The bloodmasque begins at nightfall. Set in the city of Nost, within the walls of the local warlord’s own estate, it’s either the stupidest place for a bloodmasque Rakos has ever seen, or the smartest.
Nost occupies a fan-shaped slice of land, with straight edges to the east and north framed by the Nostic canyon and the Friendly Forest. Twisted with wild magic leaching from the scalestone mountains, the forest’s proximity can make magic unpredictable. Consequently, Nost’s mages excel in protection and containment.
Margrave Komar’s estate sits along the canyon, where House Komar can control incoming air traffic from dragons landing in the complex canyon system. The margrave was smart enough not to host the bloodmasque in her manor fortress itself. A massive, black-walled labyrinth spreads behind her manor, surrounded by rolling fog. Orange and violet flames race along the tops of the walls, bringing out an eerie red luster in the stone. Rakos can’t see too deeply into the fog, but he thinks the labyrinth borders on the canyon itself.
The far side of the Nostic canyon rises higher than the near side. In the darkness, shapes move along the angular rocks. Rakos’s heart leaps, but at this distance, he can’t identify any of the dragons.
“Are you all right?” Bell asks at his elbow.
Rakos pastes on a grin, then recalls he’s wearing a mask. “Never better.”
He has two goals tonight: keep an eye on Bell and interrogate anyone he recognizes. He’s not sure how he’ll manage both, and this entire thing is likely to be a disaster. But all his potential plans sound stupid, so improvisation is his best bet.
Carriages aren’t permitted too close to the labyrinth, and all the guests have to walk the quarter-mile distance from the margrave’s courtyard to the labyrinth. Several women and a few men walk barefoot, dangling heeled slippers from their hands.
“This is more elaborate than I expected,” Bell says, wide-eyed behind his own mask. “How many people are here?”
They stop twenty feet from the entrance while a larger group of revelers pauses to speak with the guards. A squad of four drasgard stand guard beneath the archway. Jagged stone teeth line the archway like a giant maw.
“As many nobles as can spare their time and reputation,” Rakos says. “The last bloodmasque was ten years ago. Weirdly, most blood mages settle their grievances without public brawls.”
“Is it dangerous?” Bell asks.
“There are no weapons or unauthorized magic allowed on the premises,” Rakos says, “Which mostly means the noble assholes are more subtle than usual. So, if you see anything weird and sparkly coming your way…”
“Run?”
“Jump behind me.”
Rakos dips down to kiss Bell before remembering he’d opted for a full-face mask. Bell laughs and dodges the carved white lips.
They’re both considerably underdressed compared to the other revelers. Behind them, Merry and Teodor are decked out in piles of sheer silk and skin-tight leather, respectively. Rakos and Bell just have the same clothes they wore to the Orthin festival, with the addition of masks purchased from another caravan merchant. Rakos’s is a full mask, with only holes for his eyes and a thin breathing slit between the carved lips. Bell’s is a half mask, also white, obscuring his face from the bridge of his nose upward.
They left Bastard with Petunia for the night, along with a silver for the trouble.
The late fall chill recedes as they approach the onyx wall. The drasgard at the door wear their own masks, carved in black scale patterns. One guard makes eye contact with Rakos, and Rakos’s hand itches for the knife in his boot. If anyone recognizes him, weapon restrictions are the least of his worries.
But Teodor appears at Rakos’s shoulder, and the guard’s eyes widen behind his mask. He murmurs something in another guard’s ear and vanishes down a side hall.
“Was he a client?” Rakos asks.
“Who knows?” Teodor says. “I don’t remember cowards.”
After a cursory inspection, the remaining drasgard wave them through. Identical onyx walls rise around them, and gargoyles loom at every corner, jaws outstretched and eyes set with glittering purple rocks.
Bell turns back and forth as they walk, taking everything in. “Who are they trying to impress?”
“Impress?” Rakos asks.
“This whole thing is magic. The walls. The fire. This labyrinth wasn’t built. It was transfigured.”
Rakos frowns. “Does it hurt your eyes?”
Bell shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. It’s just bright, not like… Well, I’ve been to more annoying parties.” He steps towards the nearest gargoyle. “Wow, is that scalestone in his eyes?”
“Stabilizing the enchantment, yeah. Come on, the party’s this way.”
Bell’s eyes remain wide as Rakos leads him down the hall. Maybe bringing Bell wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Rakos is fascinated by Bell’s fascination in the world around him.
