless."

"What does that mean?" Leon asked.

"We teachers at the Bolshoi do not have patience for selfish antics such as you did onstage after the dance was over, and even during the dance in flopping about," Mr. Chekov replied. "He now has no tolerance for such selfish antics, having himself learned that they are unnecessary, frivolous, and, above all, incredibly selfish."

"I was dancing in the character," Leon protested.

"I did not tell you to dance as Petrushka," Mr. Chekov said. "I told you to dance in the costume of a clown."

"But I was dancing to music from Petrushka," Leon replied. "Just as I was dancing to the music of the Nutcracker while similarly arrayed last night, and as Prince Albrecht from Gisele the night before."

"Hm," Mr. Chekov said. "You are making suppositions. There was no intentionality in any of it. You will dance as a normal dancer whatever costume you happen to be in."

"Then why did you say I enjoyed the role of Petrushka?" Leon asked. "First you compliment me, then you condemn me. How am I to please you?"

"By departing," Mr. Chekov replied.

"I am not allowed to come back and dance?" Leon asked.

"You are allowed," Mr. Chekov replied. "In fact, to not return would result in immediate disqualification. I merely mean that you are to leave for tonight, that is what will please me."

"You are avoiding my question," Leon snapped.

"Good night Артемий," Mr. Chekov replied.

Pronunciation:

Petrushka: pehtrooshkah

Нет: kneeeht

Upheaval: Day 6

Word Count: 36,066

Summary of Events:

Leon ended up being the only dancer out of 280 to complete his dance without stumbling and falling on the first night of the competition. The following afternoon he found out that the competition had become the sensation of the ballet world because nobody understood why it was going on — although few had made the connection between Leon and his grandmother. In the second night of the competition Leon again was the only dancer to complete his dance without stumbling, although it was a tiring dance after which he was granted a shower . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Gratefully Leon accepted the bathrobe that felt like it'd been made out of towels from the man and then followed the man, but not back to his dressing room as he'd expected; instead they ended up in Mr. Chekov's office.

"Thank you Юрий," Mr. Chekov said to the man, who promptly departed.

Leon wondered if he could find a way to look up all the men named Yuri who danced for the Bolshoi currently and see if this Yuri was one of them.

"Congratulations on your performance tonight Артемий," Mr. Chekov said.

"Спасибо," Leon replied.

"I underestimated you, I must say," Mr. Chekov said. "I am sure that it is mostly Валентина's blood that courses through your veins. Her smile is wider tonight."

Leon nodded.

"On behalf of Анжелина, however, I must inform you that your hair is unsuitably long for what the contest requires," Mr. Chekov said. "You must get a haircut before the competition tomorrow or you will be disqualified."

"What sort of haircut?" Leon asked.

Mr. Chekov opened a drawer in his desk and held out a photograph to Leon. It showed a young man who looked vaguely familiar. His hair was decently long at the top, but trimmed short to the sides and the back."

"Keep it and show the hairdresser," Mr. Chekov said.

Leon nodded. "Is that all?"

"Go get dressed, then you will wait for Полина," Mr. Chekov said.

"No I won't," Leon replied. "I'm not riding with her. I'd rather take transit than ride with her."

Mr. Chekov sighed, then opened the drawer again and drew out a transit schedule and a bus pass that had been issued for Artemi Bogomolov.

"She complained that you made her cold last night," Mr. Chekov said. "So long as you do not walk home I care not."

"What's wrong with me walking home?" Leon asked.

"Go get dressed," Mr. Chekov said.

"I asked a question," Leon replied.

"And I ignored it," Mr. Chekov replied.

Leon exhaled with annoyance. He felt like there was something going on, like all those conspiracy theorists who'd written articles about the competition between last night and this morning were on to something.

Unfortunately they didn't necessarily know the answers, and some of their suggestions had been rather hare-brained in Leon's mind, but he couldn't shake it. Something was going on with this competition, and he was pretty sure it was something to do with him.

Pronunciations:

Юрий: Yuri

Артемий: Artemi

Спасибо: spahseebow

Валенина: Valentina

Анжелина: Anzhelina

Полина: Polina

Upheaval: Day 5

Word Count: 28,058

Summary of Events:

Leon decided to go watch the first night of the competition, being as his mom didn't want him competing, only to end up identifying himself as a competitor — which it seemed they had been expecting him to do. Having put on his costume, had his hair styled, and makeup done, Leon was then taken to the stage with the other dancers — all girls — to warm up and realised for the first time that the language his mom spoke at home was Russian.

Excerpt of the Day:

"Come with me," the man said.

Leon followed him, mentally noting that the man had spoken Russian. He hoped none of the girls had noticed. He wasn't sure what he thought of the idea of them knowing he knew Russian. In this setting he might be barraged with requests for translations of everything, and he didn't know if the Russians would appreciate that.

The man led Leon to a barre at the far end of the stage, separate from the others, one that looked a little thicker and more solid, more like the makeshift wooden barre Mama had him use at home.

Standing on the other side of the barre, facing Leon, the man looked at him with a face that seemed devoid of all expression.

"Do as I do," the man said.

Leon nodded and watched the mans every move: putting the leg up which was the same as the leg the man put up, doing the pliés in the positions the man did them, keeping his arms in the positions the man did, the whole thing.

Mentally, he did his best to visualise the man as a mirror image of himself — except for the colour difference of their outfits and the fact that the man looked notably older than Leon — and he didn't hear any criticisms of his actions, which made him hope that he was doing a good job following his 'reflection'.

Once they had done a whole bunch of barre work — and hadn't done any of it in the order that Miss Corrine did it in class — the man took him to the back of the stage and looked at him with that expressionless face again.

"I do, then you do," he said.

