Beneath the Ink

by Tannara Young

Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

part 2

Sylphyl-wrought lanterns set with colored glass and powered with sparks of magic cast a steady, brilliant light on the stairs to the great carved doors. As the ball was a masquerade, there was no receiving line and no herald to announce those who entered.

Two tiers of steps climbed to the entrance, which led to an inner balcony from which a wide, gold-painted stair flowed to the marble floor below. Six chandeliers poured soft golden light from the third-story ceiling and the west wall was a bank of high, arching windows, showcasing the midsummer sun sinking into a turquoise sea, beyond the shimmering roofs of the city below.

A throng of glittering people already filled the room: jeweled cloaks and masks swirled and sparkled, revealing intimate glimpses of the finery underneath. Waiters dressed in black with the Imperial Eagle in gold upon their tunics circulated with trays of deep red wine, pale mead and tiny glasses of exotic liqueurs.

Lucas had been to the palace only twice before. Once was to be presented at the emperor’s court. He had spent ages waiting, stewing in mounting anxiety. Then, in a brief confused moment of stern guards and yards of golden cloth, he had kissed the Imperial glove and dared to glance upwards at the too-smooth face, frowning in disinterest above the ornate, jeweled collar.

The other time had been to attend an intimate salon given by a relative of friend of a friend to Adrin. “Intimate” meant there were only about three hundred people there. Lucas was still unsure who his host had actually been.

Thinking about the letter had driven thoughts of the actual ball from his mind. He paused, trying not to gawk. Though the room was huge and the guests four times as many as that paltry three hundred, everyone was in bright spirits for the festival day and the anonymity of mask and cloak — to say nothing of the heady drinks — loosened tongues and filled the hall with mirth.

Even as Lucas reached the bottom of the stairs, a woman with a moon mask caught his arm, crying, “Look, here is my brother, the starry sky!”

“Brother or lover?” asked the man beside her. His mask was shaped like bronze and scarlet leaves.

“I shall not reveal that to you,” she said, archly. To Lucas, she pleaded, “Will you not dance with me?”

“I would be honored.”

That dance led to another partner and then to another. Then Lucas paused to fetch some dark wine for himself and his latest partner, a slim boy dressed in gauzy white that flared out like the wings on a snowy owl. Lucas thought he might be Mattias, an acquaintance from the city, but wouldn’t ask and break the spell of the masquerade.

He wondered how on earth he would find Adrin amidst the crowd. A curvy figure in bright feathers and a girl in pink petals joined them, laughing and flushed from the dance. The subject of poetry came up and the owl volunteered Lucas to recite something, cementing his theory that it was Mattias, for they attended the same literary salons together.

Their circle grew — birds, beasts, mythical creatures and a silvery mermaid who may have been entirely nude under her artful cloak of scales. Another man joined them, standing across from Lucas. His cloak also had the suggestion of scales — dark, iridescent green. His mask was vaguely eagle-like and vaguely human in an unsettling way.

While the others watched the mermaid, who contributed a suggestive love poem, eagle-mask stared at Lucas. He shifted, uncomfortable and, as the introduction to the next dance began, he turned to the pink petal lady to solicit her hand. Eagle-mask was there before he could speak.

“Will you do me the honor?”

A vague dislike was no reason to be rude for one dance. Lucas bowed and offered his hand.

He was, nonetheless, disappointed to find it was a dance where the partners stayed together, moving through the patterns as a pair. As they flowed together in the first figure, Eagle-mask said, “So, how have you settled into Ocillias?”

How did he know Lucas was relatively new to the city? Another acquaintance perhaps. Lucas decided he must have some terribly distinctive way of walking or speaking for both Mattias and now this fellow to recognize him.

“She is a beautiful city,” he answered. He thought about asking the same question to see what sort of response Eagle-mask would offer, but before he could, his partner had another question:

“And your husband’s friends have welcomed you?”

That was a little personal. “Yes. Perhaps you count yourself among them?” Make him reveal himself, thought Lucas, frowning at the thin-lipped mouth and angular chin trying to see familiarity in their lines.

“Friends can be a funny business.” The lips moved over oddly sharp looking teeth. “One might think one knows them, but then is surprised to find what secrets they tuck out of sight.”

Letters tucked into books. Lucas’s heart sped up. “Everyone has secrets,” he said. Was his voice a shade too high? He tried to swallow subtly.

“What secrets does the night sky blanket?” Eagle-mask pulled a little hard in the turn so that their bodies brushed as they came back together.

