In the city of Corregal, sword fighting is a way of life - unless you're a girl. While young men compete for prestigious positions within the ruling Houses, young women have to rely on others to protect them from the dangers lurking in the streets...
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"What do you mean, he's not coming?" Barris said to the sharp-nosed fox standing next to him.
"He said he hates masks. 'They smell bad. They make your face sweat.'" Neda lowered the fox mask from her face to show off her unsympathetic impression of Romeric, her words stretched out with ridiculous flourishes in an exaggerated imitation of his Jurati accent. "'You can-not see properly. You can-not flirt. You can-not fight. Masks are stupid.'" She sniffed in faux disdain, then rolled her eyes.
"Oh, brother," Barris shook his head and put the leather salamander mask he had been inspecting back on the display stand, between a snarling bear and a fanged wildcat that was uncomfortably familiar, and much too lifelike. "You'd think, knowing him, that he'd jump at the chance to show off."
"I guess not." She pointed towards the end of the bridge, where Romeric was heading off with a peeved expression on his face. One of the most annoying things about the Jurati newcomer was his incessant cheerfulness, so it was surprising to see him looking so sour. Barris doubted it was all about masks.
"He's probably just moping because Calette Averre won't return his letters."
Neda giggled and linked arms with him, drawing him away from the stall. "It doesn't matter. He can stay home and mope, and you, Tierce and I can have a great time without him. Where is Tierce anyway?"
"No idea," he answered without bothering to look around for his friend. It was a rare treat to have Neda to himself for a moment. Better still, walking arm in arm with her, even if it was only as far as the next booth. Out in the sun, her tawny skin glowed golden, and she had her hair, as straight and black as his own, tied up in a ponytail. It bobbed jauntily as they wove their way along the crowded thoroughfare, offering a pleasing view of her slender neck. He pushed that thought away as quickly as it came, though. They were friends, nothing more. Friends who enjoyed a certain closeness that came from having lived in the same house for five years. That was all.
Still. It was nice.
They stopped at a small stand with a fantastic array of feathered masks on display. He reached for one sporting brown plumage and a prominent beak. "Maybe Tierce and I could be hawks," he said as he held it up in front of himself. "For Fleuracy House."
"Ugh!" Neda made a face. "You're so predictable. The point is to be something you're not." She grabbed the biggest, most ostentatious mask in the stall, a multi-colored monstrosity with a crest of fluttering peacock plumes, and held it up to him instead. "Perfect!" she laughed.
Enveloped by the gaudy feathers, he suppressed a moment of panic. "I don't thinks so." He pushed it away—and instantly regretted it when he saw her disappointed expression. She gave him an exasperated sigh and dropped the mask back on its stand.
"I'm going to go find Tierce. His father is a performer, so he must know at least a little about showmanship."
She pivoted on her toes and marched away into the crowd. Barris watched her go, her ponytail swaying back and forth, taunting him for his cowardice.
