Chapter Two
Father must be punishing her. No other reason for it. Fed up of her wandering around, always doing the wrong nightmarish thing, he'd finally snapped and sent her on her way to a foreign kingdom where people were convinced that the locals ate one another. Because who would possibly choose Kiara to go and get married over her bigger and better sister? Bethany knew what to do. Bethany expected a marriage of convenience. And she paid attention during the lessons.
Kiara left the next day. With little ceremony or pomp, or chance to say goodbye to anything she wanted. With a pang, she thought about the new litter of kittens in the cellars—a cat had given birth there, and she had her eyes upon a little black and white kitten with a black blob of a nose and pale blue eyes. Each kitten had been given a lightweaving from one of the kitchen weavers, so they had a faint after-shadow as they moved, making it easy for humans to track them.
I was going to have that little kitten. Kiara stared morosely outside the carriage. Her kingdom shrank in the distance, and their journey gave way to the light roads, passing through woven fields and woodlands. Usually, the multicolored hues in the enchanted forests fascinated Kiara. She liked some of the ways colors blended together, or when she squinted, the way her eyes blurred, changing the perception of the shapes around.
She already missed everything about home. And with the guards escorting her, both from her homeland and to Kanthus, she knew there would be no running away. Marrying a Highborn from Kanthus. Little was known about these so called Highborn, other than the fact that Kanthians treated these Highborn as the reason they kept away the night hordes from destroying their home.
They rattled along in the carriage, stopping to rest every latenight, moving in the daynight. The only real difference in these versions of night was that daynight was warmer, as a crescent slice of yellow appeared in the dark skies, adding a glimmer of red to a world that relied on weavings to survive.
Travel took them about two weeks, and Kiara was so done with it all. Her own guards preferred each other's company to hers. None of the Kanthians spoke to her. Except for the ambassador, once, but only to say to one of the guards, who passed it on to her, “It's considered bad luck for us to speak to the chosen bride before their wedding.”
Well then. So her new hosts wouldn't have the dignity to even address her. Great. Leaving her to hear second-hand accounts from the guards, who were reluctant to talk to the Kanthians as well.
Accounts of living in a grand city, with a lake enchanted by the finest lightweavers, and a palace above the lake that shone like a beacon of hope. They also talked about the Highborn that walked among them, and how blessed a woman was if she was selected to become the wife of a Highborn.
Not that Kiara felt particularly blessed. Cursed, more like.
When they arrived in Kanthus, she refused to let herself be taken in by the foreign city's beauty, though it did glow rather impressively in the distance. The city itself appeared to have several lakes, all of them a neon blue in color, with the glow of fish flitting under the surfaces, and the boats that bobbed on top, along with the canals and barges that wove between the city streets and bridges. Kiara's home kingdom of Fjorn had the Forest of Light surrounding it, along with mountain chains and uneven terrain. Kanthus loved its bridges and huge lakes that spotted along the city, along with marshy, boggy land surrounding the outer edges.
Fen lands rimmed the western side with a sickly green glow. The “Quaking Bogs” lay to the right, with that same awful color. And apparently, beyond the city, they needed to be wary of muskeg, a type of bog that sunk the unwary.
Appropriate, Kiara supposed, for a so-called kingdom of monsters to dwell in a swamp. Forests and shrubs saturated in brackish water, fed from an ancient sea.
No wonder the night hordes had difficulty invading this place. Nothing but swamp to trudge through. No sane person would even bother. From what Kiara saw, the Kanthians used the fens as part of their main agriculture. She saw glowing humans working in the segmented fields, others moving around the terrain in boats.
The wheels of the carriage were slick with mud, as were most of the disgruntled guards. The Kanthians, of course, didn't mind, which led Kiara's escorts to refer to them as “mud men.” For such a “grand” city, it did have an awful lot of bridges, though the lakes glowed prettily.
They ground to a halt after crossing a huge bridge that must have gone on for a good half-mile, the procession milling in front of a heavy portcullis manned by guards. Kiara leaned out the window to try and eavesdrop on what was happening, and some of her guards went up to see as well.
Instantly, one rushed back, red-faced. “They're going to send us away,” he blustered. “Only you're allowed to go in. But you won't have any protection.”