Leon nodded and watched as the man took five light, short, controlled steps, before launching into the air and landing so lightly it was almost imperceptible that he'd made contact with the stage.

Stepping so that the man would be to his right, Leon rose onto his toes to start, only to have the man step to be directly in line with him.

He put a steel into his eye and a stiffness into his arm as he indicated to the man to move to the side. He didn't want to run the man over, knock him down, or otherwise put either one of them at risk for injury.

The man stepped aside, although he didn't look impressed that Leon was even giving him nonverbal orders.

Leon rose onto his toes again, took five light, short, controlled steps, and then launched himself into the air.

As he'd expected, he landed near-silently on the stage about a half-stride beyond the man, who turned and looked at him with incredulity and even a touch of disconcertion. Leon wanted to smile, but he didn't dare. He'd just shown up someone who likely was already in the employ of the Bolshoi.

Pronunciation:

pliés: pleeays

Upheaval: Day 4

Word Count: 25,015

Summary of Events:

Leon woke up with a headache and took some of his mother's painkillers to get rid of it before meeting with Miss Corrine. Leon started to feel strangely tired late in their meeting and ended up collapsing and losing consciousness. When he woke up he discovered he was in the hospital because his mother's painkillers had made him sick. Due to action having been taken quickly, Leon's recovery was swift and he was back in ballet class on Monday, where Miss Corrine showed the class the poster advertising the contest, and Leon became particularly captivated by a black and white photo of a woman in the costume for Odile . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Leon remained fixed on the picture. He knew that picture. He'd seen it before; but he couldn't, for the life of him, recall where he'd seen it, or who was in it.

"We'll work a little bit more on preparing for the competition tomorrow," Miss Corrine said, rolling up the poster again. "See you then."

All the girls filed out of the room, but Leon stayed, he had to ask Miss Corrine.

"That was alright Leon?" Miss Corrine asked.

"What was alright?" Leon asked.

"Class today," Miss Corrine replied. "It wasn't too much for you?"

"Oh, no, no it wasn't," Leon replied.

"Are you alright Leon?" Miss Corrine asked.

"That picture," Leon said. "That, the Odile."

Miss Corrine unrolled the poster to reveal it. "What about it?"

"I know that picture," Leon replied.

"I should think you would," Miss Corrine replied.

"Why?" Leon asked.

"At the time she was Valentina Kozlova, but it wasn't long before she became Valentina Bogomolova," Miss Corrine replied. "She's your grandmother."

"But we don't have the same last name," Leon said.

"Like French, German, Italian, well pretty much every language aside from English, Russian has pronounced masculine and feminine words," Miss Corrine replied. "And in Russia specifically, if not all Eastern European countries, the surnames are different between men and women. You are a man, so your are Bogomolov, your mother, technically, should be Bogomolova, just as your grandmother was Bogomolova."

"Oh," Leon said. "And that's my grandma?"

"Yes," Miss Corrine replied. "I bet you know the photo because it's at your house somewhere. Valentina told me that your mother wanted to be like her, but unfortunately she never got there, she got injured or something."

Leon nodded. "Her ankle."

"That is a shame," Miss Corrine said. "Valentina actually enrolled you here."

"How do you know?" Leon asked.

"Zinnia told me," Miss Corrine replied. "I'd met Valentina just before I left the Netherlands, that's when I was told about your mother. I have to admit, when I first became your teacher it was astonishing to think I was teaching the grandson of Valentina Bogomolova, a brilliant dancer whose career was sadly shortened by her husband's diplomatic assignment to Canada, and the fact that he wanted her to have children."

"I don't remember her," Leon said.

Miss Corrine chuckled. "Valentina was in her fifties when I met her, grey was coming into her hair, and she'd lost her dancer's figure, much like Zinnia. She probably didn't look like a dancer to you."

An image of a woman with a kind smile, a softly creased face, and blue eyes snapped into Leon's mind. "You mean this is бабушка?"

"Yes," Miss Corrine replied. "I do believe that's Russian for grandmother anyways."

"She danced for the Bolshoi?" Leon asked.

"Yes," Miss Corrine replied. "I recall reading they had a sendoff of epic proportions for her when she had to quit ballet to join her husband on his diplomatic assignment. I think your mother was young when that happened."

Pronunciations:

Odile: ohdeel

Kozlova: kohzlowvah

Bogomolova: bohgohmohlowvah

Бабушка: bahbooshkah

Upheaval: Day 3

Word Count: 19,107

Summary of Events:

Leon got kicked out of his seat in school by one of the bullies and was sent to the principal for punching the bully in the eye; he ended up escaping punishment when the principal got distracted. At ballet class the three strangers were present again, and Leon got to find out who they were and what they were there for . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"We have a special guest today, Mr. Stanislav Chekov," Miss Corrine said. "Mr. Chekov and I danced together in the Berlin Ballet twenty– no, almost thirty years ago now. I then moved on to dance in the Netherlands before coming home."

"Да," Mr. Chekov said. "A long time ago. Berlin was the last company I danced for before I retired. But we are not here to talk about ancient history, we are here to talk about the future. Since I retired I have become a teacher at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Москва. The Bolshoi is looking for a new student of exceptional quality, the sort of quality that will turn them into a primary dancer someday, and so are visiting all the ballet schools across the world to find this dancer. In one week you will all compete to be this dancer and win a one-year scholarship to the Bolshoi Ballet Academy to get the premier dance training in the world."

"Yes Maeve?" Miss Corrine asked.

"If we only get a one-year scholarship then what happens after that year is up?" Maeve asked.

"If you are good enough, you get a contract offer to dance with the Bolshoi," Mr. Chekov replied. "If not, you are sent back home."

Leon couldn't help but reel. The Bolshoi was one of the premier ballet companies in the world and they'd come here to find their next principal dancer? Why here?

