Mask of Shadows

by Linsey Miller

  “Breakfast.” She opened a door at the end of the hall and opened her mouth again, but a soft voice cut her off.

  “Can’t imagine you sleeping in with those bells.”

  I spun, plum flying out of my hand. Four, a boy about my age with curly black hair peeking out from the back of his mask, leapt down from a hallway rafter. He was stout and muscular and barely made a sound walking next to me. His hands were a map of pitted scars.

  “Don’t worry—loved those bells.” He followed me into the breakfast hall and held up a freshly stitched arm, the catgut neat and white against his dark skin. He was handsome and he knew it, flashing me a smile when I only glared at him. “Told everyone where I was. Clever, clever.”

  I rolled my shoulders back and tried to take up as much space as possible next to this firm powerhouse. “I figured I’d get one night of sleep before the real competition started.”

  “You’d a better night than Twenty-One.” Four winked and wandered to the far side of the table, sitting next to Two and Three.

  The tall long-nosed auditioner was out then. Of course, the ones I couldn’t tell apart didn’t have the decency to die first and make it easy on me.

  I dropped into a chair near Two, Three, and Four. They had come to breakfast together and Four kept calling Two “Lady Luck.” She waved him off each time with a bandaged hand.

  Most of us were young, no wrinkles around the eyes or spotted hands. All the easier to mold us into the assassin The Left Hand wanted. If we lived.

  Nine auditioners were missing. The only invited auditioner not at the table was One, and I’d no idea if Ruby would be impressed or disappointed.

  Didn’t matter much either way. I was here and nine of the others weren’t. Only fourteen left.

  Five snapped at a passing server. His hands—the blistered pink of sun-seared white skin—cut through the air, fingers pointed and straight as knives, and jabbed at the servant as he whispered. He rudely pointed at what he wanted and where he wanted it. No one else paid him any mind.

  Five definitely grew up with servants.

  Four too. At least he spoke to his servant like they were a person and thanked them for the little mug of fruity red tea steaming up our end of the table. I clasped my hands.

  No use eating unless I knew it was safe for sure. I’d no knowledge of poisons.

  The main doors burst open. Ruby swirled into the room in a storm of colored silk with his sword belt bound around his narrow hips and arms thrown wide. His sword hung in a silver-plated sheath, and the melon-shaped pommel slapped his upper thigh. The blade was curved and long as my arm.

  “Nine dead. Lovely. If you keep taking my advice, we’ll be out of here by dinner.” Ruby meandered around the table, trailing his fingers along the back of our chairs, and sat at the far end. He tilted his head to the side in mock consideration. “You’re doing so much better than my year.”

  His invisible gaze raised the hair on my arms. His audition was seven years ago, and I’d been running my first jobs for Grell. Amethyst was the newest member, winning her mask three years back, and gossip about her hadn’t spread far either. Emerald was the only original left—handpicked by the Queen at the end of the Mage War as a personal guard. The dead Opal had joined right after her.

  “Hardly anything to be proud of—your audition was full of pissants,” said a lilting voice behind me. “I bet only auditioners Two through Eight did anything last night other than cower.”

  I ground my teeth together and twisted round in a huff.

  My retort rushed out of me.

  Emerald, a vision of steel and green silk, glided through the doorway. She was lithe and muscled, arms bare and flexed, streaked in scars with a pale silver dust shining over her skin like white-capped waves on the cool, deep black of distant ocean. She walked past me in a breeze of perfume and peppermint, the apothecary scents clinging to her like the old black ink of the dead runes scrawled across her. The silk layered and draped over her shoulders matched her high-cheeked, mouthless emerald mask perfectly. Beetle wings stitched into the train of her dress glittered in the light.

  Emerald was the only person to ever face a mage’s shadow alone and survive—the scar slicing through her hairline and peeking out from behind her mask proof enough of that—and she was only a few strides away from me.

  “Killing is simple,” Emerald said as she folded herself into a chair and plucked up a teakettle, pouring a small measure in her glass. She added a splash of milk. “Secrets are hard.”

