"I don't want to go to some stupid ball," Touka snapped. "I don't even have anything to wear. That's probably why that rotten king invited us. So he can have all the nobles laugh at us."
Hinami swallowed. She didn't have anything to wear either. But she had plucked a few flowers from the garden earlier that day and could weave them into her hair, and Touka's. She ran into a pink-haired lady who helped her pluck some of the tulips and roses, the daffodils and clovers. The lady had a mirror she was talking to and hid when she saw Hinami.
"Touka," Irimi said, voice dripping disapproval. She held a taffeta dress in deep mauve up. "It's time to have a little fun."
"I'm looking forward to escorting you all," teased Koma, appearing with a dapper vest on. "Any man tries to mess with my girls gets his ass kicked. Probably not by me."
Hinami wondered about Ayato. Would he have enough people to protect him if they were all gone? She supposed Yoshimura was staying.
"Excuse me?" called a voice.
Hinami peered up the staircase. A buxom woman with long red hair sauntered down them, her arms laden down with bags. She beamed at them. "Lady Touka and Lady Hinami, I presume?"
"That's me," Touka said, her eyes narrowing. "Us."
"I'm Itori," said the woman. "A friend of Yomo's. Also the official dressmaker here at the palace."
"I—" Hinami stammered.
"Tut, not to worry," said Itori, waving a gloved hand. "Lady Akira sent me and paid for your dresses."
Irimi grinned. Touka's jaw hung open. Akira? Hinami wondered. Was this her way of apologizing? A handkerchief to dab the blood. But it was better than nothing.
"In here," Itori said. "If this is your room." She kicked open the door to Touka's room. Hinami spotted Yomo leaning back against the corridor wall, a small smile on his lips.
Itori slammed the door shut and stripped them of their ash-smeared servant dresses, their aprons. She examined the clover pin in Hinami's hair. "You can keep that." She pulled out corsets, petticoats. Hinami cringed as Itori tightened the stays, but she left Hinami plenty of room to breath. And then Itori pulled out a soft yellow dress made of delicate silk. "For you, Hinami."
Hinami's eyes popped. "I can't possibly—"
"It's Akira's money, not yours," Itori assured her. "Arms up."
Hinami obeyed, and Itori slipped the dress over her. Hinami shook her head at Touka as Itori tied the garment.
"You look so beautiful," Touka told her, a catch in her voice.
Itori dug in another bag that she had thrown on the small bed Hinami and Touka shared by lying down in opposite directions each night. She pulled out a variety of lip paints, holding them against Hinami's face before selecting one. She ordered Hinami to close her eyes before smearing makeup over them, outlining them and dabbing rouge on her cheeks. Itori produced the shoes last, comfortable for Hinami, yet still stylish. She gulped. "What if people think we're nobles?"
Itori chortled as she helped Touka into her dress. "They better." She held Touka's hair away from her face. "Your hair needs to be fluffier."
"I'm not a poodle."
"Hinami, there are a pair of white gloves in the bag for you," Itori said, ignoring Touka's complaints as she worked on her hair. "There!" she proclaimed when she finished. "And now I must go get ready myself, to make a fashionably late entrance." She winked at them as she flitted out of the room.
"Do I look dumb?" Touka hissed.
"No," Hinami said. "You look like a princess." She wondered if she had time to slip into the backroom, show Ayato.
A knock sounded. "Your escort is here, Hinami!" called Koma. "And it's not me. I only have two arms, after all. Irimi and Touka are enough."
"Hm?" Hinami frowned.
The door swung open. Yomo stood there, hand on Ayato's shoulder. An indigo vest matched Ayato's hair, which was actually combed. His lips were pinched, eyes narrowed as if grumpy. But his mouth opened when he saw Hinami. Her heart pounded.
