The moment the words had left Lucy's mouth, chaos within the tent ensued.
"It's impossible!" the cat had begun to say, his next words interrupted as the goat bleated in excitement.
"Oh an act of the truest love, how wonderful! Never mind what Oz says-- I'm certain both you and your lover will be reunited--"
"It's against the rules of the carnival!"
"But it's true love!"
The two argued for a moment more, yet in the end the Cat finally conceded and with much excitement Mabel led Lucy from the tent and out into the carnival once more.
"You shall have to speak to the carnival master of such things." she said as they walked along the branching path of onyx, "He knows of such things."
With that she said nothing more, and Lucy followed both creatures in an anxious silence till at last they came to a tent
It was a dark mass amidst the others; black velvet with no distinct design embroidered upon it, the entrance parted wide where Lucy peered into its interior. For though plain in an elegant manner, it seemed to be a tent of pleasures and little else with silk pillows and cushions lining the floor and tabled that sat low to the ground, laden with food.
Here was where Mabel led her at last, the shadow of the vast tent overtaking them as they stepped within and looked within its center. And in the midst of it all, sprawled languidly on a black dais with a cup of wine in hand, was a man Lucy could only assume was the grand carnival master.
He certainly looked pompous enough for such a title.
The stranger appeared otherworldly in his own right; a young man about her own age, with silken black hair that flowed past his shoulders in gentle waves, his features devastatingly beautiful.
His lips were thin and pale, tugging at the corners into a grin full of wicked mischief. His brow was strong, darkly overshadowing two pale eyes that glittered with a look she couldn't quite read. And though he was handsome beyond something mortal, there was an air of treacherousness to him that Lucy found within the smooth, cold planes of his face.
Much like the cat, he wore a waistcoat as well-- black ornate fabric tailored to fit him snugly across delicate shoulders. And though he did not wear a top hat, upon his head perched a mask in the shape of a raven's skull, pushed upwards as though he had become annoyed with it resting upon his face.
Yet with the removal of such a mask, Lucy was able to see his eyes clearly, pale and silver like the light of the moon.
He seemed rather bored as she approached, his lashes fluttering sleepily as he lazily eyed her up and down. "Yes?"
"My name is Lucy Caramonte," Lucy began, a spark of annoyance pricking in her chest at his dismissive nature, "I've come to you about some keys--"
"Oh you have, have you?" His previously tired expression was now alight with apparent amusement, and though he was interested in what she had to say, she doubted that he would take her point in seriousness.
With that, he leaned forward, so close Lucy could see every woven detail in his waistcoat, every strand of silken black hair, the very air around him perfumed with the light scent of orchids and lavender. "And where did you hear of something such as that?" His voice was of a gentle yet teasing cadence-- as though he knew a secret no one else did, taunting them-- and holding to it a near sing-song quality.
"I..." Lucy struggled for the words then, knowing that her answer would sound rather foolish. "I heard it in a story. About the carnival."
The pale eyes behind the mask lit up and upon his lips Lucy saw a teasing grin tug at the corner of his mouth in a condescending manner. "Ah, a story! A tale for children that wraps a tragedy of a god and a mortal lover nicely together. No doubt they spoke of the keys, did they not?"
Lucy nodded.
"And surely they must have spoken that such keys might open the gate and allow your lover to return to the world of the living? How quaint. Yet my dear I must tell you that such stories spare the gentle hearts of children. You would be a fool to believe them, and even more a fool to act on such childish dreams."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean simply that a story for children will not speak of the terrors of such a game; of the lives lost and the blood shed in its midst. They will not speak of those who compete against one another. The lovers murdering other lovers in cold blood just for a single step closer to one of the keys. They do not speak of the nightmares and the horrors. Thus, Miss Caramonte, I would suggest that should you accept to play this game it ought to be only if your love is true."
With this last phrase there came an edge to the carnival master's voice and Lucy fought to keep from breaking eye contact, worried it might give away her every lie.
They ought to have mentioned the horrors at least, she thought. Yet nevertheless her guilt was horror enough, and she was willing to do whatever it took to make matters right again.
For though she did not love the Baron, he didn't deserve this. He hadn't asked for any of this. And thus she had to make it alright again.
"I-- I do love him." she replied, forcing the lie from her lips as smoothly as she could hope to.
"You do?" the man taunted, perhaps catching the manner in which her words stumbled over one another, a laugh poised on the edge of his tongue. "You sound quite uncertain. Surely a woman willing to go through such dangers of the night must do so for only the deepest and truest of loves. Now then, there shall be no room for such stupid uncertainty. Out with it then, Miss-- tell us all how much you love this man that you'd be willing to die within these very tents. Make us believe you, darling."
"I..." Lucy trailed off then, feeling the eyes of everyone around her bore holes deep into her. And though try as she might to keep the gaze of the carnival master she found herself glancing away as her cheeks flushed scarlet, her eyes roaming once more to the small crowd that had gathered before the entrance to the tent... The familiar face of the Baron peering over those that stood before him, his expression curious as he watched her, her previous escape form his presence having been seemingly forgotten.
Yet the lingering stare of the young man before her remained, her skin prickling with its presence. His eyes laughed at her, challenging her every word, a knowing look within that was aware of the power this man held in the room.
It angered her, that smug and mocking expression. And with the pressure of every gaze within the room locked upon her, including the Baron's own, expectantly awaiting her answer, she felt such anger bubble upwards. "I don't know how you think you have the right to keep lovers away from one another and then question its validity! You're a horrid beast of a man that rules over the dead and torments the living with stupid games. You've been absolutely wretched since the moment I've arrived and what's more you're a-- a--" she struggled for the words then, "A dreadful, blithering idiot!"
The room fell into a terrible silence then and from the corner of her eye Lucy saw Mabel place a hoof to her mouth in shock.
Yet the carnival master merely leaned back within his chair, regarding her now with something more; a calculated expression that bit into her very soul, reading it as one might read words upon a page. "
"You know, my grandmother warned me of men like you."
The grin never left his lips. "Your grandmother was right, and she was a fool to let you come here."
She turned to go then, her anger pushing her steps forward and out of the tent into the coolness of the night once more.
Insufferable-- absolutely insufferable man! Why it was a wonder he could have anyone come to his carnival at all, and most of them were only there because they were dead anyway. They no doubt had no choice in the matter.
She released a heavy sigh then, allowing the cooling touch of the autumn breeze to sooth her annoyance, the anger fading at last till she could think clearly. Yet when at last it had vanished altogether, another thought struck her mind, the carnival master's face coming once more to her memory.
Those eyes, pale like the light of the moon... She had seen them before on the face of a boy so many years ago.
The eyes of a boy with a raven's mask.
.........................................................
YOU ARE READING
The Mortal And The Wicked-- ONC 2023
FantasyONC 2023 Shortlister His features had haunted her for years; a boy with silver eyes peering out from beneath a mask of bone. His body cloaked in darkness, a wicked grin upon his lips that spoke of treachery-- a smile that had broken countless hearts...