“I would think you to be glad of the opportunity to return home,” Kiara replied, trying not to let fear show on her face. “I will be fine. It is, alas... my royal duty.”
Perhaps she put on the voice too strong, and the hand motion to her head might have been a little overdone, since the guard rolled his eyes. “You're incorrigible. Princess, we're here for your protection. This is what we're paid for.”
“And you've just been told you can no longer protect me. Go and protect a tavern or something.” Kiara then sighed, turning serious. “I can't pretend I like it, but right now, we're at our host's mercy. Best not to push them any further than necessary. If you want, stay around for a few weeks. I'll try and send you messages to wherever you choose to lodge, and if all is well, then you may leave. Sound okay?”
The guard remained silent a moment before nodding, jaw set grimly. “That's probably one of the most sensible things I've heard you say, Princess.”
“I try.” She grinned at him. Her grin faded when her father's guards were forced to march away, and her carriage trundled through the portcullis, rolling to that imposing palace all alone, surrounded by people of an unfamiliar culture. Most of her bravado threatened to vanish. Hard to be brave when she knew no one. When people refused to talk to her, because of the whole bad luck superstition. And, come to think of it, it was pretty darking stupid of them to send away people who might have been able to help her settle in better.
How exactly did they plan for her to do anything? Just point and grunt? Her eyes trailed over the shimmering lake below, filled with a pink illuminated flower, resting on a kind of pad. Lilies? Lotus? She didn't know. She tucked her hands into her heavy fur robe pockets, after popping the hood over her head. She readjusted the scarf to cover her face, though some tufts of hair poked through it like straws.
A kind of heat emanated from the lake on either side, and she scented that odd, warm water aroma wafting through the window, along with the faintest tang of salt. They stopped again at the main palace entrance. The whole palace itself had a somewhat uniform shape, except that the towers had domes instead of parapets. And attached from where Kiara saw on her right—three distinctive bubble shapes merged into the palace, holding what appeared to be a tiny ecosystem in itself, glowing and surreal because of the many colors used, and the way the glass distorted it.
Nope. Not going to be impressed by any of this. Not the way some of the boats were designed, clearly to show off rather than to be of any practical use when it came to sailing or fishing. The palace sentries all appeared to prefer red and blue colors over the browns and black of the Fjordans—and heavier armor, as well. Kiara sort of assumed heavy armor plus swampland would be a bad combination. Well, it was said that the Kanthians had been fighting back the night hordes ever since the sun went out.
Come to think of it, they had rather unusual weapons, too. The sentinels opted for flails with glowing tips, rather than the traditional sword and shield of the royal guards. Were they a more practical weapon in this area, or just something that caught popularity?
Kiara now clutched at her necklace, allowing some of the light to wisp around her pale hands. The types of lightweaving she knew was pathetic in comparison to these miracles people created. Or these Kanthians, with their odd yellow eyes.
Someone rapped on the wooden carriage door. It was a stone-faced sentry with yellow eyes, jaw tight as if he never planned to unhinge it to utter even a single word to her.
Yay, she thought sourly. She stepped out, flat-soled boots falling onto a smooth, tiled path where the cracks glowed.
The sentry in his blue clothes and red painted armor pointed roughly at the entrance. Follow him. Okay, then. She did so, and other strangers fell into stride behind, their flails clacking softly.
If no one was going to even talk to her before her wedding, either it needed to happen right now, or she'd go insane from boredom. Because dark take them if they thought she was remaining silent and placid about the whole matter. In a foul mood, she sought out the original ambassador, the gray-haired man with the yellow eyes, and fell back to him.
“Seriously. Is no one going to talk to me at all? Because this is going to irritate the life out of me.”
Without looking at her, the ambassador said, “Perhaps someone should tell the princess that once she has settled in her quarters and has visited the Domes of Delight, she will find eligible people there to talk to. Certainly not with poor commoners such as ourselves, with our unblessed tongues.”
Kiara blinked. “Is that your way of addressing me but not really addressing me?”
“The princess should be informed that she is indeed correct in her observation, may these unblessed words reach her ears.”
Oh good God, Kiara thought.
“If the princess should be annoyed by this, please remind her that it is punishable to lose our tongues if we are found talking directly to her.” The ambassador stopped talking, and Kiara swallowed hard.
