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“You’re being cheated,” Daig rumbled with laughter and shook his head. “All of that is worth only a portion of one coin, and Marik knows it.
The elf glowered at him, the dark feathers seeming to lift from his hair as if they were actually a part of his head. MaryAnne stared for a moment and hastily blinked and looked away. “That’s actually fine. I appreciate all the advice and help. If you can see to it that I have some travel food prepared and waiting for me as well, then I’ll consider it an even trade.”
“Done,” Marik snapped peevishly, and he turned and procured a key from some hidden place and slapped it on the counter in front of her. “The Marigold Room. I will have your bath and meal sent up to you shortly.”
MaryAnne frowned as she picked up the ornate key. “How will I know which one is the Marigold Room?”
The elf, Marik, gave her an exasperated look. “From the marigold painted on the door, of course. It’s the easiest way to organize rooms when it comes to different species with their own languages. Probably expected it to be in some sort of human numerical system or something,” he chuckled, and MaryAnne flushed because that was exactly what she had expected.
“Right. The Marigold Room it is,” she muttered as she shouldered her bag. Because why not.
At least she would finally get some well-deserved rest for one night before she tracked that damn carnival down.
ChapterThirteen
There wasn’t a lot more the residents of Riverside Outpost could tell her. Every person she spoke to repeated experiencing the same feeling as if ghostly children hurried unseen along the paths between the rides and games, and the faint sounds of merriment. It still made her shiver every time she heard it, but it didn’t get her any closer to discerning what had happened to her kids. She half-suspected that Marik’s suggestion had been more for his own profit than anything else, but she couldn’t begrudge it. It was still a good idea, even if it hadn’t quite panned out.
She propped her cheek on one hand, her elbow on the tavern bar where she chose to sit rather than at one of the numerous tables in the tavern. Patrons floated in and out, most of them studiously avoiding her. She got it. She was a stranger. Even though there was a mixture of human and monsters within the outpost, they were just as suspicious of outsiders as any other place. But at least no one was trying to drive her out—and that alone was different than her previous experience moving from town to town before she settled at the home.
Not that they weren’t trying to get rid of her—they just were doing it in their own way. Word had spread quickly of what brought her there, and those who ventured near or into the carnival had sought her out all morning to hastily tell her what they saw and heard. Now they were just waiting for her to pick up and move on.
Yeah, it was about that time.
She gave the new arrivals a cursory glance, knowing that there would be no further help from the outpost residents as she toyed with the thick slice of fried potato wedge on her plate, slopping it in the thick brown gravy that spilled over from the thick cut of beef sitting beside it. The food at the tavern was surprisingly good. In some ways it reminded her of enjoying a bowl of fries and gravy before the world turned to shit. It wasn’t exactly the same. The taste was off as if someone had come across the concept and made their best attempt to replicate it without an actual taste reference. But it wasn’t bad. It was close enough to fries and gravy anyway to satisfy the craving she didn’t even know she had.
Same with the autumn décor that she hadn’t noticed the night before. It was crudely fashioned from gathered leaves bound with twine and knotted shafts of grain in rough humanoid forms like sacrificial offerings as they hung pierced on the walls. There were gourds as well but without familiar faces carved into them. Instead, numerous symbols were cut into them. She watched Marik move around the room as she ate, lighting the pumpkins one by one. His lips moved silently as he lit them, their light casting a flickering glow. He set the last one down and walked away, his gaze briefly meeting hers.
She swallowed the food in her mouth as her gaze flicked back to the pumpkins. It was still some weeks yet until the Feast of Shadows that people in the nearby towns began observing on the fifth full moon after the height of the sun. The pumpkins had only just been cut at home and set aside as it would be a couple weeks yet before they would carve them.
It seemed strange at times to think about setting the pumpkins out to frighten away monsters and terrible spirits when they were literally living among them day to day. She didn’t even understand the point except that it was part of the traditions that everyone clung to in memory of the autumn traditions in the old world.
In that vein, it was strange to see echoes among the nonhuman habitants of the outpost. Her eyes flicked to the ogre cleaning a mug on the other side of the counter, across from her.
“What’s with all the decorations? I didn’t think your kind celebrated human holidays,” she observed, gesturing vaguely around her with the potato wedge.
Daig snorted. “What human holiday? We are preparing for Hallow Night, the holy feast of the slain ones whose blood ripened the crops. The maiden has been buried within the earth, and the youth has been torn apart and consumed. We will attend the bloody harvest soon and slaughtering for the winter, offering the entrails to the dark-veiled maiden and the torn prince. Our humans here understand and have adopted our traditions and added to them. In turn we’ve also… adapted,” he grunted.
Her mouth rounded in understanding. That certainly made sense. She’d never considered that monsters would have their own traditions.
“Do all of your kind honor this slain prince and dark maiden?” she asked curiously.
He snorted, his wide mouth curling in amusement. “That would be like asking if all humans honor the same gods.” His head tipped thoughtfully. “Many of us have similar traditions, but the names are different, and we have our own tales. Orcs, ogres, and trolls honor same as the elves, but the elves would rather give other offerings than good, honest blood of the slaughter. Other monsters have their own traditions that are a little similar. It’s all thanks for the good harvest.”
“I see,” she murmured. “And what kind of offerings do elves give?”
He shrugged. “Depends. Some give drops of their own blood to the forest and fields. Their blood is rich in magic. In all old days, the noble houses would sacrifice a human from their household.”
“Human blood,” she echoed.
He gave her an understanding smile. “Not so much anymore. Not in this world,” he assured her. “It is rare even in the fae realm, only seen among the wealthiest and oldest elvish lines as the greatest sacrifice that could be offered even if the rest of us ‘monsters’ found it barbaric and often stole their victims when we could.” He chuckled softly. “No need to worry, little female. Elves surviving here like everyone else. Keeping humans is difficult and quick to be stolen.”
She shifted nervously. “What about human children? Would elves capture children for this offering?”
Daig’s heavy brow furrowed. “In all the old days maybe, during the hunt. No elves I know would do that. It would be a lot of work to take care of and keep them fed where no one would notice and try to steal them away.”
“But a traveling carnival,” she insisted. “They would be able to hide the children among them, right? So could it happen.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t see any elf wanting to go through the trouble when a drop of their own blood suffices, and it won’t be acknowledged. A blood sacrifice of children is more likely to have them killed.”
