Masquerade

by Lam, Laura

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It can’t be. I’m still dreaming, and you’re the phantom to haunt me.’

  I slipped still closer. I sat beside her. Her eyes quivered as they drank in every detail of my face.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ I managed.

  ‘Iphigenia.’ She breathed the name I’d hated so much, and that no one had called me in over a year. The exact same intonation as in the dream.

  I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with her close stare.

  ‘You look so different,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘I dreamed of you, I think.’

  Though I had dreamed of her, too, I said nothing. Guilt pecked at me. I’d only tried to reach her once. If I’d tried harder, perhaps she could have awoken weeks ago.

  ‘Iphigenia . . .’ Her words trailed away. ‘I expect you do not call yourself that any longer.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I’m Micah Grey, now.’

  ‘Micah Grey,’ she repeated, and my name sounded so strange in her voice.

  Her eyes were slightly unfocused; she was still on a mixture of medication. The skin on her arms was slack from lost muscle.

  ‘I don’t know where we go from here,’ she said. Gone were the imperial tones she’d so often used with me. Gone the affront she’d exhibit at my wayward behaviour. It was almost as if I didn’t know her at all. And I never had, not really. She’d hidden behind her facade as Lady Laurus, so desperate to seem like she belonged in the nobility, to hide her merchant-class background. I had no idea what she’d been like when she was younger, or even how she’d met my father. No stories, no memories. She’d encased herself in a stiff masquerade, and only my running away had broken through it.

  ‘I’m still angry at you,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how to forgive you for what you were going to do. And never tell me. Never give me a choice. That was horrific.’

  She looked away, unable to meet my eyes. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I listened at the door. The night I ran away.’

  ‘I thought . . . it would be for the best.’

  ‘For who? For you? For your precious reputation?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to have to grow up alone and without prospects.’

  ‘I don’t give a fig for prospects. You were going to castrate me. You can’t pretend it was more than that.’

  Her fingers worked at the cloth of the blanket covering her. ‘It was wrong,’ she said. ‘I was wrong. I’m sorry.’

  I blinked. I’d had so many adults apologize to me lately. Anisa. Pozzi. Now my mother. I could never recall my mother apologizing to me, unless it was to say ‘I’m sorry to say, but . . .’ and then berate me for another one of my many infractions.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It means much that you would say that. I’m afraid I cannot apologize for running away, because, despite all the awful things that happened, becoming Micah was the best choice I could ever have made.’

  Her mouth opened, but no words came.

  ‘So, like you I don’t know where we go from here, either. You know I’m alive, and I’m well enough.’ I swallowed, trying not to think of the sound of the scream in the atrium, everything drenched in blue and red light. Of the bodies that remained when we opened our eyes. Of that anger and hatred in Timur’s eyes before we’d buried him alive in ancient Alder Penglass.

  ‘I’m glad to see you well. I am.’

  ‘But you’re not going to reclaim me as your daughter, now son, are you?’ I asked. ‘You’d have to field the questions, risk your reputation, all of it.’

  Her gaze flicked away again, which was my answer. It hurt, and I couldn’t pretend otherwise. Not that I even wished to go back to life as a member of the Laurus family. Manoeuvring through the nobility as a boy held no more allure than when I’d had to do it as a girl. I’d rather stay in my working-class existence, performing magic shows for the masses in my true home.

  ‘I wish I didn’t care,’ she whispered. ‘That I could throw it all to the wind, and damn the nobility to Styx.’

  ‘You worked your way up from a merchant girl, and you want to stay there,’ I said, and I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. But I wasn’t as bitter as I might have been, even this time last year. ‘You can’t change who you are any more than I can change who I am.’

  I made to stand.

  ‘Wait,’ she said. Her mouth worked as she tried to find the words. ‘I want you to know that I do love you. I wanted you so badly, and when I first held you in my arms, it was one of the happiest moments of my life.’

  ‘Until you unwrapped the diaper.’

  She shook her head. ‘That frightened me, yes, but I never loved you any less, even if I know now I was terrible at showing it. I wanted . . . wanted to make sure you had everything in life I had to work so hard for. A good marriage. Security. A place in society. I wanted that for both you and Cyril, and I thought I had to be strict to get you there.’

