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Night fell over Loverlock, and brought with it the long awaited time of the Lovers’ Festival.

The streets roared with laughter and cheers. Couples danced on the cobblestones, clearing out a space in the huddle of bodies to swing each other around under a rain of confetti and flower petals.

Raised tankards sloshed cider into the crowds. Musicians perched on the terraces, and tightrope walkers pranced between the high guildhouses performing their acrobatic spectacles for the awed spectators, many of whom were slowly making their way down towards the Loverlock docks.

Every lane and alley was packed with folk made up in the most marvellous masquerade attire. Their fine costumes and masks ranged from the exquisitely opulent, to the comical and grotesque, making them look like a procession of strange fey figures.

Under the veil of secrecy and those extravagant disguises, it was impossible to tell exactly who anyone was, which made a thrilling game for the Heartland nobles, and an opportunity for outsiders to mingle into high society, so long as they played their part for the evening.

The scene had a quality so surreal Rick could hardly believe he had awoken from his prior stupor. Surely this was a fevered dream playing in his head as he lay unconscious in the doorway of their hotel room.

‘Having a good time?’ Fig patted his shoulder. She pushed Rick in a wheelchair they’d recently acquired from the front desk at the Lodge.

‘Yeah,’ Rick croaked, ‘It’s… a lot.’

‘Just wait till we get to the Festival Island,’ Dorian said, strolling alongside them, ‘That’s where the party really gets going!’

Mirabelle and her entire retinue of pirates helped to press through the crowd, and make room for the chair, as they led from the front on their way towards the ferry boats.

Every single one of them was in costume, hiding their identities behind masks so they could enjoy the Lovers’ Festival, and complete whatever other plans Mirabelle had cooked up for the evening.

Fig wore a painted wooden half-mask which covered just her eyes and nose with a long dark beak. Dorian opted for an homage to classical Wine Sea Theatre with a visage of ‘The Fool’ one of the traditional theatrical archetypes. His pale mask stretched into a mocking smile, and bore bells above the ears which jingled as he walked and looked about.

Rick, unfortunately, had been manhandled into a skull mask by his companions while he was too weak to resist. Their idea of a joke. A dead man indeed, har har.

Despite the divine healing he’d received earlier in the day, he was still unable to walk unassisted. The Undying King had robbed him of his vitality and powers, leaving him practically helpless. If it hadn’t been for the mystery samaritan who helped him hobble home the previous night, he might have died in one of these alleyways.

The experience was a fractured blur, but he remembered distinctly the scent of jasmine, and a kind tone of voice reassuring him as they walked. He never got a chance to properly thank them, whoever they were. He’d barely made it back to the room before collapsing.

According to Fig, the priestess who treated him this morning while he was unconscious had called Rick's condition a wound upon his soul.

There was an ethereal malaise preventing his body from healing past a certain point, even by divine means.

That meant he was stuck like this; a shadow of his former self, helpless, useless, nothing but a burden on his companions.

Only the fickle will of the Undying King could restore him, by returning the unholy power he had come to rely upon for life and sustenance.

He could almost feel it, just out of reach, but barred from his control. Even now, in a satchel upon his lap the Book of the Undying King rested, utterly silent and unmoving, as still and lifeless as any old tome.

Only in hindsight did Rick realise what a constant companion the Book's changing moods and fluttering vibrations had become.

Without the Undying King’s favour, who knew when it might respond to him again?

Rick found his heart beating faster. His breath caught in his throat and his chest was gripped with a dreadful ache, as the world seemed to press in around him. The masks of the passing festival goers turned mocking and demonic.

Flashes of the previous night rose a cold sweat across his entire body. The terror and pain were potent, burned into him like the very marks upon his flesh. He had come within a mere whisper of death, once again. And now he found himself utterly defenceless, at the mercy of a world that had taken and taken from him, over and again, like a cat playing with a mouse for hours before finally pinning it down and ending the cruel game.

‘Woah there. You’re ok. Rick. Breathe!’ Suddenly Fig was there, kneeling beside him with Dorian at her back. She took Rick’s hand, raising her mask to look into his eye.

‘We’re with you. Nothing is going to happen. You’re safe.’

‘Quite so,’ Dorian said, ‘You could hardly be more secure with two famous adventurers watching over you!’

‘...Ok,’ Rick nodded shakily, forcing his breathing to slow with some difficulty until his heart stopped fluttering like a bird fighting to escape his chest.

‘Ok?’ Fig said, ‘You sure?’

‘...Yeah,’ Rick said, ‘It just got overwhelming. Last night I was stuck out here in the crowd and I couldn’t get back to the Lodge. I was having flashbacks.’

