Joshua's voice calling my name grew thinner.
"Magnus…"
"Magnus!!"
Then nothing.
Just wind moving through leaves.
The big wooden doors, the masks, the press of bodies and perfume, all gone. Instead, tall pines stood shoulder to shoulder, their needles soft under my feet. The air tasted cold and clean, like snow that hadn't fallen yet. Each breath felt easy, and full.
For the first time in years my shoulders dropped.
Laughter drifted between the trees, bright, unguarded, the kind that only happens when no one is watching. I moved toward it without deciding to, boots silent on the wet ground.
I eased around a thicket of hazel and stopped.
Firelight flickered across four faces.
A man crouched, feeding sticks to the flames, sleeves rolled to the elbow and his forearms streaked with soot. Beside him a woman sat cross-legged, mending a torn cuff. Two boys, maybe nine and six, leaned into each other, sharing a blanket, their cheeks red from the heat. Their clothes were patched, mud-stained, worn almost threadbare. None of it mattered. They were laughing at something small and something private.
The sound filled me with warmth.
The man suddenly turned his head and our
eyes met.
His intense brown eyes stared back at mine, his slightly crooked nose catching the light of the fire.
My knees buckled as I fell to the ground.
The smell of woodsmoke vanished.
Polished brickwork returned under my palms. Murmuring voices, suffocating perfume and the faint smell of cigar smoke.
Joshua's boots slapped the floor as he reached me.
"Magnus."
His hands were on my shoulders, pulling urgently.
"Brother, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.
Father's face still burned in my head. But that woman…
Her features kept slipping. Her dark hair pinned back. The light in her green eyes. The way she tilted her head when one of the children spoke. The way she laughed.
I knew that laugh.
I should know it.
My skull throbbed with pain. My mind screamed at the blank space where her name belonged. It was a memory… I was certain of it.
"Brother, this is not the place to show weakness," Joshua urged, his voice low and urgent. behind the frozen clown mask his eyes stared forward in concern.
"Stop looking at me like I'm about to crack," I hissed.
Joshua's grip tightened for half a second. "I'm looking because you are cracking."
I looked up to find a hundred masks staring.
Lions, deer and doves. Gold, silver and diamonds. Their eyes were filled with curiosity but no concern. Or no real one in the sense of it.
These were the elites. The real elites.
"I'm fine," I whispered, slowly pushing Joshua's hand away. The countdown, Layla and now this vision. It felt like I was being torn apart from within.
"I'm fine." I whispered again as I pushed Joshua's still lingering hand away.
We made our way into the castle. A makeshift, custom-made decontamination chamber was erected just behind the door. That was new, I had never seen one in a castle before.
A group of guards stood at the far end.
"What's wrong, Magnus?" Joshua's voice was low beneath the hiss of the decontamination chamber. "You're vibrating. More than usual."
I didn't answer. I watched the mist swirl around the frozen curve of my mask.
"Invitations, please," a guard asked the moment we stepped out of the chamber.
He was a seven-foot muscular man, his skin a rich ivory colour. A semi-automatic rifle hung from his hip. Behind him, the others shifted, their hands hovering near their belts.
"Your invitations, sir," he repeated. His voice had lost its professional tone, replaced by rising suspicion.
I didn't have the patience for a charade. I stepped forward. The temperature in the room dropped until the guard's breath hitched in a cloud of white.
I reached out and gripped his shoulder.
His eyes widened, then glazed over as a film of frost crept across his irises. His neurons slowed, his mind clogged, his very atoms came to a sudden halt. The frost spread to the other guards, slowing them down as well.
The silence lasted a heartbeat.
His eyes cleared, but the light behind them was gone.
"You may go in," he droned. He stepped aside, his movements slow and fluid like a sleepwalker. I nodded and made my way past them.
The great hall was as lavish as expected.
Giant chandeliers dripped with enough crystal to buy a city block, their light flickering against the Elizabethan stonework.
From the shadows of the vaulted ceiling, massive drapes fell in heavy velvet folds. Waiters drifted through the mass of bodies like ghosts, balancing trays of vintage champagne on their fingertips. The air was a thick, suffocating mess of expensive perfume and the low drone of rich people gossip.
"You killed them," Joshua said. His voice was flat, devoid of its usual playfulness.
"What?"
"The guards, Magnus. You just killed those men."
He turned his head, his gaze fixed on the glass chamber behind us. Through the transparency, the guards stood like statues. A crowd of guests was already beginning to pile up at the exit of the decontamination chamber, their muffled murmurs of discontent rising.
"You froze their brains over," Joshua whispered. "They're brain-dead before they even hit the floor."
"We needed a way in," I lied.
The words were forced. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my overcoat, hiding my shaking hands. My powers, something was wrong with them. A touch on the shoulder should have done a simple mind wipe.
"Don't tell me you've suddenly grown a conscience, Joshua. That would be disappointing."
Joshua let out a short, sharp laugh that echoed hollowly behind his clown mask. "Disappointing? No. It's just been a while since I've seen you like this. The Northern Wind has returned."
At the mention of the title, the world blurred.
The countdown invaded my vision. Sixteen days. The image of Layla, her face covered in blood. The shield walls, the screaming men, the tsunami of snow. My father feeding a fire in contentment. It all surged forward, threatening to tear my brains to ribbons.
"Magnus?"
The voice was real and it cut through the vision.
I looked up.
A woman was coming down the grand staircase, her red evening gown trailing over the marble behind her. She had a beautiful jade fox mask, but I could see her blue eyes from behind it.
"I told you you'd recognise us," I said, grateful for the intrusion. She walked over to us and grabbed a bottle of champagne from a waiter. She turned to Joshua. "Why exactly do you have a clown mask on?"
"It's a form of poetry."
"Poetry," she tilted her head. "Or you just like making people uncomfortable."
"Both can be true, darling," Joshua replied with a mocking bow.
"Ahh," she replied. "How so?"
"The fool. The jester.
Heads forward with a lie,
But the scoffer lowers with a smile.
But beware the jingling of my bells,
For from behind them
The devil dwells."
He adjusted his cuffs, no doubt very pleased with himself.
"Did you just make that?" Catherine asked, a hint of admiration in her voice.
"Yes," he shamelessly lied. That was a piece from my father's jester a few centuries ago.
"It's the story…" The heavy ringing of a bell echoed through the hall, interrupting my brother's false tale. At the top of the stairs a man appeared. Old, regal and dressed in a soldier's suit.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Derony… I present Sir Marticc Altican."
A tall figure stepped forward, his face covered in a jade fox mask, identical to Catherine's.
"His son, Luis. And his daughter… Layla."
A young man step forward beside the tall figure, his blonde hair shining in the light of the chandeliers, his royal suit covered in war medals. He too sported a fox mask.
But he was not the star of the night. The lady in the red flowing ball dress was.
I was certain of it now. Something big was coming.