"It's a masked ball," Yomo said. "Itori gave me a mask Ayato can use. Everyone will be too preoccupied with the new king and the presence of many new commoners to notice Ayato." He handed Ayato a black mask that covered his mouth, though not his eyes. Hinami produced her mask, the one Itori gave her, gold in color. It covered her eyes.
Hinami nodded.
"Hold out your elbow," Yomo ordered Ayato, as if he was a parent. Ayato rolled his eyes but obeyed. Hinami took it.
"Are you comfortable with this?" she whispered as they headed down the hallway. "I don't want you to be-"
"I'm fine," he replied. "You look lovely."
Hinami glances down at the yellow silk. It rustled as she walked. "I wish my parents could have seen me."
Ayato paused, glancing down at her. "I think they can see you," he told her. "Always."
"Your mask looks scary," Saiko informed Kaneki.
He touched the leather. It was designed by Uta, the armor-maker. It was similar to Mutsuki's mask, though Mutsuki's was white and revealed his other eye.
"Saiko, that's rude," snapped Urie.
Since when do you care about rudeness? Kaneki wondered. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. He was still so grateful they all made it back from the riot alive. With every day, he wanted to write to Hide about the insanity grasping the city, but he was too afraid to, and so his quill stayed dry. Tsukiyama promised to come through soon. The only person he felt he could trust left in the city was Touka.
The ballroom teemed with people, torches strung up high and candles in the arched windows. Kaneki swallowed. How was he going to find Touka? He spotted Nishiki, by a miracle, Kimi in his arms. The mask on his face couldn't disguise his hair color.
Across the room, on a staircase, he spotted a woman in an airy blue dress, her hair soft and wavy to her chin, a rabbit mask on her face. His feet carried him through the room, weaving through the crowd. Supposedly the courtyards were filled with people too, commoners and nobles alike.
He reached her after ten minutes. Sweat dampened his shirt as he looked up at her. She clutched the banister, eyes darting around as if uncomfortable.
"Touka," he said.
She glanced at him. "Nice mask."
"It's odd, I know," he allowed. "Yours is—you look-beautiful." It was the only word that popped into his mind. Once he said it he wanted to shrivel up and die.
Touka cocked her head. "Thank you."
"Do you want to dance?" he managed.
She nodded, taking his hand. Hers was small, but her grip strong. "Mado Akira sent us these dresses."
Kaneki's mouth fell open. "Wow."
"I don't know what to think about that," Touka said. "I wanted—her to—him to—I felt nothing when her father died." The guilt latching onto her voice betrayed her.
Kaneki's hand hovered over her shoulder blade before landing. They both stumbled through a waltz. Kaneki stepped on her toes. "Sorry."
"It's fine," she panted. Her arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. "Yomo smuggled Ayato in for Hinami. In a mask, of course."
Kaneki's eyes searched the crowd. His heart picked up pace. He couldn't protect them if—
"They're in one of the courtyards. Thought it'd be safer," Touka said.
"Does he like her?" Kaneki ventured. An elbow poked into his side. He ignored it.
Touka shrugged. "He talks to her, which is more than he does for me."
"I think I might be able to get him a job as a stable boy," Kaneki said. "No one knows who he was—and he won't interact with many people who might recognize him working out there."
"Thank you." Her voice came soft. Her fingers tightened on his back. She was afraid. For Ayato. For what they're doing. And he was too.
If I could just talk to Amon Koutarou and Takizawa Seidou…
"Want to know a secret?" Touka asked abruptly.
"Hm?"
"I'm still sorry about what happened to her, but I'm glad you're not marrying Lady Rize."
Kaneki's stomach lurched. Touka giggled, a strange sound from her, but a sound that set his stomach aflame. He struggled to breathe. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? He spotted Kuroiwa Takeomi and Yoriko dancing nearby. If it happened for them—and the king wanted better relationships with the commoners—but why would she like him? She was strong and brave even when she was afraid, and he was none of those things.
