“I know where the Gate comes out. I can take you there myself…” A slight, self-satisfied smile appeared on his face. “But I am going to need you to sign a temporary pact of nonaggression. Leah wants trade agreements, and we’ll need some gesture of goodwill on your part. As long as she agrees, I can introduce you to the Elysian Incarnation first thing in the morning.”

  Sharanan had grown up on stories of the City of Light. All the authority he had came from his distant ancestors, those impossibly wise and powerful inhabitants of Elysia. If he came back as the first one to see it… Better yet, if he came back with a chance of creating a Tamerian Traveler of Elysia…

  He extended his hand before hesitating. “In the south, do you shake hands to seal agreements?”

  Simon nodded gravely. “We do.” He extended his hand, which was wrapped in black chains.

  Sharanan took it.

  THE REAPING DANCE

  359th Year of the Damascan Calendar

  1st Year in the Reign of Queen Leah I

  Reaping Day

  Wearing a mask made Simon feel like he was walking into a fight.

  This wasn't his mask, of course. It was a construction of polished, delicate metal that Leah had produced; white-and-silver on one side, and silver-and-black on the other. A prop, designed to imitate his real mask.

  It matched his clothes—tailored black pants, shirt, jacket, and shoes, all highlighted and accented in silver. Swords were stitched in gray thread everywhere they were allowed, and a silver badge on his chest showed the world he was from Valinhall. Only his cloak was real, as the Nye fabric was a tighter-woven, darker fabric than anything the Damascan weavers could produce.

  There's nothing more ridiculous, he thought, than dressing up in a costume to look like yourself.

  He slipped into the crowded ballroom, tugging at his too-tight collar. It was already packed, swimming with heat and noise, and he couldn't help but notice that none of the other guests had come as themselves.

  By her dress, fan, and mask, one woman had dressed as a peacock. Another woman looked like a tree, and another wore seven colors and a bright-eyed mask that made her appear as a fanciful version of an Elysia Incarnation.

  He considered that to be bad taste, but maybe it was just him. The other guests didn't seem to mind, though they hadn't gone blade-to-blade with Alin, either.

  The men had gone with darker colors, through some unspoken rule of fashion that Damascans apparently inherited along with two-story houses and light hair. One older man had dressed as a gray wolf, another as a stone golem, and a third as—so far as Simon could tell—a brick wall.

  A group of people swirled around him, tittering about his costume and making polite overtures that he could use to enter their conversation.

  He would have had to call Nye essence to leave any faster.

  In fact, the open windows with their billowing curtains were calling to him. They were only four stories up; he could throw himself out and land before anyone missed him. He'd have a Gate to Valinhall torn open by the time Leah noticed he hadn't shown up.

  You think she hasn't thought of that? Caela sent. There are Lirial probes hovering outside the window.

  Simon's heart dropped.

  He hadn't been allowed to keep Caela on him, as Leah's staff had insisted it wouldn't fit the costume. Why they got to tell him what did and didn't suit his costume mystified him, considering he was attending the party as himself. Who knew what Simon, son of Kalman looked like better than he did?

  But he'd wanted to keep Caela close in case of an attack, and the doll had refused to miss the party on any account. He'd been allowed to tuck her amidst the decorations representing the season: she sat on a hay bale in the corner, wedged between two straw dolls and a bundle of wheat.

  What's my best exit? Simon asked, the sheer weight of the crowd pressing in on him from every side as though his jacket were shrinking in size. Wearing a jacket underneath his cloak was another 'innovation' that made him want to strangle Leah's mistress of wardrobe.

  Caela made a thoughtful sound as though considering every angle before she answered. Hmmm...straight ahead, by the fake throne.

  That's the opposite of an exit, he replied, though he still moved forward.

  Sometimes the easiest way out is through, she said, sounding very pleased with herself. Present yourself to Leah, play nicely with the other children, and maybe she'll let you skip the Winter's Day Dance.

  That brightened him up slightly. If he cooperated here, maybe she would let him away from the next celebration. And Winter's Day was even worse than Reaping, with bonfires and ribbon-dancing.

  The crowd cleared in front of him, and he realized there was someone else dressed as themselves after all.

  Leah sat on an exaggerated prop version of the actual Damascan throne, this one being lighter on the ruby and heavier on golden spikes. Like him, she wore an exaggerated version of her usual public outfit: an intricate red-and-gold dress that spread out over her legs and spilled below the throne like a puddle of gilded blood; a ruby-set golden crown tied into her dark hair, which was elaborately curled and stacked about a foot taller than usual; and a mask that covered up the left side of her face entirely but revealed her one bright blue eye.

  Like Simon, she was wearing a more complicated version of her normal attire. Unlike him, she wore it well. She sat as though she'd been born in a throne, looking down upon them like she was more a queen now than she'd ever been.

  It almost didn't seem like her, somehow, as though the costume had added five years and a cold edge.

  When he approached, the Damascan lords and ladies scattered, like a gaggle of very polite geese trying to appear dignified as they scampered away from a large dog. Only a servant girl in bland gray, a villager with a plain mass-produced mask, stayed by the queen's side.