  The onslaught of pure, unfettered emotion from her shocked me. ‘I never knew you. You closed yourself to me. And no matter what, I was never good enough for you. For a time, I worked harder, wondering whether if I could be a better girl, you’d loosen. But you never did, and so I rebelled from my corsets and my crinoline. Why bother trying to be perfect, when I thought you saw me as forever broken?’

  A tear ran down her cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t undo all those years, but I am sorry.’

  When I was small, I’d thought my parents were perfect beings. Almost gods. And now, I’d discovered that they were just as flawed as everyone else. My father, too distant and detached, too afraid to stand up to his wife. My mother, hiding behind the power and prestige she’d clawed her way to, pushing away the real things that mattered. Dosing herself with drink and laudanum to numb her pain and loneliness. Me, the daughter who ran away. Cyril, the son caught in the middle of it all. A broken family, and I didn’t think we’d ever be puzzle pieces that fitted together.

  I held my hand out to her. I held my hand out to the woman who had terrified me, who had also tried to change me entirely for her own, misguided beliefs. She clasped my palm so hard it hurt, and I squeezed, once, and took my hand back.

  ‘Goodbye, Mother.’

  ‘Will I see you again?’

  I paused. ‘Maybe.’

  She sniffed. ‘I’ll take maybe.’

  I managed something resembling a smile, and then I left. I did look back. She stared at me, from her hospital bed and her white sheets. Tears fell down her face freely. I’d never seen her cry before.

  I raised the hand she’d held in an almost-salute, and then I turned away.

  27

  HOMECOMING

  Home. A nebulous concept, far more than the stones we build around us and the slates we put over our head. It’s where we feel safe. Where those who love us dwell. Sometimes that’s not a physical place, but a state of mind.

  — From the earlier work of philosopher ALVIS TYNDALL

  It was a strange homecoming.

  I hadn’t been to the Kymri Theatre in a month and a half, or perhaps closer to two months. It was not quite noon when we pulled up in front of it. The roof had been restored. The columns repaired and repainted. The broken glass replaced. It looked just like it did when I returned from Pozzi’s after my fever and first dose of Elixir. I remembered the first time I had walked up these steps and stared at these oaken doors and their swirling brass tendrils. Soon, the Kymri Theatre would be open for business again.

  I walked past the empty box office in the entryway and through to the kitchen. There they all were, waiting for me. Cyril went to sit next to Cyan, loosening his bow tie, and something about their body language made me raise an eyebrow at them, and they blushed. Well. Maske had been reading a book, but he glanced up as we entered, his eyes ringed with dark circles. Anisa was drawing with a piece of charcoal, and I recognized ancient Linde and a portrait of her old friend, Matla. Kai was studying a medical textbook. He was going
to finish his studies despite losing Pozzi as his mentor. Even Lily and Frey were there, though I noticed Lily and Maske were not sitting next to each other. They still had much to work through.

  My eyes rested on Drystan.

  Tufts of his blonde hair stuck up from his scalp. I’d only seen him a few hours ago, but I’d missed him. He rose and came to me, and I folded into his embrace, resting my cheek against his shoulder.

  I’d not seen most of them since the Observatory. It was almost as if that memory was a presence in the room with us, the blue and red light so bright we couldn’t look at each other. I hunched my shoulders, sliding into an empty seat.

  ‘Coffee?’ Drystan asked.

  I nodded.

  No one spoke. Yet the unspoken words we wanted to say floated all around us.

  Drystan passed me the coffee, heavily sugared and milky. I took a sip, and the taste grounded me more.

  ‘What do we do now?’ I asked. So much had changed, and we’d all nearly died. It was unreal to be sitting in a warm kitchen, clutching the cup of coffee in my hands. How could I find my balance after my world had shifted from underneath my feet?

  ‘Now . . . we take back our lives.’ Cyan said. ‘We heal from our wounds. We perform magic. We watch it all change in front of us.’