"Is this going to be a contest for all the dancers in Toronto?" Daphne asked in her subtly French-accented voice."

"Да," Mr. Chekov replied, adding a nod. "It will be held at the Toronto Centre for the Performing Arts."

Leon's eyes widened. The biggest theatre in the city? They would be performing at the biggest theatre in the city to win a scholarship to the best ballet company in the world?

"What will we be dancing to?" Justine asked.

"That will be decided on the day of the event," Mr. Chekov replied. "We want fairness to all students."

"So then what will we wear?" Ariel asked.

"I have already discussed that with Corrine," Mr. Chekov replied. "You will be prepared, don't worry."

Miss Corrine clapped and everyone moved over to the barre except Leon. His mind was racing. There  was to be a competition to see who was the best dancer in all of Toronto at one of Toronto's premier theatres, with the winner getting to join the premier ballet company in the world all the way off in Moscow. He could get away from Mama and her constant nit-picking. He could just dance.

"Leon Bogomolov, to the barre please," Miss Corrine's terse voice broke into his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," Leon said, quickly getting into line behind Ariel.

How was he supposed to focus now? He had the chance of a lifetime to get something he'd only ever dreamed of having: the opportunity to dance for one of the best ballet companies in the world. He could hardly believe it.

Pronunciations:

Да: dah

Москва: mohskvah

Barre: bahr

Upheaval: Day 2

Word Count: 12,054

Summary of Events:

After his ballet class Leon was subjected to effectively doing the whole class over again for his mom, who criticised it to shreds as usual. At the next class — which was technically a pointe class, Leon just attended to be away from home longer — three strange men watched the class, which unnerved Leon, although he did what he was told and caught the girls as they jumped . . . 

Excerpt of the Day:

Lastly was Maeve, who was also a pretty good jumper and decently light on her feet; sometimes she'd add a little beat in as he lifted her off the floor, and oftentimes that would make her a little harder to hold on to. Thankfully he'd only dropped her once, and that was the first time that she'd done it.

Once the lifts were done there was no pas de deux, being as none of the girls were quite there yet — although Justine was definitely the closest — in fact, once the lifts were done the class was over.

The trio of men remained where they'd moved when the runs had started, and Miss Corrine again made no effort to introduce them. Leon let the girls all go first, he hoped to ask who they were for his curiosity's sake.

"Go on Leon," Miss Corrine said, gentle, but firm, looking at him with an expression that made it clear that he was not going to be allowed to find out who these men were and what they were doing here.

Disappointed, but not showing it, Leon left the room and slipped into his change room, which shared a wall with the studio. He put his ear against the furnace vent and listened.

"He is very tall," a man said in a voice with a thick accent. Considering he wasn't Asian or French Leon didn't know what the accent was.

"Yes," Miss Corrine said. "But he is good. Exceptional even. I consider it a rare honour to be his teacher. He has greatness in his blood."

"Very much so," the man said. "I would not think a dancer of his height would be as light on his feet, but his lankiness proves not to be a handicap to him."

The accent sounded harsh, almost like Othman's German accent, but different, more callous and brutal than Othman, who sounded more hearty and jovial when he talked; yet, for some reason, it sounded familiar.

"I feel he will revolutionise the dancing world for men," Miss Corrine said. "If he wants to."

There was no verbal response; Leon wondered if the man had just nodded or something.

"He has an incredible natural talent and ability," Miss Corrine said. "I think he will prove to the dancing world that height is by no means a disadvantage to a dancer. Tall dancers can be just as exceptional as short ones."

"You have very big dreams for him," the man said.

"I do," Miss Corrine replied.

"And your other students?" the man asked.

"They are a trial at times," Miss Corrine replied. "For many of them having grown up dancing with him they seem almost afraid of him, as if he's an alien still."

"Girls and boys, they do that," the man said. "Surely the great Corrine Swan can turn them all into fine dancers, even should they lack the natural talent."

Upheaval: Day 1

Word Count: 6,097

Summary of Events:

Leon was woken up by his mom — a proven indicator that she was in a poor mood — and got ready for school. At school the usual bullies bothered him . . . until one of them took a joke by another the wrong way, giving him an opening to escape. Finally he made it to ballet class, which he enjoyed immensely, well, aside from the pas de deux . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Miss Corrine assigned Maeve to dance with him and reminded them of the exercise's choreography before starting the music.

Leon moved with the music as Miss Corrine had told him. Even though he'd consciously drawn a blank many a time as to what he was supposed to do, it was as if the music was fused with his subconscious and would subliminally tell him exactly what he needed to do, his body responding without him telling it to. Miss Corrine believed that he had the best muscular memory of any student she'd taught since she'd retired from dancing professionally the same year he'd started up ballet.

Maeve's movements, occasionally halting and stiff — to say the least, not half as smooth as she looked when she danced alone — out the corner of his eye were almost enough to make him stop and tell her to relax.

He managed, however, to make it through the dance without yelling at her — a restraint Miss Ophelia, his first teacher, had taught him well after he'd stopped mid-dance in his second Year-End show to get upset at one of his classmates who'd kept turning the wrong way.

Miss Corrine shook her head. "For having grown up around him you girls still treat him like an alien. Leon, again, with me."

Leon was astonished. Dance with Miss Corrine? But he'd never danced with Miss Corrine.

"Justine, the music," Miss Corrine said. "Leon."

Numbly he followed her beckoning to the starting position and put his hands in place, although he felt acutely aware that his fingers were not touching the soft cotton-and-elastic of a bodysuit, but were touching the slicker Lycra of Miss Corrine's workout-wear tank top.

As soon as the music started, however, the whole thing was gone and he was lost in the pas de deux, doing all the moves he'd done — or struggled to carry out — time and time again with a flawless ease unlike he'd ever done them before.

