by Sam Hawke
I masked my instinctive shiver. “It’s called a riverring,” I said. “I do not know the word in Talafan, I am sorry. It is a creature from children’s stories. Riverring are twin water spirits who live in the depths of rivers and lure in unwary children.”
Reuta made a theatrical little shudder. “How horrid!”
“They are more mischievous than bad,” I clarified. “I suppose they are a cautionary tale, meant to keep children safe in the shallows. But they mean to play with the children, not harm them. You’ll probably see a few pairs of them in the parade; it is a popular costume.”
Zhafi, looking interested, pulled the mask over her head and her smoothly bound hair. It was a full mask, mostly fabric, that covered her down to her neck, and Reuta gasped in horror at the sight—“Those eyes, they’re so awful!” I forced a smile, but in truth I agreed; the glassy eyepieces were creepy, and it was impossible to separate my feelings about silly old children’s stories from my very real memories of cold water closing over my face, my blood darkening the wispy river reeds around me. It had been more than two years ago, but the fear of water, the nightmares, seemed determined to stay with me, a ghostly partner in everything I did.
Zhafi took the mask off and placed it on the bed.
“Do you think Princess Josta will join us?” I asked. The older woman had not accompanied us to the costumer’s but Zhafi, optimistic, had bought the matching twin set of her riverring costume in case the Princess changed her mind.
Zhafi sighed. “Dear Josta. She says she is feeling unwell.” The slightest movement of her eyebrow suggested skepticism of this claim. “She worries so about what her lord husband will think, you see. The Prince can be very … forthright in his opinions.”
I’ll bet. “That is a shame,” I said. Guiltily, I hoped my little stunt with the Prince had not created problems for Josta. “Are you traveling with your husband, too, Lady Mosecca?”
She shook her head. “I am a widow, Credola. His Imperial Majesty permits me to live at the Palace to reside as one of the Young Empress’s ladies, praise God.”
“Praise God, praise His Majesty the Emperor,” Zhafi agreed.
It had taken me a moment to recognize the word: widow meant her husband had died. “I am sorry,” I said awkwardly.
But if Mosecca was distraught, she hid it. “I am blessed with fine children and kind friends,” she said, inclining her head.
The servant who had been filing Zhafi’s nails, a fair-haired woman, finished her work. “Your hands are ready, Your Highness,” she murmured.
“Thank you, Esma,” Zhafi said, surprising me by calling the young woman by name, warmth in her tone. “Could you make sure Her Highness has her costume, just in case?” Esma left the room, laden with mounds of green fabric.
“We are all right now, thank you,” Zhafi said to the rest of the servants. “You can all leave us.”
The sight of servants filing out reminded me of something else I’d hoped to learn here. Feigning only mild interest, as if the question had just occurred to me, I asked, “Did any young children come with you to the city?”
“My son is in the Imperial force and my daughters are all married,” Mosecca replied, a faint smile at the edge of her lips.
“With one of the servants, I thought perhaps?”
“I don’t think so,” Reuta said, playing idly with the feathers on her mask as she adjusted it in the small looking glass. “Why?”
“There was a—” I stopped. I still felt strongly that there was something strange about the servant and the toy, but for all I knew anyone here could be involved. I shrugged. “There was a sound just now, I thought it was a child crying. I must have been mistaken.”
“How peculiar,” Reuta said, frowning and looking around. “I didn’t hear anything.”
None of them looked the slightest bit suspicious of my question, at least. “I’m probably hearing things.” I smiled. “In fact I ought to be going back home to get dressed myself.” I brandished my own mask, a silver cloud lizard.
Zhafi reached across and touched my hand. “Thank you for helping us with our costumes, Kalina. And for your suggestion to my brother. I think you must know it is only due to you that we have such a treat.”
“Ectar told us you were kind,” Reuta said. “I hope…” She stopped, smothered what sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Mosecca gave her a severe look and she cleared her throat. “I hope we can be friends, too.”
“I would like that very much,” I said, and was surprised to realize I meant it. Friendship and diplomacy were uneasy bedfellows, went the saying, but perhaps, I thought, they could find a balance.