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I think the first thing I want is a nap,’ I said, and they laughed. Drystan stood and offered his hand. I took it, and kept it clasped in mine as we climbed the stairs to the loft.

  It was strange to be back in the loft instead of our cramped bedroom in the Penny Rookeries. Drystan had unpacked and the place was already back to its usual level of disarray. Clothes piled on top of chests instead of neatly folded within. The bed unmade, Ricket slept curled up on the crumpled sheets, his tail covering his eyes. A few plates that should be carried down to the kitchen at some point. My heart lifted to see it, so familiar. The early afternoon light shone through the recreated stained-glass window of the dragonfly on the far wall, dotting the floorboards with green, blue, and red.

  It reminded me of Anisa. ‘She never found Relean, the Chimaera she’d loved for lifetimes.’

  ‘She still has most of a lifetime left. Knowing her, she’ll find him if she wants to. If he’s out there. Or she’ll find someone else, or she’ll surround herself with a new family. That’s the joy of life. Endless possibilities, endless ways to love. Right?’ His mouth twisted sardonically.

  It was good to be home. I crawled into the bed, pulling the covers around myself. Ricket mewled in protest and jumped off the bed, trotting away in search of food. ‘That is true. You big softie.’

  He laughed, lying in the bed next to me, tucking his arms behind his head. His shirt rode up, showing a sliver of white skin dusted with blonde hair.

  I emerged from the cocoon of blankets I had just made and fitted myself next to him, slipping my palm under his shirt to rest on the warm skin. His hair tickled me as I pressed my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat soothed me, as it always did.

  ‘How are you, through all of this?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m . . . all right. I haven’t taken any more Elixir, since I don’t know where you hid the rest of it. If you hadn’t, I probably couldn’t say the same.’

  ‘Wonder what we should do with it,’ I said. ‘Burn it, bury it.’

  ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me where, but keep it. It might prove useful one day. But at least Pozzi was lying about you and Frey needing it to survive.’

  ‘True. My body doesn’t seem to be attacking itself.’

  ‘It’s healing faster still, though, isn’t it?’ He touched the fading scratch on my face. ‘That needed stitches when you were unconscious, and it’s almost gone. I doubt you’ll even have a scar.’

  ‘Well, I’m never going to go back to normal, for I’ve never been that, anyway.’

  ‘Me neither.’ He sighed. ‘I do think taking Elixir that once changed me, though.’

  I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down into his blue eyes. ‘How?’

  ‘Nothing concrete. I can’t fly or make anything levitate. But . . . I don’t know. I feel like the world isn’t as mysterious any more. And my dreams are more vivid, like I’m peeking into peoples’ lives.’

  ‘Maybe you are.’

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t mind the dreams, anyway. Not so far.’

  ‘What do you dream of?’ I asked.

  ‘Of a girl and a boy, playing with toys in their home as a fire burns in the hearth. A man walking through a park, stopping to gaze up at the clouds. A far-away island, palm fronds shifting in the breeze, a woman wearing an Elladan dress looking out to sea, her son at her side. He carries a little mechanical Minotaur with him, like a doll. Most are silent, and short. Maybe they’re only dreams.’

  I shifted a little on the bed. Drystan’s hands moved, stroking the hair back from my face, his fingertips dancing down my neck. My body had felt numb after all the events of the past few days, but now it came alive. Every inch of my body tingled, my stomach clenching with desire. I reached up and drew his lips to mine, kissing him fiercely. His mouth opened and I met my tongue with his.

  He sat up, pulling me up with him. My fingers fumbled at his belt as he unbuttoned my shirt. He pulled the shirt open, and I wriggled from it, throwing it to the floor. I pushed his shirt up over his shoulders, and it joined mine. His fingers made quick work of the Lindean corset, and I pressed him to the bed, my skin against his.

  We shed the rest of our clothes, and it felt like it had been so long since we had last been this close. Drystan gasped as my hands moved lower, and he gripped me close. My kisses trailed down his neck and chest, until, too impatient, we moved together.

  I didn’t close my eyes, and he didn’t close his. We drank in every detail of the other, finding ourselves.