The whole thing was a blur until the music ended, then Leon found that he felt elated, breathless, like he'd just performed one of the premier male roles in one of the most famed ballets, and had done so at one of the renowned theatres of the world.

Applause fuelled the image: the audience hidden in the darkness somewhat enforced by a large spotlight shining on him lavishing appreciation.

"That is what dancing with someone looks like," Miss Corrine's frustration-edged voice jolted Leon fully back into the classroom where his classmates were all looking meekly at their teacher, who stood in front of him, hands on her hips. "Prima ballerinas are not just soloists, they are well-rounded dancers who must be able to move with someone as fluidly as if they were one!"

Pronunciation:

pas de deux: pah deh duh

April–May Novel Essential Information

Novel Title: Upheaval

Time Setting: 2018

Genre: Life/Thriller

Minimum Word Goal: 120,000

Timespan: September–October

Location: Toronto, Ontario

Main Character: Leon Bogomolov

Background Information:

All Leon has known in his entire life is within the confines of the City of Toronto — and he hasn't even seen all of that either — he and his mom have never travelled outside of the city, although he well knows that there is a world out there.

In fact, the majority of his life has been spent at one of four places: his home, academic school, ballet school, and the Russian Orthodox Church cemetery at the end of the street he lives on.

This is mostly because of his mom, who maintains an iron-fisted control over his life, having enrolled him in ballet lessons since he was seven and maintained a rigorous practise schedule at home that is even more particular and persnickety than that of his teachers.

She also doesn't allow him to visit what few friends he's managed to acquire over the years — even the ones from his ballet classes — and even though he's nearly an adult she still confines him to his room after dark.

This restrictive lifestyle frustrates him, but yet he finds himself more often than not quite frightened at the prospect of trying to get away from her, mostly because of her mental volatility that can have her weeping and helpless as a child in one instant, but then viciously angry in the next.

Her mental volatility seems to be tied to a girl named Natalia. He's never seen a picture of this girl, and he knows nothing about her, other than that the one locked bedroom he's not allowed to go into was hers, and that she occupies a grave in the cemetery of the Russian Orthodox Church that they visit with a greater regularity than people attend the Sunday services.

These strange behaviours both strengthen his desire to leave his mom, but make him afraid of what might possibly happen to her if he leaves, as he wouldn't want her to get hurt or anything; so he's left in a horrible limbo that he doesn't see any way out of.

Pronunciation:

Bogomolov: bŏgŏmŏlŏv

ŏ: short vowel sound of O

Danger Recognised: Day 15

Word Total: 90,030

Year to Date: 390,038

Summary of Events:

Éoin went to visit Viceroy Báld, hoping to maybe arrange a visit to Carey Vanora so that he could snoop around for private documents like Viceroy Báld's birth certificate, but Viceroy Báld saw no reason to invite him over. Alina presided over parliament as they discussed her mother's removing of her crown, with Viceroy Báld trying to downplay the seriousness of the offence. Éoin went to order a replacement part for a saddle on his brother's behalf; upon coming out of the shop he found his horse was gone, so he headed home alone, whenhe was attacked, but succeeded in stabbing his attacker, whom he recognised as Viceroy Báld's butler . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Pain shot through his abdomen suddenly and he realised the butler was looking at him; more specifically, he was looking at Éoin's abdomen, where he'd driven his dagger in to the hilt.

Lightheadedness overcame Éoin at the sight of the darkening wetness moving rapidly down his shirt and even starting to stain his trousers.

Éoin released his weapons and clutched at himself. He felt terrible pain, but he didn't want to lose consciousness, he couldn't let himself lose consciousness.

Too late he noticed that he'd been relieved of his weapons upon releasing them and he looked over his shoulder to see another man, clad in black, his face masked save his eyes.

Pain shot through Éoin's cheekbone as the second man's knee collided with it firmly and deliberately.

Éoin cried out when a foot slammed into his back, but he remained upright and conscious as best as he could. He wanted to fight, but he felt powerless.

Soon fists and feet were flying at him from all directions and Éoin couldn't shield himself from all of them. They quickly became relentless, vicious, as if they were trying to bludgeon him to death when goodness knew he was likely to bleed to death from the wound deep into his abdomen.

Keeling over, Éoin went down onto his side and moaned. To his relief the beating stopped as soon as he did so, but the relief didn't last long.

He heard the metallic sound of swords sliding out of their sheaths as the men all prepared to finish him off. Peadar would be viceroy next, but unfortunately he wouldn't have a clue about anything and Queen Alina could well be killed.

Fluid filled Éoin's throat, it was difficult to breathe around, some of it bubbled in his throat, letting out a rather unpleasant sound.

Éoin felt blackness pulling at him as he waited for the plunge of the swords, was he going to die before they got their strike in?

"He's dead," the butler — in the voice he'd used at Viceroy Báld's house — said nonchalantly.

In disbelief Éoin heard all of them sheath their swords and walk away. He didn't dare move until he couldn't hear them anymore. He then heard the sound of hooves.

Desperately he struggled to his hands and knees, excruciating pain tearing through him, he tasted metallic blood in his mouth.

He saw the horse emerge out of the fog and recognised him immediately as Torin.

Éoin clutched the gelding's foreleg and reached a hand up for the saddle, which he used to pull himself unsteadily to his feet.

Unsteady and fumbling, Éoin struggled to get his foot into the stirrup, and fought to get astride his gelding.

"Take me home," Éoin whimpered.

He desperately clutched the saddle horn as Torin started carefully forward, picking his way around his reins possibly, Éoin had no clue, he was just fighting to stay conscious enough to think about balancing himself astride his gelding.

Next post will be April 14.

