“Never leave?” The hood drooped low over her eyes, obscuring her vision, but from far down the lane she thought she saw them. Others like her, dressed in golden cloaks.
“Don’t let anyone see your face. He’ll call you in on breach of contract. Also, thank you for the iced tea. Did you add hibiscus? It was quite nice.”
Alora accepted the empty bottle shoved into her hands as easily as she accepted the mild shove to her back. She'd not had a say in either and both were done with before she could say anything at all.
She hurried down the lane.
Dusk had indeed fallen. Shadows draped across the stones, deepening in the thickness of the forest. They brought with them a cool reprieve from the summer’s heat, but Alora didn’t think the gooseflesh rising on her arms were from any change in temperature.
Golden cloaks neared. Golden cloaks from which extended pairs of arms holding tight to brass lanterns casting circles of swaying light. Six lanterns, so far as she could see, not traveling together but staying apart, though clearly their destinations were the same. How would it look to them, she wondered, to see another dressed the same but without a lantern and going in the opposite direction? Would they question it? Would it even matter?
She allowed herself a glimpse of the man nearing: his fine trousers and pristine loafers, the buttons of his suit jacket reflecting the light of his lantern. But his cowl was pulled nearly as low as her own, and so she didn’t see his face—just as she hoped he didn’t see hers. She hurried past him, looking down.
The next person she came upon was a woman, taller than her, with black stockings and delicately heeled shoes. She walked slowly, likely because her choice of shoes were difficult to maneuver on the glitter-spewing stones, and Alora quickly ducked her head when she noticed the cowl of the woman's shift in her direction.
The moths were out. They fluttered from the trees, their tufted white wings beating beneath Alora’s hood until she batted them away, sending them on. They flocked about the lanterns now, the only brightness in an ever-deepening sky.
Three, four, five, six. The last of the lanterns passed her by, the members of Opulence Mansion moving on without questioning her presence. Alora breathed a sigh of relief—only it caught at its end. Her steps slowed. She squinted. And then her mouth formed a perfect circle as an infernalseaof bobbing lanterns came into view.
This wouldn’t do. They took up the entire road. If she tried to squeeze through them, would she even manage? She couldn't keep her eyes on her feet and maneuver through a crowd without knocking into at least one person. Why, why, why must she have stayed to watch the dancers’ performance?
Alora hesitated for a heartbeat more, staring at the mob of golden-clad members closing in before doing the only thing she thought might save her.
She abandoned the lane.
She disobeyed every flashy sign—and pushed into the woods.
The trees lining the lane to Opulence Mansion had grown tall—taller than anywhere else in Renwick Forest—and the white canopy was thick, blocking almost all light. Flickers of it stuttered across her vision as lanterns passed by where she hid. There were many, many more than she expected, and for the first time, she wondered if there was anyone she knew hidden beneath those draping hoods. Her hand shifted, coming in contact with something like velvet. She pulled it away, thinking it only moss, until a cool light began to glow.
Alora tore her gaze from the lane to examine the trunk of the tree she’d hidden behind. To see a Moonflower now open at her touch.
Its petals were softly pointed, silver and shimmering, and when she touched it again, glittering particles rose from a silver center. She scanned the remainder of the trunk, finding more closed flowers. She brushed the petals of another and pushed back her hood when it unfurled its cold light. One by one, shewent, tapping her way along the tree until its bark was no longer shadowed but gleaming, lit from blooms claiming residence along its length.
The most enchanting lane, indeed.
A twig snapped in the dark. Alora glanced over her shoulder at the sound. The lane may have been lantern-lit, and the tree beside her glowing with Moonflowers, but the remainder of the forest hadn’t awakened yet. It was still steeped in the coming night.
She squinted into the darkness. Another Moonflower unfurled, this one all its own, deep in the dark. Still, she saw nothing. A stag probably grazed, or an overfed rabbit.
But there were other things that came out in the forests at night, and these were the things she’d been told to fear.
Ms. Merryweather, the stable master, had been the first to inform her. When Alora had purchased George nearly two years ago, she’d warned about them. The shadow beasts—specter wolves—that had moved in from the snow-topped Indigo range some years ago, drawn to the enchantment of Enver. But now she knew it likely wasn’t Enver they were attracted to, but Opulence. No other place was so thickly enchanted.
She glanced back to see if the lane was safe yet. It wasn’t.
Another twig snapped, this one nearer. And then the gruff exhale of an animal, much bigger than herself. Alora spun toward the noise, eyes scanning wildly. “It’s only a stag,” she whispered, hoping it was true. The crowd had nearly gone; she only needed to survive a little longer.
But fate played its winning hand against her, and Alora barely managed to imagine a knife in her hand when the black creature stepped within the flowers’ glow.
She screamed, stopped, and stumbled back, hands over her heart, the knifepoint somewhere near her ear. It was a horse, only a horse, and hopefully her scream would be mistaken for anowl’s screech and not be investigated. She looked up to the dark rider perched atop it.
They drew alongside her, and try as she might, she couldn’t make out the face beneath the black hood. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
“What are you doing here?” demanded the rider, gruff and rasping. “Renwick isn’t safe at night. Or any time for that matter.”
A whisper of pain blighted the shell of her ear. Alora lowered the knife. Inwardly, she tried to match the voice to anyone she might know and came up empty.
“The lane was congested,” she said, rather lamely, her hand lifting and coming away bloodied. More Moonflowers opened. Soon, the forest was aglow with silver light. Alora watched the rider’s hood shift as he glanced up the road.