  Ruby rested his chin on his laced fingers. “Who was seen?”

  “Thirteen is disqualified and dismissed.” Emerald handed Ruby her cup. “Your servant will gather your belongings and a guard will escort you out. Thank you for trying.”

  “Who?” Thirteen cracked her hands against the table, upending mugs and sending her plate flying. “You have to tell us who—give us an appeal. There wasn’t anyone there.”

  Emerald picked up a spoon, holding it like a knife, and Thirteen stilled. “Four people reported your blunder. You’re dismissed.”

  Thirteen kicked her chair, heel snapping a leg in half.

  “Lady Emerald gave you an order,” a rough voice said. Heavy footsteps muffled by the sound of shifting leather armor crept behind me. A pale purple mask—eyes missing, mouth one severe line—glinted in the corner of my sight. “Take it.”

  Thirteen scrambled out of the hall.

  “Unless anyone else would like to disobey, we’ll go over the nuances of your new, brief lives.” Emerald tilted her chin up, looking for questions in the absence of us seeing her face. We kept quiet. “Whoever you were yesterday is dead. Your lives are ours now, until you are either dead or dismissed. Since we are selecting a new member of the court, there are additional rules you must follow. If you break them, I will kill you.”

  “We eat breakfast together.” Ruby poured a cup of tea and held it out to Amethyst. “We do not attempt to kill each other or anyone else during this time. Breakfast is our time. You finish your business before or after. We always dine together in the mornings, and we’d like for you to learn how to be sociable morning people.”

  Emerald slid a thick pat of butter into the center of a dark roll, stuffed shaved ham in after it, and stood. A southerner’s breakfast. Interesting thing to pick when your mask had no opening for the mouth. “We will hold physical training sessions all day, every day. You need not attend if you feel adequately masterful, but do remember we are watching. One of you will be Our Queen’s new Opal, and we cannot afford mediocrity.”

  “So eat well and relax.” Amethyst gestured to the spread of food across the table.

  “This morning, we will evaluate you separately. Every other morning until we say otherwise, you are expected to play nicely until training starts.” Ruby stood, beckoning a servant with a bloodred collar, and waved halfheartedly to the table. “You will do best if you remember this is a test and we are the overseers.”

  Emerald picked up her plate and vanished through a side door. Amethyst followed and Ruby’s servant slipped through the door ahead of him. Ruby spared us one last glance over his shoulder.

  “A word of advice—don’t be predictable. From this day on, predictability will kill you,” Ruby said. “We’ll start with Two.”

  Two rose to her feet as graceful as any dancer and took a deep breath. Three and Four watched her go.

  How were we supposed to stay unpredictable if they had us in timed lessons all day?

  “A long night, a longer morning.” Four eyed the rest of the table over his cup of tea. “Testing our patience perhaps.”

  I poured myself a cup—flowery and light, much softer on my tongue than I was used to—and ignored his questioning gaze. Observations, studying your mark, knowing when to make your move. Only difference between robbery and murder was what you stole.

  “Tea’s too gentle,” Three muttered to Four. “You’d think if anyone deserved a pick-me-up, it’d be us.”

  I grinne
d. The southwestern coast of Alona was famous for its stronger teas, and it was Rath’s one true indulgence.

  Four shrugged. “Not enough of us here to warrant it.”

  I pulled my plate toward me. The table was spread with enough food for an army troop. They’d laid it out to appeal to anyone, and everyone was taking advantage. Five drizzled oil over a piece of toast layered with tomatoes and minced garlic, and seven others followed his lead, reaching for the common breakfast of northerners. I’d never gotten a taste for tomatoes before noon.

  But they had, and now I knew where they were from.

  “Didn’t realize there was an us,” I said in Erlenian. The languages were so close they might as well have been the same except for a dozen handfuls of odd words and phrases. They had been the same once, but politics had pushed them apart. I dropped a piece of thin bread on my plate, drowned it in oil and garlic, and slid a tomato slice on top. Least I could save myself from the tasteless muck of tomatoes by adding garlic. “You’re awful chatty for someone in a competition to the death.”

