The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(32)
Aya nodded. She liked being important. She hadn’t felt important since she’d been the living cogsmith’s daughter.
They finished their breakfast in companionable silence. Once Aya had scarfed down her fill, she pushed her empty plate away. “Now, please tell me, Varick. When do I begin today?”
Varick smiled. “I am enthralled by your enthusiasm. My little birdies tell me that King Archon will be at the mask maker’s this morning to retrieve his mask for the ball.”
“Mask?”
“Yes, my dear. It is a masquerade ball. Everyone will be wearing them. Perhaps you might also fancy a mask?”
Aya beamed. Thoughts of the ball brought her mind back to Willem. How would she find him if the ball were to be a masquerade? And more importantly, how would he recognize her to claim his dance? She hoped she’d left a strong impression.
“I would love one. I must admit, I find it strange that the king runs his own errands.”
Lord Varick tugged at his lapels. “Well, it just may be that the king’s valet has mysteriously fallen ill and cannot perform his tasks today. And since the king trusts no one but this valet, he has taken it upon himself to complete his own errands.”
Aya wondered what this meant. Was the valet yet another cog in Lord Varick’s scheme? Or had he fallen ill because someone made him? Aya didn’t know if she wanted to know the truth.
“Besides,” Lord Varick said, bringing Aya out of her thoughts, “King Archon has quite a passion for masks, wouldn’t you say?”
*
Lord Varick had advised Aya to stay in the red outfit from the bathing house for her trip to the mask maker’s shop. “Red suits you. I’ll have a dress made up for the ball.”
Aya followed Lord Varick’s directions to the shop. He’d told her it was nestled among other shops in the middle level of the palace, near the Starboardshire exit. As she made the long trek through the ship, Aya noticed the artwork and relics decorating the hallways. Tapestries depicting once-famous battles hung on the walls, statues of long-dead nobles stood sentry outside doors, and rusted machines rested on platforms and stands. If Aya had not been on an errand, she would have paused to admire these relics, and she promised herself that, if she found time, she would learn more about them and their roles in Desertera’s history. She wondered if maybe, just maybe, her actions would earn her a spot in history, too.
When Aya reached the shops, she halted. The row of shops lined the entire length of the wide corridor, and they had been built to look exactly like the metal versions of the Portside shops—complete with awnings to shade the nobles from the sun. Ha! The only light came from the candle chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the large door at the end of the corridor, which opened to extend a drawbridge to Starboardshire, much like the Portside entrance the merchants used.
Shaking her head, Aya strolled over to the mask maker’s shop. It was easy to spot, with a broad awning in the shape of mask, one that would only cover the eyes, with long, pointed sides. It even had windows so that customers could peer inside. One window displayed the various masks, arranged by color and design, and the other showed a little wooden desk littered with tools—no doubt the mask maker’s workshop.
Aya entered the shop to find King Archon sampling the masks. The king sat on a dark blue ottoman in the center of the store, wearing a green mask in the shape of a lizard’s head. His blue eyes and pointed beard peeking out from behind the lizard’s face made Aya’s skin crawl. The mask maker, a bent-over old man with a long gray beard and warped hands, fluttered around the king, bringing and taking away masks at his request.
When he saw Aya, the mask maker paused to give a small bow. “I’ll be with you in a moment, miss. Feel free to browse while I attend to His Majesty.”
“Take your time, sir.” Aya absorbed herself in examining the many intricate masks. She entirely ignored King Archon’s presence, a trick Dellwyn assured her would drive him mad.
“Every man hates being ignored,” Dellwyn had said. “And they hate even more to think they are no longer a god in your eyes.”
Aya lifted a sparkling golden mask from its peg. It covered the entire face. Even the eye slits were enclosed by a thin white film. Aya heard heavy footsteps coming toward her, and shortly after, she felt a brush against her arm. King Archon had come to stand next to her.
“I figured you would look for something more aquatic, Miss Wellman.” King Archon chuckled. “A fish. Or a bucket, perhaps.”
“Oh, Your Majesty.” Aya kept her tone quiet, aloof. “I did not notice you standing there.”
King Archon huffed. He stood still and silent for a moment. Aya heard him inhale deeply and saw him incline his head toward her in her peripheral vision. “How did you like my mask?”
“The lizard?” Aya wrinkled her nose. “It was quite off-putting, not exactly the charming face one would expect of a king.”
“Isn’t that the point of a masquerade? To be what one is not?”
Aya smirked. “Then perhaps you should keep searching.”
Trick number two from Dellwyn: gentle jabs to the ego make men desire the reparation of their manhood. King Archon huffed again, crossing his arms over his chest.
Aya placed the golden mask back on its peg and moved over to the flower section. One of the masks was designed like a desert wildflower, with its soft spindly petals fading from lavender to pink, like an inward sunset. Aya did not recognize the flowers on the other masks. There was a bright yellow one with wide, silky petals and red tips. Another was pure white with long, rounded petals perfectly circling a yellow center. Aya wondered if these flowers still existed in the palace or if they were inspired by paintings of the world before from the nobles’ art galleries.