Debt of Skin

Nine: The Night of the Rising Moon Ceremony

There are very brief mentions of self harm in this chapter. It's nothing detailed, but I still wanted to give a warning.

The Imperial Palace had many wonders that appealed to various holidays. The Rising Moon Ceremony began in a massive ballroom decorated with strings of mica that hung from the eaves in the ceiling — creating glittering stars that twinkled throughout the night as they caught candlelight. There were large windows aligning the wall, doors that could take the crowd outside if they so pleased. However, that was for later.

To begin tradition, all of the guests would congregate in the ballroom to dance and drink just as the sun was setting. There was a certain setlist played by appointed musicians, an array of pianos, harps, and woodwinds. Creating an eerie, almost celestial ambience. All of the women wore white gowns adorned with gold embroidery of their family crest. A princess or higher rank would wear gold with white accents instead. Men wore navy suits with silver embroidery, unless they were a Prince or higher rank. Then it was the opposite.

This was to signify humanities connection with the cosmos. Women were the bearers of life — the ones who brought prosperity and peace to Renoa. They were the stars that lit up the night sky. Men were the gaps in between. They were the darkness that enveloped the stars to keep them snug and safe. Mahe never understood the importance of such tradition.

The ballroom was lit up by exactly sixteen candles, one for each hour before sunrise. Every time an hour passed, a candle was blown out. Until the moonlight shone through the stain-glass ceiling, illuminating the artwork of stars. However many candles were blown out represented how many months before the harvest would peak. If the moon hit its crest late into the night, there would be a panic to harvest before the first snowfall. If it was early, the year would be prosperous and plentiful.

Perhaps it was Mahe's personal conviction with upholding tradition that left him skeptical and uncaring. He didn't believe that these things meant anything at all. If it wasn't for tradition, his own bloodline would be safe from genocide. Yet people valued tradition more than empathy, and that left Mahe unsettled rather than joyous.

Once the final candle was blown out, the servants would move to the doors and open all of them at once. If the wind was strong enough to blow the remaining flames out, then there would be a longer, harsher winter. If in the event this happened, then what came next was Mahe's least favorite part.

A member of the royal family would step outside into the snow, cut their arm at the vein, and allow the blood to flow onto the ground until the cut began to scab. This was to appease the wind and request mercy in exchange for royal blood.

Everyone had to kneel and watch until this ended.

Mahe would never forget the year it was Perice's turn to do just that. At only twelve years old he was instructed to stab his own wrist with a dagger and bleed in the harsh cold of a winter's night until onlookers were satisfied. Mahe had never felt so uncomfortable and antsy, unable to sit still the entire time. It felt like his heart was in his throat, wondering why everyone else could sit there and simply watch as a child harmed himself. For what? Some outside entity to take pity on this kingdom? The wind was simply that, there was no way to prove that it even knew about their actions nor existence.

But Mahe often thought that his view was different due to his upbringing, and perhaps if he had been raised within society, he might understand where these feelings came from.

Regardless, the night began.

Mahe stood near the ballroom entrance, peering at his reflection in the silver wine bowl. He felt stupid, dressed too formally for a man with no noble background. Imposter syndrome struck every time he was forced to attend one of these formal events.