  He still kept his voice low as he spoke to the queen—she'd chided him before for speaking his mind to her where others could hear it. “I don't understand the point of the masks,” he said. “Especially when we're not in disguise.”

  “Indeed,” the servant girl said, in Leah's voice. “They're so easy to see through, I wonder why we bother with them at all.”

  In Simon's head, Caela laughed.

  Simon looked from the girl on the throne—who was studiously ignoring him, though a smirk played at the corners of her mouth—to Leah, in the gray servant's costume with the plain mask. Her red eye was hidden behind a wave of her dark hair, which cascaded over her as though it just happened to hide the left half of her face.

  She gestured to it, smiling beneath her mask. “It was a pain getting my hair to stay like this, I can tell you. And I've already had three jokes suggesting I'm too shy.”

  Simon was still looking from Leah to her lookalike. “Why?” he asked at last.

  She shrugged one shoulder and opened her mouth as though to reply...but then her entire demeanor changed. She became very serious, leaning close to him and whispering.

  “Word passed among the servants only a few hours ago,” she said, voice low. “We suspected an attack here, at the ball.”

  He immediately stuck a hand out to the side to summon Mithra.

  “Not on me!” she said immediately. “But there are many rich, influential people here. Some of them have enemies.”

  He turned his back to her, scanning the room. One broad-shouldered man had swords strapped to every available plane of his body, dressed as either a Tartarus Incarnation or a smithy. “We need to get you out of here.”

  She grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back around. “I'm prepared,” she said, flashing her Lirial crystal bracelet from beneath one sleeve. “I can open a Gate to Lirial or Ragnarus in an instant. Besides, I have another guard.”

  She pointed behind the throne, so Simon poked his head back there.

  Andra lounged against the wall in the shadows, eating a grilled chicken leg from a small plate. She waved the leg at him cheerily. “Hey, Simon! Could you grab me a couple of those fish patties?”

  “I'm not worried about myself,” Leah said, pulling his attention back to her. “But there are other people here, innocent people, who could be hurt. I need you to mingle with them, find out what you can, and report back to me.”

  Mingling was more tedious than fighting, but at least it was something to do.

  He had a mission. He squared his shoulders. “What am I watching for?” he asked.

  There was a beat of silence before she answered. “We can't be sure. We've heard whispers of a woman known as the Blackened Rose, but we can't be sure if it's an enemy Traveler or simply their contact. Find out what you can but be discreet.

  We don't want to tip our hand.”

  He nodded and turned back to the crowd, ready to press them for information. She seized him again.

  “Friendly, Simon. In this case, being discreet means being friendly. Just...smile, make conversation. Dance. Don't give them any reason to think you have another mission.”

  The thought choked him, and he tugged at his collar again, but there were lives at stake. His attention sharpened, and he pushed his discomfort aside. This was just another room in Valinhall. The ballroom, maybe.

  Is there a ballroom? Simon asked Caela.

  Oh, you don't want to go in there, she said. Just think of all those butterflies.

  He decided to ask her about that later.

  The first hour wasn't so bad. They couldn't tell whether he was smiling or not, because he was one of the few people there wearing a mask that covered his entire face, so he just had to inject fake cheer into his voice as he made his way from

  conversation to conversation. He asked about children, about homes, about the recent Incarnation troubles.

  After a few questions, he noticed, people tended to open up. They were somewhat wary around him at first, but soon they launched into questions of their own. About Valinhall, about serving Queen Leah, about the fall of Enosh, about what it was like to fight an Incarnation with his own sword.

  By the end of that first hour, he was both encouraged and discouraged.

  Encouraged because he could actually imagine this working; every word they traded him was a chance for them to let their motives slip. Sooner or later, someone would edge away from him when they realized who he was, and he would take that as a sign of guilt.

  Discouraged because he hadn't actually learned anything.

  Then the music began, the servants cleared the floor for dancing, and his heart froze up.

  Relax, Caela said, though he got the impression she was enjoying herself.

  Move with the music and pay attention to your partner. It's a lot like a duel, really.

  I don't dance. I can't dance. I'm not dancing.

  A young woman in a mask of a fiery lizard—something from Naraka, he was sure—grabbed him by the hand and tugged him forward.

  If you don't dance, it will look like something is wrong, Caela said.

  Instead of staying nailed to the floor, as he desperately craved, he let the girl pull him out to dance.

  At first, he moved more stiffly than a scarecrow in an earthquake. Caela could barely stop laughing long enough to whisper directions into his mind, and his partner spent most of the song muscling him into position. She was strong for her size.

  In time with the music, Simon. One-two-three, pause, one-two-three. You passed the rain garden, you have to be able to do this.

  He called Nye essence.

  With the world slowed down, he enjoyed a minute or two where he could watch what everyone else was doing and just copy them. When the essence ran out and he jerked awkwardly back to normal time, his partner had to grab him by the elbow and haul him back in front of her.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  She gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder.

  By the time he spun into a new partner, he'd gotten the hang of the movement. In the end, it was just moving in sequence at a slow speed; dueling Chaka every morning was ten times harder.