"Good evening, subjects!" boomed a voice. Kaneki froze, still holding Touka. The king stood on a platform near the ceiling. How did they create that? A mask spelling out the word "party" covered his face. Kaneki blinked rapidly. What the hell?
"Thank you for attending my inauguration," crooned Furuta. "Enjoy the celebration, and a new status for the relationships between the palace and commoners. I plan to open the gates each weekend."
"What's his game?" Touka hissed. "I don't trust him."
"And every commoner who attended, thank you," Furuta added. "When you depart the palace, please do us the honor of removing your masks, so we can record your name and our guards can remember your face as an honest commoner with no ties to the rabble who raided the palace or rioted last week."
Fuck. Kaneki and Touka exchanged a glance. "Ayato lives here," he whispered. "He won't have to leave the palace."
Touka still squeezed his arm.
"Let's find them," Kaneki decided.
Akira adjusted her ruby dress. She peered out one of the windows in a corridor outside the great hall. Laughter filled the air, stemming from the courtyards, and she couldn't laugh. The loneliness crushed her from the inside out.
She spotted Kaneki, tugging a girl in a rabbit mask into one of the courtyards. The girl's blue dress looked familiar. Akira smiled. So Itori had come through. She was glad. It was the least she could do.
But in the grand scheme of it all, what did dresses and face paint do when someone's parents heads were reduced to skulls and the palace cheered at the sight of them? Akira tried to imagine people scoffing at her father's death. She wanted to hurl a stone at their imaginary faces.
A hand landed on her shoulder. Akira whirled. A tall stranger, robed in a dark cloak and wearing a clown mask with crosses for eyes stood there. "What do you want?" she demanded. Good thing she'd kept her dagger attached with a garter to to her thigh.
"Akira," hisses the voice. The mask lifted.
Akira slapped him with her glove. She yanked her gloves off and smacked him again. "You bastard! I'll scream. I'll scream and they'll come-"
"I'm not going to hurt you, Akira, you have to believe me!" His voice stayed low, but panic beset his features. He clutched her wrists. "Akira, please. Your father would never have—"
"Run away from the palace defending a traitor? Damn right," Akira snapped.
"Is that really what you think of Takizawa?"
Clanks echoed. Guards. Akira grabbed Amon and dragged him outside, onto one of the walkways. The damp air blew around them. Dove banners flapped. Her throat tightened. "No," she managed. I love him. I love you both. "Tell me, Amon. Tell me it's not true. Tell me—"
"He believed he had no choice. His family was held—"
"You always have a choice!" Akira snarled. "Always, Amon Koutarou!"
His lips twitched. "Akira, something's not right. He wasn't involved with witchcraft—I haven't—I want to find who is. I want to rat them out, come back to here—where your father was—to you—to—"
"You think it'd be so easy?" Akira whispered. "Taking down a powerful witch and just—being welcomed back—" You're such a child. And yet she felt like she did when looking in that fountain in the Sunlit Garden, when she saw her reflection. Please. I want it. Come back. All of you, come back.
"It'd be incredibly difficult," Amon replied, clutching the parapet. "But I have to try. Akira, I have to—you know about my upbringing, I'm sure you've heard. I have to—be better than that."
And I have to be as good as my father. For a moment Akira thought about throwing her arms around him and saying to hell with it, to hell with her father, to hell with his warlock whatever he was, to tell with the palace, to hell with King Kichimura, and diving into—nothingness—with him. Making something from it.
She steeled her breath. "Is Takizawa all right?"
Amon nodded. The stars blinked behind him.
"Keep him safe," Akira requested.
"I had to see you," Amon told her. "I had to tell you—I didn't want you thinking—"
You came back for me. Like her father used to come home every night, kiss her forehead as she pretended to be asleep when she really couldn't sleep until he was home. Akira's eyes watered. "How can I help?"
"I—"
More clanks. Akira grabbed Amon's face, dragging him down for a kiss. That way the guard wouldn't see his face. His lips tasted like salt. She pressed in, kissing him, waiting for the guard to leave—oh screw the guard. Don't leave me.
