Page 39 of Howling Eve

Raskyuil grunted but then sighed as he lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles gently against her cheek. “It is easy to see and judge everything that lives in the clutch of the night as evil, but it’s not the case. You must be careful and wary of your surroundings, and prepared to protect yourself, but this is always the case. Even the orcs who favor the warmth of the sun and their mountains and comfortable valleys must stay on guard. If we are attacked, we protect ourselves, but it does not make what naturally exists a bad thing even if we dislike it or even if it’s potentially dangerous. There is a complexity in the nature of everything, little mate,” he murmured, and MaryAnne bit her lip, her heart flipping uncertainly at the warmth that brimmed his eyes as he looked down at her.

Was that what she had been doing? She was haunted by nightmares of what she experienced, and in her nightmares everything nonhuman was a potential threat—something to be feared just as she had felt when she was lost to the Ravening. Even her observations of kindness among some of those among the monsters and fae that she’d met had felt more like exceptions rather than what was natural. Everything reminded her of the things that had bitten into her with terrible claws and snarled and snapped at her with mouths full of gnashing fangs.

The carnival reminded her of them most of all, clawing at her mind in the most instinctive way, because like the carnival, the creatures had emerged out of nowhere from the dark. They had been eerie ghouls as their long, pale fingers had clawed at her hiding place, trying to dig her out, screeching with hunger. That same sense of hunger seemed to hang over the carnival and among the fae who occupied it. But had her fear somehow made her prejudiced against them for no reason?

“It is wise not to trust easily, little one,” Raskyuil murmured, making her wonder if he somehow had access to her thoughts or if they were that plain on her face. “We always must be prepared for anything, but it is good to be open to the good things—the gifts—that come to us as well.”

She nodded but frowned. “What of the carnival? Are you saying that all this could be a potential for good?”

Raskyuil hesitated for a moment but nodded. “It could be. Humans come here because they can forget for a moment and enjoy a sense of peace. For some of the young ones it may be the first time that they’ve been able to enjoy it, but thereissomething wrong here. The carnival is not evil, but something has settled within it. I do not know if Elwyn is aware of it, or if he harnessed the power arrogantly without considering what it could do, or if it’s something that he is personally responsible for.” He shook his head, his eyes fastening on another group as his steps slowed near a familiar tent.

Nivira stepped out, her lips thinning as she crossed her arms over herself, a woven black shawl hanging gracefully from her body. Ayla wasn’t with her, but MaryAnne recalled that the other sister had her own dance. Nivira peered in the same direction as Raskyuil, and MaryAnne was suddenly compelled by a strong urge to see what was going on. Craning her head around the troll’s considerable bulk, her eyes widened as she saw an inhumanly pale man and woman enclose around another couple who smiled vacantly at them.

“What…” MaryAnne whispered.

“Vampires,” Raskyuil growled, interrupting her. “They usually keep to themselves in fortified nests among some of the remaining cities to the south. I wasn’t aware that some of them were splintering off and migrating north.”

“Is that a bad thing?” MaryAnne whispered fearfully.

His expression softened as he tore his gaze away from them and looked down at her, his big hand coming up to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. “Not necessarily. Remember, it’s good to be cautious but be open and withhold judgment.”

“Right, okay,” she mumbled. “I’m guessing you’ve met some good vampires then.”

Raskyuil chuckled softly. When his eyes met Nivira’s, MaryAnne had the strong suspicion she was about to be handed off to be babysat. Whatever silent communication seemed to pass between the two, her suspicion proved correct when he gently began to steer her toward the female, his eyes still trained on the vampires.

“I have met many who were honorable,” he assured her. “And these may be as well. We will see. For now, stay with Nivira. I will feel better if you are out of the way somewhere I know will be safe.”

MaryAnne swallowed and glanced over at the drya. It was the first time she was going to be completely alone with another monster other than Raskyuil, and it made the irrational part of her start to panic. An anxious look crept slowly over Raskyuil’s face, his hand clamping more firmly on her as his nostrils flared and his tail crept around her as if suddenly reluctant to be parted from her.

Nivira edged in, a look of comprehension and compassion softening the sharp, predatory angles of her face.

“It will be well, Raskyuil,” the drya murmured as she gently drew MaryAnne toward her and enclosed her within her shawl. “MaryAnne and I can have a chance to visit while you are seeing to the vampires. I can show her around the tent, and perhaps she will even see me in action as I scour the great tapestry. That will be fun, yes?”

MaryAnne realized that the question was directed toward her, and some of her anxiety eased. Nivira gave her a friendly smile and patted her arm beneath the shawl.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” MaryAnne agreed.

Raskyuil grunted doubtfully, but his nostrils flared again. He must have been satisfied enough because his tail dropped from her and he released her, even if begrudgingly.

“Stay here,” he grumbled. “This won’t take long.”

He stepped back and whirled away quickly, as if he feared that he might change his mind, and stalked through the crowd in the direction that the vampires had disappeared. Nivira hummed softly and gave her another pat.

“Do not worry. Raskyuil has this job because he is a great protector, cunning in battle, and his kind are difficult to defeat. He will return as he said. Now come inside. Would you like tea?”

Distracted sufficiently from her anxiety, MaryAnne smiled sheepishly at the drya as she allowed herself to be pulled inside. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t understand the obsession with tea.”

Nivira gave a wispy laugh. “I suppose it can seem excessive for someone who does not drink it a lot.” She shrugged, but her lips continued to tip in a smile. “Not all fae races care for it, you might be relieved to know. Forest trolls have a special magic with their tea quite preferable to the fermented swill that orcs, goblins, and mountain trolls brew. The aelves are known for their wines, as are many the nymph races who favor honeyed wines and mead. But my sister and I have a taste for tea,” she added with another chuckle. “Perhaps because it frightens people less than our true thirst.”

“Blood?” MaryAnne asked, feeling a bit faint.

Nivira inclined her head. “Just so. We don’t kill unless we are terribly ill or if instinct compels us when we are breeding and need to recover the lost nutrients. Usually a teaspoon of blood is all that is needed. We aren’t particular about the source, so we receive shipments of dried blood, and a small amount goes a long way. We simply add it to our tea, which makes our consumption easier for people to watch.”

“Not to the teapot, I hope,” MaryAnne stated uneasily, but the drya laughed again and shook her head.

“No, of course not. It is in the bottom of our teacups that we serve ourselves. Now are you sure I can’t interest you in some tea? Or perhaps you would like a tour?” Nivira asked, perking at the suggestion.

MaryAnne glanced around the murky tent curiously. “A tour would be interesting,” she admitted. “I was kind of curious what all you had in here.”

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