His robes looked outdated, the sash too wide by a generation, and his sandals were mismatched. He was too tall to be a child, but he darted about the festival like one—or rather, like someone who wasn’t supposed to be here. Oddest of all was his hair, streaked with green.
The kite competition would begin soon, and my brothers were waiting. But I wanted a better look at the boy’s mask.
It was blue, with silver whiskers and scarlet horns. He was fast, scurrying about like a lizard, and even greedier than I was when it came to the food.
Everything in the vendors’ stalls was free, offered by the craftsmen to advertise their wares, but it wasn’t polite to take more than one or two plates at a time. This boy was taking at least five. How he managed to balance them on his arm was impressive, but if he kept up like this, the vendors would ban him from seeking more. And now he was angling after the fried lotus root.
I shook my head.Novice.
“I suggest you skip the lotus,” I said, going up to him. “Everyone knows it’s the worst dish at the festival.”
I thought I’d surprised him, but he merely winked, a pair of red eyes glittering behind his mask. “Then I’ll take yours.”
Before I could respond to his audacity, Hasho reappeared at my side, finally finding me. “Shiori, are you coming back? It’s nearly time for the kite cere—”
The boy’s foot suddenly shot out, tripping my brother before he could finish.
Hasho stumbled. As he fell forward, grabbing me to steady his balance, a green sleeve whirled across my side and snatched the bag of sweet potatoes from under my arm.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Thief! Thief—”
The words hardly made it past my lips. Hasho and I toppled over each other, my half-eaten plates scattering across the street.
“Your Highnesses!” people cried. Hands outstretched to help Hasho and me up, a crowd gathering to make sure we weren’t hurt.
I barely noticed. My attention was on the masked boy.
“You’re not getting away so easily,” I muttered, scanning past the onlookers. I spotted him edging along the outskirts of the gaming tents, then disappearing into the bushes. He moved even faster than Benkai, his steps so light they left no imprint on the soft summer grass. I started after him, but Hasho grabbed my wrist.
“Shiori, where are you—”
“I’ll be back in time for the competition,” I said, wriggling my hand away.
Ignoring Hasho’s protests, I rushed after the boy in the dragon mask.
CHAPTER FOUR
I found him sitting on a rock, devouring a bag of honeyed sweet potatoes.
Mybag of sweet potatoes.
Its scent wafted into the air, sharpening the hunger in my belly—and the anger rising in my fists.
I meant to accuse him of thievery, to sling a hundred different insults and curse him to the bottom of Mount Nagawi—but as soon as I saw him up close, different words came out of my mouth:
“Aren’t you a little too old to be wearing a mask?”
He didn’t look surprised that I’d followed him, or angry. Instead, a familiar grin slid across his mouth. I couldn’t place where I’d seen it before.
“What is that?” he rasped, pointing at the wooden bowl under my arm.
“Rice cakes.”
He took off his mask and reached for them. “Delicious,” he said, crunching on the snack.
If not for the vibrant band of red around his pupils, so familiar yet so strange, I would have knocked the bowl out of his hands. But startled, I let go.
“Don’t eat them all—”
