august
—« “Then he is a monster!" the Prince crowed, "and I must slay him at once. The Formula works!" »
A
ugust has never been so far from home. It took him the better part of a week to reach Delumine, traveling in a caravan with others from the Night Court. After spending the better part of the winter recuperating in a cellar (really more of a cavern, but August still held too much of a grudge to think of it with even that much generosity), it felt good to be in the fresh air, out of the city. Though he’d been at thing of buildings and comforts all his life, there was something about bedding down in the new spring grass beneath the clear stars, something about walking and grazing through dew-silver meadows, that made him think during the trip that they’d gotten it wrong, coming indoors.
But then he reached the outskirts of Delumine, and bought an ale in an old stone pub, and chalked those thoughts up to open-air fancy.
Tonight, the first of the festival, he’s spent mostly observing. Near the towering pines he let some children paint his coat in dark green and rust-colored whorls, patterns he can’t quite decipher. He’d overheard someone explain that the festival was for fertility, but he pretended not to have heard. He had, however, allowed a pretty sorrel mare to place a crown of forsythia blooms around his head, like a halo, though the vivid yellow clashed with his more subdued gold.
So he feels quite festive, as he wanders over to the fires. The horses tending them are just beginning to add the colored powers, and the familiar oranges flare blue and green and purple; for a moment he watches, mesmerized, before walking on.
When he sees Morrighan, unmistakable despite the wash of unnatural green light over her from the bewitched fire, August considers turning around. Slipping away into the jovial crowd, the crackle of wood and filter of smoke. But he has been a glutton for punishment for a while, now, and mentally steeling himself he strolls over to her, casting a quick glance around the Regent to be sure she didn’t already have her own particular brand of flame lit.
“You must feel at home here, Regent,” he says lightly, and indicates the bonfires all around them.
