Page 7 of The Devil In Blue
“I want you to keep your mask on all night,” he said flatly. “And should anyone ask your name, I shall answer for you.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I was used to not speaking for myself. There was no telling what would come out of my mouth if I was allowed the freedom to converse with others, so the fact that Lucien had taken up that burden was a kindness.
The town of Cragburough passed us by rather quickly. It was quiet until we arrived at the cathedral. I looked up at the stained glass windows and bristled. Artistic as those giant, multicolored windows were, they depicted things that didn’t sit right with me.
I’d been inside the cathedral before and it was an uneasy experience every time. It was dark and the candles shed light in all the wrong places. Mainly, on a giant monument that sat in the middle of the main hall. It showed an angel with great big wings that spread across the entire space. The angel was meant to be beautiful, I was sure, but he was anything but. His features were too soft. His eyes were too empty. His body was too perfect. Such perfection was a ruse. A way to lure people in. Beauty so flawless was far more terrifying than the things people often said lurked in the dark. Those things I’d become good friends with. Those things were true.
The stained glass portrayed similarly beautiful images with roses, angels in different poses, and light. It was all too good. Too wonderful. Every time Lucien disappeared for his worship, I was glad he never asked me to come along anymore. I feared the cathedral would undo me one day.
The masquerade, to my luck, was not held at the cathedral where many holidays were celebrated. The masquerade was being held in the catacombs. I’d never been to the catacombs, but it was a vast underground chamber with equally intricate décor if the stories I’d heard were true. Every fallen hero from the war was kept there in the marble walls. Heroes who fought many great enemies and brought down corrupt kingdoms, ensuring the magic that had enslaved so many people hundreds of years ago could not do it again.
Excitement fluttered inside me because being in the presence of hundreds of dead was far more appealing than being inside a well-crafted cathedral surrounded by the living.Deathbrought me peace. The stillness. The end. The dark silence and the promise of nothing was the greatest harmony there could be.
“Strange to hold the Allhalloween masquerade in the catacombs,” Lucien said, toying with the house ring he wore on his thumb. “The war has been over for fifty years and yet he wants to remind us of the bloodshed by hosting this event among the dead.”
“Perhaps where he comes from, it’s honorable to celebrate with the dead,” I said. “We want to remember the war, after all. Those who drove the fae back into their realms and out of ours should be honored, should they not?”
Lucien and most others didn’t like talking about the war. It seemed many wanted to believe it never happened, but I was always eager to learn. Not that Lucien allowed many books into Aedon heights for me to read about the events. Everything I knew was from listening to others talk or from the books Catlyn snuck into my possession. Or… from what I’d been told in Southminster.
I wished I could remember who I was before the asylum, but all I had were the words of others. I was found with dirt on my feet and blood on my face spewing stories of a devil and a land shrouded in shadows and evil. Shadows some said would consume our world if we allowed them to walk in our realm unshackled. The very same evil that had killed everyone I knew and left me alone with a broken mind and body.
They said it was fae. After the war, some fae had been left behind and like demons, they preyed on humans until they were all hunted down. It was a horrible chance that the very last of the fae found my family’s farm and slaughtered everyone, stealing my life from me. But I supposed it was a better chance that my mind had chosen to forget it all anyway, even though the effects remained.
Beliefs about a world between life and death were so scattered now. It almost made me eager to find it while most feared its existence. People wanted to believe that the half-world and all its demons disappeared after the war. Magic was sparse and the creatures made from it even more rare. The heathenistic idea of fae, sorcery, and monsters residing in a world we couldn’t see was destroyed and society swore to a deity that promoted good behavior, control, and rules. The Church of Phariel. Our guardian. The protector of the mortal realm.
But I’d never seen him and all we had were his words. Or what people said were his words.
Coming to the large mausoleum a mile from the cathedral, the carriage stopped, pulling up behind a line of others just arriving at the event. Already, I could see intricately carved pumpkins lining the brick walkway, their mouths stuffed with small candles. The autumn leaves blew across the path with gusts of gentle wind, carrying the scent of orange and cloves through the carriage windows.
I was glad my face was concealed behind a mask. I was smiling much too brightly. Lucien might have thought it childish of me.
When the carriage stopped and a footman opened the door, Lucien stepped out first in his gold, velvet tailcoat and top hat, his face half-covered in a black mask with amber jewels. Turning, he held out a hand to me and I reached out with my gloved hand, placing my fingers gently in his. My shoes had small heals, but they were easy to walk in. They did, however, make me as tall as Lucien. I was tall to begin with and Lucien was not, but that night, he didn’t seem to mind.
I stepped down onto the brick ground and the small train of my dress followed me into the crisp fall air. My mask was leafed in dark gold with strings of red vines tracing the outer edges. On the forehead was a leather mold of a dragonfly with tiny rubies inlaid across its body. The rest of the detail was hand-painted. It was a gorgeous creation. One I was glad to wear so I could enjoy my night unhindered, attracting no more attention than anyone else.
Holding out his arm, Lucien beckoned me to walk with him. If he was offering, then I didn’t want to deny him. I slid my hand over his bicep, looking around at the other attendees to see the largest variety of fashion I’d ever seen. Some were in dresses with full, layered skirts. Others were in smaller ensembles that hugged their legs. The men wore waistcoats, trench coats with expensive embroidery, and cloaks. The masks ranged from tiny lace eye covers to full, horned masterpieces, jester masks, and beautiful face coverings that extended into equally beautiful headdresses. I wanted to squeeze Lucien’s arm with excitement but tampered that impulse down, acting the role of an obedient companion.
Coming to the arched entrance down into the catacombs, Lucien pulled a black parchment invitation from his coat pocket and handed it to one of the identical staff members at the top of a wide, descending stairway. The staff in his black skeleton mask took the invitation, opened it, and inclined his head, allowing us passage.
And down we went.
I could hear the sound around us changing. No longer was the wind fluttering in my ears. Now the distant hum of music was bleeding toward us from deep underground, singing off the walls with haunting grace. Candles lined the walls, the wax layered in hardened trails over stone shelving.
When we came to the bottom of the steps, the passage opened up into a massive underground hall with polished stone floors, twisting pillars, and marble walls filled with hundreds of golden plaques where the dead had been laid to rest. There was a red carpet stretched through the length of the catacomb-turned-ballroom that ended at a dais where a band of harpists, cellists, and violinists played a beautiful melody.
Lining one wall was a long table filled with food from apples in hot cider, stacked towers of aged cheese and black grapes, and ham slices slathered in dark cherry glaze. On the other wall was a long table arranged with crystal glasses filled with the darkest wine I’d ever seen. The mix of cinnamon and apples and wine filled the ballroom with the most pleasant aromas.
Rose petals and fall leaves were lightly scattered on the floor, swirling under full skirts as people spun through the hall in a slow dance.
It was all the most magnificent thing I’d ever seen and I wanted to stop to take it all in, but Lucien raised his chin at the extravagant display as if it meant nothing. I knew that even he had never been to an event so brilliant, though. The thing was, with nobles, they never wanted to appear impressed by each other. They were in a constant, deceptively polite battle to upstage one another.
As we began walking the hall, I noticed a few people standing at the food tables, their masks lifted onto their heads so they could snack on the lavish foods.
If the Count of Norbrook wanted to make a statement, he was getting his point across. I was not well-socialized, but I was a reader and a listener and I knew that most of the attendees were there for one reason. To meet the mysterious count and gain his favor. Lucien was one of those people. Me? I just wanted to see every inch of the beautiful masquerade and listen to the music.
Lucien stopped just short of the dance area, looking over people’s heads as if searching for something.