Lucas stepped back, aware that the man’s grip was like iron. “Precious few,” he said, lightly. “We poets like to think we’re full of secrets, but poetry can be revealing and we sometimes find we are perhaps a little too exposed.”

“Indeed?” The man sounded interested.

“You are then familiar with my work?” Who in the hells is he?

“Not yet, but I think I should remedy that.”

Brilliant, Lucas thought. Now you’ve put your foot in it. If he starts pursuing you after this, you have only yourself to blame.

To his vast relief, the dance ended. He whisked his hand from his partner’s, glad that the man wore gloves, though the room was warm. “Thank you for the dance,” he said, as gracious as he could muster.

Eagle-mask bowed slightly and without another word turned and strode off. Lucas stood staring after him. Surely that marking just below and behind his ear had been only silver paint — though that didn’t match his costume. If not paint, a sylphyl mage-mark? Who would have such a thing but a mage? Who would be allowed to wear a mask that mimicked an eagle, no matter how abstractly, but someone in the Imperial circle? Secrets known and hinted at... What had just happened?

A woman dressed in crimson flames bumped into him and then apologized profusely. Lucas waved her off and caught up another glass of wine from a passing waiter. He wished he were anywhere but there. Now the masks seemed sinister, and the laughter had a cruel edge. He swallowed a sip of the wine, and it burned going down his throat.

Darkness cloaked the windows, but the crowd beneath the chandeliers still glittered and flashed. Lucas placed his glass on a tray of empty ones and looked around. Surely it was close to midnight now. He moved to one of the staircases that ascended to the upper gallery, opening on the extensive roof-top gardens.

As he shouldered his way through the crowd, his heart skipped a beat. There ahead he caught sight of a familiar cloak: brilliant white, flaming into swirling gold. The man wearing it gained the gallery and continued toward the garden without pause.

Lucas opened his mouth to call “Adrin!” and then shut it as quickly. Midnight indeed. He brushed past a pair of drunken fauns who tried to waylay him. By the time he reached the top of the stair, the golden cloak had slipped out the door.

He followed, trying not to rush. Adrin paused, and Lucas stopped swiftly, wondering if he had been seen. But Adrin only raised the hood on his cloak over his tousled auburn hair and, without looking round, continued into the garden.

Lucas had the advantage. The golden cloak was pale enough to catch the light of the moon, while his own dark cloak blended with the shadows. They left behind the groups of people taking the night air. The walks between the flower-filled beds were lined with soft grass, which muffled their footsteps.

As they moved farther away from the other partiers, Lucas slowed. Without the crowds, it was harder not to feel exposed, and his caution proved necessary as Adrin paused at a cross-path and glanced back. Lucas pulled back behind a tall shrub. He waited, heart pounding, to be called out.

Nothing. He peeked out. The hem of Adrin’s cloak swung through the narrow gap in the hedge that lined one side of the path. Lucas hurried to the gap and looked inside. Adrin turned another corner. Lucas tried to slow his breathing as he flitted after. He froze as he came close to the turn. Hearing a murmur of voices ahead, he snuck a look.

Adrin was speaking to someone who stood in shadow, a dark cloak masking him or her from sight. Lucas could not hear what they said. Did the other person hand Adrin something? It was hard to tell. The dark-cloaked figure slid off and disappeared through another gap. Lucas pulled back as Adrin turned in his direction. Should he try to hide and wait for Adrin to pass him?

There was a cry behind him, a high voice, frightened and abruptly cut off. Then the sound of two deeper voices. Lucas whirled back. He couldn’t see Adrin coming yet.

A man’s voice called, “You there! Stop!”

“Sir?” Adrin sounded calm but confused.

Heart in his throat, Lucas crept back to the hedge. A pair of men held the dark cloaked figure between them. They wore silver half robes and no masks. Their heads were shaved and swirls of embedded sylphyl proclaimed them Padronelle, even before the Eagles pinned to their short dark cloaks flashed in the dim light.

A pair of silvery manacles clanked as one of the Padronelle quickly secured the dark-cloaked figure’s hands. His hood fell away and then one of the Padronelle snapped his fingers and a ball of silvery mage-light appeared to illuminate the area. The prisoner was revealed to be a round-faced man with a turned-up nose. Adrin didn’t look at him but at the Padronelle who had spoken. The prisoner looked at Adrin without recognition either.

