Under Dark and Moonshine

1

The gate groans loudly as I shove it open.

There is the twinkling, early-morning chirp of the bluefoot-birds and the rustling of leaves in the far ground; the vibrating darkness under the tree boughs. I take one step onto the mossy ground and carefully push the rusting iron gate closed behind me.

A small pond laps at my feet, beckoning. Its surface is a mirror, and in it the bluefeet flit in circles past my head. Their wings are ruby gossamer in the pale moonlight, like stained glass.

I let my feet into the water as I walk along its edge. I know my sister is hiding at the far end of our garden, in a patch of night-blooming hydrolae. I slip through a side trail and through a camouflaged wreath of hanging boughs. Their tendrils hang like a curtain of thread, tangled and woven into the intricate knots only nature can make. Utterly familiar to me – I've walked this path every day for my entire life.

The moss is soft underfoot, springy and moist. In the silvery light my feet shimmer wetly, speckled with the rich brown soil that our region is so famous for. It's said that the fertile ground can make anything grow – one had only to tuck the seeds into the soil with a handful of water and a ward, and the plant would spring from the ground within seconds.

I step into the clearing. Isolde is facing away from me, holding one finger up in the air to let a mayfly perch upon it. I make no noise when I walk, but somehow she still hears me coming. Her smile is radiant and infectious, and I return it with the same vigor.

"You planned to sneak up on me, didn't you?" Her grin becomes devilish, and she shows me what she was hiding: a small, pristine hand mirror clutched in her broad hand. My reflection stares startled back at me. "Try again?"

"Smart," I say, laughing. "But it won't work next time. I'll win again."

"Is that a challenge?" She extends it to me. "I accept."

"It wasn't," I say as I take it. "But since you offered..." I take the mirror and tuck it into the pocket hidden in the folds of my dress. I've set it with a ward, so that it can hold an indefinite amount of objects - something that comes in handy when Mother sends me around the city on goodwill errands.

Isolde looks up, and I follow her gaze. I can see the three stars of the Handmaiden's waist twinkling faintly above my head – disappearing slowly in the early morning, like she's walking away. Mother will expect us back soon for the Feast. If we're not there on time, she'll be disappointed.

"Mother's waiting," I say to Isolde. She plucks one of the hydrolae buds – buds we've been tending to since as long as I can remember - from the vines and nods, starting to walk back down the trail I came from. We return to the Yard beyond the garden to find that a crowd has still not formed. It's still early. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

The sky is starting to lighten, and our two moons move closer together as the day grows. All the shadows around me are cast in half-dark, half-silver liquid light, rippling along the black stone streets.

The stone is kept as clean as possible, and so the upper-class people of my city, the ones who are not farmers and fieldworkers, walk around with bare feet. Mine are tattooed with an intricate, winding motif of silver lines that mark me as royalty. Isolde's feet have a matching design.

The Yard - a ring around the Tower where the people of the city congregate for events like this one - is still mostly empty, but it's starting to fill with the upper-class men and women, all swathed in heavy silks, fine gossamer and hushed conversation. I watch them as they pass – it's easy enough to identify those that my father often consorts with. I find Lady Altham – once, we stayed at her guest-house for a week while my father discussed politics with the Lord. Selene Amstel, the city's beloved poet, flirts with General Torres by the dais. Lined up in rows on all sides of the dais is the First Regiment, standing at ease in their blue-velvet dress coats and silver epaulettes. They are in charge of protecting the royal family. As I walk past, a guard named Hallen winks at me.