Danger Recognised: Day 14

Word Count: 84,020

Summary of Events:

Éoin and Viceroy Constyre visited the Queen Mother, who'd been thrown into the dungeons for removing the royal crown from Alina's head; they were both frustrated by her adamant denial that her actions had been wrong, even if she confessed to doing them. Alina and King Siegfried dictated out an agreement between Zeig and Aifos regarding the attack on Zeig, both committing to find out if the wrongdoers were from their respective nation and giving permission for the attackers to be killed without retaliation if they struck again. Having nothing else to do for the day, Éoin gave Alina riding lessons, and he was more than impressed with her seemingly natural ability to ride a horse . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"Aside from your ride at Carey Derwent you've never ridden a horse before," Éoin said.

"No," Queen Alina replied. "I haven't."

"I'll confess," Éoin said. "I find that hard to believe."

"Why?" Queen Alina asked, sounding almost distressed.

"You do not by any means look like this is only the second time you've been on a horse," Éoin replied. "It seems practically second nature to you to be on a horse."

"Well, he is walking," Queen Alina said.

"Maybe it comes from being of the Royal House," Éoin said. "As Generals of the Army, all the Kings have needed exceptional riding skills, and all have been renowned for their horsemanship. Maybe it is that long history of excellent horsemen in your family which gives you such a natural appearance and confidence on a horse."

"I wouldn't think something like that would be predisposed to a family lineage like facial features, stature, or even disease susceptibility," Queen Alina said.

"I wouldn't either," Éoin agreed. "But I wouldn't necessarily count against it being possible either, considering how confident you seem. As he's done nothing to make you nervous, nor need he be fought with, and you've had experience riding a horse of similar calm temperament, though, it could be that as well."

"I shouldn't like to go any faster," Queen Alina said.

"I shan't make you," Éoin replied. "We'll just do walking patterns, halts, and reversals."

Queen Alina nodded.

"Halt there," Éoin said when Queen Alina reached the corner again. "Now pull back on the reins gently and make him reverse, only a few steps are necessary. When he's reversed enough release the back pressure."

Éoin watched as she did so. He believed Queen Alina's assertions that she'd never been taught how to ride, but he had to confess that her calm and confidence were exemplary, he wondered if she didn't just have a keen mind that picked up on things quickly which caused her to look and behave far more experienced than she truly was.

Of course, Éoin too had been told he was a natural at riding horses, but he'd grown up with them, and even as young as four years of age Father had been seating him astride a horse and leading him around.

From what he knew, Queen Alina had lacked that sort of experience, but then again, maybe she had ridden a horse on King Alfred's lap a time or two and retained those memories of her father's calm confidence in the saddle — Éoin had been told King Alfred XXI had been a veritable master horseman.

Who knew what it was? Éoin had to admit that it was nothing short of fascinating, maybe he'd invite her out on a hunt next year, and maybe they could even hunt with falcons if she learned how — which he could easily teach her too.

Danger Recognised: Day 13

Word Count: 78,023

Summary of Events:

Éoin wanted to talk to Viceroy Báld about his desire for an audience with Alina and found Viceroy Báld trying to get an audience with King Siegfried, who was resting; it required a lot more force than Éoin was comfortable with to get Viceroy Báld to leave King Siegfried alone. Alina went to visit her mother and, as usual, it turned sour quickly, especially when her mother called her a silly girl . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"Alina, I am your mother," Mother said. "Surely I needn't call you Your Majesty all the time."

"You will refrain from calling me a girl, and especially a silly one, and that not only because I am the Queen, but because the law recognises me to be an adult, therefore I am a woman, and I am not a silly one," Alina replied.

"Why are you so disagreeable Alina?" Mother asked. "You're hardly in here for a few minutes and already your upset at me, why?"

"Because I have little patience with your delusions," Alina replied. "They aren't charming, they aren't funny, they aren't endearing, they are proof that you can easily be told what to believe, will believe it without question, and will staunchly defend it no matter how ludicrous it may sound, until that wretched snake who told you it was true tells you otherwise. Why can't I tell you otherwise? I know the truth!"

"I am not deluded," Mother said. "And I don't believe a single ludicrous thing. I also don't talk to snakes, and you are young, you don't have full knowledge of the world yet."

"You have less knowledge than I do!" Alina snapped. "You weren't part of a royal household, and above all, even if you were, it would never have come upon you to reign; as Queen-Princess I was given a thorough and rigorous education more akin to that of a boy than yours so that I might rightly and wisely run this country as it ought to be run. Your lack of education in how to run a country was clearly and brutally evident throughout your tenure as regent. You know nothing about politics, and what little knowledge you might have comes from the most dubious of sources."

"Alina, I am older, and being older, I am wiser," Mother said.

"No you're not," Alina said. "You are not wiser. Any wisdom you may have possessed has been stripped away from you by the reprehensible Viceroy Báld. I may've argued with you less if Father hadn't died. He would've kept you intelligent, as opposed to stripping away all confidence you had in your own knowledge of things and making you dependent on him for any knowledge of anything, which would allow him to feed you whatever falsehoods he so wished to."

"Gîorge is not reprehensible," Mother said.

"He is infinitely reprehensible," Alina spat.

"Alina, you really need to spend more time with him," Mother said. "You need to see that he is the most honourable and wonderful man in the whole world. If only he had a son to whom you could be married."

"I have spent enough time with him to realise that he is the most dishonourable and reprehensible man who has ever borne the title of viceroy," Alina spat. "He is a disgrace to all of Aifos, and doubly so because the snake seeks to marry you all the while deluding you and turning you into a raving lunatic."

