A Thread in the Tangle (21 page)

“Yes, I heard about that.
 
Truth be told, I wish you’d killed the little mutt.”
 
Isiilde laughed softly, pleased that he understood the reason for their scarce presence.
 
“You should’ve heard the cheer that went up in the forges when we heard what happened.”

“Really?”

“There’s not a soldier or servant who doesn’t despise that runt.
 
I think he’s bitten just about everyone in the castle,” Coyle admitted, and then suddenly glanced around the pavilion with concern.
 
“You’re not here by yourself, are you?”

“Of course not.
 
Marsais is with me.”

“The Archlord?” Coyle stammered, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth the unruly mass.

“Didn’t you know he was my master?”

“Of course, but I didn’t know he attended festivals.”

Isiilde tilted her head to the side.
 
The odd ideas that people entertained about Marsais never ceased to puzzle her.

“Have you seen the performers from Xiao?”

“I’m not free until sunset, but they’re charging a crown just to get into that part of the fair.”

“An entire gold crown?” she gasped.

“It’s mostly for the wealthy, not for the likes of the common folk.
 
One day I’ll have coin to spare, but not anytime soon,” Coyle remarked with a proud tilt of his square chin.
 
This reminded him of his current duties.
 
He glanced towards the patron who he had abandoned, looking suddenly embarrassed.
 
“Speaking of which, I better get back to work.
 
You don’t think—that is, would you like to have lunch with me sometime, m’lady?
 
When you visit the forge again.”

“I’d like that,” she beamed.

“You would?” Coyle asked, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re just so—and I’m just an apprentice,” Coyle stammered, awkwardly.

“So am I,” she smiled, and then turned serious, “but I’ll only agree to it if you agree not to call me m’lady.”

 
“As you wish, Isiilde,” he smiled broadly.

She thought he might float off the ground at any moment, but he did something else even more surprising.
 
Before she could react, in his excitement, he seized her hand, bowing over it and pressing his lips against her skin.
 
When Coyle straightened, he found the Archlord of the Isle standing at the nymph’s side, scrutinizing him with steely eyes that unraveled the young man, leaving him as exposed as a wanderer in the deepest deserts of Kiln.

“Archlord,” Coyle gulped, his mouth drying beneath the ancient’s gaze.
 
Coyle hastily let the nymph’s hand go and bowed to Marsais like a peasant before his king.

“Marsais, this is Coyle.
 
He’s a friend of mine and a very talented smithy who is apprenticed to Sir Helwick,” Isiilde introduced.

Coyle straightened, but he appeared pale and nervous, a common enough reaction to Marsais.
 
Isiilde could never fathom why everyone seemed uncomfortable around her master.

“Hmm, that’s high praise.
 
Helwick’s not the most lenient of masters.”

“I do my best, Archlord, and it’s a true honor to meet you, sir.”
 
Marsais inclined his head politely.
 
“Best be getting back to work, sir.”
 
Coyle offered a hasty bow to them both.

“Don’t forget about our lunch,” Isiilde reminded him as he turned to leave.

“How could I, m’lady?”

The nymph smiled and Coyle stumbled over his own feet, nearly toppling a rack of weapons.
 
Isiilde slipped her hand through Marsais’ offered arm, and the two continued on their way, but she stole a peek back at Coyle.

“Did you leave something, my dear?” Marsais asked, following her gaze.

“No,” she admitted, studying the chiseled apprentice from behind.
 
“Although Coyle is very nice to look at.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that.”

“You don’t think he’s handsome?”

“It’s not generally something of which I take note,” he confided.

“Oh.”

They continued walking as she chewed on her lip in perplexed thought.
 
Marsais watched her out of the corner of his eye, wondering what in all the realms she was going to ask him next.
 
Distraction rescued him from further questions.

Bright, fluttering sails of crimson and gold caught the nymph’s eye.
 
A silk wall of color encircled the Xaionian pavilions.
 
Slender, snaking dragons curled on the billowing cloth, frozen in battle against other fearsome creatures of legend.

Isiilde stopped to gawk at a glittering phoenix emblazoned on one panel.
 
Its wings glowed with silken fire rippling in the breeze.
 
She closed her eyes, soaking up the imagined heat.

“I take my answer back, Marsais.
 
I’d rather be a phoenix.”

“Hmm, I didn’t know we could choose to be any creature,” he mused.
 
“In that case, I’d be an Assumer.”

“I’ve never heard of them.
 
What are they?”

“They’re chameleons, shape-shifters, who assume any shape they desire.
 
As you can imagine, their ability opens up endless possibilities since they can shift into a form suitable for any realm, or for that matter, mimic any person.”

“You could already be one and I wouldn’t know.”
 
She studied him with no small amount of suspicion.

“It’s certainly a possibility.
 
I suppose you will never know,” he intoned with the mystifying vagueness of a two copper seer.

“I’m sure there’s a way to tell,” she mused as they strolled along the silk wall towards the entrance.

Two acrobats silently detached themselves from the flowing artistry.
 
Isiilde tensed with surprise, but Marsais seemed untroubled by their presence as they tumbled over to block the entrance.

One was a man, and the other, a woman.
 
Both wore sweeping masks of pristine feathers and outfits of gauzy fabric.
 
Their garments were scant, revealing naked flesh that was covered with tattoos.
 