‘If it’s too much, you don’t have to be out here,’ Fig said, ‘I think maybe you should-’

‘-I’ll be fine. Fig. Thanks. I just needed to get my breath back,’ Rick said, sounding more sure than he really felt.

She gave him a hard look for a few seconds before nodding and resuming their push through the crowd, following Mirabelle and the pirates.

The last thing Rick wanted was for his fears to consume him.

If he let them rule over his action, there would be no relief. On some level he knew it was ridiculous to attend the Lovers’ Festival in his condition, but he’d come all this way dammit! After years of wishing to see the lights of Loverlock firsthand, and experience the magical atmosphere of the Festival, a trip that had been denied to him for his entire life, there was no way he was going to miss this now! He was so close.

Beyond that, he needed a reprieve from the crushing enormity of his slavery to the will of the Undying King. For just one more night he wanted to forget that dread and the foreboding of whatever sinister plans awaited him.

In the morning, Rick would rise to face his fucked situation once more. But tonight was his to enjoy. It was for time with his friends, if he could call them that after such a short acquaintance. Whatever the appropriate term, they were people he had come to rely on and who had taken care of him when it might have been easier for them to cut him loose.

Fig and Dorian stood at his back, more unified since he woke up than they had been in all their weeks of travel since Vishrac-Uramis. They’d almost stopped arguing. He wondered why.

The pirates kept Mirabelle within a protective perimeter, parting the crowd ahead of her, though they took pains not to make their arrangement too obvious to outside observers.

Fig pushed Rick in her wake, following a road that turned downhill towards the waterfront where people were lining up to board ferries.

‘I’m still not happy about this, M!’ Fig called to Mirabelle over Rick’s shoulder.

‘Loosen up a little!’ Mirabelle trilled back, shaking out her braided black hair, filled with a plumage of multicoloured feathers.

The pirate queen’s costume and mask were modelled after the bright crests of sabari birds, a beautiful species that flocked across the island of Saltcrust in their swooping thousands during their yearly migration to the archipelago of the Gravalt Free States.

‘Loosen up? M, you’re literally paying me to watch out for attacks! We’re out in the open, surrounded by people in disguises. There could be imperial mages honing in on your location right now.’ Fig muttered.

Casrian, dropping back to walk beside Rick’s chair, shook his head at Fig, ‘Thankfully that’s not a big concern this time. Tracking spells would take far too long to be effective, especially in a large crowd like this.’

The Alfir mage stretched his arms and flexed the flower tattoos that bloomed across his exposed torso as he walked, drawing a chorus of appreciative coos from a flock of noble ladies as they passed. Casrian had decided to wear very little to the festival, and seemed to already be enjoying himself immensely.

‘How do tracking spells work?’ Rick asked Casrian, using the opportunity to benefit from the more experienced mage’s knowledge. Divination was an area of magic he knew relatively little about.

The Alfir mage answered as they walked, ‘They’re fiddly. Divination theory relies on ethereal resonance and pattern prediction, which is always a crapshoot unless you have fresh focuses and ideal casting conditions. Basically, tracking spells only work over an extended time frame and multiple castings, because most of the time they only give you an approximate location. Accurate to a few hundred metres if you’re lucky, and a few miles if you’re not. By casting them multiple times, you can average all the results together to form a usable search zone, but that can take days. It’s great for tracking the movements of an army, or figuring out which district of a city someone is hiding in, but not great for finding a single person in a crowd at short notice. By the time anyone figures out we were even here, the festival will be over and we’ll be long gone.’

‘Otherwise we wouldn’t have risked it,’ Mirabelle said, grinning back at Fig from beneath her feathery mask, ‘As it stands, providing I’m not recognised, we shouldn't have any trouble at the auction.’

‘Even the best laid plans can go wrong,’ Fig cautioned, still watching the crowd warily as they moved towards the ferries.

‘Well, that’s why you’re here, Fig,’ Mirabelle said, ‘If everything does go wrong, and I mean monumentally wrong, fucked beyond all recognition, you’re my insurance, my last line of defense. I wouldn’t want anyone else for the job, if it comes to that.’

‘Well, as flattering as that is, so far you’ve just been making me feel paranoid and useless,’ Fig grumbled, ‘Telling me to fucking loosen up, completely reckless…’

Her bad mood gradually eased, though it never entirely lifted, as they finally arrived at the ferry dock and the lights of Lake Allura bloomed before them.

Paper lanterns glimmered all around, some floating on the surface of the water and some rising into the night sky, filling it with new stars that turned and tumbled as they rode the breeze flowing down from the mountains.