Right. That might be a more reasonable explanation as to why people didn't dare breach whatever custom they held. But to threaten the removal of a tongue for speaking to a bride-to-be? Seemed like a rather extreme case of possession. Well. At least she hadn't seen anyone in the streets trying to eat one another yet, so the Kanthians probably didn't practise cannibalism.
Hopefully.
Perhaps they were more discreet about it.
Now accepted through the main entrance of the palace, Kiara was quickly bundled into what would be her new quarters, located in the lower left wing of the palace, which sparkled with riches beyond anything Kiara had ever seen before. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceilings, woven with complex lightweavings that allowed the colors to diffuse into others, changing the tones of the main hallways constantly. She saw parts of what appeared to be a poem engraved upon the marble walls, though didn't get much of an opportunity to guess whether she knew it or not before they dumped her in her quarters.
Servants, clearly informed ahead of time, jumped to duty when she entered. They wore black and white robes, and plain white necklaces like Kiara's, and instantly waved in frantic silence, pointing towards a room in her quarters that had steam emitting from it. Instantly, Kiara stiffened. Aside from the fact that there were rather artful decorations in this room, such as paintings of the glowing lakes hanging upon the walls, or luminous leather sofas and golden striped walls that provided most of the color strength she saw by—the steam definitely grabbed her attention.
She didn't need to be asked to take a decent bath after two weeks of rigid traveling and hard grounds. Though when she went into the bathroom, her jaw dropped.
Okay, she'd promised herself not to be impressed, but the sight of that square-shaped, steam-laden pool managed to render her speechless. One of the servants was kneeling by the pool, and red threads of heat came out of her fingers, suffusing the pool with the tantalizing warmth that beckoned. Sure, people could use hot stones to warm up a pool, pre-heated water, or the natural chambers of a hot spring. But if you had a skilled lightweaver, then why bother? Lightweavings were cheaper than the alternatives.
And at least thirty percent of the population in Fjorn had the talent to lightweave. Probably the same ratios here. A smaller percent reached the stronger magic, but it wasn't exactly a rare ability.
Kiara grinned, stripping off shamelessly, glad to see that the servants weren't shy about this fact either. They took her clothes, and she almost skipped to the pool, easing herself into the warm waters with a sigh. “Amazing,” she said.
The woman who had performed the lightweaving gave her a small smile. Pretty woman, Kiara thought. Short, red hair, a wide, friendly mouth. Pea-green eyes. Some of the women had yellow eyes, but this one appeared to be normal. Her green eyes locked with Kiara's brown, before the woman beckoned to Kiara's necklace.
Kiara smiled and held up her fingers, allowing the magic to dance around her fingertips. Yellow orbs sparkled around her like fireflies. “This one isn't done by me. I'm not very good with any of my lightweavings yet,” Kiara admitted. “Always got too bored sitting in on the lessons.”
The woman pursed her lips.
“Perhaps,” Kiara said, “if you address one of the other women with what you might be interested in saying to me, I might eventually hear it.”
A small grin. She nodded. “Jenet,” the red woman said, calling to one of the dark-haired servants, “don't you think learning lightweaving is quite simple? So simple, that even I could teach it to someone who might be willing to learn?”
“I don't know, Winifred. Maybe. I don't have the ability myself, so I wouldn't know.”
“Oh, that's okay. Perhaps we should wait until our bride has been initiated in the Dome of Delights before such lessons can begin.” Winifred smiled at Jenet, who was rather shy in returning it.
Clumsy way to get around the whole personally addressing Kiara issue, but if it worked...
Well, maybe she should let this Winifred try to teach her. Not like it could be any worse than what the tutors did back home. And she didn't want to be the laughing stock of where she went. Especially since she'd been so rudely ripped out of her world and forced into a new one.
Thinking of the old world... “I wonder if Winifred knows where I can get a kitten. Before I left, I was going to have a beautiful kitten from the castle cellars. If she happens to know of any recent litters, I would be most interested in seeing the kittens for myself, and keeping one.”
Winifred blinked, slightly confused, before nodding. Kiara allowed herself to lie blissfully in the waters, naked, letting her hair flow beneath her like the water it touched. She should try giving the servants some really awkward requests, just to see how they handled it. People always expected princesses to be difficult, right?
