by Heidi Lang
“To be fair, I have an amazing smile.”
“I’m serious, Vahn.”
“So am I.” He sighed. “All right, all right. So if I can play nice with your little friend, you’ll go out with me?”
Lailu didn’t bother to listen to the rest. First Greg at the party, and now Vahn? She was sick of boys and sick of feeling like something dropped off a plate.
Lailu put her Cooling and Containment cart just inside the dining room, then left, closing the door silently behind her. As anger carried her down the long dirt road, she welcomed the way the chill of the night slipped beneath her shirt and froze her skin. All around her came the shouts and cries of people celebrating the Week of Masks, and as she left her restaurant farther and farther behind, Lailu found herself mingling with a growing crowd of costumed people. She brushed shoulders with leaping lizards, roaring tigers, a whole blessing of unicorns, a dragon or two, and even one memorable gaggle of batyrdactyls. Why anyone would dress like those bloodsuckers, she had no idea, but the trio of teenage girls seemed to be enjoying flapping around and giggling together.
Lailu adjusted her mask, suddenly feeling very alone, a solitary griffin surrounded by people out with their friends. She hunched her shoulders, no longer enjoying the cold.
“You look like you could use a warm beverage,” a woman said, her voice as deep and rich as the hot cocoa she held out.
Lailu thanked the woman and took the drink gratefully, wrapping her hands around it as she continued down the street. All around her, other merchants and vendors passed out food and drink to anyone who wanted. During the Week of Masks, nobody went hungry or thirsty.
She noticed the new mask shop: Melvin’s Marvelous Masks. The owner sat slumped in his booth, a stack of fantastical masks beside him, a giant hooded cobra mask covering his whole head. It looked a little too realistic for Lailu’s comfort, and she stopped a few feet away.
Cautiously Lailu took a sip of her cocoa, then found herself drinking her entire mug in one long gulp. It tasted as rich and creamy as it smelled, with just a hint of something spicy. She closed her eyes, and it was like she was back home in her village, sitting in front of a fire on a cold evening, wrapped in her warmest quilt with her favorite book of recipes on her lap.
Lailu opened her eyes slowly, dreamily, then blinked.
A pair of familiar blue eyes regarded her from behind a plain black mask.
“Eirad?” she gasped. She flushed, feeling like he’d just caught her stealing ingredients from a feast.
“Obviously.”
Lailu struggled for a less obvious question to ask him. “You’re here?” She could have kicked herself. “I mean, of course you’re here. Why were you staring at me?”
“I could see the emotions flitting over your face. Nostalgia, sentimentality, dreams of home.” Eirad tapped his chin. “Very intriguing. And all because of a simple cup of cocoa.” He plucked the empty mug from her fingers, then tossed it into the air. It turned into an owl and soared across the sky, screeching.
Lailu’s blood ran cold. “I thought you couldn’t do magic in the city,” she whispered.
“My poor little chef, there are loopholes. There are always loopholes.” He bared his teeth in a vicious smile. “Enjoy the rest of your night. I know I intend to.” He nodded at Melvin, who immediately sat straight up, and then Eirad sauntered off.
Lailu thought of Ryon’s words about Eirad: I think he’s up to something. She hesitated as the elf moved farther away, and then she made up her mind. It was the First Night of Masks, after all. A night to celebrate monsters. She might as well spend some time with one of hers. “Wait, Eirad!”
He turned, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge.
“Where are you going?” Lailu panted as she caught up.
“Why do you ask, little chef? Did you want to accompany me?” He looked her up and down, his lips curling in amusement.
“Actually . . .” Lailu took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Eirad’s eyes widened. It was the first time Lailu had ever seen him surprised. No matter what happened next, she thought it all might be worth it for that alone.
Eirad regarded her for a long moment, then inclined his head. “Very well. I did offer, after all.” He extended a hand toward her, and Lailu hesitantly took it, Eirad’s long fingers folding around hers.