There were hundreds of boats out on the lake. It seemed everything from the guilds’ pleasure cruisers, to the small rowboats of the riverfolk, were out for the festival. They were filled with people from the whole region, and of course the visiting Wine Sea nobles, drinking and carousing, floating up to each other and exchanging well wishes for the night.

And in the heart of it all, anchored at the very centre of Lake Allura, the Festival Island glowed with such radiance that a halo formed around it, a beacon of light and life. A constant stream of magical fireworks burst in the night sky above, flashing their multicoloured sparks across the horizon.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

The constructed island was a stunning feat of engineering, made of many barges lashed together, and mounted with platforms connected by narrow bridges. Those walkways spanned the canals between them, allowing visitors to move between the many dozens of tents and stages where performers danced and sang. A near endless variety of stalls covered every inch of the structure, and the sounds drifting across the water from the Festival Island to the shoreline were full of raucous joy.

Rick had never seen anything like it. At last he was here at the very heart of the festival. He could hardly wait to make the crossing.

When their turn came, their party filed onto a ferry. Fig and Dorian hoisted Rick’s wheelchair into the centre of the long transport boat, then took seats on either side to keep him from tipping.

Mirabelle and her pirates sat at the prow, and another ten or fifteen other festival goers took places towards the back of the boat, all laughing and chattering with excitement as they prepared to cast off for the Festival Island.

The transport boat rowed out, leaving Loverlock behind and passing between lanterns that twirled in the boat’s wake.

It was probably only a couple of minutes, but Rick felt like the crossing to the Festival Island lasted far longer. Every stroke of the paddles bringing them closer echoed the excited beating of his heart.

And then, at last, they docked.

The Festival Island had a long series of floating jetties branching off the main cluster of platforms.

Their party disembarked, and took a ramp up, emerging with a crowd of new arrivals through an archway of dangling wildflowers that scented the air as they passed. Beyond lay a scene that stole what little breath Rick had left.

The party in Loverlock town was nothing compared to the wild irreverence of Festival Island.

Thousands of people milled about, cheering, drinking, dancing so hard they rocked the platforms they stood upon.

The centre of the island was made up of a huge dance floor, around which were raised platforms for musicians, jugglers, acrobats and fire eaters.

Mages stood around the periphery in their robes of office, both representatives of the IGA and the Magisterium. They fired off showers of sparks and streamers that whistled as they spun overhead. Glowing orbs of light danced a coordinated ballet above the heads of the crowd, changing colour and weaving dizzying patterns.

A clutch of young nobles, around Rick’s age, barreled past. They ran in unison towards a diving board overhanging the water, and launched off, making a great splash as they plunged into the lake. Laughing and splashing each other, they surfaced and climbed up a ladder with their clothes soaked through, keen to do it again.

The clergy of Allura moved through the crowd, handing out blessings in the form of bright powder smeared upon the forehead.

Farther out, were the quieter platforms where tents had been erected for special events and performances. One of those would house the auction Mirabelle intended to attend, but that wouldn’t take place for another hour or so. They had time to take in the sights, to eat, drink and be merry.

Rick was so happy. At least he’d made it to the Lovers’ Festival once in his life.

It was only then that he detected the faint scent of jasmine drifting on the night breeze.

That smell. Last night!

Following his nose, he turned his head and looked through the crowds also making their way up from to the ferry dock.

One person stood out.

They were wearing a frilled jester outfit and standing only a few metres away, looking directly at Rick, Fig, and Dorian.

The Jester’s costume was covered in bells and tassels, with a green and purple patchwork cloak drawn around them, and a twirling little black moustache painted on their upper lip beneath a scaled silver mask that covered just the top half of their face. Their skin had a silvery sheen, like his once had before his burns, Orend skin.

Bright violet eyes shone through the holes in the Jester’s mask.

‘It’s you,’ Rick whispered.

‘Who?’ Fig asked, looking around, confused and still on edge for potential threats.

Rick pointed, and when Fig noticed the Jester staring at them she warily put her hand on Whisper’s hilt.

Mirabelle’s retinue stopped moving, uncertain what was happening but following Fig’s lead. Hands moved to hidden weapons and their perimeter around Mirabelle tightened.

Seemingly oblivious to the alarm they were causing, the Jester finally stepped forward and spoke.

‘It’s difficult to tell under the masks, but aren’t you the poor fellow I half carried back to the Lodge in the early hours of this morning?’

Rick recognised the warm feminine voice coming from beneath the costume. It was the same one that led him through the streets when he’d been lost and afraid, he was so certain.

