Zaketa presents a carefully crafted mask to the world; one of sharp edges, privilege, and bravado. Only those closest to her, her most loyal guards, know the real Zaketa. And she is so much more than what her warlord father has crafted her to be.
In...
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Write a ballad. Attend the masquerade. Set the tone for a revolution. It was no small order.
As they walked, it became clear that this was exactly what Izzy was asking of Payton. Her near-silent companion trailing them only added to the weight of what was being laid on his narrow shoulders.
The shadowy roads and alleyways were increasingly empty as they wove through the capitol, and Payton was glad of the company. Intimidating company at that. It would have been a nervous trek back to the cozy inn had he been on his own. He supposed there was part of him that had suspected that he'd not even have the option to return. Still, here he was just a block away now, safe and sound.
"So, the money I was given was to pay for my clothes to get into the masquerade. What would have happened if I'd not come to find you? Or failed to show up at the masquerade?"
Izzy shrugged. "Then the money would have been yours to spend as you wish. Our mistress is generous."
"I'm still not sure I entirely understand. Why a bard? What can I do?"
The broad-shouldered woman glared down at him. "Must I keep repeating myself?" She rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "I'll put it this way. If everything goes according to plan. If we manage to do what we plan to do, someone will need to tell the tale. Spread the news. We could produce fliers, but how many people would it reach? So few people can read. But songs, a catchy song can spread like wildfire."
"I get that part, but why must I attend the masquerade? I could write a song at any time."
"She wants you to play The Undying Queen. Find the woman with the bone mask. Act as if you are attempting to charm her. Then, she will request the song."
Payton nodded, going over the many things he'd need to take care of in the meantime. Restring his guitar, get a costume, send some money home... If he had enough left over, maybe he'd actually get a new guitar. He loved his old friend, but it had seen better days. Especially if he was expected to play at the masquerade.
"There will be a feast," Izzy's lithe companion added. "The likes of which you've never seen, or so the kitchen staff keep saying. If nothing else, come for a good meal."
Payton considered her once more. She was striking and intimidating. With those scars marring her cheek and her stern bearing. She was dangerous, and yet in her voice, he'd noticed something -- there was something more there. It hit him all at once. The way she carried herself had hidden it at first glance. She was young, probably still in her teens -- like him.
"Well," Payton laughed, "I suppose if there was a reason to attend a ball in this forsaken land, free food would be reason enough."
The slender young woman laughed. "It's the reason I'm here."
Payton eyed her, noting not for the first time, the steely grey of her eyes set against warm brown skin. "You're not from the capitol either, are you?"