He grinned wickedly. “This should be very entertaining.”
6
THE WESTERN TRAVEL DISTRICT
Eirad oozed through the crowd of revelers, sliding past them like a sea serpent and wending his way farther into the city. Lailu managed to get stepped on, elbowed, and tripped, Eirad’s hand the only thing keeping her on her feet. He dragged her along like a log caught in a river current. By the time he slowed, she felt completely disoriented, her hair coming loose from its pigtails, her mask askew.
“Where are we—” Lailu froze. “Going,” she finished in a whisper, but she knew.
The Western Travel District.
It was impossible to miss. The grandiose domed buildings that had once been a source of pride for the city were now nothing more than crumbled remains, the white stone and gold of the buildings forming their own graves. The streets ahead shifted from cobblestones to obsidian, the dark stones even darker in abandonment. Without any candles, it felt like a long, empty tunnel.
Lailu stopped short in front of a toppled statue. Its head had rolled off and vanished long ago, and parts of its torso were missing. At its feet, engraved in the base, Lailu read:
ENTER HE WHO IS WORTHY. ALL OTHERS SHALL PERISH AT . . .
The rest of the words had faded to nothing. It lay on the border of the district, the road stretching past it.
Eirad stopped next to her. “Problem, little chef?”
“Most people who enter here don’t come back out again,” she whispered.
“That is a misconception. They all come out . . . eventually. They just might not be recognizable anymore.” Eirad’s smile looked even more feral than usual.
Was he joking? Lailu wasn’t sure, but since elves couldn’t tell lies . . .
“Perhaps you’ll be one of the lucky ones. Unless you’d care to turn back?”
Lailu shook her head.
“Very well.” Eirad deliberately stepped on the broken statue, crumbling more of it into dust beneath his boots as he strolled into the Western Travel District.
Lailu shuddered but followed him. She didn’t know what drove her. Curiosity, maybe, about this abandoned slice of city.
Years ago, goblins had populated most of this district. Master craftsmen, they created wondrous tools and fantastical pieces of art, but they almost never shared any of these things with their human neighbors. They were only willing to trade on those rare occasions when they needed something their alchemy could not make. But unlike the elves, goblins could lie easily and often, and Lailu heard their “deals” were never very beneficial to those they did business with.
Everything had been fine until they started trading with the elves. No one knew exactly what happened, but it eventually led to a vicious feud. One that had only one winner.
Thanks to the deadly magic the elves wielded, this part of the city had never been fixable. Even now, Lailu thought she could feel the aftereffects of their magic brushing against her skin like oil spattering from a pan.
Lailu followed Eirad down the street and around the corner into the heart of the district. She gasped, freezing midstep. Just up ahead, the largest building loomed against the night sky, its rotting, twisted frame completely covered in shimmering, multicolored lights.
“Wow,” Lailu breathed. “Just . . . wow.”
“Don’t be too impressed. You haven’t seen anything yet,” Eirad said ominously.
As Lailu got closer, she saw that the lights were coming from small glass jars that had been strung together in long, colorful lines and then hung from the roof. Each jar was filled with . . .
“Pixies?” Lailu touched a jar, and the
pixie inside put both tiny hands on the other side opposite Lailu’s palm. She was only the size of Lailu’s ring finger, her body covered in a thick mat of bright orange fur, her wings a complementary translucent orange. They beat rapidly, so fast they were a blur, and when she bared her teeth at Lailu, they were sharp and pointed.
“Does this . . . does it hurt them?”
“Funny question, coming from a girl who hunts down dragons and other beasties,” Eirad said.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“I’m not keeping them in jars or anything. And they’re not . . . not human.”
“Human.” Eirad’s lip curled. “Yes, well, neither is that.” He flicked the jar, sending the pixie spinning. “These creatures have more in common with insects.”
The pixie hissed, her hands on her hips.