* * *
I found Etrika, Ana, and Dija’s two older brothers in the apartments, the boys itching with urgency to leave and join the fun and delighted by my costume. Salvea had dropped off her young son Davi, who had taken a liking to the boys and was alternating between following them around worshipfully, and sprinting excitedly underfoot. But no Jovan or Dee; they still hadn’t returned home from wherever they’d gone during the rowing.
Knowing my brother, it was unlikely he’d simply decided to take Dee to some karodee event as a treat. More likely he’d thought of some additional lesson or test for her. “He’ll look after her, don’t worry,” I reassured Etrika lightly, but it worried me, a little. Fun and relaxation were important ways to build bonds, and Jov never indulged in enough of it with his young charge. Even without the added scrutiny of her immediate family staying with us, I knew he felt inadequate to the task of raising her. He had expected many more years with Etan to perfect his own craft before taking on his own Tashi. I just wasn’t sure if it was a lack of self-confidence holding him back from properly bonding with Dija, or an unconscious protection against the pain he’d experienced when Etan died.
The pain we’d experienced. Etan had been my Tashi too, my teacher too, I had to remind myself, because even with all I’d shared with my uncle, he had always belonged to Jovan, with me the outsider at the window, handprints on the glass the marks of my desire to belong. I shook my head. Here I was being maudlin, and every bit as self-indulgent as I would tease my brother for being.
Perhaps I’d been unfair, anyway. Perhaps Jovan had not been inspired by the rowing final to go and quiz Dee on the possible uses of the venom from the toads found in the marshlands, but was instead taking her on a trip to the market to buy her a spiced meat skewer, or letting her play sticks and shoes with children on the street. It didn’t matter. He’d have to be back soon to get dressed and go up to the Manor. He’d want to be by Tain’s side during the masquerade, in case of trouble.
But time stretched on without them turning up, and soon the boys were muttering anxiously and Ana, never particularly talkative or expressive, paced back and forth in a manner reminiscent of my absent brother. She had an impressive line of scowls and heavy footfalls, and theatrically expressive eyebrows. “We’ll have to go without them,” she eventually announced, face pinched with disapproval. “If Jovan will keep her out so late, he can take her with him.”
“We might see them there,” I suggested, masking my own disappointment; I itched to share with Jov what I’d learned about the westerners, and Lios. I might not have gotten any closer to solving the Brother Lu mystery, but at least I’d confirmed the Prince was an ass. I didn’t point out how difficult it would be to find anyone in the masquerade crowd, even knowing each other’s masks. Unless he could find us, poor Dee might end up being forced to accompany the Chancellor around, too. Hardly the most exciting masquerade for a child her age. Then again, my niece wasn’t precisely a normal child.
The parade was already underway by the time we left our apartments, so we made our way down to join the crowds by the shores of the Bright Lake to watch the long procession of costumed people of all shapes and sizes and ages joining in the fun.
“You didn’t want to be in the parade, darling?” Etrika asked Davi, who was balanced on her cheerfully tolerant eldest grandson’s should
ers, watching with excitement. Davi looked down and shook his head as if she’d asked something foolish.
“How would I see everything, if I was in the parade?”
I smiled as he pointed out his favorite costumes, and the older boys played spotting games: Find five kitsas. Spot a geniope with a red hat. Two identical Sunch the Golden Pens. We saw animals, mythological creatures, fearsome warriors, and famous Chancellors. Davi screamed with delight when he spotted a beaming Sjease, whose entire face was painted gold within the massive, multi-pronged sun mask. Groups of gleeful children danced together in their masks and face paint, giggling and spinning. Darfri spectators called out blessings, and people thrust flowers and gifts into the paraders’ hands, and others in higher windows threw handfuls of dyed seed husks that fell over the parade like tiny, brightly colored raindrops.
