Page 150 of The Stolen Throne
Tropikis is the farthest from Tyndra. Even more than Aryd. “I’d heard it was covered in snow.”
He grunts a sound that might be agreement. “The snows are contained to the south so far.”
Oh.
My dress is a simple sheath of some supple black material, strapless and so short that it exposes my legs and barely covers my crotch. I’ll be tugging it down and then back up over my breasts nonstop. Matching boots come up mid-thigh. A train is attached via a studded belt around my waist and has silver embroidery that matches the arm bands and gauntlets.
Well, this is…different from what I’m used to in Aryd. Showing skin there isn’t unusual, but the rest of the look is definitely a new one for me. Ten minutes later, after Omma and I had to work together to get Tabra into her costume, Bene returns from the jungles where he went to collect more sand. He’s bigger, but he’s hidden all the various different animal features his usual form takes, including the wings, and is now shaped like a truly fearsome dog.
“The sand in the ground is buried so deep in the soil here that neither of us is going to be useful for much if we are attacked,” he warns me.
“You’ll need this.” Cain produces a mask clearly meant for a pet. But when he steps forward, Bene bares his teeth. He hands the mask to me. “You can hear him. You do it.”
I take it and put it to the Devourer’s face. The silver metal is shaped for a dog with a narrower snout. With a little growl, Bene shifts his sandy form to fit it.
“Is this truly necessary?”
I translate for the others.
“Believe me,” Cain says. “It’s necessary.”
I fiddle with the tie. “Why?”
“The Rites of Xathena are forbidden to outsiders, and we’re not wanted here. Dressing as the locals do for the festivities will allow us to blend in and move freely through the city without being stopped.” He glances at Bene. “Even dogs.”
Bene’s fur ruffles to the shooshing sound of sand blowing across dunes, and I bite back a smile. He’s not happy, but he’s not arguing now, either.
Once I’ve got him situated, I put on my own mask. Made of surprisingly light silver metal, it covers the upper part of my face with mesh cages over the eyes that I can see out of but onlookers can’t see in. The moonlike headbands crown me in halos. A delicate decorative pattern of silver holes is punched into the thin metal—a design of swirls of thick foliage, symbols of Tropikis, and coiled among the leaves and flowers is the hidden image of a cobra, raised up, hood wide, and mouth open to strike.
It reminds me a lot of the sigil of my royal house.
Beauty and death.
Like me. Like Reven. Like my sister, who is wasting away all over again.
“How do I look?” I ask. “Can you tell it’s me?”
Bene tips his head to the side, but Cain is the one to answer. “You look beautiful. Fearsome and…yeah…” He looks away, down the alley. “Beautiful.”
Um. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover this.
At his back, from where she’s sitting beside Tabra, Omma raises her brows. Warmth creeping into my face, I glance down over what I’m wearing, then adjust my mask, suddenly happy to have it. At least I don’t have to look him in the eyes. His is, appropriately, gold and decorated by suns.
“So… Why would we be here for the Rites if she’s sick?”
“Because apparently the Rites of Xathena are like a fountain of youth and healing.” Cain pulls his own mask down. “I’ll explain when we get to the palace. Follow me.”
64
Tropikis
Cain pulls Tabra to her feet and somehow manages to make it look like she’s walking while I’m pretty sure he’s basically carrying her. Bene prowls along beside Omma and me as we walk out of the alley and into the boisterous streets filled with celebrating revelers. Sure enough, we blend right in. Perfect. No one will find us among this hot crush.
The music is what strikes me first. There’s a thumping beat, guitars, and everyone singing and laughing and talking. It’s joyful and yet urgent. A true celebration. If I wasn’t dealing with everything I am, I can see how it would be easy to get caught up in the sounds and the dancing and the rejoicing.
A thousand smells fill the air. They come and go as we pass them—all sorts of foods like roasting meats and something sugary, the hearty natural plants and flowers, the vines of which cover many building sides, and sweat.
Everything is in blacks and metallics. From the little I know about the Rites, which isn’t much, in a few days, not only will everyone be unmasked, but all the black clothing will be shed in favor of brilliant colors. My own dress unbuckles at one side to reveal a bloodred version underneath, and the train flips over to expose vines covered with some kind of red tropical flowers.
