Night of Masks and Knives (The Broken Kingdoms Book 4)
Night of Masks and Knives: Book 2 – Chapter 12

THE PAST

Red braids askew and fingers sticky from the juices of sweet ice, I raced through the crowds trying to reach the rainbow pole first. Towering in the center, the pole’s length was laced in all colors: gold and green, blue and indigo, red and pink. Folk skipped and spun, unraveling then twisting the long ribbons back up in different patterns.

We should not be here, but it was a wonder that we were. Wonderment was a great deal more fun than following stingy rules Hagen and my stepfather put upon our heads.

I laughed when I touched a fiery red sash first but screamed at a pinch to the back of my arm.

“Beat you!”

I peeked through a tangle of ribbons. Honey-gold eyes met mine in return. “Kase, you bleeding liar, you did not.”

“Don’t swear, Mallie.”

“You do all the time.”

The boy, skinnier than a lamppost with wavy dark hair, frowned. “I still won.”

I’d wanted to win, but in truth Kase always won when we raced. “Fine. Spiced or sugared nuts?”

“Don’t spend your copper.” He said the words and shifted on his feet with a bit of unraveling excitement.

I snorted. “Fair’s fair. Don’t pretend like you don’t want those nuts. Now, sugared or spiced?”

He grinned. “What do you think?”

Spiced. “Don’t let no one see you. Hagen’s already grumbly enough we snuck in. He’s mad at you.”

“Why the hells is he mad at me when this was your idea?”

“Swear!” I jabbed my finger in his face. Then we both giggled. “He’s mad because he thinks we’re gonna show off our mesmer and get snatched by the masquerade snatchers.” I wiggled my fingers and made a ghostly sound, expecting him to laugh.

Instead, Kase smacked his syrupy hand over my mouth. “Shh. Hells, Mallie.” No one else called me Mallie but him. He glanced over his shoulder. “Those snatchers are real. Now, no one needs to know I rift.”

“Barely rift,” I teased. He couldn’t even scratch my skin when I let him practice.

He shoved my shoulder; a small grin painted his mouth. “He’s just mad ‘cause you’re a thickhead and start blurting stuff out about mesmer.”

“I’m not afraid,” I whispered. “My mesmer is strong.”

“It’s creepy.”

I snickered. “After the sweets Hagen said he’d take us to the divination rune lady if we want, but that’s it before he’ll make us go home.”

Kase groaned. “Her again? She says nutty things.”

My fist slammed against his chest. “The last thing she said was about me. What? Am I not good enough to be vowing with anyone?”

The old Alver woman had flipped over one of her mystic wooden runes and told Kase he needed to guard my heart—it’d be his to vow with someday.

When she’d said it, something tight and hot grabbed hold in my chest, but Kase made a retching noise and ruined it.

Like boys usually do.

“I didn’t say anything about you being good or bad.” He rubbed the spot where I’d smacked him and glared at me. “I already decided I’m takin’ vows with you, stupid. You gotta kiss during the vow stuff, and I already have with you.” He scratched his head. “You weren’t so bad at it, so it wouldn’t be too gross doing it again. I’m just saying I don’t like the rune lady tellin’ me what to do. And she smells funny.”

Kase didn’t look at me, and I was glad. My cheeks felt odd, sort of hot and prickly.

Last turn, some of the waif house boys in town dared Kase to kiss one of the waif house girls. Not willing to be a coward, he said he’d kiss me instead since he knew what I ate every day.

Maybe Kase did it to show off to the rough orphan boys, but I didn’t think I’d ever forget it. I had imagined another mouth on mine would be wet and weird, maybe slimy, but it’d been warm, and felt . . . good in a strange way.

But something happened at his touch. I saw something. Almost the same as peeking into his thoughts, and as if his kiss were a key, my mesmer sparked to life.

I was embarrassed I kept thinking about it. With a jerk of my hand, I waved him away. “Just go wait for me. And find Hagen. He’ll get madder if you don’t.”

He beamed and ran toward the Hypnotik tent.

That night, with his declaration he’d vow himself to me someday, was the last memory I had of Kase Eriksson.

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