She might be trying to ignore the masquerade, but its participants were not ignoring her. She proceeded cautiously, recognizing many of the masks from the king’s ball, including the king’s own iridescent dragon helm. It gleamed in the dull light as he danced ... as he danced with Mad Queen Oddacious. Jester’s bells jingled from her crown, the red diamond pattern of her skirts a garish blur against white.
No. Must not be distracted.
She started to trudge ahead, but three costumed pages appeared before her, each bearing a mask on a satin pillow.
“You must choose one,” said Neff, who strode up beside her, “to join the masquerade.”
On one pillow nestled a plain eye mask that took on the same faded green tone as her uniform. An eye mask of midnight rested on the middle pillow. It emanated tremendous pulsing power, but oozed a black aura of malevolence and Karigan was immediately repelled by it. The third pillow held the mask she remembered Estora wearing, beaded with ocean hues that rippled in the light.
She shifted the staff to lean it against her shoulder and reached for the third mask, the queen’s mask, but stopped short of actually touching it. Her hand hovered there for a moment, then she snatched it back.
“I do not need a mask,” she said, suddenly furious. She would not play this game.
She turned away from the pages with their burdens and continued her limping way across the island, but as if her anger stoked the energies of the white world, the music picked up to a frenzy and the dancers danced in a fury of silk and velvet and satin; spinning and twirling around her, knocking into her, pushing and buffeting her, kicking her injured leg. She cried out. For all that the dancers were not real, they felt real, and the blows sent white-hot pain through her and stole her breath. She was growing light-headed.
The king grabbed her broken wrist to swing her around. She screamed and swooned to her knee. The music silenced and the dance halted. She moaned amid a forest of legs and skirts. She would not let the white world do this to her, she would not let it defeat her. Using her staff to steady herself, she rose and found herself face to mask with the king.
“You are false,” she said. She turned around. “You are all false.”
Using her good hand, she threw the king’s dragon helm off. It clattered to the ground raising a puff of white dust. She gasped. Beneath the mask it was not King Zachary she saw, but Lord Amberhill’s smirking countenance. He raised an expectant eyebrow.
What did it mean? What was the white world telling her? If the king in this masquerade was not Zachary, then who was behind the Queen Oddacious mask? Would it be herself, or someone else?
Shuddering, but unable to resist, she pulled off the mask that concealed Queen Oddacious’ face and discovered Estora gazing at her. Karigan backed away, too many questions clashing in her mind to think clearly. She just wanted out, out of the white world. Blackveil was preferable—at least it was real.
She shouldered her way through the silent, stationary dancers. A tumbler in black stepped in her way. He wore the looking mask, but it only reflected the white landscape. Santanara had warned her about the mirror man, that he was a trickster, and she found the assessment appropriate. He summoned Neff and the three pages with a gesture.
“You must choose a mask,” Neff said, “if you wish to leave.”
Cold sweat beaded on Karigan’s forehead. What would happen if she chose one of the masks? Where was King Zachary in all this if he hadn’t been wearing the dragon helm?
“I prefer not to conceal my face,” Karigan said. “I will not hide, and I will not deceive.”
“You must choose a mask,” Neff intoned.
She contemplated striking him with her staff, but considering how real and solid the dancers had felt, it probably was not a good idea, for there might be a reprisal.
“All right,” she said, thinking fast. “If I must choose, I choose that one.” She pointed not at one of the three offered to her on satin pillows, but at the looking mask worn by the tumbler. Her reflection pointed back at her.
Everyone vanished but the tumbler. He waggled his finger at her and slapped his thigh as if silently laughing at her. Then he backed away, making an expansive gesture toward the bridges, and then he, too, vanished.
Karigan sighed. She’d apparently passed one test and was now presented with another. She walked from bridge to bridge, tapping each one with her staff. Each felt as solid as the last. There was no telling what would happen if she crossed the wrong bridge. It might vanish beneath her feet and she’d join the tainted Sleepers at the bottom of the chasm, or the bridge might cross over into some hostile land or layer of the world from which she’d be unable to return.
“Five hells,” she muttered, beyond exhausted, almost tempted to just choose one and be done with it. Then she smiled and removed the moonstone from her pocket. All of the bridges blazed with crystalline brilliance, but one was more true and continued to resonate with her moonstone long after the others faded.
She took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge. And took another step. The others vanished. She hurried as fast as she could to reach the far side. When she stepped off the bridge into the grove of Argenthyne, it too disappeared.
She found Laurelyn on the terrace where she’d left her. The Eletian queen’s form was little more than a glimmer, a mere ghost of her former radiance. Karigan glanced at the sky. Black clouds encroached on the silver moon.
Laurelyn smiled. She seemed weary beyond measure to Karigan. You succeeded, Laurelyn said. The Eletians will always be in your debt.