little flowers really did sprout from under the transparent skin of the ladies, or if it was just an illusion. Only she dared not ask Fresia that question. She might just laugh in response. For she knew all she knew for certain. But Rhianon could only guess at what guests in non-human societies might be like. But if Freesia was to be believed, the owner of this house was human. She spotted him in the center of the hall, just as he was greeting guests. He and his wife and children were unmasked. Though a small group of guests in well-made masquerade costume stood beside them, Rhianon knew at once that they were only human. People like the master of the house and his family, who had been called here on this particular night by accident or on purpose. For some reason Rhianon felt pity for them, and she didn’t even know why. Of course, it could be explained by the fact that in their usual costumes, sewn by mere mortal tailors, they looked too shabby in comparison to the gathering of unearthly guests. Rhianon looked questioningly at Fresia.
«What would happen next?»
The fairy squeezed her hand tightly.
«Don’t ask questions. You do not want them to know that you were not privy to their plans, do you?»
Rhianon shuddered. What does that mean? Isn’t she being mistaken for one of their own here? Or does it stand out all too well that she is human? But after all, the dress she is wearing and the jewels in her hair are fairy creation. Hasn’t Fresia tried to make Rhianon look like them and even better than them. Did she not bring her here as a last-minute treat. At the end of the masquerade, when it is time to remove the masks, Fresia will announce to everyone that her companion is only human.
Rhianon looked once more at Chloe. She was already flirting animatedly with some strangers and expressing her excitement at someone’s particularly well-done masks. Both her condemnation and unconcealed admiration seemed to be expressed directly, like a child’s. She could not bring herself to pretend or lie. It wasn’t inherent in humans, but she wasn’t human. And she didn’t see Rhianon as a victim at all. Although on the other hand, maybe she was used to her friend picking up here and there her companions for the night to get rid of them in the morning. And Chloe herself was simply indifferent to these temporary companions. She probably lost count of them.
«Where have I got to,» Rhianon wondered if it would be possible to find ways to retreat, but ahead of her in the middle of it already seemed to begin to unfold the drama. No one was paying any attention to Rhianon herself yet. The guests, however, were encircling the host in a tight ring, and that ring was narrowing. How many of them were there, all dressed in fabulous costumes? Rhianon tried to count them, and felt dizzy. The counting seemed to only make more of them.
Could someone from the School of Witchcraft be here? A hunch struck her suddenly, and Rhianon began to look around. A couple in black caught her eye. The lady and the gentleman were conspiringly dressed in dark colors, and they stood out sharply in the crowd. They looked strange amidst the riot of color, but elegant all the same. White lace was gracefully woven into black velvet and silk. It looked like an ornament, and there seemed to be some symbols lost in its weaving. Not just a pattern… Rhianon squinted to get a better look. The two were standing too far away from her, but a cavalier in exactly the same black camisole could also be seen beside her. They were black velvet and white lace. It was like a uniform. Had Orpheus told her that the School of Witchcraft had its own uniform? Rhianon strained her memory, but remembered nothing of the sort. Orpheus generally tried not to talk particularly much about the School of Black Arts. He did not talk about the other students in it at all. Rhianon looked once more at the stranger, and she thought that even under the black mask she recognized the same condemned man who had left her a star. It was only an illusion, of course. The blond hair, scattered across the dark collar, seemed so familiar, but the face beneath the mask was as if it didn’t exist at all.
Just for a moment she was embarrassed. She didn’t like how long and attentive his gaze was. He continued to stare at her even as the attention of everyone present turned to the host of the reception.
Fresia pushed her under the elbow.
«Look!»
Rhianon watched as several graceful women brought a basket full of grapes to the hosts. The gift must have been symbolic. But what it meant.
«From our fields…» explained the girl in red whose hair and cleavage were also adorned with miniature tassels of grapes. Only whether the berries were made of jewels or whether the vines grew straight from her hands and scalp. Rhianon did not know; she could not get a closer look, nor could she hear all the remarks, as only scraps of phrase came to her. The master was saying something, frightened. He did not want to accept the gift, but the guests insisted. They wished that all his family could taste their fruit from the basket covered with leaves.
«Imagine him as a lord, not a country gent,» said Freesia with a chuckle. «And he can’t behave himself.»
Rhianon glanced over her shoulder and noticed the grapes rolling rapidly across the floor from the basket and seeming to turn into something else. One berry rolled so far that it fell right under her feet. For some reason Rhianon really didn’t want it to touch the hem of her dress. It glistened on the floor between her shoes, like a real ruby. Just a moment and that ruby spread across the floor in a living, sizzling juice. Rhianon clutched at Fresia’s arm and picked up her own hem. She saw the juice of the disintegrated grape burn through the floor, and small insect-like creatures swarming inside it.
«Don’t be silly, no one’s forcing you to eat it,» Freesia hissed at her. Rhianon backed away, watching the other berries warily. They rolled off across the marble floor like hard stones. It seemed as if they were bouncing between shoes and hemlines of polished round rubies.
Rhianon grimaced dismissively. What could be with those who tasted it. The piteous cries told her that before she could look. Something strange was already happening to all the people in the center of the reception; they were falling to the floor, whimpering, as if they were being burned from within. Rhianon saw the blood mixing with the crushed berries on the floor. And the fairies were laughing. Their laughter made their ears ring.
«Why is it?» She asked Fresia quietly, so that the others could not hear.
«He used to cheat us out of our fields and pay us no taxes,» Fresia explained.
«You mean us?» Rhianon didn’t immediately realize that the term generalized everyone here, even her. It was as if she was already among them, and all because no one had noticed she was an outsider. And what would happen when they noticed.
She tried not to look frightened, but a shiver ran down her spine. Watching the carnage begin was hard. Rhianon had never thought that all it took to kill was a touch of hands, fangs, and claws, not hard steel. Some creature only remotely resembling a disembodied lady merely touched the last survivors. They were children, unformed teenagers, crying, unaware of what was happening to them. The fairy only pretended to want to caress them, but the light touch of her fingers opened a network of sores on their bodies. The sores would appear and burst, and nasty parasites would crawl out of them, tearing the clothes on their already dying bodies.
«And then the masquerade begins?» Rhianon asked softly when she saw the fairy take the masks off the dying men and throw them into the fireplace.
«No, it is not at all,» Fresia ran her fingers playfully over her shoulders and leaned close to her ear to whisper, «we won’t need masks after that. After all, there’s no one else to hide from.»
Even if that was a joke, it was a good one. Several of the fairies had already thrown off their bows, bravely displaying
