Lyric shakes his head, rather stunned.
“It only requires occasional external and aesthetic design treatments to maintain this pleasing young mask.”
Ah, yes, Lyric realizes. People here do wear masks. Apostatical, seamless masks. He may never see a real face in all his time here. A fissure of anxiety tingles across his stomach, but he stuffs it away. “When Iriset and Lyric… arrived,” Lyric says carefully, “a chimera was there. Alliraptor, and human, perhaps more. Does Amado the Reconciler know of such a chimera?”
The small king tilts his head, and in the setting sun a shimmer streaks along his eyeline. Makeup, or design. Amado says, “There are several chimeras living in the sanctuary of the Moon-Eater’s gardens. Perhaps this chimera is one of them.”
“It would be good to thank the chimera for helping,” Lyric says quietly, though that is not really what he wants.
“Ask a gardener, perhaps, or someone who spends more time here. Has Lyric made any connections within the fortress already?”
Before Lyric can decide to affirm or deny the information fishing, a cheerful voice calls out from above, “Amado!”
Lyric looks directly up to see a figure floating—flying?—in the air above the water feature.
“Old Fairy,” Amado greets, raising a hand.
(In Old Sarenpet there tend to be multiple proper names for everything, and nicknames abound, given the necessity of calling everything by some form of address in speech and writing. Since the start of the reign of the Moon-Eater, habits have tended moreand more toward grandiose and melodramatic naming conventions, made worse by the humor and encouragement of the Moon-Eater himself, who goes by all sorts of appellations: the Red God, Sky’s Eclipse, Amethyst Beast, Fairy of Death, Old Fairy, and interestingly, the Screamer. He’s the Moon-Eater, too, of course, and might flirtatiously welcome nicknames like beloved and lover, true-heart or honey-kiss, but he has not introduced himself as Shade to anyone in several hundred years.)
“Filling the ears of Lyric Aharté with gossip and sedition?” The Moon-Eater sinks down through the air, alighting on one of the mossy islands with one pointed toe. He hangs there, arms relaxed but spread to either side. The casual power is stunning. He appears as a youth, coltish long limbs and knobby knees and elbows exposed by the pleated skirt and sleeveless vest he wears. His black hair is pulled in a messy tail high on his head, and he’s made his skin a soft, cool brown. But his eyes are vivid mirané red.
Amado bows his head. “Merely getting to know one another.”
“Amado is a good person to know,” the Moon-Eater tells Lyric with an exaggerated wink.
Lyric glances between the two; he never would throw a word like sedition around without meaning it, but Amado seems unbothered.
“Now go away, Amado,” the Moon-Eater says, splashing into one of the water channels. “This old fairy is taking Lyric Aharté to dinner.”
Amado steps back, sending Lyric an amused look. “Do take up the offer to visit Chimera fortress for a meal on another day.”
“Yes,” Lyric agrees, distracted by the stomping of the Moon-Eater as he kicks and splashes his way through the formerly peaceful water labyrinth.
Amado withdraws with the two bodyguards, unhurried, and Lyric folds his hands together, breathing calmly through the unsettledanxiety prickling at him. His fingertips tingle.Historically that old fairy vaporizes anyone caught wearing skin and eyes and hair like Lyric Aharté.
When the Moon-Eater hops out of the water, Lyric manages not to flinch. The Moon-Eater lands so that Lyric must turn directly into the setting sun. He can’t help a slight wince, glancing away to the shadows stretching across the gardens. And there in the melting sky is the slivered moon, growing brighter pink-silver as the light of the sun fades. ItisLyric’s moon, even if it does not belong so near the horizon.
The Moon-Eater plants his fists on his hips and cocks his head so the fluffy hair swings childishly. Lyric holds his feelings and thoughts in a tight grip. “Moon-Eater,” he says quietly.
“Aharté,” the boy answers, then his face splits into a wide grin with extra layers of teeth. “What were you doing?”
“Speaking with Amado the Reconciler. Before that, meditating.”
The Moon-Eater wrinkles his mouth and nose, displeased. “Why?”
“Your fortress, your city presumably, is very loud and chaotic.”
“Compared to where you come from?” the Moon-Eater says slyly.
“Compared to where I come from,” Lyric agrees. Then says no more.
The Moon-Eater laughs. “Do you think your talented wife will tell me?”
Lyric pulls his lips in a thin line. Iriset probably will tell this red god anything he wants to know if he’ll let her explore the farthest horizons of apostasy. She’ll tell the Moon-Eater to run away so he can never be unraveled.
But the Moon-Eater bursts into delighted laughter, bending over in his mirth. “I’m joking! Joking! Ha ha!” he says, holding his belly. “Never already told me.” Then suddenly the Moon-Eater goes still. Inhumanly still. In a cold, quiet voice he adds, “Everything.”
The vague, unsettled anxiety under Lyric’s skin coalesces violently into fear. The Moon-Eater’s eyes don’t even glisten; his face is as smooth as glass. His hair moves in a million tiny directions, but nothing else hints at life. This is a monster, Lyricfeelsit. He can’t escape. He can only stand there trapped in the focus of this predator, and keep his breathing as smooth as a fountain.
