T
here are no silk ties keeping the mask of black satin and feathers — pulled from his own wings — pressed snugly against the Illusionist’s cheekbones. A carefully maintained stream of telekinesis did the job much more artfully, and the effect is mildly unnerving. Under the weak glow of the summer moon, the mask looks as if it is a part of him, satin melting into skin. Perhaps it does not even come off. Perhaps he has always had it on.
♢ ♦︎ ♢
The stifling night air hums with eager anticipation as Caine stands silently at the fringes of the gathered crowd, more out of habit than anything else. Loathe as he is of crowds — he has never felt truly at ease in the midst of jostling bodies, no matter how many times he’s had to act just the opposite for the sake of a job — tonight he is as curious as the rest of them for the spectacle that is the maze.
When the Night Court’s newest Sovereign steps out from the darkness between one blink and the next, Caine adds one more item to the night’s list of curiosities.
Isra of the sea, who speaks stories like music and wields magic like illusion. He has heard the rumors. It is a different thing entirely to finally see the source of them.
“Above all be brave, and remember how to dream.”
A half-smile flits like a shadow across Caine's masked features at the Night Queen’s parting words. How I wish I knew how. His silver eyes shine darkly with something much more than curiosity when they lock keenly on Isra’s ocean blues. But you, Queen Isra. I wonder what you dream of.
Because how wonderful her dreams must be, for her to conjure them into such dazzling reality.
(Caine has conjured dreams too. The difference is, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, they had always turned into nightmares.)
He is one of the last to enter the maze. His smile eerily hollow, Caine does not hesitate in his step when he turns down the abyssal darkness of the fourth path.
For in darkness he was born, and to darkness he shall return.
FOURTH PATH
