Paragon - Book I

Lights and Lanterns

Fire sparks, bright and dazzling against the nighttime sky, as the five of them weave in and out of a large throng of revelers. The city square is painted in deep reds and blues as people in various stages of undress rush around, laughing and screaming. Many are wearing the pale, blank masks Allayria associates with the Maan Festival, and Iaves swipes one off a passed out party-goer, fitting it over his head and then turning very slowly toward Meg, who rolls her eyes.

The rush of the crowd separates them, and Allayria catches glimpses of Meg and Iaves through the wind of paper orbs and flaming kites.

This brings her back to when she was a child here—though, of course, she had only been around for the beginning of the festival, swept back to her safe, comfortable home before the real havoc began. But she still remembers the constant warring of the red and blue—the suns and moons, day and night—and how the other girls had whispered you were supposed to kiss someone in the opposite color when the moons were highest and quickly part after. It was supposed to symbolize the unity and separation of moons and suns. Now, Allayria thinks the much likelier end of that story is the suns and the moons going home together, hang natural conventions.

Shimmering confetti flutters above them as a slapdash group of string and drum players erratically improvise on their instruments to the mixed amusement and distress of onlookers. Allayria smiles then winces as the music blares louder for a minute, almost as loud as the lights...

She holds a thumb over the cords of her wrist and exhales as it all seems to dim once more.

This again.

She looks around, but she can't see her three friends anymore. She's thinking about walking the perimeter of the revelry and finding one of them that way when a mask drops over her face and she twists around.

Ben tucks the thing further into her face and laughs, somehow reading the look of confusion and annoyance spread across her face. He takes her hand, fingers circling around her wrist, and knowingly puts pressure on the place she had her fingers last.

"So, which one are you going to be?" Allayria asks, the air from her mouth blowing back across her face in a muffled huff. Vexed, she pushes the mask up to her forehead and looks over at him, feeling wind chapped by the suddenly cool air.

"Well, the obvious thing would be for you to be the suns and I the moons," he answers teasingly, pressing against her as an aggressive gang of teenage girls rumbles through the general vicinity, gossiping feverishly behind pale hands and painted fans. "But I think we should do it the other way around."

"Sticking it to 'The Man.' I like it," Allayria says drily. "We won't let silly things like skill sets and logic dictate our costume choices."

She earns a crooked smile for that, and he hops up onto a wooden barrel, legs swinging down as he taps a finger to his nose.

"We don't let The Man tell us what to do," he says in a grave tone.

"We should call ourselves the Contrarians." She leans against his knees, arms folded across the top of his thighs.

He laughs and then offers her his flask. Whatever is inside, it's not beer, but it's also not an improvement on beer. It burns and she sputters a bit, nose scrunching up as she hands it back to Ben.

"Don't ever play a drinking game with Meg," he warns her, drinking easily.

"Duly noted." She looks out over the festivities; they have begun throwing some of the pale orbs up into the sky, which means it must be approaching midnight.

"I've always liked this festival," she tells him, and he shifts forward so he's closer to the edge, closer to her. "There's always so much to see."