Pronunciation:

Gîorge: zhahrzh

Danger Recognised: Day 12

Word Count: 72,030

Summary of Events:

Éoin made his way back to Aniger for Winter Session, doing so early at the invitation of Viceroy Constyre to be part of the small party that greeted King Siegfried of Zeig at his delegation before they discussed things and all agreed that the attack was not a deliberate action on Aifos' part, but could've been done by disgruntled citizens of Aifos. Afterwards Alina had a discussion with Éoin and Viceroy Constyre about Viceroy Báld, mostly regarding what Éoin had learned.

Excerpt of the Day:

"Your Majesty," Viceroy Constyre said. "As General of the Army of Aifos, I have conducted the most thorough investigations of Aifos' army and have determined that all of our strength was duly accounted for on our own shores on the night of the attack on your shores."

King Siegfried's gaze looked back cold and unconvinced.

"As such, we endeavour to aid you in seeking out who was responsible for the attack, as well as for the derisive letters which you were sent thereafter," Viceroy Constyre said.

"We also condemn those who carried out the attack and give you full licence to slay them if necessary," Queen Alina said, sounding a lot more bold now than she had on the pier. "If they are out citizens, their actions were not condoned."

"Why would they not be your citizens?" King Siegfried asked, his accent making his Ws sound like Vs.

"We suspect there is the distinct possibility that someone is trying to create war between our nations, potentially as a distraction for one or both of us, so that they can make a manoeuvre agains one or both of us and possibly have a better chance of victory against us," Viceroy Constyre replied.

King Siegfried's expression softened, in a way, but yet rage simmered underneath; Éoin hoped it was directed toward the attack's instigators.

"This can be deduced by their usage of purple and green," Viceroy Constyre said. "It was likely a deliberate attempt to implicate us, yet our soldiers do not wear purple and green to war, they wear it only as formal dress. Regular Officers of the Queen's Guard, as you see, wear white. Regular officers of the Navy wear blue or brown depending on their operations, and Regular Officers of the Infantry wear green, grey, or brown depending on their operations."

"So you are suggesting that those attackers were not even from Aifos at all?" Baron Reiter asked.

"No," Viceroy Constyre replied. "I will confidently state that there are few disgruntled Aifosians. Our Queen has been well-received across the country in the nearly two months that she has been officially Queen in Right, but I cannot deny that there are some disgruntled Aifosians, and there is the possibility that they rallied together to attack your shores and send those taunts in order to incite hostilities, at least, between us."

King Siegfried nodded. "And you seek them, ja?"

"We do," Viceroy Constyre replied. "It is only likely that they set out from the west of Aifos, men of the military are investigating any evidence of fishing vessels or the like departing from anywhere along the coast as much as a week before the attack, and we will try them for intent to incite war and the murder of innocents if we should catch them."

"We should not, however, rule out the possibility of their not being Aifosian at all," Queen Alina said.

"Zeig is at peace with all of her neighbours," King Siegfried said. "She has no enemies at this time."

Pronunciation:

Reiter: rayeter

Danger Recognised: Day 11

Word Count: 66,006

Summary of Events:
Éoin was stressing about things and feeling generally troubled, and so decided to read a book, to his surprise he discovered a book that was alphabetically out of place, and about a topic his father had never expressed an interest in; inside he found a letter from his father detailing research his father had done into Viceroy Báld and his family, which gave him some new insights. Alina was enjoying some time in the massive conservatory at Carey Glensi at her latest stop when one of her guards brought her a letter from Viceroy Constyre . . .

Excerpt of the Day:
Taking the blade Lieutenant Raghállai offered her, Alina slid it under the top flap and cut across the top of the envelope before drawing out the one-page message written in Viceroy Constyre's neat, quick hand.
Your Majesty,
For the sake of your foreknowledge I have deemed it prudent to inform you of distressing missives I have received from our ally and neighbour the Kingdom of Zeig.
The first I received approximately one and a half weeks ago, informing me that a force of men who were presumably Aifosian — for they wore green and purple — attacked a town on the outskirts of Entrilltorstadte am Durchgäng and laid significant waste, including slaying innocent women and children.
His Majesty King Siegfried of Zeig is willing to give us a chance to defend ourselves and plans to send a delegation here — which subsequent correspondence has revealed he shall be a part of — for the beginning of the Winter Session.
If, he has warned, further attacks should come against them which appear to be by our hand he will forgo the delegation and declare immediate and unrelenting war on us until every single living person of Aifosian blood is wiped out.
From my investigations this attack could not have been carried out by troops of your Army, for all of them are stationed here on Aifos, or on ships which only go on day-long patrols around the coast, and I have thoroughly questioned all of my Lieutenant-Generals to ascertain that this is true.
In these recent days, I have received another missive from His Majesty King Siegfried informing me that he has receved threatening letters bearing the coat of arms of your father King Alfred XXI Vaelynt that are mocking Zeig for cowardice, and he demands an answer for these derisions.
I have sought to avoid troubling you with these matters, but I believe it is important for you to have foreknowledge of them, as His Majesty King Siegfried and his delegation, according to this latest missive, will be arriving five days before the new year, and I had no desire for you to be surprised by their coming.
As I have to this point, I will continue to do hereafter; that is, to compile thorough and irrefutable proof that our military did not attack Zeig and that whoever is behind it has deliberate intent to divide our nations for some devious reason.
May your travels not be grievously disturbed by this news. I promise most sincerely that I will be in Aniger in time to join you in greeting His Majesty King Siegfried if you should so desire me to.
Honourably yours,
Viceroy Henry Constyre
Sagging back in her chair, Alina sighed. As if it weren't enough to have Viceroy Báld bothering her, now she had someone trying to instigate a war between Aifos and Zeig that neither nation wanted? She only hoped the fool didn't dare to attack Zeig again and actually bring that war into being before she could condemn their actions.