  I’d give them no hints about who I was or where I was from, not like the hints they were giving me. I’d no runes and no striking features, only warm umber skin and a handful of scars. I’d nothing left for them to take, no friends and no family, other than my place as Opal.

  And it was mine.

  Four offered me another tomato. “While the bells were a lovely touch, you’re too short to put any fear in me. Nothing personal.”

  I speared the tomato with my knife.

  “Three!”

  We all turned to the door. Two glided into the room with her fists clenched and mask askew. She whispered to Three as they passed.

  We sat in silence after that. Only the scrape of knives against plates and the rattle of spoons in cups broke the quiet. Five crunched his way through his toast, half-listening to Eight and Seven whispering back and forth. The split between Erlend and Alona had changed more than the languages. Five was the image of an arrogant northern lord, all splayed limbs and cocked head, taking up a good hand’s width of Two’s spot at the table.

  Three returned, and Two knocked Five out of her space in her haste to pull out Three’s chair. Four left, returned, and then Five, Six, another and another. Each private meeting lasted long enough to let me settle before the red-collared servant shouted the next number. I twisted the ring round and round my finger, rubbing the sigil with my thumb, and breakfast rebelled in my stomach. Five had sword work callouses and a fancy gold necklace shoved under his collar. An apothecary sigil covered Eleven’s slender shoulder. Eight walked with the telltale gait of someone with a knife in his boot. But I was skilled and worrying wouldn’t help.

  “Twenty-Three!”

  I rose, rolling my shoulders back, and took long, steady strides to the door.

  Let the audition begin.

  Eight

  Amethyst’s mask was lopsided when I entered, the dusky ribbons loose around her head and barely knotted. Emerald flicked her fingers to get my attention. I sat in the lone chair.

  “I can see your first problem.” Emerald leaned across the couch and rested her chin on long crooked fingers. “You’re far too underfed.”

  “Not uncommon for uninvited auditioners.” Ruby peered at me through his eyeless mask, and the sting of it burned the tips of my ears. Up close, I could tell there was a thin mesh—soft metal or cloth—painted to match the red covering where his eyes would be. He tilted his head to the side. “Twenty-Three, Sal, Sal, Sal, brought the hand of Grell da Sousa. Knife work was sloppy but willing to practice.”

  Amethyst chuckled. “Grell da Sousa? The old street fighter in Kursk?”

  “One and only.” I nodded, spreading out the hem of my dress so I was sitting like Emerald—taking up space and showing off what muscles I had but not splayed out like Five had been.

  “What do you do?” Emerald studied my feet and worked her way up to my face. She corrected my posture till my spine was straight as hers. “You look like a runner.”

  “Thief.” I stiffened. “Highway jobs, housebreaking, and some street fighting on the side.”

  “I take it you’re one of those haunting the highways, terrorizing poor coaches, and stealing all our things.” Ruby crossed his legs and let out a soft laugh that made me think it wasn’t a question at all. He turned to the others. “They killed Grell with a pin.”

  Emerald scoffed. “You killed him with a pin?”

  “He marked his routes on wall maps and held them up with old hat pins. It was safer to get him near a map. He expected knives.” I shifted, the “they” hot in my ears. “And you can call me ‘she’ when I dress like this. I dress how I am.”

  Which was fine by me. I wore a dress, and people treated me like a girl. I wore trousers and one of those floppy-collared men’s shirts, and they treated me like a boy. No annoying questions or fights over it.

  “And if you dress like neither?” Emerald asked.

  “They,” I said. Rath had asked once, a while after we’d met and been living together, and I’d not known how to explain it yet. I didn’t have the words. He always felt like Rath, and I always felt like Sal, except it was like watching a river flow past. The river was always the same, but you never glimpsed the same water. I ebbed and flowed, and that was my always. Rath not understanding that had hurt the most, but at least he accepted it. “I’m not always ‘they’ though.”

  “Understood.”

  The moment passed, and the tilt of Emerald’s chin and nod of Ruby’s head made me think it would never happen again.

  “What else can you do?” Amethyst beckoned me and pried off my gloves. “Don’t be humble.”