She remained quiet, since she knew she'd get irritated having to constantly get her information in an underhanded manner, and instead allowed her eyes to rove, taking in the details of the bathroom. Soaking in warmth, and letting the servants now wash her hair and sponge her down, Kiara considered how intimidating she found Kanthus so far.
Not as bad as the rumors had it. Not as bad as Bethany thought. She had stared after Kiara with that heavy melancholy which suggested that the journey to Kanthus might be Kiara's last. Her mother and father seemed to believe they sold off one of their daughters into a cruel, brutal life, where she'd probably be sacrificed on her wedding day or something.
Still possible, but surely if the Kanthians sacrificed all their women at a wedding, then there wouldn't be any women around. At all. Kiara almost tried asking if Winifred or anyone did happen to practise ritualistic killings or something, but refrained at the last moment.
The thing that intrigued her most, however, were the yellow eyes. Humans just didn't have that. They had black, brown, blue, green, sometimes shades between, and sometimes going right down to that rare gray. But yellow? Unheard of.
Something odd was happening in Kanthus. Not just with the way people treated her, but in general with how some of the population possessed yellow eyes, and some did not.
The servants rubbed a soothing oil over her skin, which carried the scent of roses. At the bottom of the pool lay a kind of mural that showed the image of two spheres side by side—the sun and the moon. Emphasis was put on the moon, which Kiara knew to be smaller than depictions of the sun, yet appeared almost twice as large in her pool.
Well, whatever happened, she was about to find out more of the Kanthian culture. To see what all the fuss was about, and just why no one was allowed to talk to her before this Dome of Delights business.
Smelling clean, feeling refreshed, Kiara let the servants wrap her up in new clothes—gaudy yellow, with a white frill around her bust to emphasize the cup size. This came along with a white petticoat to balloon out the dress, so that when she twirled, it created a mesmerizing effect. They also gave a special kind of frame for her necklace, so that the lights became distorted, like ghost tails around her body, instead of the speckled firefly effect she automatically conjured. She preferred the speckles, but decided not to make them panic when she directly addressed them to say otherwise, and allowed them to wedge on yellow gloves, white leggings, and high, pale brown boots.
She didn't like the small heels such boots offered, but she couldn't have everything.
Well... she'd lost everything, coming here. Plunged into an alien world where people didn't talk to her, it already left her melting into a frenzied boredom. The kind that made her want to do stupid, impulsive things. Like dance on a rooftop or something, or interfere with some of the light displays so that instead they showed hands making obscene gestures.
Best not to embarrass her kingdom in this new place, she realized glumly. One issue with sending her here—somehow, she became the sole representative of Fjorn. And what a poor representative she made. Why didn't Father just send Bethany? She was pristine and princess-like. She knew how to behave diplomatically. Kiara dodged all of those lessons.
Now, these Kanthians had dressed her up in more finery than even the royals of Fjorn managed. Fjordans preferred utilitarian clothes, relying on the lights to show their might. The Kanthians loved their clothes. The more extravagant, the better. And they adored their lightweavings, bending their magic in ways that were wasteful, rather than useful. They even managed to thread the darker swamps with sickly greens to give an uneasy vibe for anyone trekking through.
These people have a flair for the dramatic, it seems. Interesting choice for a nation that apparently beat back the night hordes on a regular basis. She would have expected them to be militaristic, focusing on life on the front lines, not putting any stock in their colors or the beauty of the world around them.
She found herself missing the Forest of Light as she followed Winifred towards the so-called Dome of Delights. The servant, however, needed to stop about one corridor before, and gesture for Kiara to go on. So again, Kiara went on alone, witnessing two fully armored guards standing at the entrance to the Dome of Delights, which consisted of a thick glass set of double doors. The material shimmered, again showing the strong lightweavings, and the guards revealed not even one millimeter of skin. There also seemed to be no slot upon their armets, which made Kiara a little suspicious as to how they were supposed to be able to see.