‘I think so,’ he said, putting a hand on Fig’s arm to reassure her.

‘Well, thank goodness you’re ok,’ the Jester said, then performed a bouncing half bow, both jovial and elegant, ‘Alice Cotram at your service. I realise I never introduced myself before.’

‘Rick?’ Fig asked.

‘It’s ok,’ he said, ‘She helped me when I was injured last night. She got me back to the hotel.’

At that, he felt Fig relax slightly. The pirates around them eased into feigned indifference, but they held positions around Mirabelle.

The Jester/Alice, rose and approached Rick’s wheelchair with easy swagger. Now she was closer he could distinctly smell her perfume, jasmine and mint, the exact same as when she’d picked him up off the street.

‘Always glad to offer my aid to a soul in need,’ Alice said, ‘Philanthropy is part of my calling as a connoisseur of the dramatic arts and representative of the Masked Queen Theatre, the pride of Trent’s thespian community.’

She bowed low once more, using her sleeve flares to effect an impressive flourish.

‘I never got to thank you,’ Rick said, ‘You disappeared.’

‘Alas, I had other business to attend to last night. Directors do most of their drinking in the wee hours of the morning, and networking with an industry of night owls can be taxing on the sleep schedule. I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time to pull you out of that gutter. Nevertheless, your thanks is unnecessary. How else should we treat each other on this most holy festival day?’ Alice said, ‘I hope you are recovering though? You seem to have made it out to Festival Island despite everything.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ Rick said, ‘Plus, my friends are kind enough to wheel me around.’

‘How marvellously good of them. Well, I’ve introduced myself. It only remains for me to learn your name and make the acquaintance of your companions?’ Alice’s bright violet eyes flicked to Fig and Dorian beneath her jester mask.

‘I’m Rickard. This is Fig, and–’

‘–Dorian Darling!’ Dorian blurted out with the pressure of someone who’d been waiting to jump into the conversation for a while. He pushed past Fig, making her flinch and curse him under her breath to no avail. Dorian thrust his hand out to enthusiastically pump Alice’s arm up and down a few times.

‘Dorian Darling! Really?’ Alice said, ‘But… My my! What a stroke of luck! Of course I’ve heard of you. The Gentleman Adventurer from Port Vermil!’

‘That’s me. The one and only,’ he beamed at her.

‘And you’re… Fig, was it? Hmm… I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere bef… No! You can’t be Darrowfig Sable!?’ Alice said.

‘That’s right,’ Fig replied, shooting Rick a pained glance.

‘I knew I recognised you! I was in Vostrel for the Solstice Tournament five years ago. You know, I actually saw your duel with Corundu–’

‘–I’m sure you did!’ Fig cut her off, ‘But we’re actually on quite a tight schedule tonight. As you can see Rick is not feeling his best, and we’re meeting some other friends, so we won’t be able to stick around and chat.’

Rick looked up and saw her giving Alice a pointed stare through the mask.

He spread his hands apologetically, ‘Sorry we couldn’t stick around. I really am grateful.’

‘Ah,’ Alice said, ‘That’s too bad.’

‘Hang about, Fig!’ Dorian said, ‘This lovely woman helped Rick, and seems like delightful company. A representative of the Masked Queen did you say? There’s no reason we can’t stick around a little longer for a nice chat.’

‘Yes there is,’ Fig hissed. Rick followed her gaze and realised she seemed to be making eye contact with Mirabelle and the pirates who were motioning for them to wrap things up and get rid of this Alice Cotram person

‘It’s so nice of you to say so, Mr Darling!’ Alice said, turning her full attention to Dorian, who stood just a little taller than her in his dress shoes with their slightly raised heel, ‘Are you a big theatre lover?’

Rick couldn’t tell if he was misreading the situation, or if Alice was standing suggestively close to Dorian on purpose.

‘Well, I don’t know if I can claim much expertise,’ Dorian shuffled his feet, seeming shy all of a sudden, ‘But I try to attend a show whenever the opportunity arises. I’ve even been known to stumble through the occasional dramatic reading in the Port Vermil salons. Here, let me see if I can remember this right…’

He cleared his throat and started reciting a Rattlestaff sonnet, quite poorly Rick thought. Weren’t those poems supposed to have a special kind of regular rhythm? Dorian’s version definitely didn’t.

Mirabelle and the pirates looked on in stunned silence. Fig started making choking sounds behind Rick. He guessed she was about five seconds from disembowelling the writer, consequences be damned.

‘-Bravo! Terrific! It’s wonderful to hear you’re such a friend to theatre!’ Alice cut Dorian off by taking his arm and leaning into him, possibly saving his life, or at the very least what was left of his dignity.

