Page 40 of Feathers and Thorns

“That sounds beautiful,” Soren said.

Saoirse let out a soft chuckle. “I imagine it was, though traditions have changed over the years since we no longer need to hunt for survival. Now, the celebrations are held in a more symbolic way, to honor our ancestors. We still dance under the stars. Everyone dresses in white, with masks depicting different animals native to our lands, and we eat and drink until our minds are fuzzy and our hearts are full.”

“Well, I am all for it,” Enara replied, wringing out her hair.

“Only one problem,” Soren said, wrapping herself in a hemp towel. “We have nothing to wear.”

Saoirse’s eyes twinkled. “I think I can help you with that.”

* * *

Baz stood at the base of the winding stairs that led to the throne room, his face half-covered in a mask designed to match the features of a mountain lion. Callan stood beside him, and they waited in awkward silence for the girls to join them. The event, he was told, would be held in a cavern near the edge of the mountain, and they would travel the pathways carved through the castle to get there.

Baz shuffled back and forth nervously, tugging on the white linen that hung from his hips. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of his body. Though Callan was larger than him in stature, Baz matched him muscle for muscle and couldn’t help but be pleased with himself. He was simply used to wearing a cotton suit rather than the white fabric that was little more than a loincloth wrapped around his waist and stopping just short of his knees.

A breeze drifted through the landing, causing Baz to jump as it drifted to places it had no right being in.

Callan chuckled though his wolf mask as the poor boy adjusted the little fabric he had on. “Leave it be, lad. You’ll not be the only one showing a lot of skin tonight.”

Baz was about to ask what that meant but stopped short when he heard familiar voices floating down from the stairwell. Almost as if Callan’s comment had summoned them, Enara, Soren, and the redheaded lady’s maid appeared.

All three of them wore white clothes that left little to the imagination. The fabric was draped and knotted in all the right places to accentuate every one of their curves while somehow keeping their personal bits covered. Their makeup was minimal; all they had done was add some charcoal to their eyes and salve to their lips.

Baz swallowed thickly as they descended the stairs. The redhead came down first, taking Callan’s arm, excitement bubbling from all of her pores. “Don’t they look great!” Her smile was radiant beneath her mask; her animal of choice being a rabbit. The ears from her mask popped up playfully against the blazing inferno of curls that was her hair. Baz had to admit the creature seemed to match her personality.

Soren followed, her mask that of a fox, which Baz thought complemented her small features nicely. Her hair had been redyed and shone a radiant midnight blue, and the sides had been twisted back from her face and secured with pinched clips of silver.

She patted Baz’s muscular arm as she stood beside Saoirse and said, “Try not to get too excited.”

“I make no promises,” he responded, staring in awe at Enara.

Her brown hair was tied back in a series of connected ponytails that had been tugged gently to splay out like a beautiful main to the back of her head. Her mask was that of an owl, which conveyed a sort of quiet strength. The minimal fabric covering her body made his mouth dry, and he resisted the urge to adjust himself.

He held out his arm as she approached, and she took it, smirking at him. “You can pick up your jaw now.”

He blushed under his mask, not realizing he had left his mouth hanging open, panting like an excited dog. “Sorry.” He laughed nervously, and she planted a kiss on his already parted lips.

“All right, the two of you,” Saoirse said, cutting the kiss short. “You’ll have plenty of time for that later. Let’s get a move on.”

Just as she spoke, the doorway swung open to reveal the king, his beard peeking out from under his bear-shaped facial covering, trailed by the twin guards who wore identical elk masks, complete with dangerous-looking horns. The king wore a tunic along with his loincloth, and Baz could see the glint of white metal underneath, no doubt as a precaution. The guards had also swapped their gray armor for white, the light tones making their skin look velvety and rich, their dark eyes mysterious.

“You lot could almost pass for locals,” the king complimented. “Now, let me show you how we in Braexmirth celebrate.”

* * *

They first heard the drums as they followed the tunnel deep into the mountain. The deep booming radiated through their bodies, and Soren could feel the hair on her arms lift. The energy was palpable, and though she was worried about the goings-on in Edras Mora, she couldn’t help but let some excitement wash over her. This could be good to get my mind off of things.

She’d had some time throughout their travels to do a deep dive into her own psyche and had come to two conclusions. One, it was okay to continue to grieve her father, but she needed to find less destructive means of coping. And two, as much as she wanted to deny her feelings toward the man who had killed her father, a sliver of her heart still beat for the Prince of Ravens.

A twinge of guilt stole the breath from her lungs, and her panic creeped forth from the dark recesses of her mind. He killed him. You disgrace his memory by admitting your feelings for that monster.

Images from her nightmare flashed before her eyes, and she grabbed a hold of the wall to fight back a wave of nausea. Her mind did not relent its attack.

You are a terrible daughter. Your father would be ashamed.

She swallowed against the knot in her throat and inhaled deeply.

The rest of the group was ahead of them, apart from one of the twins, who took up the rear.

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