The guard finally left, and Amon broke free. His face, even in the night air, was visibly red.
"You have some lipstick on you," Akira drawled, leaning back against the parapet. Her pulse hammered in her throat.
Amon ducked, dabbing it away on his glove.
"How did you get in?" she wanted to know.
"Mask."
"How are you going to get out?"
Amon shook his head.
"I know a way," Akira said. "You can't get caught, Amon Koutarou. You and Takizawa—you have to prove it. Come back." Was it even possible for Takizawa?
She'd make it so. If they wanted to lash him, they could lash her in his place. She'd do it for her father.
Amon nodded. She pulled him down a tower, rushing him along the passageways leading away from one of the courtyards. She almost ran smack into Kaneki, Touka, Hinami, and a boy Akira didn't recognize. She froze.
Kaneki's gaze landed on Amon. Hers landed on the strange boy.
Kaneki nodded at her. She nodded back. Whoever that boy was—whatever he was—Kaneki had his reasons. Akira had hers. "We need to talk," Kaneki said to Amon. "W—I want to—"
"I'll tell Akira," Amon said in a low voice. Akira nodded, dragging Amon with her. They headed towards the armory, sinking lower in the castle. Akira grabbed a torch and used it to light the way. When they reached the small window that white-haired man used to climb in the night of the raid, she jerked her head.
"Meet me in three days time," Amon told her, clutching her shoulders. "Ask Yonebayashi Saiko where. A barn. She knows. She'll tell you. Kaneki too."
"Yonebayashi?" Akira's eyes widened. You saved her. The riot.
He slipped out the window, landing with a thud on the grass.
We're meeting again soon, Akira told herself.
The loneliness still gripped at her throat.
Ui frowned as he surveyed the ballroom. Hirako looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. "There are too many people."
"Ui," said Hirako. He jerked his head.
Draped in pink, Hairu led a group of three kids into the ballroom. One of them, with soft white hair and the same green eyes set in his face as Hairu's, gripped her hands and swung about, giggling. None of them were in masks, not even Hairu. But her back.
Wings sprouted from her costume, glittering a deep magenta. She looked like an angel.
"Close your mouth," Hirako hissed. Ui's face burned as he approached.
Who are these kids? Ui wondered. The dark haired boy grabbed a glass of punch and yelped when the lavender-haired girl knocked it over, spilling down a lady's mauve dress. "I'm sorry!"
"It's fine, don't worry about it," assured the woman, wearing a mask that looked like a black dog.
"Let me help you," Hirako said, offering her a handkerchief. Ui didn't recall her voice. A commoner, maybe?
"I'm Shio," chirped the boy with white hair. "This is Yusa, and this is Rikai. Want to dance, Rikai?"
"Me too," said Yusa. Shio grabbed their hands, dragging them out to dance.
"They're from the orphanage," Hairu replied. "Some of the few who survived the plague. I go a few times a week. Shio's my cousin. Yusa is Arima's."
Ui's eyes widened. He had no idea. Have I not been paying attention? Does she feel ignored? "What happened to their parents?"
"Their mothers were mistresses of the king's," Hairu replied. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth.
Wait—what? Ui gaped at the three kids running wild on the dance floor. Hirako escorts the lady in a black dog mask onto the floor. Hairu holds her hand out to him. "Technically the gentleman is supposed to ask," he grumbled.
Hairu snickered. "Come on, Koori." She pulled him onto the dance floor, and she was in his arms. She smelled of gardenias and lilies. Ui's chest ached. Her waist was so small.
His mind whirled. Shio, Yusa, Rikai—they're all bastards? Like Furuta? "Did Tsuneyoshi have other children?" he ventured.
Hairu drew closer to him, the satin of her gown smooth under his palm. "Probably," she said.