They let her pass without incident. Entering the domes at last, she feasted upon that ecosystem promised from her glimpse of it from the outside. Glowing palm fronds, tapered bark and teak. Moist soil and special regulators in the soil that kept it a fluorescent, mellow warmth, allowing such plants to thrive. Most plants were roped off, and visitors and guests were restricted to white gravel paths, which twisted and curved towards a large kind of court or ballroom, where individuals talked or danced with one another, or performed upon an elevated stage.
Flute and violin music traveled through the air, along with the gentle plucking of a harpsichord. One thing she noticed instantly about the men she saw was that they wore masks. Wolf masks. Furnished in brass, steel, or iron, painted over with a myriad of colors, some of them enchanted so that their eye sockets glowed yellow, red, or orange. These “wolves” stalked the women there, most of them clearly from high society, probably the “Highborn” they referred to. Many of the people here had yellow eyes.
So. Being Highborn had something to do with this particular eye color, it seemed. Meaning that anyone with Highborn blood would likely show their traits in the formation of their irises. She half expected some heinous ritual to be going on, but so far, the people in the dome court were disappointingly normal. Aside from the wolf-men playing dress up.
As soon as she stepped into the central court, a woman dashed up to her instantly, as if she wanted to pounce. Her yellow eyes fixed onto Kiara's dark, and she grinned widely. “You,” she said. “You're the princess from that foreign nation, Fjorn.”
Well. Since she had directly addressed Kiara, and no one wanted to lop her head off for the effort, Kiara gave her what she presumed to be a noble expression. “Yes. I am.” At this point, if she happened to be Bethany, she'd probably be trying to figure out what sort of rank this woman occupied, why she'd bothered to speak first, and so on. But since Kiara knew nothing about that, she strived instead to make a confident, willful first impression. Best not to lie about who she was. She wouldn't be able to hold the lie for long.
“You're shorter than I'd thought you'd be,” the woman said, squinting. She ran a hand through her glorious flaxen hair, the kind some might kill for. Matched her yellow eyes, anyway. “People always speak of you barbarians as being tall, thick, and muscular. They say that because you're surrounded by mountains, you've had to grow tall to be able to see over their tops.”
Kiara snorted at this. “Really? Well, I'm fairly certain you won't want to hear what we say about your people. I must ask—are you a sensitive person? I'm trying not to completely mess up relations here, but I undoubtedly will. I'm not really a very good princess. But as long as you won't execute me for speaking out of turn...”
“It can't be any worse than what we've heard,” the woman replied. “I'm Vasha, by the way.” She didn't hold out a hand, and Kiara didn't bother offering hers.
“Kiara. So, we more or less think that you guys are monsters, sacrifice babies, practise cannibalism, and worship heathen gods. And that's just the start.”
Vasha laughed uproariously at this. “Seriously? You Fjordans are such darlings. We don't do anything of the sort. And our gods aren't heathens. They're the reason why we're able to hold back the minions of the Endless Dark!” Vasha shook her head, as if Fjordans were like ignorant children.
Slightly disappointed, Kiara said, “No ritual sacrifice?”
“No ritual sacrifice,” Vasha confirmed.
“But you do remove the tongues of those who dare to address chosen brides, right?”
“Ah, well. It's not been done for almost two decades,” Vasha admitted. “People know better than to go against the rules. Come. You must not understand what happens here, so I can show you around. In return, I wish to hear about your barbaric nation. If we're to be allies in the future, information is essential, right?”
Not sure of Vasha's angle, Kiara decided to play along anyway. She could really use some people to actually talk to. Even if they thought her nation was childish. She flushed at the notion, imagining their society, the meetings and people they put so much importance on... as children.
She's wrong. “So what about these ‘gods’? If they're not heathens, what are they?”
“Well, they're not really... gods. But that's the title we give them, to elevate their importance to the commoners of our kingdom. They're Highborn, like us. But a very special case of Highborn. People with another power beyond lightweaving.” She winked at this, thick red lips now smirking. Some of the women paid attention to Kiara now, noting her foreign features. She had paler skin than the others, darker hair, since most women here had shades from light brown to red. In reflex, Kiara sucked in some of her power, a few swirls of light disappearing through her mouth, before leaking out of her fingertips in that familiar pulse of orbs.
Vasha noticed the impulsive lightweaving and nodded appreciatively. “You see the men there, the ones wearing the masks?” Not all men wore masks, but some did. Kiara pointed at a black wolf mask.