Pronunciations:
Raghállai: raygheelaye
Entrilltorstadte: ehntrihltohrstaht
Durchgäng: derchgahng

Danger Recognised: Day 10

Word Count: 60,051

Summary of Events:

Alina left Derwent feeling rather sad that she and Éoin had not been able to talk more about his research regarding Viceroy Báld. Éoin was visited by Viceroy Constyre, who brought news of an apparent Aifosian attack on Zeig, one of their allies, which Éoin speculated might have been carried out by associates of Viceroy Báld, not that he knew why; they also speculated on whether Viceroy Báld had possibly murdered his father and siblings . . .

Excerpt of the Day:
"Do you think it makes sense that he murdered them all?" Éoin asked.
"A hunting accident is easy to manufacture," Viceroy Constyre replied. "Aside from Mairi and Merereid it's perfectly conceivable that he carried out all of them."
Éoin looked at the papers again for himself and nodded. Every single one of the seemingly 'accidental' deaths in the Báld house could have been committed by the hand of a man.
"And if he killed them what would stop him from killing people who were suspicious?" Éoin asked. "People like Father, or His Majesty King Alfred the Twenty First?"
"Nothing," Viceroy Constyre replied.
"Maybe he even has killed all his relatives who have questioned the suspicious nature of the deaths," Éoin suggested.
"That still doesn't tell us why," Viceroy Constyre said.
"No," Éoin agreed. "But what do you make of this?"
He pointed at Viceroy Báld's Piontanese middle name.
"It's Piontanese," Viceroy Constyre replied.
"Look at his siblings' names," Éoin said.
"None of them have one," Viceroy Constyre said.
"I think that's maybe why I suggested Piontano was involved," Éoin said. "I feel like that's a clue that needs to be unlocked."
"Indeed," Viceroy Constyre said. "But how?"
"I have a feeling the documents we want are in Vanora," Éoin replied.
"Exactly where he can keep them from our prying eyes," Viceroy Constyre said.
"Do you think there's any way we can get into Vanora?" Éoin asked. "As in Carey Vanora?"
Viceroy Constyre sighed. "And it is true that we can't necessarily pin all these suspicious deaths on him."
"Do you think he'd be a puppet for someone unknown?" Éoin asked.
"Like whom?" Viceroy Constyre asked.
"I don't know," Éoin replied. "Maybe I'm making too much of it."
"Maybe you are," Viceroy Constyre agreed. "You do have a keen mind, though, like your father. I think it's safe to confess to you that if your father would've outlived me I would've recommended him to become General of the Army after me. I do believe I would have full confidence in making the same recommendation of you."
Éoin could hardly believe his ears. Him? The General of the Army? He couldn't imagine it, but then again, if Viceroy Constyre's house was anything like the house of Iést, he had a good twenty years before he died. By then Éoin assuredly would have a lot more maturity and respect within parliament.
"I encourage you," Viceroy Constyre said, gathering up the papers. "Keep looking into things, keep watchful, and let me know what you learn. I do not believe the dawn of renewed rest is the light that we see. I fear we see the bright moon of our most fearsome night on the horizon."
"Or not even a natural light at all," Éoin replied. "But an unnatural light that would delude us into thinking that all is well, yet cloaks the danger in the darkness where we cannot see it and recognise it for what it is."

Pronunciation:
Zeig: z'eyeg'

Danger Recognised: Day 9

Word Count: 54,021

Summary of Events:

Alina watched the dressage portion of the horsemanship competition with great interest, even if she didn't entirely understand how dressage in particular worked. Éoin, having won the dressage and show-jumping portions, rode the gruelling cross-country course and — much to his surprise — came in first place, leaving him with just the flat race and a chance to get first place in all the events, which had never happened before in the history of the competition. Having been informed of the results of the cross-country race, Alina waited at Carey Derwent for the flat race to start . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

The sound of a cannon firing made Alina jump. No one else around her seemed all that startled, so she guessed it was the cannon firing to indicate the start of the flat race.

After a few minutes High Lady Enid rose. Alina got to her feet and followed the Viceregal Family as they walked to the gates of Carey Derwent to await the winner of the competition tearing through the paper banner that had been stretched across the line.

Alina leaned forward to see if she could tell who was winning. They were too far away yet to be identified, but they were moving fast, all of them crowded into a long line that wasn't as wide as the pathway they'd been given between the crowds.

It didn't take all that long before the horses — and the roar of the crowd — got closer. The riders were all hunched over their horses' backs and necks as their horses stretched out and dug into the ground to launch themselves further and further.

As they got closer Alina recognised the lead horse. It was Viceroy Magnys astride his mare Gweneira, not that she looked very grey anymore; sweat had darkened her coat to a sleek charcoal colour as she flew across the ground.

Another horse moved out to look abreast of Viceroy Magnys' horse and challenge for the lead in the race. Alina's heart pounded with anxiety. Her angle didn't allow her to be able to tell who was in the lead or how quickly the opponents were gaining.

The two men holding the paper tightened it as the horses charged closer to the banner, their manes flying behind them like standards, their bodies stretched out as long as they possibly could be.

It looked as if the two horses were side by side coming in close, but then it suddenly looked like Viceroy Magnys' lines were flapping more loosely and his mare surged ahead, bending her head down to push it through the paper first.

Alina clapped her hands and joined in the cheering as Viceroy Magnys straightened and set back in his seat to gradually slow his mare down, as did every other rider who crossed the line.

Following the lead of High Lady Enid, Alina started back toward where they'd sat and waited. Viceroy Magnys soon rode in, followed by a cheering throng. He reined his mare to a stop in front of them and nodded deeply.

High Lady Enid then rose and took up the larger ribbon sash, which she tied about the mare's neck. She then put the smaller ribbon sash over her son's shoulder. Once that was done she sat down.