“What are you doing here, Adrin Atallis?” asked the Padronelle who had summoned the light.

“Looking for someone who isn’t here,” said Adrin, coolly. “Have I disturbed something important?”

Lucas briefly lost his head. “Adrin, is that you?” he called. He stepped around the corner. “I swear next time you ask me to slip away, find an easier spot to — oh, I’m sorry!” He didn’t have to fake staring. The deadly glare of the Padronelle stopped him in his tracks.

Adrin turned toward him. His surprise was so brief Lucas almost missed it. Then his smile grew warm under his golden mask. “Lucas! Where have you been?”

“Lucas Atallis? Your husband?”

“That’s right,” said Adrin. “We thought we might — well, you know. But perhaps we should return to the party now. It seems there are other things afoot in the garden tonight.”

“Do you know this man?” One of the Padronelle pulled the prisoner’s head up by the hair.

“No,” said Lucas.

Adrin said, “By sight, Lord Tallious, is it? What has he done to warrant such treatment on the night of Saint Otheal’s Feast Day?”

“We suspect him of being a rebel sympathizer.” The Padronelle watched Adrin closely.

Adrin’s eyebrows rose above the gold edge of his mask. “Indeed? A dangerous occupation, I should think. And not one to practice in the Imperial City unless you are a fool.” He turned and crossed to Lucas, taking his hand. “Shall we leave you to your suspect then?” he said over his shoulder.

“You claim to know nothing of his business?”

Adrin turned sharply. “Do you distrust me, then?” His voice held a credible note of incredulity. “By the Lady, you have no reason to. I swear I know nothing more of the man than his name and nothing more of his business than what you have told me.”

The Padronelle looked momentarily frustrated. “What of you?” he barked at Lucas.

Lucas jerked back at his tone. “Sir, I have never seen his face before this conversation,” he said, with perfect truth. “I did not know his name until Adrin spoke it, I assure you.”

The man nodded. “Well. You are both free to go. If I hear that you have spoken to anyone of what you witnessed here, it shall be taken not as idle gossip, but as treason. Do I make myself clear?”

Lucas thought his eyes must be wide as saucers. He gulped and nodded.

“We understand,” said Adrin. His voice shook slightly. “I assure you, sir, we will not speak of it to anyone. We will forget we were even here.”

“See that you do.” The mage light winked out so suddenly Lucas was left blinking and blinded. When he could see again, they were alone.

“Let’s go back to the ball, Luc,” said Adrin, squeezing his hand. “I feel the need for a glass of wine.”

In silence they returned to the crowded ballroom. Adrin snagged two glasses of pale pink liqueur from a passing tray, handed one to Lucas and downed the other one with a quick jerk of his head. Lucas followed suit, gasping slightly at the heat and punch of it, followed at the end by the kick of ginger.

“Let’s dance,” said Adrin, returning the empty glasses to another tray, “since the garden was less diverting than we had hoped.”

The dance was lively and the music very loud. Drunken revelry resounded through the room. Half the dancers could no longer remember the patterns and many collisions ensued. Lucas gamely forged his way through the turns of the dance, counting himself lucky that he came back to Adrin at the end. The noise drowned any chance of a conversation, and Lucas saw the eagle-masked man watching him from the side of the room with an attention that said that he, at least, had not imbibed any of the ample drink.

Lucas took Adrin’s hand and leaned in. He felt Adrin pulling back, but he hung on. Pressing himself close, he said into Adrin’s ear, “We’re leaving now. We can do it under the pretense of needing privacy; or I can cause a scene if you would rather. You can kiss me, or I can start scolding.”

Adrin ran his fingers through Lucas’s hair and kissed him thoroughly. When Lucas pulled away and grabbed his hand, pulling him through the throng, Adrin did not resist. However, it did not escape Lucas’s notice that he did not seem eager, either.

It took several minutes for their carriage to be brought around. For the benefit of any watchers, Lucas backed Adrin against a pillar and kissed him again. He felt a volatile combination of worry, anger, confusion and lust, and he knew his hands were a bit rougher and his caresses more aggressive than normal.

Adrin met his energy, but there was a restraint in his body that fueled Lucas’s tension. When the carriage came around, he all but dragged Adrin into it, ignoring the catcalls and drunken offers from bystanders. He took the forward-facing seat, spreading his cloak about him to encourage Adrin to take the opposite one. The carriage lurched and began to roll down the drive.

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Proceed to part 3...

Copyright © 2024 by Tannara Young