“She doesn’t look like an insect to me.” Lailu didn’t know very much about pixies; she heard they fed on elven magic, and they hid from humans, only clustering in the deepest parts of forests. She could hardly believe there were hundreds of them held captive here in this spot.
“Don’t worry, little chef, we’ll let them all go after the final night of the Week of Masks.” He turned his back on the jars. “Come along now. There are wonders much greater than this waiting inside.”
Lailu spared one last glance at the pixie in the jar, then followed Eirad to the front doors. They looked surprisingly new against the cracked stone of the rest of the building and gleamed with a faint reddish hue. Cherrywood? Or something . . . darker? It was hard to tell in the shifting light from the pixie jars. Lailu reached toward them.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Eirad said.
“What?”
“Only someone with elven blood can open these doors. Anyone else who touches them, well . . .” He tossed his mass of braids back behind his shoulders. “Let’s just say it is not pleasant. Unless you don’t mind losing your skin.”
“My skin?” Lailu took a step back, tucking her hands under her armpits as if they might reach out on their own. “Is this another one of those magic loopholes?”
Eirad cocked his head to the side. “Tell me, what do you know of the treaty Fahr made with Elister?”
“Just that it’s supposed to be illegal for elves to do magic in the city. And since you can’t lie . . . supposedly . . . it should be binding.”
He laughed, a surprisingly light, musical sound that reminded Lailu of wind chimes. “Oh, I am glad I brought you, little chef. Yes, we cannot lie, and so our promises are binding. This is true. But much like one of your meals, there are different flavors of truth.”
“That makes no sense,” Lailu said flatly.
“No? I thought the cooking metaphor would help.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I’ll be more forthright. Fahr promised Elister that as long as we remained denizens of Twin Rivers, we would not kill anyone under his protection. This was a requirement after that unfortunate misunderstanding with the goblins twenty years ago.”
Unfortunate misunderstanding? Lailu glanced at the broken shards of buildings all around her and shook her head. Clearly this was a flavor of truth she couldn’t taste.
“Elister also demanded we not do any magic within Twin Rivers’ official city limits.”
“Which you agreed to.” What was Eirad getting at?
“Fahr did. He likes to play nice with you humans.” Eirad’s mouth twisted. “But here is the fun part: at that time, the city’s official limits extended only to just past Gilded Island. Your foolish kings were not always so good at updating their maps.”
Lailu gaped at him. “But . . . the city goes way past that point.”
Eirad studied his fingernails, his lips curving in amusement. “It doesn’t matter how far the city extends. What matters is the wording, which was not nearly exact enough. It also said nothing about us doing magic elsewhere, and then bringing that magic inside the city. As I said, little chef, there are always so many loopholes.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Lailu asked.
“Because there is nothing you can do about it, except worry.” He swept his long braids back. “I find that quite entertaining.”
Lailu scowled.
“Just as I find you quite entertaining,” Eirad laughed.
“I could report this to Elister.”
“You could . . . but we both know you won’t.”
Lailu’s scowl deepened. He was right, too. The last thing she wanted was to get involved in another feud.
“Come now, we wouldn’t want to be late for the main event of the party. For tonight is our night to dance on the graves of our enemies.”
And at that, he put both palms against the doors, which rippled beneath his touch like water and then melted away.
7
DANCING WITH MONSTERS
The mouth of the building gaped like some giant beast, and Lailu caught snatches of song, laughter, and the smells of something expertly spiced and exotic. She stepped inside, the air falling around her thick and heavy as gravy.
It wasn’t what she’d expected. Instead of a sitting room, she stood in a long, narrow hall, the walls glowing a gentle green, like sunlight filtered through a forest. The air now smelled like mold and peeling paint, and there were no pictures on the walls, no carpet beneath their feet—just plain wood.