  At the end, when we lay back in the bed, spent and sleepy, our limbs heavy, I was finally at home.

  EPILOGUE: THE MASQUE

  Masque: a court entertainment with music, singing, dancing, and acting. Sometimes members of the court will take part in the festivities, and sometimes they are content simply to watch the display. Most characters dress up as Chimaera from older myths, and occasionally the Alder. Often the masque will feature an allegory tying into the political actions of the time. There may be a silent procession as part of it, to better showcase costumes. Afterwards, there is often a masquerade ball, with all guests disguised for the evening’s entertainment.

  — ‘Court Entertainment’, A History of Ellada and its Colonies, PROFESSOR CAED CEDAR, Royal Snakewood University

  Six months later

  All dressed up in our new costumes, we waited in the lobby of the Kymri Theatre. I shifted from foot to foot. Drystan took my hand to calm me, and I stilled. Cyan wore a Temnian robe. Cyril, Maske, and Kai looked dapper in their suits. Lily was there, wearing that red dress I’d seen in a long-ago vision. The former Shadow and the magician had decided to begin again, without the lies, though Maske’s trust was slow to heal. Frey was in his wheelchair, wearing no Glamour. After that night of the full moon, he’d decided against the facade. ‘They can accept me or they won’t,’ he’d said. ‘But I’m not going to hide.’ It had taken people aback, but no one had said anything rude to him.

  Drystan and I had done the same, retiring the Glamour and the lives of Sam Harper and Amon Fletcher. It was a relief to no longer wear faces that were not ours. Pretending to be Elladans raised in Temne had never sat well with me. Cyan had told us she hadn’t minded, but I knew she was glad to see the last of our alter egos as well. We performed with our true faces for Maske’s Marionettes, never offering a definitive reason for the change. Rumours flew thick and fast. That Amon and Sam had died, or gone on the run from the law. Now we were Drystan and Micah. No more lies. No more hiding. Somewhat surprisingly, no one matched us with the runaways from R. H. Ragona’s Circus of Magic. Or if they did, they didn’t bother going to the Constabulary.

  The carriage that pulle
d up in front of the theatre was the grandest I had ever seen, large enough for twelve people rather than our eight. The edges were gilt, bright plumage rising from the top of the roof, nodding in the gentle breeze. The driver tilted his hat to us before climbing down to open the door. Autumn was turning into winter, and I shivered beneath my coat.

  I took a deep breath as we climbed in, and settled by the window. As the carriage twined its now familiar route towards the palace, I wished I didn’t have to go. Large crowds of nobility still made me more than a little nervous, especially those who had once known me as Lady Iphigenia Laurus. I’d seen my mother and father once or twice over the past half year. They had not offered to accept me back into the family and present me as a Laurus. I had not asked. Drystan’s family did ask, but he turned them down gently. He saw his family more often than I saw mine.

  We went through security. I did not spy Noel among them. He’d been promoted to one of the Princess’s main guards, last I’d heard.

  Time to put on our masks.

  Maske wore the mask I had given to him as a gift last Lady’s Long Night, of black velvet with embroidered moons and stars. Lily wore a simple one of dark red velvet, and Frey one the same shade of green as his true skin. Cyan wore a mask of peacock feathers and Cyril wore a lion’s mask. Kai’s was bat wings, naturally, and Drystan wore a mask patterned in a jester’s motley. As for me: I wore a dragonfly mask.

  When we entered the large ballroom, no heads turned towards us.

  I’d never been to the ballroom before. It was enormous, about three times the size of the Beach Ballroom in Sicion, where I’d had my debut. Glass globe chandeliers glimmered above us, the ceiling painted with the Twelve Trees of Nobility, the family shields between them. The floor was smooth marble, shiny but not too slippery for dancing. The far wall had a raised proscenium stage, where the masque would be held.

  Tables were clustered about the edges, should people tire, and there was an upper storey, so people could watch the dancing from above. The Steward was there, watching the festivities but not yet joining in. He too wore a mask, though the crown gave away his identity. Again, he met my eyes, but this time he did not look away. He nodded, and I nervously returned the gesture.