‘I hope you don’t find it too forward, but since I ran into you, I was hoping to do a brief interview, Mr Darling,’ Alice said, ‘Just to see if you’d be interested in licensing some stage dramatisations of your famous adventures. We’re all very big fans of your articles back at the Masked Queen. Trent has quite a growing appetite for tales of frontier heroics.’

Dorian’s eyes went wide, ‘You’re serious? Stage adaptations of my stories!’

‘Yes,’ Alice nodded to Dorian, ‘Does that interest you?’

‘Oh, my dear Ms Cotram! Of course it does!’ Dorian said, ‘What a blessing it is to have met you! I knew it was only a matter of time before theatres started contacting me, but I’m very pleased that you are the first, Ms Cotram. Perhaps we can find a cosy corner of the festival to network and discuss this further.’

Ok, yep, there was definitely some flirting going on.

‘Only if you’re free.’ Alice purred, looking at Fig and Rick, ‘I don’t wish to delay your lovely friends any longer than necessary.’

Dorian turned to Rick and Fig and shooed them away, ‘Right. You two just go on without me for now. I’ll meet you at the auction later.’

‘Fine by me,’ Fig said.

‘Lovely to see you again, Rick,’ Alice called, giving him a little wave, ‘And what a pleasure it was to meet you, Darrowfig.’

‘Yes, you too, and thank you…’ Rick called back, but he barely had a moment to wave goodbye to Alice before Fig started wheeling him away. The last he saw, Alice and Dorian were strolling away, arm in arm and deep in conversation, towards the food stalls on the north side of the Festival Island.

'Something is up with that lady,' Fig grumbled.

‘What? She’s the one who helped me last night,’ Rick protested.

‘I know… It’s just a feeling, I can’t place it, but I feel like I’ve met her before.’

‘At the Solstice Tournament?’ Rick asked, ‘She said she was there.’

‘No,’ Fig shook her head, ‘It’s not that. I’d remember… There’s something else. I’m trying to place, her body language and the way she speaks… Fuck! I can’t figure it out.’

Fig wheeled Rick through the crowds to the western edge of the Festival Island and across a narrow bridge onto another of the large floating platforms, this one slightly separated from the pack by a wider canal.

Rick could hardly believe his eye. The new platform had been painstakingly turned into an artificial floating woodland. Soft torchlit paths wound under vine covered trellises. The decking was covered with banks of potted ferns and beds of wildflowers. There were even a collection of seven weeping-willow trees fixed along the platform edge with their long rustling branches hanging down to the lake below.

How on Splinterra had they managed to bring entire trees out onto the lake, let alone been able to fix them upright on a barge platform? Was it magic, or just the ingenuity of an entire town working together to plan this festival year after year, making it bigger and better each time?

The tree canopy helped to soak up the loudest sounds from the central platforms, creating a serene sanctuary away from the otherwise bright and chaotic environment of the Festival Island.

A couple sat entwined and canoodling on a bench a short distance away, and other festival goers walked the gravel paths, taking a break from the more raucous activities across the bridge, but none paid any mind to their group, as Rick, Fig, and Mirabelle’s pirates reconvened beneath the shelter of a gnarled willow’s canopy

‘Who was that?’ Mirabelle asked.

‘Alice Cotram, she told us,’ Rick said, ‘She’s the one who half-carried me up to the room the other night. She’s not a danger to you.’

‘I don’t know, Rick,’ Fig said, ‘Something about her put me on edge.’

‘You’re getting spooked over nothing,’ Rick said.

‘Hey, five years of Outerland danger sense is telling me something’s up,’ Fig said, ‘I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it if I were you. If nothing else, she seemed really keen to talk to Dorian, which is always strange behaviour in my book.’

‘But not necessarily our problem,’ said Mirabelle, ‘She didn’t seem interested in me or my crew. Didn’t even send a glance our way.’

‘...I guess not,’ Fig shook her head, ‘Still… Alice Cotram. Let’s keep an eye out in case she shows up again. Dorian’s probably going to talk her ear off for hours in the meantime, so even if she is up to no good that might keep her busy.’

‘Was it just me, or did it seem like there was some flirting there?’ Rick asked, ‘A bit of intensity between Dorian and Alice? She was standing really close to him, and he seemed shy all of a sudden, which I’ve not seen from him before.’

‘Good for them. It’s the Lovers’ Festival,’ Casrian leant over, ‘What better time for a theatre rep and a travel writer to get down to some seriously intimate networking.’

They all stared at him.

‘Yuck,’ Fig said.

‘What?’

[End of Chapter 26]