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“Your name and region, traveler?” inquires the russet-haired captain.
The grump yanks off my rucksack. The brunette pats down my front. My first thought is to protect Tinger. My second is of all the weapons I’m hiding. And the third is the mask hiding my ugliness. I don’t want them to remove it.
I shove them away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Now, now. There’s no call for discourtesy.” Sorrel’s lips purse with impatience. “You’re already late. Don’t make it worse.” He points to my veil. “Kindly remove that.”
“No.”
He blinks rapidly, astounded. “Unless it’s donned as a penalty for violating the Old Code, I respectfully advise that you remove your coverings.” When I don’t move, he gestures with his pen at the brunette. “Briar, might you assist our guest in lifting her guise?”
My pulse quickens. Hiding my face is stupid when the alternative could be imprisonment or worse, but the instinct to protect myself from humiliation is strong. I’m out of my league.
Each guard patrolling the battlements has a wary glint in his eye. They think I’m here to sign up for an exhibition. Maybe I should roll with it.
The brunette stands before me, his astute gaze catching fear in my eyes. Strong hands land on my shoulders from behind. The guard behind me barks, “Now is the time to show your courtesy, traveler.”
Still unable to unfreeze, I do nothing as Briar pulls out a knife and slices the string holding the veil around my face. With jerky, impatient tugs, it burns when he peels the silk from my skin. The pain seems to swell the surface of my skin, drawing awareness to every bulging feature and misshapen scar. My fingers fly to the ropy, knotted surface, and I cringe.
Their lips part. Their eyes widen. No one speaks. I want to sink into the ground, to hide beneath the rocks. Fuck the Six. Fuck that stupid queen. I’m going to kill them all. I hate I hate I hate.
“Unfortunate, indeed.” The captain scribbles something down on his clipboard. “I see why you wish to win the blessing at the Solstice Exhibition.”
A blessing? My fingers gravitate to my smarting skin, the knotted scars on the left, and the distorted features on the right. The acid wounds are pinpricks in size but radiate enough pain to fill my whole body. I lick my cracked lips and dare to ask, “What is the blessing?”
“Ah...” A wistful smile touches his lips. “We all pine for a dream turned into reality. Is this not true, my esteemed colleagues?”
They all nod and voice eager agreement.
“A dream turned into reality?” I repeat.
“I believe that’s what I said.” The captain turns back to me, and his tone becomes somber. “But the exhibition tournament is a blessing for mortals only. Even those—” He gestures around my face with barely veiled disgust, pausing as if trying to devise the right, inoffensive word. “Those with less pleasing appearances from the subterranean.” He then hands me thefallen scrap of silk and lowers his voice. “Because that’s where you’ll be, mortal lass, if you don’t win. But if you’re strong enough to see the exhibition to the end of the Gentle Interlude, at least you’ll be alive.”
He doesn’t seem too worried about my questions, so I ask another. “What’s the Gentle Interlude?”
“The winter period where hostilities cease with Nocturna, the Subterranean of Nightmares. However, do not be fooled into believing the Old Code’s mandates also cease. Outside the Interlude, those mortals who break the code—such as yourself—would be dealt death.”
My gaze narrows. “Is refusing to take part in this Solstice Exhibition a violation?”
“Are you refusing to take part?” He levels his stare on me. “Why are you here, then?”
A shiver skates down my spine. I peer at the soldiers on the wall. They’re all handsome, or at least without flaws. There’s no way I’ll get inside without being noticed.
“I’m here for the exhibition,” I assure him.
The captain points to the silk in my hands. “Then this is your sole caution before crossing the threshold. You must not wear that again.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—his eyes flash with a glimpse of that danger—“allowing criminals into our military base during wartime would be dimwitted, especially when the Gentle Interlude is on the cusp of beginning. So, if it pleases you, good traveler, the veil must remain off, or kindly do not register. Your choice.”
Hardly a choice when the alternative means I’m a criminal.
“This exhibition is the only time we invite illegal immigrants through the gates.” Briar gentles his tone and gestures at my face, confirming my suspicion I look like their enemy with this curse. “You’ll miss the pageant if you don’t arrive at the Nexusby midday. And should you aspire to draw favor from one of the radiant gentry, you must be clean, garbed in proper attire, and presented with flawless deportment, as per the illustrious laws.”
“With a countenance such as hers,” scoffs the grumpy guard, “the only attention she’ll garner is that of chaos. I say we save our eyebrows and dispose of her now. Surely, a watergate is still open somewhere.”
Briar’s gaze narrows on my ears, and he points at them. “Her ears are of the Folk, not round like the mortals. The Old Code states once the Gentle Interlude begins, we cannot cast aside any of the Folk without a just hearing, even if they hail from the subterranean ranks. For if we do, we mirror their monstrous conduct.”
