Heather Dixon - Entwined  

The Entwine, also known as the Gentlemans Catch, is an amusing and challenging redowa suitable for accomplished partners. Of Eathesburian origin, it dates to circa 1635, when Chevalier De Eathe (also known as the High King DEathe) reigned. As magic was common in this time period, the High King would catch and entwine peoples souls after they had died, and subject them to the darkest of magics.

Over the years, the Entwine has evolved to a simple charade of this concept. Similar to a trois-temps waltz, it is danced in open position with a long sash. The lady and gentleman each take ends of the sash, which their hands must not leave. In a series of quick steps (see below) the gentleman either twists the sash around the ladys wrists, pinning them (also known as the Catch), or the lady eludes capture within three minutes time.

STEPS. Twist (35), Needles Eye (35), Dip and Turn (36), Ladys Feint (36), Bridge Arc (36), Under-Arm Swoop (37), Thread (37), Beading the Sash (38), the Catch (38).

A n hour before Azaleas first ball began, she paced the ballroom floor, tracing her toes in a waltz. She had the opening dance with the Kingwho danced like a brick.

But that was all right. She could add flourishes and turns that would mask the Kings stiff, flat steps. If there was anything she was good at, it was dancing. And this year, she was in charge of the ball, as Mother was too ill to host. Azalea was determined it would be perfect.

Unlike the year before, when the Yuletide had ended in a fracas. Too young to attend the annualand onlyball the royal family hosted, Azalea and her ten younger sisters gathered all the blankets and cloaks and shawls from the palace and hid outside the ballroom windows. Azalea remembered the frigid air, how the rosebushes scratched, and how they had to huddle together for warmth. The ballroom radiated gold through the frozen panes. The girls pressed their noses on the glass and oohed at the dancers, especially Mother, who danced like an angel.

They had fallen asleep right there in the rosebushes, burrowing together like mice. When the girls were discovered missing, Mother had stopped the ball and made everyone including the musicianssearch for them. Prime Minister Fairweller had found them. Azalea had awoken in shivers to see him holding a lamp over them and frowning.

The girls had pelted him with snowballs.

They had lost two weeks of dance lessons over that Great Rosebush and Snowball Scandal. It had been worth it, they all agreed. Even so, Azalea hoped this year the Yuletide would end gracefully. Her toes curled in her dance slippers and her hands shook as she fluttered about the dessert table in the ballroom, rearranging the platters and directing the hired help as they brought in trays of lemon custards and cinnamon candies.

Mr. Pudding found her just as snow started to swirl outside the tall arched windows and the musicians had arrived, tuning their violins in the ballroom corner. Azalea knelt on the marble floor in a poof of silks and crinolines, picking up strewn pine needles. Mr. Pudding was their Royal Steward. He was also the Royal Stableman, the Royal Boot-Blacker, and the Royal Things-on-the-High-Shelf-Getter. With difficulty, he knelt to the floor.

Its all right, Mr. Pudding, said Azalea. Ive got it.

Right you are, miss, so you do, he said, collecting the needles with gnarled hands. Its onlyyour mother wants to see you, miss.

Azalea paused, the needles pricking her palms.

She does? she said. The King is all right with it?

Course he would be, miss, said Mr. Pudding, helping her up. He couldnt be averse if your mum wants it!

Mother hadnt been taken with a quick, hard illness that swept a person up overnight. Her illness had come slowly and had lasted for years, robbing a bit of her each day. Some weeks she felt better, better enough to take tea in the gardens with Azalea and her sisters and give them dance lessons, and some weeksmore weeks, latelythe light in her eyes flickered with pain. Still, she always said she felt better, and she always gave a room-brightening smile. That was Mother.

With the baby near due now, the King refused to allow Azalea or her sisters to spend tea up in Mothers room, or even to visit longer than several minutes a day. Even so, when Azalea arrived at Mothers room two staircases later, breathless and beaming, it had the mark of her sisters all over it. Mend-up cards with scrawled pictures graced the dresser, and vases of dried roses and pussywillows made the room smell of flowers. A warm fire glowed in the grate, casting yellows over the flowered furniture.

Mother sat in the upright sofa, her auburn hair tussled as always. She wore her favorite blue dress, mended but clean, and rested a hand on her stomach.

She was asleep. Azaleas smile faded.

Secretly hoping the rustle of her skirts would rouse Mother, Azalea arranged the mend-up cards on the dresser, then chastised herself for hoping such a thing. Sleep was the only peace Mother had of late. From the table next to the sofa, the old magic tea set clinked and clattered faintly, pouring a cup of tea in its pushy way.

Azalea did not care for that old silver-mottled tea set. Several hundred years ago, before Eathesbury had streetlamps and paved roads, the palace had been magic. The reigning king, the High King DEathe, had gone mad with it. He magicked the drapery to twine around servants necks, made the lamps flicker to life as one passed, and trapped unfortunate guests in his mirrors, never to release them. Azaleas ninth-great-grandfather, Harold the First, had overthrown him, but still pockets of magic remained in the palace. The old tea set was one of these. It even had a pair of sugar tongs that snapped at the girls fingers if they wanted more than one cube. The girls called them the sugar teeth, and Azalea guessed they were quite as evil as their creator had been.

If you wake her, Azalea threatened in a low voice, picking up the full teacup and setting it on its platter, I will have you melted down into napkin rings, I swear it.

The teacup hopped back onto the sofa arm and nudged and prodded at Mothers hand. Azalea grabbed it and pinned it between the dented sugar bowl and teapot. The sugar teeth hopped out of the bowl and bit her fingers.

Ow! Azalea snapped. Why, you little

Mother stirred.

Oh, goosey, she said. She opened her eyes and pushed a smile. Dont be cross. Theyre only trying to help, you know.

Theyre bullying you, said Azalea, whose spirits rose in spite of seeing the pain in Mothers eyes. Mother had a plucky way of smiling that deepened her dimples and brightened the room. Ill take them to the kitchen. How are you feeling?

Mmm. Better. Where are the girls? I wanted to see them, too.

Out and about. In the gardens, I think. In the hustle and come-and-go of preparations, Azalea had lost track of them. They hadnt even come to see her in her ballgown. Mrs. Graybe and one of the maids had had to help her dress in the kitchen, tightening her stays while she traced her toes on the wood floor, impatient.

Oh, said Mother. Well. If they are having a jolly Christmas Eve, thenIm glad for it. Ah, but look at you! Princess Royale! You look a picture print! The green makes your eyes pop. I knew it would.

Azalea caught her reflection in the glowering tea set. Auburn ringlets framed her face, and her tightly strung corset flushed her cheeks. From shoulder to waist she wore a silver sash. She looked regal, and nothing like herself.

Everyone says I look like you, said Azalea shyly.