  “I’m quick, good at climbing, sleight of hand.” I flexed my arm while Amethyst tested my muscle. “I was the best fighter in Tulen and most of Kursk.”

  “Any real training in anything?” Emerald tugged Amethyst away and studied the pads of my fingers. “Trade? Carnival? Apothecary?”

  I shook my head. “Just street fighting.”

  “She was about to snap our dear Roland’s neck,” Ruby said to Emerald. “Not standard street fighting.”

  I shrugged. “I have many skills.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Ruby laughed. “Now, what don’t you know?”

  “Poisons.” I didn’t miss a beat and sighed to myself when Emerald shook her head. “I can use knives but not swords. Never used a spear. I shot a bow once and missed, and I don’t know a thing about court life. Can’t read Erlenian—bit better at Alonian—and never learned how to write either.”

  The three of them all shifted at that.

  “And I need to practice my knife work.”

  “All fixable ailments if you so desire.” Ruby leaned forward, collar flopping open and scars peeking out from under his shirt. White scars on dark skin. They must’ve been carved by magic. He’d been a mage. “Alona had public schools. Why didn’t you attend?”

  “I was only five,” I said with another shrug. “And you still have to buy supplies and a uniform.”

  Ruby hummed. “Who are you, Sal, Sal, Sal?”

  “What does it matter?”

  Sal was gone. That was the point, wasn’t it? I wasn’t tied to anything, no one knew my face, and I’d no friends or family that could be held against me, no allies to betray me. I had inherited ghosts, and I would become one.

  “It matters to us.” Emerald tapped her mask. She didn’t wear jewelry, didn’t drape herself in the silver chains commonly found in the carriages we raided, but her fingers were jewelry themselves. She’d glued ovals of a brassy metal over the nails. “The new Opal will be our partner, our business consultant, and our friend. They will be the only person outside of Our Queen to know our faces, and we will know theirs. They will be one of us.”

  “We have to select someone we can live with.” Amethyst nodded to me. “We have to know who all of you are, so we may know whom we are inviting into our safe haven. And we will find out who you are regardless
of how honest you are.”

  “So who are you?” asked Ruby.

  “Sallot Leon.”

  The trio stilled. My full name gave away too much. Only Naceans kept their mother’s first name as part of their own, a holdover from the old days when there were more countries, more traditions. My grandmother had been Margot, my mother Leon Margot, and I was Sallot Leon. It was all I remembered and all I had left.

  All I had that was truly mine.

  “Why bother learning Erlenian or Alonian when you’re not from either country?” Emerald flexed her fingers. “Few Naceans escaped the shadows.”

  History said we’d been massacred by errant magic. An accident. A casualty of war.

  But I knew our murder was orchestrated. I remembered the soldiers reading letters the day before they left. I remembered them fleeing in a panic. I remembered their whispers about “orders.”

  “One,” I said softly. “I have never met another.”

  Ruby let out a long sigh. “There was no Leon in the Nacean royal line.”

  My parents had been farmers. Sending off our best sheep as tribute to the queen was as royal as they’d gotten.

  “No, the Last Star of Nacea was named Namrantha. No political tangles.” Emerald evened her head with mine. “In a few moments, you will head to strength training, archery, and sword work. The nights are for personal reflection and competition, and we may offer personalized training. You will attend all three training sessions every day until we say otherwise. If you’re still alive by then.”

  “I will be.”

  “Lovely.” Ruby unfurled from his chair, rising in a swirl of black and white silk. He opened the door. “Now get out.”

  He shut the door behind me.

  “The Left Hand will grant you time to collect your thoughts.” The servant with the red collar smiled, the crook of his lips more consoling than happy. “And would like me to remind you that competing is forbidden in this room.”

  They were avoiding calling it “murder.” I lingered by the door and pulled my gloves on again. I bet they didn’t let disqualified competitors talk about the auditions, and if no one else lived, only the servants would know we’d been killing each other. The next auditioners for whatever mask fell first wouldn’t know it was a fight to the death till they got here. No one would.