“It’s uncommon here to name your children after others in the same family, unless they’ve long passed on. Individuality is lost in the uniformity of tradition. You see this nomenclature primarily in families with a generational trade, such as theirs. It becomes a part of their legacy as much as their work.”
“Do you have family names?”
Acheron shook his head.
“Doesn’t it get confusing?”
“To differentiate us from others of the same name, we either have reputational or ancestral cognomens. I am both Acheron of the Twilight Lakeshore and Acheron, son of Laxius, son of Ibera. Either will lead only to me. If I’m in your world, I’ll sometimes use Acheron Riven, but it’s more for the comfort of others.”
Every time someone spoke Laxius’s name, it brought him closer to being real, but how had she not met him yet? Would not the arrival of his daughter be important to him? Was he really still resting?
And someone named Ibera was Acheron’s mother, which cleared up some of Elloven’s confusion. If she had it right, that meant she, Acheron, and Gennady shared a father, while only she and Gennady had the same mother. It at least explained why she’d left Acheron behind.
“So, Acheron, our father?—”
He brought a finger to his lips with a devious grin. “Watch.”
What must have been a hundred torches winked to light at once. Elloven gasped, glancing at both Estelar and Acheron in wonder, but neither seemed affected.
A tall man in a velvet suit and a curved top hat spread his arms in front of the closed curtain. “Before we begin, we must open the veil between the worlds and let our stories flow with the vitalities of the spirits!”
Cheers and applause followed, though no one in her box did more than politely clap. She settled on a reaction somewhere in the middle.
“We have seen this show before, have we not?”
“We have!” chanted the crowd.
“We know why we must watch this show, do we not?”
“We do!”
A chill ripped down Elloven’s spine at the familiar cadence of the announcer.
“We use these nights to remind us what there is to lose, and how far we can fall, is that so?”
“It is so!”
“Very well.” The announcer bowed, his waistcoat lifting so high in the back, it seemed he would topple forward. “Let us not waste another moment wondering!”
With a screech of wheels and a roll of thunder from the curtain’s weight, the velvet slowly parted, revealing a modest set. The left and right sides of the stage were darkly lit, but a dozen lumens hung just above a tilt barrier for jousts. Nearby was a rack of lances. The back wall was painted to look like an audience.
When the announcer’s voice rang out, he was no longer visible. “There were once four millworkers of different ages and burdens, all of them strangers to each other, until one fateful night. On that night, millworker Fenway murdered the foreman in a fit of rage when his hours were reduced because of poor work.”
The crowd booed.
“The other three could have gone on with their lives, just as they were, had they not aided him in concealing the brutal crime. But they, as well, loathed the foreman. They, as well, were indolent laborers who knew their hours would be next on the cut. They had a choice, and they chose the path of darkness.”
A billow of smoke filled the stage. Elloven’s inhale was loud amid the following silence, but not so loud she didn’t hear Dasha snickering.
When the smoke cleared, there were four marionettes standing in a row along the back. Their arms moved with the wires, and they bent neatly at the waist to bow at the crowd, who booed even louder. They seemed so agile and lifelike, the wires more hindrance than a help.
“Will murderer one please step forward on the left. Murderer two on the right!” called the announcer. On cue, two of the puppets moved in a disturbing tangle of joints and limbs lifting and falling. Acheron sanded his hands together in anticipation.
“Aelloven,” Estelar said quietly. “Relax and enjoy yourself. This is entertainment. Nothing more.”
Everyone around her seemed to agree, but the whole thing made her terribly uneasy. She just couldn’t say why.
The fictional murderers each picked a lance.