Ui wondered whether Furuta knew. Violins struck up an upbeat melody, and Hairu chortled. A childlike delight sprang to her eyes. It reminded Ui of one time when he felt that way, when his father gave him a sword to practice with, only his father never practiced with him. But back then, Ui felt hope, felt excitement, felt like the world could be good.
He wanted to protect that spark in Hairu. Brainless though it might be. It was beautiful. It was part of her.
Torches flickered. Her wings sparkled. She spun, dress flying around her. It flew too high. Her eyes, green, winked. Her hair floated like a cloud at sunrise.
You're hope to me. You're sunrise.
"I'm better at dancing than you," she taunted.
Ui snorted. "You are."
Hairu blinked. And then a somberness flowed into her gaze. "I wish Arima were here. He would enjoy this."
Ui swallowed, the fire dulled inside him. "He'll wake up. I promise you, Hairu." His hand reached out to stroke her cheek.
She didn't meet his eyes.
"Where did he go?" lamented Shuu. His lip trembled as he searched the room for a sign of Kaneki Ken.
"I'm not sure," Kanae lied. She saw him slip out with Kirishima, but she didn't feel like mentioning it. Her purple vest and the whole get-up just made her feel uncomfortable, like she didn't belong. But Shuu made her feel like maybe she did, when he'd danced with her and Chie when they first arrived.
"Maybe he's annoyed you haven't found anything," Chie piped up. "On Furuta."
"Shut up!" Kanae hissed. "Do you want anyone to overhear us? It'd be your head too!"
Chie blinked. Shuu frowned. "It's fine, Kanae."
"It's not," Kanae returned. "Value your life a little more." Her face burned. Great, now she'd made Shuu mad at her. Tears blurred her vision.
"I couldn't find any enchanted objects when we broke into his chambers," Shuu mused, sipping a cup of wine. "Mm. Delicious."
Why do you have to do all this for Kaneki Ken? Kanae wanted to scream. You matter! Your family name matters! You have more value than just as Kaneki's peon! If she could shake Shuu, show him just how much he mattered to her, to his father, to Matsumae, she would. But she couldn't.
What I think doesn't matter. I'm a nobody. A knight. A lie.
"I have an idea," Shuu said, leaning in. "But it's dangerous."
"Sounds exciting," Chie said. Kanae stepped on her toes. "Ow!"
"Sorry," Kanae fibbed.
Shuu ignored it. "I know Furuta went to Aogiri weeks before Kamishiro disappeared. What if he went to find the witch himself and hear his future told? He was stewing over Rize's almost betrothal to Kaneki. His working with Kaneki seems destined to backfire. If anyone's arrested leaving tonight, they'll blame Kaneki."
"Or Furuta himself," Kanae commented.
Shuu nodded. "I can't see why he would want to harm himself, though."
Kanae pinched her fingers together. The pricks from the thorns stabbed her. I do.
"We need to find the witch," Shuu declared. "And pay her a visit. They may be colluding."
Shuu was quite possibly right, but Kanae would sooner die than see Shuu pay the witch a visit. Lord Mirumo would never forgive her, and she would never forgive herself if any harm came to her.
He taught her to read. He told her she could become the strongest knight he'd ever seen when everyone else laughed at her. He believed in her. And she—she believed in him. You're better than this mess. Your life deserves a better end than that. It doesn't deserve to end at all, not until you're old and asleep in your bed with someone who loves you beside you.
Shuu went to dance again. Kanae closed her eyes.
"Evening," said a voice beside her. She opened them to see a man with tattoos covering his body, half his hair shaved, leaning against the pillar. He ate from a bunch of grapes in his hand.
The mask maker. Uta. Kanae nodded at him.
"I couldn't help overhearing," said Uta. "And it's not as if you're the only few in this palace with suspicions about the king."
Ice flowed through Kanae's veins.
"Don't worry," Uta said. "I won't turn you in." He munched on another grape. "But I've heard rumors. The witch resides in a grove of willow trees in Aogiri. If you disguise yourself, I'm sure Tsukiyama could pay her a visit. I trust you'll tell your master what I've told you."