Alina rose to her feet and took up the smaller chalice that indicated he'd won the flat race and gave it to him. He would be presented with the larger winner's chalice once all the other presentations for first and last competitions, among other things, were handed out.

Pronunciations:

Enid: eenihd

Gweneira: g'wehn'ayerah

Danger Recognised: Day 8

Word Count: 48,074

Summary of Events:

Éoin greeted Alina when she arrived and took her on a tour of the property before offering to take her on a ride and being appalled to learn she didn't know how to ride a horse. He helped Alina into the saddle and got her comfortable sitting on a horse before leading her around on a tour of the countryside that included a stop in the market where the people of Derwynton were more than pleased to see her. Later that evening at the ball Éoin asked Alina for a dance, and she accepted . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Her gaze was focused on him; Éoin couldn't help but return her gaze and examine the intricacies of her blue eyes.

They were a rich blue, a dark blue, not the pale blue he'd heard horses eyes could get if they were of bicoloured stock. There was texture to them, it wasn't a constant shade of blue, but there was a deep dark blue, light almost sky blue, and a perfect mixture of the two, and they all mixed like drawn lines that weren't necessarily straight, but criss-crossed over each other.

Éoin didn't know if he'd ever seen a more lovely shade of blue than her eyes, which remained fixed on his eyes throughout the whole dance.

Only once they'd finished did Éoin break gaze with her and discover to his astonishment that they had been the only couple who'd danced. He felt warmth rush to his face, everyone had seen his gaze riveted on hers for the whole dance.

It was almost as if his mortification at having been watched by everyone else wakened his whole body to things that had drifted into oblivion over the course of the dance: his heart was pounding, almost as if it were ready to burst out of his ribcage, throbbing deep in his ears, his sides were heaving as if he'd danced twenty jigs; he didn't know what was going on, but a simple lively waltz had never had this effect on him before.

He looked at Queen Alina, whose face was also flushed. She didn't look at him.

"Should you like to walk about and cool off Your Majesty?" Éoin asked.

"Yes please," Queen Alina replied. She didn't look at him and she sounded breathless.

Éoin guided her out of the ballroom. She slid away from his hand as soon as they were outside. He felt like he ought to say something to her, but he had no clue what to say at all. He felt rather mortified himself and completely disinclined to return to the festive atmosphere of the ballroom.

He followed her at a distance as she walked about the main floor for a time before they ended up on the second floor in the Upper East Stateroom. She sat down on one of the couches and looked at him.

"I've never been so exhausted by one dance," Éoin whispered.

Queen Alina nodded.

Éoin took a seat beside her on the couch. He wanted to grab her hand, but yet he didn't think that would be terribly appropriate, and he didn't even know why.

After some time Queen Alina's head sagged and she tried to rest it on the couch somewhere. Éoin brought his arm around behind her and guided her head onto his shoulder.

He couldn't help but be acutely aware of where her head was pressing on his shoulder, and if she didn't seem so positively weary he might've pushed her away and fled the room.

Danger Recognised: Day 7

Word Count: 42,039

Summary of Events:

Alina attended a concert while still at Viceroy Stryng's estate, although she spent most of its duration wondering about Aifosian music, which she'd never actually heard before. Éoin and Seosamh went on a ride over a cross-country trail and Éoin scraped his ear as he bailed off his horse when she stumbled while landing after having jumped over a newly-fallen tree. Alina bade farewell to Viceroy and High Lady Stryng as her visit came to an end and she set out for Carey Derwent, the estate of Viceroy Magnys . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Politely Alina waved back until they were out of sight, then she watched as the gates of Carey Dara passed by the windows and they were out onto the streets of Deri, which was the Viceregal Town of Dara, just as Aniger was technically the Viceregal Town of her own Viceregal Territory; it just also happened to be the Royal City of Aifos, one of only two cities on the island, the other being Aldyn, which was the Viceregal Town for Onllwyn on the south coast.

Many people who were out on the streets stopped, doffed whatever they had on their heads, and waved. Alina smiled and waved in return. She thought she heard someone shout something like 'hail the Queen' or 'long live the Queen' but she wasn't sure.

She had to admit that she was glad the people were happy to see her. From what she'd been told by her guard there had been times when Mother had gone on trips that the carriage had been pelted with snowballs.

Although she had technically been Queen, Alina had never gone on any trips with Mother, which she guessed had been something of a safeguard for her life, lest she be killed or accidentally die a child and leave a succession crisis.

In fact, Alina was pretty sure the fact that she had an entire cohort of soldiers accompanying her tour was probably because she was unmarried and heirless. She didn't know if it was actually set into law anywhere how many soldiers were to accompany a monarch anywhere, and if the numbers varied depending on the monarch's age or state of succession, or if it was dependent upon the decision of the General of the Army — who happened to be Viceroy Constyre.

It didn't take long for them to pass out of Deri and into the countryside, which was still quite green, even though the deciduous trees were leafless, and their leaves were no longer a variety of colours, having all faded to brown.

Small piles of snow showed where the sun hardly shone. So far the snow had yet to stick around, but that was usually the cause until it was closer to the end of the year, then the snow would pile up, especially inland, and wouldn't go anywhere until Spring Session.

Alina spied more cattle grazing on the hills, some solid black, some white with black or brown patches, some brown, some white, some more of a red colour. They all looked so far away from her position in the carriage, and she hoped that she might have the opportunity to see them up close somewhere along her trip.

She wondered if any of the viceroys kept cattle on their estates, and if there were some cattle docile enough for her to maybe even touch, as she'd been told that they were a lot more flighty than horses, mostly because they weren't really used as often or in the same way as horses.

Pronunciations:

Dara: dahrah

Deri: dehree

Aldyn: alldihn

Onllwyn: onallwihn

Constyre: cohnst'ayerh