My usual enjoyment was dampened, though. I found myself watching the crowds more than the parade, searching for Jov and Dee. I forgot to hand out flowers or favors and eventually the boys commandeered my supply and doled them out on my behalf. “Aren’t you having fun, Kalina?” Davi asked, looking disappointed when he saw me staring off into the distance instead of watching a group of children in pink performing acrobatics around a fountain.
“Of course I am,” I said, catching his hand and turning my full attention to the somersaulting children. “Lizards just like to soak in the sun, that’s all.”
We all had kavcha and various sticky sweet treats, and played several games of chance run by men and women with toothy smiles who cheerfully took our money as they apologized for our bad “luck,” and one of the older boys made gooey eyes at a very pretty young baker boy making cheese-and-date rolls shaped like karodee bells. Ana steered us firmly away from there and the brothers began grumbling with disappointment about being treated like “little kids.” I distracted them by buying Davi a ribbon flag, and after everyone had been poked with the stick end as he waved it with great enthusiasm and poor coordination, they were all too busy fantasizing about snapping it in half to worry about the disagreement.
As the sun began to set, the crowd started to settle around the giant Darfri shrine by the water on the southeast side of the lake, finding positions to watch the offering performance by the Speakers. Soon Davi was yawning and dragging his feet, and drooping his head against our waists. “Best we take you home, little chappie,” Etrika suggested, and though the older boys protested, a sharp word from their mother silenced them. Ana watched her eldest son with firebird eyes, and reminded him he was not old enough to stay for the nighttime part of the festival.
I bade them all goodnight as the first of the Darfri drums sounded, but avoided the main crowds settling for the ceremony, preferring to stay on the fringes. I felt unsettled, and tired, and some part of me would have preferred to return home with the family, but I wanted to at least try to catch Jov and Tain. Once I saw someone in a speckled drake costume up on Compact Bridge that I thought was Tain, but it must have been someone wearing the same costume, because no Jov in his graspad outfit stood beside him. There were likely other friends and occasional lovers mixed in among this crowd but nobody with whom I hoped to celebrate into the night this year.
The kavcha switched to the fortified version, and bottles of wine and kori and sticks of janjan and karodee cakes—a traditional Darfri sweet rolled in egg and powdered sugar—were exchanged. A plump woman with a horned half mask and an elegant neck offered me a cup of strong-smelling kori and a suggestive broad smile, and several men sitting nearby tried to cajole me into their circle, but I waved them all off. I tried to conjure the celebratory feeling of the previous karodee, one nowhere near as big as this, but full of frenetic energy, when I had been so grateful to be alive, and half-drunk on my strange visibility, when it seemed half the city had hoped to share a drink or a kiss with me. But that abandon was elusive. The merrier the crowd became, the more disengaged I grew.
The Darfri Speakers chanted in unison, the deep booming drumbeat forming a primal rhythm. I couldn’t see more than a blur of the dancing, but the crowd embraced it, swinging and nodding along. For some Darfri in the crowd, this would be the first time their own religious ceremony had been given such social prominence; I saw that joyful satisfaction, and even tears, in many among the crowd. It was beautiful, but it also made me feel more alone.
When the sun dropped below the line of the walls, and the lamps and fires were lit, the formal part of the ritual concluded. Young families and older people, and those not interested in the nighttime dancing and festivities, drifted away, to return home or to head off to the more sedate entertainments throughout the city, clearing space that was quickly filled by more musicians, performers, and costumed people laughing and dancing. I wondered where Tain and Jov were; buried somewhere in the crowd, no doubt, enjoying rare anonymity. Tain’s cheap, feathery costume was a secret, with only a small handful of us having seen it. Perhaps he would enjoy a chance to celebrate and unwind tonight. He needed it.
Before the siege Tain had socialized regularly, visited his favorite bathhouse, and enjoyed the company of a range of lovers—once, though it felt now like a long time ago, I had even wanted to be one of them. Now he only attended official functions, and rumor had it he no longer used the curtained sections of any bathhouse in the city, nor invited anyone to his private chambers. I worried for him. He seemed lonely. Maybe tonight he’d indulge himself in a bit of relaxation.
