I crept through the estate's back gardens, my pulse thundering as the carnival's distant melodies drew me onward. Gas lamps yielded to wavering torches and wild explosions of color that painted the darkness in unimaginable shades.
Braxmond at night without the heartbeat of the factories was doubting—no, steam, no smoke, and tracing my way through the canals and river walks was tricky. I knew me from my family's estate to the academy or parliament through the main thoroughfare, but this was different. Time stretched on as I finally came up on the Gypsy camp.
The carnival stretched across Merchant's Field like an unworldly tapestry of tents and wagons. Silhouettes of emerald and violet radiance wove between striped pavilions, spinning in flawless helixes before vanishing into aureate embers. A woman draped in scarlet gestured, conjuring butterflies from emptiness—their wings alternating between ruby and sapphire as they danced around breathless children.
"Come forth! Witness marvels beyond comprehension!" she promised with shy ambition.
I pressed through the narrow paths, enchanted. Acrobats sailed without safety nets, their forms flowing like quicksilver through inconceivable contortions. A colossal tiger with a gleaming violet coat prowled past, its knowing gaze stealing my breath. Children caressed its flanks, their palms dusted with sparkling powder that vanished like dawn vapors.
"Magnificent, isn't she?" A Gypsy man grinned as he commanded the tiger to stand on its back legs. The beast had to of been three men tall as the children cheered "Sasha, the shadow cat from the Otherworld!"
I continued deeper into the grounds, rare birds adorned with gem-bright plumage perched on stakes, their melodies weaving harmonies that bore whispered mysteries. One cocked its head toward me, uttering my name in tones like chiming crystal. The atmosphere hung heavily with smoke and mirrors. I had endured fifteen years choking in parlors where every utterance was weighed. Here, joy burst forth unrestrained. Children pursued summoned lights while adults swayed to phantom music. Fortune-telling pavilions bordered the carnival's center, their canvas decorated with throbbing crescents and celestial bodies. From within came the rustle of cards and pressing voices discussing "darkness converging" and "decisions that transform existence."
I halted before a tent adorned with silver moons which for a moment let out some stardust as if it was steam releasing from a pipe. The fabric undulated despite motionless air. A placard declared "Madam Asena: Weaver of Destinies, Reader of Visions."
The title sent tremors through my spine.
"You appear displaced, young lord."
A performer clothed in midnight-blue silk approached, silver ornaments ringing. "Not displaced," I heard myself declaring. "Discovered."
The statement startled me yet rang true. For some reason, there was belonging here as I briefly reflected how my life had just been destroyed and only a moment in this place made me feel as if my life wasn't mine at all to begin with.
Glass orbs hovered above a juggler's hands, reflecting not the carnival but glimpses of remote realms. A marionette performance featured wooden characters moving with eerie vitality, displaying authentic emotion. When the protagonist mourned, real tears gleamed on her sculpted features.
"Wealth has its privileges lads!" a voice bore forge labor's coarse texture. I pivoted to confront the group of men, maybe a couple years older than I. The commoners gazed sharply and almost with joy came across me. "Well, well. Aren't you supposed to be confined to your rich daddy's factory?"
Their faces held crushing weariness honed with something menacing. Judging by the lead speaking of the lot—a new grey coat a red armband—gave up factory work to join the Mortal Instruments. Nerves flooded me as these men had hostile intent in their eyes.
"Thought you'd get away with murder boy?" asked the Order member as he advanced closer, allies forming an enclosure. "Mob justice rules Braxmond now—my fellow members would award me for capturing you and taking you back to HQ."
"I'm not a murderer," I said evenly. "I want answers just like all of you."
"Answers?" asked the Mortal Instrument. "You're a cursed, noble bastard who brough evil to this city. People are coming up missing, being killed in horrid ways on the assembly floors, and it all started at your father's factory then with you in Brass Square!"
One of his comrades gripped a work hammer tightly. "Perhaps a beating first will teach you a lesson. Evil is not welcomed here."
"I slaughtered no one," I declared. "I discovered his corpse, nothing beyond."
"Fortuitous," sneered a youth with seared palms. "Just as engines ran amok following your family's exhibition."
The worker pressed nearer, hissing threateningly. "You're precisely what Rajnish describes—accursed. A marionette pirouetting to Gypsy melodies."
The ring contracted. The worker's fingers wrapped around the tool's grip. "Time for the young master to discover genuine repercussions."
"Oh, how dreadfully theatrical!"
The voice glittered with playfulness. Ayla emerged into the firelight, Gypsy silks capturing flames in amber and crimson waves.
"Is this how working folk occupy evenings? Intimidating nobles in darkness?" Her shawl whisps as she jumped down from a perch overlooking the confrontation. "Thought it was clear from the entrance at the carnival—any trouble making would be loss of admission. I'm afraid you all will have to leave."
The Mortal Instrument shook his skull as Ayla glide between me and the group. "Remove yourself from this, Gypsy lass. These are Braxmond affairs"
"Braxmond affairs huh?" Ayla chimed like silver bells. "Perhaps then… would it be fitting to retrieve the Braxmond Runners… seeing they keep the city's peace?"