“That one's pretty cool.”
“They're our gods, Kiara.” Vasha grinned at Kiara's raised eyebrows. “They mingle with the other Highborn, often to chase up news, but until they choose a female, they're required to wear a mask. So any unmasked men you see are either regular Highborn, or gods that have chosen someone. Or gods living dangerously, pretending to be human.”
Interesting. Also odd. “And what's so special about them?”
Vasha smiled again. “They can change their form. They can become something more than human. A werewolf. A creature of the night that thrives in the darkness—especially now that the moon is the dominating sphere in the sky. And everyone knows the werewolves draw their power from the moon.”
“Hang on. Wait a second.” Kiara put up her hands, demanding Vasha to halt. “You mean to tell me that there's special transformation magic? But lightweaving's the only kind that exists!”
“Look at my eyes,” Vasha said. “I have part of the magic in me. It's a diluted form, and doesn't serve much use—except I do have better eyesight, smell, hearing, and health than the average human. And I will live longer than an average human as well. Let's say your lifespan is eighty years. Mine will be up to one hundred and twenty. Barring any nasty accidents or unfortunate incidents.” She then grinned. “Most of the Highborn here can almost certainly hear every word that's passing between us now.”
Kiara frowned at this. She wasn't even aware any other form of magic existed. Everyone talked about the lightweavers, of the wondrous existence of light and heat woven together to keep them living on in the days of Endless Dark. But transformation...
It sounded like something of the night hordes. Something monstrous.
Perhaps it was. And somehow, these monsters had integrated into a society, and they conducted themselves under the expectation of treating members of the night hordes as gods.
Her eyes settled upon a poem. Good thing the Kanthians shared a language, or interactions might be more awkward. She recognized it as a famous one, and walked over to the small area with a pond, bowls stuffed with smoky light, and a few trees that bent over enticingly, helping to shield those who went here from view. The poem itself was written upon the wall. In fact, this poem, Kiara remembered, was where they got their definition for the Endless Dark from. Her father had the poem in the gardens, dotted upon a little stone bench concealed within a clump of rose bushes. Not a particularly good poem, Kiara privately thought, but court philosophers often wondered just how much the ancient poet did know about the world before.
And the sun went out
And the stars were gone
And the moon moved in
And the world went wrong
So the day was lost
The warm turned cold
May the dark soon end
And we claim our souls
Trying too hard, she thought. Way too hard. Vasha suddenly made her excuse and left Kiara alone, and before Kiara could ask why the speedy disappearance, she saw someone in a wolf mask watching her, arms folded. Perhaps waiting until she noticed.
Kiara's heart began beating faster. He wore a white mask upon a black and white suit, with eye slits that shone a wicked red. The mask itself covered his entire face, with the snout partially open in a snarl. The sight made her step back slightly, then consider running for it. Except, she was supposed to be stalked by these mask people. That was the whole point of her being here. Not to be married to one specific person—but to be married to one of the Kanthian gods.
“Do you like this poem?” the man said. He had a rather pleasant voice, one that carried over the other sounds. Low and mellow, like he knew how to hit the right notes, and to serenade a lady right out of her clothes.
Except, with that creepy mask... she had no idea what sort of monster lurked behind it. “Not really,” Kiara said. “Over-dramatic, and only a vague sense of hope at the end. But things don't get done just by praying. So in my opinion, a pointless set of words strung together.”
“Hmm,” the man said, now unfolding his arms and stepping forward. Beginning that sinister, circling movement she'd seen happen to the other women. Like he was sniffing her out. “I'm inclined to agree. But what hope is there in a world taken over by darkness? When the only thing we have left is our own light, which is but a pale imitation of what existed before?” He stopped close, the mask now leering over her shoulder from the back. She resisted the urge to slap at him and remained as still as possible, though her knee jerked of its own accord.
“Well, for a start, we could try to figure out how it happened,” Kiara said. “Combine all the lightweavers together, make a new sun, or locate the old one, if it's so important.”
At this, the god laughed. A low, incredulous chuckle, which made Kiara's cheeks flush. “You think we can just locate the sun, like it hasn't been taken from the sky?”