The pair were living canvases.

Isiilde’s eyes were drawn to the man’s taut stomach, which was decorated with a fiendish mouth, full of fangs and spit, leaping out of his flesh towards her face with terrifying realism.
 
She tore her gaze from the tattoo, and clutched Marsais’ arm tighter, finding the costumed pair disturbing rather than beguiling.
 
The explosion of shapes and images covering their skin made her queasy.

The male acrobat held up his hands in front of her—they were empty.
 
Quick as a viper, he reached towards her, plucking a gold crown from her ear.
 
The gold coin disappeared with a flourish and he bowed, sweeping his arms towards the entrance to indicate that she could enter without charge.

The same courtesy was not shown to Marsais, instead, the costumed woman held out her hand, palm up, silently demanding payment.
 
Marsais dropped a crown into her hand and the two acrobats executed simultaneous backflips with fluid ease, landing beside the silken tapestries, drawing them aside and granting passage.

On the other side, another realm greeted them, an exotic place where the fantastical thrived, ripped from imaginative renderings of Somnial’s Court and brought to life with vibrant energy.
 
Scantily clad acrobats, wearing bizarre costumes that merged beast and man, mingled and performed amidst the crowds.
 
They flipped and twirled, defying gravity, as they flew through the amazed audience.

Fearsome performers, wearing hooked masks, strolled through the crowd on stilts like grim birds of ill omen looking for their next meal.
 
Gnomish acrobats used them as traveling props, clambering up and down the looming birds of prey, leaping over heads to land on the next.

The chaotic atmosphere was captivating.
 
Isiilde tried to absorb everything at once, studying the costumes and feats of physical agility with wide, emerald eyes as she drifted alongside Marsais, anchored on his steady arm.

Everyone wore masks, even the visitors, their faces obscured by fanciful creations of feathers and twisted visages of horror.
 
It was a feast of bizarre beauty.
 
And Isiilde’s head began to spin as she darted from one sight to the next, afraid to miss something interesting.

She stopped in front of a silver statue, marveling over the life like rendering of a man poised for battle: muscles straining, arm raised to strike, long body caught in stagnant motion.
 
The statue’s lips curled, revealing white teeth, and she gasped, nearly falling backwards in shock.
 
He reached behind his shield with small, jerking movements, pausing between each new pose.
 
Slowly, his hand emerged, revealing a butterfly mask.
 
She stood beaming with expectant delight, but when the performer tried to place the mask on her head, Marsais’ hand snaked forward, grabbing his wrist in a vice like grip.

“She won’t be needing that, and neither will I.”

The silver man’s eyes flashed, he dropped his act, and with a whirl of motion sprang backwards, disappearing into the crowd.

“Why did you stop him, Marsais?
 
He was going to give the mask to me.”
 
Isiilde narrowed her eyes at her impassive master.

“When you don a mask during Xaionian festivities, it indicates that you have left all restraints behind.
 
You hadn’t wondered why they let you in for free?”

“Well, no, not really,” she admitted, shifting sheepishly beneath his arched brow.

“Beauty and innocence are never turned away from a Xaionian festival.”

“But why?”

“You haven’t noticed?”
 
Noting the confusion that his simple question caused his apprentice, he gestured towards the crowd with an elegant sweep of his hand.
 
She turned her attention to the masked attendees.
 
“The inordinate amount of indiscreet activities.”

It took awhile for his words to sink in, and when they did, she studied her surroundings with new eyes, noticing for the first time that people were acting without restraint, carefree and ribald, stealing kisses and more from whoever took their fancy.

“There’s a lot to look at,” she defended, feeling her cheeks heat, and then quickly cast about for something suitably distracting.
 
“Like those.”
 
She pointed up at the glowing orbs floating overhead like giant, translucent bubbles with fireflies dancing inside.
 
She thought that Marsais, who was over six feet tall and very agile, might be able to reach the drifting orbs of light if he jumped high enough.

“They must be beautiful at night,” she breathed with wonder.

“We will definitely be leaving before nightfall.”

“Really?”
 
The nymph failed to conceal the disappointment in her tone.

“Xaio is a land of pleasures, and as the night progresses, its festivities become less restrained,” he explained.

They stopped to let a gnome, who was riding a tiger pass.
 
Impulsively, the nymph reached out to pet the massive feline and promptly received a face full of lashing tail, along with a warning growl.

“As long as you have the coin for it, anything goes in Xaio, and if you don’t have the coin then you have little choice in the matter.”
 
She could tell by his tone that he cared little for Xaionian culture and questioned him further on it.
 
“I’ve never subscribed to slavery of anything—be it man or beast, though there is often little difference.”

“They keep slaves?”

“Most kingdoms do, my dear, save Kambe and Nuthaan.
 
However, Xaio takes slavery to an excess, as they do everything else, which reminds me of something that I’m sure you will like.”
 
Marsais scanned the fair grounds, searching over the sea of heads, peering past their feathered hats until he spotted what he desired.

As it turned out, Xaio did take everything to an excess, including their food.
 
Marsais led her to a wonderland of edible delights designed to tantalize and tempt the tastebuds.
 
The nymph could have easily imagined such a place, but she would never have believed it existed.
 
Between the two of them, they gathered an entire basket of exotic sweets with equal enthusiasm.

Eleven