The crowd certainly seemed in the masquerade night spirit. There was plenty of dancing and talking but people were also setting up on blankets, cushions, and even little tents near small fires now, and I smelled sweet and spicy scents in the air from intoxicating oil burners, and heard laughter and flirtations and tipsy singing from all sides. I still felt no inclination to join any groups, but took some amusement from watching the odd sight of various animals and mythological and historical figures gathered together. Already, creative anatomical combinations were happening in darkened spaces. I let myself be spun around in a dance or two and had a bite of a karodee cake offered from a smiling woman in a half-face geniope mask, but it tingled oddly on my tongue and tasted as if something had been mixed into the sugar; thinking of Jov’s worries about the prevalence of new narcotics around the city, I quickly abandoned it. Perhaps that was the source of the overly intense atmosphere and the euphoric expressions on many faces. As it grew dark, I had to accept I would not find Jov or Tain, and might as well go home. I was weary and my face felt very hot. I reached up to take my mask off, then stopped.
Hiukipi was right before me. His mask was a simple half-face style, but jeweled like a crown; it only took me a second to identify him, surrounded as he was by a small group of Talafan guards and servants without costume. The Prince strode through the crowd with the expectation others would move out of his path; broad, strong shoulders squared, radiating confidence, and his wealth and privilege obvious from his manner even more than from his expensive clothing. I pushed my mask back in place; hot or not, I was suddenly grateful to be a lizard.
His expression was greedy as he stared at the women he passed. He was free with his hands, touching without seeking leave and pressing too close and too tight in dances. I watched him grow visibly frustrated at rejection after rejection, but he seemed to lack even the most basic of charm or manners—or at least was not choosing to waste them on masked strangers. It could not be more obvious he had expected to be treated to a buffet of available partners, but he had never been required to seek free consent from a woman before, and lacked the skills even in this extremely conducive environment. Plenty of foreigners, men especially, struggled to adapt to Silastian sensibilities, and did not realize how gaining a poor reputation could see one thoroughly shut out of social engagements. Masquerade night always revealed a number of them.
Even as I started away, Hiukipi had begun again to dance with another woman, this one visibly drunk and the long line of her throat exposed as she threw her head back to laugh as they spun. The Prince w
as a good dancer, and picked the woman up easily by the waist to lift her to and fro in rhythm with the music. But on the third spin he shifted his hands lower, grasping her backside, and thrust her hard up against him. One hand pinning her there, he started to pull apart the ties of her dress.
The woman jerked backward, shoving the hand away, and wiggled out of his grip, her affront obvious even through her mask, and stormed away. I saw her signaling other dancers and pointing Hiukipi out, and people melted back away from him, passively excluding him from their circles.
He noticed it, too, and a dull flush of red marred his neck and lower face. His building temper and frustrated entitlement was a physical thing, straining like steam in a lidded pot. “They are rutting on the ground like animals, but they say no to me?” I heard him spit at one of his guards or servants.
Reasonably satisfied no Silastian woman would wake up with this unpleasant specimen on the grass beside her, I pushed my way out of the dancing, my only remaining emotion a deep desire for sleep.
I was moving away from the lake when, in the flickering light of dusk, fires, and lamps, a green dress and a scaled mask passed in front of me. A riverring, styled so similarly to Princess Zhafi’s and worn by a woman the right height and frame that for a panicked moment I feared the ladies had left the guesthouse. After all, they had been extremely interested in the idea of the Darfri ceremony. Perhaps no one had explained the nature of the evening celebrations.
Uneasy, I tried to get a closer look. The crush of people had thickened and many of them were wearing costumes, so feathers and hats and scarves kept catching on my limbs or poking me in the face. It was only a function of moving against the flow of the crowd but I grew flustered all the same. A burly costumed man shouldered me aside accidentally with a grunt of an apology, and my resultant stumble knocked me into a woman, causing her to spill her picnic basket. As papna fruit and honey pastries scattered and were crushed beneath the feet of other revelers, she rounded on me with a shriek of outrage. I apologized, scrambling to help her pick up her things, and when I looked up I’d almost lost the riverring woman.
