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It seemed that it would be living up to its name. The Night Carnival promised magic and glimpses into a hidden and fabulous world for humans, and for monsters a place of pleasure and celebration. During the off season, it appeared that it would be keeping hours true to its name. That suited him fine. It left more time to search for the missing younglings and to woo his mate rather than supervising guests and performers alike.
Within just a few short weeks in their company, he knew what to look for and knew how to deal with it swiftly and decisively. It was yet another reason why the missing younglings bothered him so. It pricked his pride that he may have failed in circumventing their capture. But then he hadn’t been watching for that. He hadn’t imagined that anyone would try to steal younglings.
He shook his head grimly. Harming younglings was taboo among enough fae that those who would try it generally did not risk it in mixed company. It was hard to believe that it had happened at all, but he couldn’t dismiss MaryAnne’s argument so easily. And he would do anything to make her happy and ease her mind. He would help her search for the rest of his days if that were what she desired.
Perhaps he was no better than the carnival fae who attempted to lure in mates, but if he was, he at least had Ha’shena to blame in part. As far as the gods themselves and the magic that spun within the universe was concerned, they were mated without him having to do anything at all. Whatever the case, it was his desire for a human that now had him head to Elwyn’s tent at the front of the carnival and had every eye on him.
He hated that the tent was so blasted far from the other tents. He had to assume that the placement of Elwyn’s tent and the cluster of the others around his was so that he was immediately aware of anything that happened within the carnival. It was simply a pain in the ass having to walk through the entire carnival grounds just to make it to the ringmaster’s tent.
Raskyuil’s scowl did not improve any by the time he arrived. His skin prickled with the distance that separated him from his mate, and yet he was frustrated by his inability to go to her and protect her while he was forced to listen to whatever massive pile of crocotta dung the noble wanted to say. It was the patience tempered through centuries of service that kept him from impatiently barging into the tent. He knocked a fist against the tent pole and waited silently until the bright curtain hanging in front of the entrance was pulled back to allow him entrance.
Nodding his thanks to the servant dressed in a neat robe over a green tunic and brown trousers, the male returned his nod and returned to his post in the corner, his hands folded lightly in front of him at attention. Raskyuil didn’t spare him more than a glance as he stalked toward the desk erected at one corner in front of a curtained off area of the large tent that he suspected served as Elwyn’s sleeping quarters.
The aelf in question sat behind his desk, an ink pen in one hand as he studied the parchment in front of him. Raskyuil’s teeth gritted as the male continued to studiously ignore him, well aware that the noble was making a point by it even if he wasn’t in the mood.
Pale brows arched, and Elwyn’s eyes rose for a moment before returning nonchalantly to his work. “It strikes me as particularly amusing you are the only who is angry when it is I who was slighted.” He stroked his pen against the parchment, writing in neat aelvish calligraphy. “But you have not come to beg my pardon, have you?”
“No,” Raskyuil replied bluntly.
The male’s lips curled, and he lowered his pen and sat back in his chair, finally regarding Raskyuil fully. “No. I thought not. Even though we had an agreement?”
“One that I’ve seen to—and all the unpleasantness that goes with it.”
“And I suppose you believe that this unpleasantness you speak of gives you the right to assault one of my riders and force him to ferry you back to the outpost without my leave?”
“No. It was Ha’shena,” he grumbled. He had no intention of telling Elwyn the true reason he returned with his mate, but sprinkling enough truth would make their story plausible.
He could have laughed, however, at the way the noble’s eyes widened, a look of interest and envy briefly crossed his face.
“You are certain?Ou sava. Ou e kana sa, naHa’shena,”
Elwyn murmured the last bit under his breath, but Raskyuil heard it all the same. He was grateful that he was already scowling so that he didn’t have to keep himself from frowning at the words.
It is fate. It will be mine, thisHa’shena.
“That is a sort of torture one does not forget,” he rumbled. “It is a madness and need that is entwined and constantly threatens.”
“Ah. I had quite forgotten about the unpleasantness of the pull, but still the satisfaction of fulfilling Ha’shena…” A shiver ran through him that soured Raskyuil’s mood further than the male was finding some erotic pleasure in a scenario he was imagining connected tohismate. Elwyn eyed him and sighed. “I forget at times that trolls are no less prickly when it comes to these matters than orcs. Still, this is a good omen that one amongst our carnival has experienced Ha’shena in this world when such things are more legend than anything else among our own kind. It will give everyone… hope.”
Raskyuil squinted at him. “I hope this doesn’t mean that you are approving a hunt.”
Elwyn waived a hand dismissively. “Not in the least, and your duties have not changed. However, we will be able to spin this in a new way. That you begged my permission and had to prove to me your deranged state before I permitted you to follow the urge of the Ha’shena. It will also quell the gossip about where you disappeared to so suddenly without leave.”
“I see. You want me to pretend that this was all by your grace and charity then?” He absolutely hated the idea. It cheapened that singularly beautiful moment of casting off his mental chains and pursuing Ha’shena despite what all reason and logic told him. Of sacrifice for his mate.
“Exactly.” A small smile curled the male’s lips as he stacked his hands and rested his chin on them as he regarded Raskyuil. “It will keep everyone in line while encouraging hope for a new way here rather than merely occupying space. A sign that we are meant to be here. And in return, your mate will be here with you—no questions asked. She will, of course, contribute.”
“Of course,” Raskyuil replied woodenly.
“Excellent. You can send her to Nivira when she’s had a day or two to recover. Humans are such frightfully fragile things.” The male tsked as he picked up his pen, all but outright dismissing him, but Raskyuil’s blood chilled at the female’s name.
“A drya, Elwyn?”
The last thing he wanted was his mate near the drya. Spider fae were unpredictable more often than not as they were frequently prey to more aggressive instincts. One of the drya, in fact came close to envenomating and mating a human that she took a fancy to at the last town they had stopped at. It made Raskyuil’s skin crawl just thinking of it. The drya were unpredictable when it came to mating. They tethered a male they were interested in within their web and took in the seed of her mate numerous times a day for weeks, sometimes months on end. After which she might decide to keep on the tether for when she wished to breed again, or she would cannibalize him to recover her energy stores to nourish her gestating eggs. A clever drya male often found a way to cut himself free from the web—not all species were as fortuitous. He certainly didn’t want clean-up duty dealing with drya leftovers.
The aelf sighed and looked up impatiently. “Nivira could use an assistant in the divination tent to help bring in customers. All your human has to do is look attractive in a costume and escort them inside. Nivira will handle the rest. Do you have some specific objection?”
“Yes. I’m not comfortable with my mate spending her days with a territorial drya. She could be harmed if the female took it into her head to dislike MaryAnne.”
