The Price {Completed}

Chapter Four

Despite my error in the Funeral Dance, news of the Lennox Company spread through General Masha and his friends. Soon we danced at special galas, parties, and even for a few single families in their living rooms.

None seemed very interested in Mr. Lennox's unusual choreography. Whispered remarks about the story's confusing theme and how the moves seemed too strange at times were constant companions to us. All loved Ferdinand Popov, on the other hand. A confusing ballet was worth having Ferdinand in their home.

Generals, Lords, we danced for them all. I had a week off to rest my ankle, and then we launched into almost nightly performances.

The Funeral Dance suffered no more mishaps. Ferdinand and I danced it exactly as it was meant, and slowly I earned back Mr. Lennox's respect. He began to talk to me again in those lonely hours back at the boarding house. Our rehearsals turned from angry stripes on the backs of my legs from his cane into the familiar barked orders.

Though our characters on stage were close and connected, Ferdinand kept his distance between us everywhere else. He never acted cold or let on that he was angry, he only minded his own business and never extended the hand of friendship after that night backstage.

At any rate, perhaps on his name or out of our own skill, or a mixture of both, the day finally came when a plain white envelope addressed to Mr. Lennox arrived at our door. In swirling script that looked like it belonged in a dictionary or Bible we were invited by the Crown to dance at the palace. The king's own signature and seal adorned the bottom.

A royal invitation was our chance to become even more. As it was, we were a fad or a fashion, passed from person to person by word of mouth and set up on their small stages or across the bare floor. It brought in money and a bit of fame for us, but not enough to afford new sets, costumes, dancers, or music. Ferdinand himself was working on a drastically reduced wage, and the corps girls barely received any payment. There was no money to afford any production but the one we performed night after night.

However, if the king saw us dance and offered state support for our art like the Rumonin National held, we would have our own building, and funding to stage new ballets whenever we liked. It was the Lennox Company's door into the real world of dance.

The preparations for our royal debut consumed our lives. The corps girls, previously only kept to a minimum standard by Mr. Lennox, were cracked down upon until I grew used to their quiet sobbing during class. Mr. Lennox let no mistake slide. The raven topped can bit into legs until we all glowed red after practice. Only Ferdinand, who Mr. Lennox never allowed to practice in the same room as us, escaped the rigorous new routine. His dancing, somehow, never suffered from his more lax practice and rehearsals. The rare times Mr. Lennox accepted a job after the king's invitation, Ferdinand floated through his steps with ease. Often, I caught myself during a performance staring in envy at his light footwork. Mine seemed such a labor to correct and keep exactly as it was supposed to be. Never perfect until my whole being made sure it was.

The money the company made from performances, along with Mr. Lennox's personal funds, poured into making the visuals more grand and opulent than ever before. New backdrops were painted and new costumes made. My veil soon became bordered in silver crystals like constellations. Ferdinand kept his mask but gained a jeweled vest. The girls wore sparkling gowns and tiaras. We shone under the lights.

When the night finally came, and we stood in awe of the room set up with our stage in the royal palace, we were more cohesive than ever. The girls even quieted their chatter, too busy staring at the scenes of cherubs playing in clouds that covered the embossed ceiling. Everything dripped in an old-world style that did not exist anywhere else in the city other than the time capsule of the palace. Here, the furniture of kings long dead still sat in their places in unused rooms. The few touches of modernism, like a radio, were tucked away in corners, hidden behind screens painted with pastoral scenes. It felt like a fairy tale world, impossibly large and incredibly grand.