“Sure,” Kiara said. “But it's not like we need it, is it? We seem to live just fine. Don't know what all the fuss is, with the world ending. Last time I checked, world's still turning, and we're still living.”
“You may be right about that, Fjorn princess.” He prowled in front of her, giving her more time to inspect his fine form. He did have a rather interesting scent to his body, a kind of heady aroma that made her take in deeper breaths. She also had that prey feeling, like this man deliberately hunted her, and now sought her weaknesses, for a way to drag her down to the ground.
She hated that feeling, and it made her stand taller. Admittedly, that wasn't a whole lot of height to stand for, but she refused to be cowed. “What's the big deal with you and your masks, anyway? Why not just walk around with normal faces like normal people?”
“A custom,” the man replied. “Perhaps an outdated one, but one that many Highborn cling to, and many Kanthians swear by. Structure. Society. We need rules. We need our customs. They make us who we are.”
Kiara sighed. “That's stupid. Customs don't make a human.”
“No. But they do make a society, for a select group to fit in with, to feel kinship...” The man's hand reached out for her. It appeared tanned, smooth, without a single blemish. She moved away from the touch, and his hand stopped, before he nodded. “Most of the women we get from other places, for those who wish to spy into our culture, learn our secrets as to how we fend off the night hordes so effectively—their women are shy and demure. You appear to be ill-trained.”
She pursed her lips, throat now tight. “Thanks for that observation. But not every woman on this planet can be a docile mouse. Some of us have better things to do. I don't even want to be here, but my dear father decided it best to send me off.”
Again, the man chuckled. “I see. Well... my name is Mordred. You might see some more of me. But I must depart now.”
“Wait. What? Already? You've barely spoken to me for a minute!”
Mordred ignored her protests, and he moved off, now threading himself through the crowd that Kiara could see. Some women preened themselves, trying to stand out as much as possible, and they had several masked gods taking an interest in them.
Few took an interest in Kiara. She did get more prowlers, however. Unlike Mordred, they prowled in silence, with black and gray and gold masks, sometimes brushing close by so that their snouts touched her clothes, other times gliding a hand over her skin. It bothered Kiara, though they didn't touch any sensitive regions, like her breasts, rear, and between her legs. They always went for the arm or her upper back.
Kiara also seemed to be the only one finding this uncomfortable. The other women positively shivered if one of the gods touched them, as if it was the greatest honor bestowed upon their worthless lives.
Vasha sought out Kiara again—the blonde-haired woman didn't get any of these “gods” stalking her. Kiara wondered why. “So, I see you've garnered some interest for yourself,” Vasha said, smiling rather smugly. “Which is quite the miracle, considering you're doing absolutely nothing to attract people to you.” She indicated one of the Highborn women, who was now tearing off the outer layers of her dress to reveal little more than a night shift underneath. Kiara found herself blushing at the wanton display of flesh.
Obviously, in her final consummation, she was fully expected to strip down and please whatever man she ended up with. She just preferred not going to that stage in her mind. One of the gods reached to the near-naked woman, and she thrust her chest towards him, forcing him to touch her there. With this encouragement, he moved closer, that masked face draped over her shoulder, hands roaming.
“Oh, please don't tell me they're going to have sex in front of everyone!” Kiara exclaimed, her face burning.
“They won't! They won't!” Vasha laughed at Kiara's embarrassment. “But they might end up taking it somewhere else if they act like that. It won't make for a good relationship, though. Some of the women are always mistaken like that, thinking all they need to do is show off some flesh, and they'll get their god. What actually happens is that they'll get the wrong sort of suitor. One that doesn't know how to respect someone, who sees us as little more than baby carriers. So I pity that one.” Vasha shook her head. “Even our gods are flawed. Some are here for the hunt and the thrill, and not because they intend to settle down, like they should.”
“One of them gave me a name and a few sentences,” Kiara said, realizing that none of the others who stalked her had held much of a conversation.
“Oh! Lucky you.” Vasha nodded at her with a big smile. “Looks like you have got someone interested. The gods don't usually hand out their names unless they're seriously considering you.”