Eirad led her down the hall about a hundred paces, and then he stopped in front of a stretch of wall that looked exactly like the rest. He tapped it twice, and it slid away, revealing a giant room full of hazy colors. Through the haze, elves swayed and twisted, their movements illuminated by hundreds upon hundreds of pixies, some in glass jars, others flittering around near the ceiling in their own complicated dance.
Immediately Lailu was caught in the wave of sound: elves laughing, music twining, the roar of too many people in a small space all having a good time. And the smells! There was that exotic scent—maybe mandrake root with a hint of paprika? And underneath it all, an earthy, woodsy smell that Lailu recognized.
“Is that inside the Tree Fort?” Lailu asked.
“Obviously,” Eirad said.
“But . . . we’re in the Western Travel District.”
“I know. Clever, isn’t it? It was my idea to link them. Now put this on,” he instructed, a mask appearing in his outstretched hand.
“Did you just magic this into existence?”
“Even I can’t just magic something into being. Silly human. I had it made specially for you.”
“Why? You didn’t even know I would be here tonight.”
“Didn’t I?” Eirad smirked.
Lailu’s stomach clenched. She’d thought coming here was her own idea. It was, right? Why did everything with the elves always have to be so complicated?
“Well, I already have a mask,” Lailu said, tapping her griffin feathers.
“This one’s better.” He pushed it into her hands.
It was an elaborate mask covered in shiny bluish-gray scales and a snout that protruded a good four inches, and after a few seconds, Lailu realized it was a mountain dragon. He really had made it for her. Tentatively she pulled her griffin mask off and slipped the new mask over her head. The material inside was warm and pliant, practically molding over her skin as if it were part of her face.
Lailu had the sudden urge to rip it off and throw it far away from her, but Eirad was already pulling her into the room. She was immediately surrounded by tall, elegant figures, all masked and costumed. Music seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. It wasn’t like any music she had heard before, the high notes too pure as they danced above a throbbing beat that made Lailu’s feet move instinctively to the rhythm. Something in it called to her, and she could feel it thrumming through her veins like the cry of the hunt.
Vahn’s words slid from her like grease off a plate, Greg’s scorn dripped away, and she was just herself. Just Lailu. She closed her eyes, sensing her body. Shorter than she’d like, but tha
t no longer bothered her, not in this moment. Instead, she felt strong. Powerful. She let herself melt into her mask, let herself relax into this bizarre night and just go with it, twirling along with the mass of dancing elves.
“It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?” Eirad asked.
Lailu opened her eyes. Eirad danced next to her, his eyes wide with pure glee, feet moving in time with Lailu’s.
“What is it?” Lailu asked, tipping her head back.
“It’s what we feel all the time, what it means to be an elf. It’s the releasing of your humanity.”
“It’s what?” Her feet slowed.
“Don’t stop dancing, little chef. Inside everyone is a wild creature, untamed and untamable. Tonight, you get to let that beast out, get to become that beast. Every human should experience this.” He grinned wickedly. “This is true freedom. And my gift to you.”
He spun her around suddenly, tossing her in the air like a piece of dough, then flipping her away. She crashed into another elf, this one unfamiliar. Like all elves, he was tall and thin, his ears poking above the feathers in his mask, his hair the color of burnt wood as it flowed in beautiful spirals down his back.
“Ah, little human girl.” The elf’s sneer was full of malice. “And what are you doing here, so far from home?”
“I’m, uh . . .” Lailu’s heart hammered, as trapped as she was, her hands held firmly in the elf’s tight grip as he pulled her around in a mockery of a dance. This was supposed to be freedom? Suddenly the walls felt too close, and she was very aware of the elves pressing in on all sides of her. What had she been thinking, following Eirad to a place like this? What could she possibly learn here?
“I brought her.” Eirad appeared suddenly beside them. “She’s here as my guest.” Then he was gone again, spinning away with another elf.
Lailu’s partner stopped smirking immediately and let her go.
Lailu took a few steps away from him, bumping into another elf, a female with long silvery hair.