  Then the song changed, and he almost tripped over himself.

  He called steel, keeping it on a slow trickle to steady his body. He traded a few pleasantries with his new partner, but this time he had enough presence of mind to scan the surrounding crowd, looking for anything out of place.

  “Are you waiting for someone in particular?” his partner asked politely from behind her serpent's mask.

  He discarded his first couple of short, blunt answers before he responded. He was supposed to be friendly tonight. “Not in particular,” he said. “I only...I'm used to

  seeing danger everywhere. I find it difficult to relax, even in such friendly surroundings.”

  Especially in such 'friendly' surroundings, to tell the truth, but he was pleased with his answer.

  She seemed startled for a moment, then she chuckled. “I can only imagine. If you don't mind me saying so, it must be difficult to live while expecting Incarnations to leap out of every corner.”

  It was difficult, but it was also strangely simple. When a monster popped out, he knew exactly what to do.

  He lifted her briefly, like he'd seen the other men do with their partners. “That's most of my job, isn't it? Watching for threats.”

  When he returned her to her feet, she took a moment to catch her breath, though she didn't stop moving. “If you don't mind me saying so, there are a few people here I don't recognize. That man in the scales.” She pointed him out as he twirled her around. “The lady with the three hats. And the woman in the black dress, with the feathered mask.”

  The figure in the feathered mask was a square-jawed, handsome woman with dark hair that matched her dress and the raven feathers in her mask. A stuffed raven even sat on her shoulder, reminding him of the Avernus bird that Leah normally kept.

  An unknown woman, all in black. The Blackened Rose?

  He was focusing too hard on the question at hand, and he lost control of his strength. This time, when he lifted the young woman, he accidentally tossed her into the ceiling.

  She only had time to gasp as he hurled her skyward, her serpent's mask slipping and her green dress snapping like a flag.

  The Nye essence had only been resting for a few minutes since he'd used it up, but he inhaled the last breath of it into his lungs, kicking off from the dance floor with all his steel strength.

  He rocketed up, landing with feet against the ceiling while she was still in midair. He caught her in his arms before she hit the surface, cradling her as delicately as he could, one hand gently cushioning her head against the impact.

  He righted himself with a kick against the ceiling, dropping back down with her in his arms and absorbing the impact with knees bent.

  Nye essence faded, and the music screeched into silence. For a breath, everything was quiet.

  Then the guests burst into applause. A few shouts of 'Hoorah!' or 'Good show!' stood out from the general hubbub.

  The young woman clung to his neck like a terrified cat to a branch, her breaths coming so fast he thought she might pass out.

  “I am...” he couldn't think of anything apologetic enough, so he ended with, “...very sorry. I wasn't thinking, I just lost...you.”

  It was another moment before she evened out her breaths and peeled her hands away from his neck, allowing him to place her carefully on her feet. As

  dancing couples started to swirl around them once again—giving them a wide berth—she finally steadied herself.

  “Simon, isn't it?” She asked at last.

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, voice full of dread.

  “My name is Alaisa. If you don't mind, I should very much like to dance with you again on another occasion. I would continue tonight, but I'm not sure I'm quite...composed.”

  He winced. “I am sorry about that, I⁠—”

  “No no, don't be sorry. Winter's Day? Winter's Day. I expect to have a dance reserved.”

  She glanced at him from behind her serpent's mask, as though about to say something else, but in the end she scurried off.

  And to think I almost missed tonight, Caela said wistfully.

  Simon wasn't entirely sure he knew what that meant, but fortunately he had a mission to distract himself: the woman in the raven mask was sweeping her way between knots of dancers, apologizing to some, utterly dismissing others, marching across the room as though she had a mission of her own.

  Toward Leah.

  Simon had to push through a wave of young women in colorful dresses, each of them suddenly very interested in whether or not Simon had a partner for the next dance. He wasn't sure exactly what he said to them, but it got him through without anyone drawing a hidden dagger and stabbing him in the ribs. By the standards of Valinhall, that was a success.

  “...just in time for an assassination attempt,” the woman was saying, even as she shouldered aside a graying fat man dressed as an elephant.

  Simon couldn't believe an actual assassin would be that bold, but on the bright side, at least she had made his job easy. He seized her by the wrist with a grip as solid as Benson's steel.

  “Excuse me, my lady,” he said politely. “What was that you were saying?”

  She froze for an instant, then slowly turned. “What do you want, Simon?” She finally asked.

  Her 'stuffed' raven cocked its head, looked at him, and then let out a caw that jabbed a needle into his thoughts.

  As he stood there in surprise, her eyebrows raised over her mask. “You didn't recognize me? Honestly? This is even less of a disguise than yours.”

  Overlord Feiora Torannus was an Avernus Traveler of the Corvinus tribe, which gave her a contract with mind-reading ravens. He hadn't interacted with her for most of a year.

  Which was still, of course, no excuse for not recognizing her. And she was one of the few people at the party who had earned Leah's trust.

  He said something incoherent that included the word “attack.”

  She considered him, and for an instant he thought he saw her wrestling her expression under control. But it was hard to tell with the mask covering the upper half of her face.

 

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