“Wonderful, I guess.” Kiara's lips wrinkled like a prune. Vasha acted delighted about this fact, but Kiara didn't feel the same—mostly because she didn't want to end up hitched to anyone. Except, well, she was here for her country. Here because they sent her over Bethany, for some absurd reason. Bethany was the one with the correct training. Kiara was more likely the one who got herself executed for accidentally disregarding some culture's sacred laws or something.
She took in everything. The circling wolf mask wearers, the peacock dressed women, and the distant song of one of the women as she went onto stage to sing. Not a powerful enough voice to carry. “Is it like this all the time?” she asked. “You just all gather here and... have the mask people circle around?”
“Not always. The gods tend to visit the court about one week out of every month. Depending on how many of them are around and single. Highborn men will be there otherwise. So it's always cause for excitement when it's that time of the month again.”
Kiara stifled a snort, before nodding sagely. “There seems to be a lot of gods. I count about eight. Why so many?”
“Oh, there's more of them. But I guess they've had a pretty lonely year...” Vasha grinned.
Still taking advantage of the fact Kiara finally had a woman who could talk directly to her without dissolving into a blubbering mess of fear for having her tongue cut out, she asked, “Why isn't anyone going for you? Do you have someone?”
At this, Vasha's eyes clouded over. Her body language became tight, defensive. “No. I don't have anyone. But I'm also... not interested. I come here a lot. Most people know by now that I'm not here for the courting.” Her expression recovering a little, she leaned over in a conspiratorial way. “We have to collect gossip somehow. It's better than sitting around at home doing nothing.” She waved at a small group of women who waved back.
“You could visit the city or those creepy glowing swamps or another city,” Kiara said. She wondered what had bothered Vasha so much. Had she lost someone? Did she think herself unlovable? Some women did. They lamented about that issue for weeks, never doing anything active to change the outcome. Vasha didn't seem like someone who went and sulked in a corner about the miseries of life, but Kiara couldn't know for sure. Not without some more time spent with her.
“Oh, no, dear. I wouldn't want to go to a barbarian city. I have everything I need right here, thank you very much!”
Kiara frowned at this comment. Not that she could exactly advocate travel, since the most extensive traveling she did was in the Forest of Light outside the castle, and sometimes to the lower city, though she preferred to put on a disguise to do so. Fjorn only traded with two other nations, and one of them had recently closed its borders, cutting off trade. Clearly allying with Fjorn's aggressors, the Tarngol people.
The Tarngol were said to be a low-tech, savage human civilization that relied exclusively on conquering foreign nations and pillaging their light to survive. Even with the world plunged into near absolute darkness, people squabbled and caused unnecessary tensions, just like in the past.
Part of that threat was what propelled Father to try and make an alliance with Kanthus for months. The kingdom was notoriously rejecting of outsiders, perhaps trading a little, but otherwise keeping themselves aloof. He offered his daughter to cement a trade. And although the ambassador acted like her being here was a great thing, she didn't feel like she was a great thing.
Just a person at the court, watching as the men stalked her. No special ceremony arranged for her to go into marriage. So did these Kanthians not take the idea of an alliance seriously?
A bell rang through the court, and people instantly started heading for the exits. “Time to go,” Vasha said. “You'll be here tomorrow, right?”
“Wait. It's ending already?”
“Yes. The gardeners need to tend the biomes, make sure everything's healthy. We can't hang around them all night.”
Inwardly, Kiara sighed, though she tried not to show her discomfort too obviously. Why couldn't they just do things normally? Why all this pointless ritual?
She found herself hating Kanthus when she went through the exits, making her way to her rooms. Winifred met her about halfway, but again, the servant didn't talk to her, leaving Kiara bored and lonely.
Inside her grand quarters with the shimmering lights, she undressed herself, ate something that the servants had brought, some kind of flatbread to dip in a sweet sauce, drank, then fast curled up into bed.
There, she thought about home, about everything she'd left behind. She thought about the times spent in the forest, of the children she used to play with in the streets, of taking amusement in the fact that everyone thought her such a tearaway.
She also remembered the way her sister Bethany comforted her, helped her mind to settle at night by reading to her. Kiara could barely sleep without something going on in the background, to lull her, like music or a voice.
The long journey, the rough ground, the constant knowledge that she had lost everything forever, now made Kiara bury her face into the pillows and cry.