The worker appearing to want to strike me with his hammer orbited them mesmerizingly. "You can't tell us what to do Gypsy! Stand aside, he is ours!"
The young lady's tone seemed filled with joy. "Oh, you see that is interesting because if we all want to handle matters in our own hands then I believe you need to look around."
Almost in a blink, not noticing that around us—multiple carnival members had gathered around us. Some were wearing face paint, some were large men the size of giants, and the tiger wrangler was standing by with the purple shadow cat. I was shocked how many were coming out of the shadows to confront these men.
"I'd just excuse yourselves from the grounds, boys," Ayla's expression mellowed compassionately. "The malediction didn't originate with him. It began far earlier. He's not the plague—he's just an unlucky fellow caught in an unseen web none of us understand. But my friends here will escort you safely out of the camp—wouldn't want to catch a curse on your way out."
The workers traded doubtful glances, fury dissolving into bewilderment. The Mortal Instrument studied the situation and shook his head in anger but waved his hand to the group. They clearly wanted to fight but realized they were outnumbered. With a spit on the ground, the group shuffled away with the Gypsy members following closely behind them.
"Far worse," Ayla confirmed to the distant figures. "They'll continue until someone addresses what's really happening." She extended her hand toward me. "Shall we?" Her touch felt surprisingly delicate through the elegant gloves concealing her hands. The moment our skin made contact, the oppressive weight vanished. She was tender, almost cautious with me yet radiating warmth and vitality. "Away from angry workers toward more intriguing conversation," Ayla murmured, leading me through the crowd with practiced ease.
We wove between flame-swallowers and fortune-tellers, past performers whose clubs traced celestial patterns. Ayla moved like flowing water, finding gaps that hadn't been there moments earlier.
"For someone accused of supernatural murder, you're remarkably poor at protecting yourself," she observed lightly.
"I'm not a fighter," I replied.
"No?" She spun to face me while walking backward. "Then what are you?"
The question dangled heavily with meaning. Around us, the carnival continued its impossible dance, illusion and reality merging until I couldn't tell which was which.
"What are you?" The question lingered between us like smoke from the carnival fires.
Before I could respond, Ayla's expression shifted. The playful mask slipped, revealing something older, more knowing in her hazel eyes. She guided me past a cluster of fortune-tellers toward the carnival's heart, where silk pavilions grew grander and more elaborate.
"The answer waits ahead," she murmured, her voice carrying a different timbre—deeper, more resonant than her earlier girlish chatter.
We approached a magnificent tent adorned with silver crescents and flowing midnight fabric. Crystals hung from the entrance like captured starlight, chiming softly in the windless air. Inside, shadows danced against silk walls, and I glimpsed lavish furnishings that seemed to shift when viewed directly.
"Madam Asena," Ayla announced softly. "She's been expecting you."
My pulse quickened. The tent exuded an aura of ancient power, as if secrets accumulated within its folds for centuries. Through the parted entrance, I glimpsed a figure in flowing robes, her presence commanding even in silhouette.
"Do not enter, do not be tricked!"
The haunting voice belonged to the metal grinned shadow that filled my head but steadily disappeared with each chime of the tent's bells. Ayla paused at the threshold, turning to face me. The carnival noise faded to distant whispers. Her hand found my arm and fingers warm through my coat sleeve.
"Before you enter," she said, stepping closer until I caught her scent—jasmine and something earthier, like rain on summer stones. "There's something you should understand."
She rose on her toes, her breath tickling my ear as she leaned in. The proximity sent unexpected warmth through my chest.
"Who you are now, is not what you think," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the distant melody and thrumming of drums. "I feel your presence in my dreams lately, as if you can watch me from a distance and I feel excited with emotions when you do. Perhaps, the next time you visit—a fantasy will be waiting for you!"
The words struck me like lightning. My vision blurred momentarily, and for an instant, I saw flashes—golden sand spiraling through darkness, an hourglass catching starlight, Ayla's face illuminated by otherworldly radiance. Her irises captured faint streaks of crimson across them like red comets blazing through the night's sky.
When my sight cleared, she had pulled back slightly but remained close enough that I could see her face lit with desire and she was soaking in my presence. Her body looked longing for my touch, and an almost euphoric feeling came over me when I observed her physical features. Lust was something that had just started to cloud my mind as a young man but with Ayla speaking like this and barely wearing enough clothing to cover her skin—my mind was flooded with intimate thoughts.
"How do you—" I began.
"Shh…" Her finger touched my lips, silencing the question as I felt the coolness of her silk gloves. "Some thoughts are better left exploring in our minds!"
Our gazes locked, and the moment stretched taut with unspoken possibilities. Whatever she meant, whatever she knew about my dreams and the strange visions plaguing me, the connection between us felt undeniable.
"She's waiting," Ayla breathed, stepping back with a secretive smile. Her eyes flickered to continue our connection but drifted away from me. "Find me when you sleep Rhylorin… I'll be waiting for you!"
The tent entrance beckoned, the shifting flaps of the door caught in a trance. I stepped through and the world behind me seemed to transform.