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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As Romeric wove through the crowd of partygoers on the Palace Bridge, people kept pointing at his painted face with various expressions of delight or disapproval. "Clever!" one person said to him, only to have someone else a moment later declare, "Cheater!" He didn't care. He met all the comments with the same lazy half-grin. Let them think what they wanted. He'd only come here for Barris's sake anyway.
He was doing his best not to ruin the revelry for his friends. He knew they thought it odd he wouldn't join in, and he couldn't blame them. If there was one thing the stereotypes had right about Jurati it was that they loved a good party.
But he found it impossible to really relax around so many masked faces.
Hands filled with a variety of sweet and savory treats, plus a mug of spice (and hopefully spiked) punch, he found a bench near the bridge railing where he had a good view of the dancing. He could pick Barris out easily; his height plus the bull's horns made him stand out above the other dancers. Tierce circled into view now and then, hands joined with other dancers in lines that moved around the dance floor in nimble-footed patterns. It didn't look either of them would be ready to leave any time soon.
At least the food was good enough to alleviate at least a little of his misery. Skewered beef, seared and sizzling. Rings of fried dough glazed with honey. Pockets of bread stuffed with soft cheese and herbs. Fruit tarts, custard tart, tarts filled with seasoned meat. His favorite were tiny little meringues, dusted with sugar and flavored with a tart liqueur that reminded him of home. He had just popped the third one in his mouth, smiling with bliss as it practically melted on his tongue, when someone spoke from behind him.
"I'm glad to see you're having at least a little fun."
He turned to find Nedalya, grinning with amusement at the pile of food he was working his way through. Her eyes twinkled behind her mask, and there were flecks of glitter sprinkled through her hair.
"It's not the worst party I've ever been to," he admitted as he brushed crumbs from his lips. "What about you? Are you having a good time?"
She tilted her head and smiled. There was something secret about her expression, he thought, though perhaps it was just an effect of her mask. "I am." She waved behind her, where a group of girls with flowers and songbirds over their faces waited for her. "They think you're not dancing because you don't know how."
"Oh, I can dance."
"Are you going to prove it?"
He hesitated, his pride pricked. True, he didn't actually know the precise steps of the dances here — they danced with partners in Jurati, not groups — but normally such a small thing wouldn't bother him. In fact, not knowing the steps would be a great excuse to ask someone to teach him, and before you knew it the two of you were dancing together, and from there...well.
He couldn't do it, though. Not tonight. Not when every masked face was like a nightmare dredged from the worst corners of his memory.