"How do I know you're not a trap?" Kanae managed. She'd skewer him if she had to, her own life be damned.
"You don't." Uta shrugged and pried himself away from the pillar. "Hey, Yomo!"
Fuck.
"Well, you're better at dancing than you are at fencing," teased Urie.
"You're worse," Mutsuki returned. Urie snorted instead of getting angry. Mutsuki bit back a smile. Urie smelled of paint again. Mutsuki wondered what he was painting.
"My turn!" Saiko grabbed Mutsuki's arms. Urie danced with Hsiao next.
"Shirazu would have enjoyed this," Mutsuki said wistfully.
Saiko's eyes filled with tears. "He would have."
Across the room, Kaneki took that kitchen slut's arm and led her out of the room. Come back, Mutsuki wanted to call. I want to dance with you—just one dance, just look at me, just talk to me, please!
But he didn't so much as glance over his shoulder. Mutsuki's shoulders slumped. A suffocating blackness closed in around him.
"I have to go talk to a friend," Saiko said quickly.
"Who?" Mutsuki asked, but Saiko was already gone. Mutsuki sighed. He couldn't find Aura or Higemaru in the crowd, and Urie was still dancing with Hsiao, though Hsiao's gaze followed Saiko. Mutsuki moved out onto one of the outdoor walkways.
Tears stung his eyes. He knew he wasn't good enough for Kaneki. Why did it still hurt?
I thought you cared. You don't have to return my feelings. Just care. He pressed the pendant in his pocket.
Love would heal him. The woman promised. Though even she said it might not be true. But if it could be…
Mutsuki couldn't fault commoners. He, too, would lap up any droplet of hope offered to him.
He loved Kaneki, so Kaneki had to heal him. Somehow. It will all be all right, he told himself.
But he couldn't guarantee it. Mutsuki kicked the stone parapet in frustration. He thought of Shirazu. If only Shirazu were here. He would like to see Saiko, all dressed up. Shirazu liked Saiko. Mutsuki could tell.
"Tooru?" ventured a voice. Mutsuki turned to see Hogi Ayumu approaching. "Just getting some air?"
Mutsuki nodded.
"Hachikawa escorted me here and then told me off," Hogi said.
Mutsuki blinked. "That's rude."
Hogi shrugged. "Yes. But if you have one good memory of a person, it's hard to hate them."
"I understand," Mutsuki whispered. The din from the party faded. He heard Kaneki's velvet voice. A cloud covered the moon.
Hogi let out a shriek. Mutsuki whirled. A dark figure grabbed Hogi by the neck, throwing her to the ground.
"Bastard!" Mutsuki yelled. And then the man looked up, haggard and grinning, saliva dripping from his lips. Fear clamped Mutsuki's chest. He saw another face there for a moment, felt as if water pushed its way into his lungs.
No. Mutsuki yanked out the dagger Suzuya recommended they all pack with them after the riot.
"Tooru, was it?" crooned the man.
"Stay away," Mutsuki snarled. "Or I'll—kill you." Can I? He felt faint at the thought of blood. His stomach twisted.
"I love you, Tooru." The man moved closer. Mutsuki backed up until his back hit the wall of cold, damp stone.
Love—not you; it's not you!
The man lunged. The clouds pulled back, revealing the moon. Mutsuki kicked the man in the chest. He grabbed Mutsuki's shoulder, throwing him to the ground. Mutsuki swing out. Blood splattered his face.
The man let out a groan, sinking to his knees. His hands went to his throat, but it was too late.
"Stop, Tooru!"
"You deserve it, Tooru."
His brother's voice. A memory.
The man dropped to the stone. Mutsuki's hands gripped the dagger. They shook. Dead—is he dead?
I'm a murderer! Mutsuki's stomach lurched. He gasped, clutching his knees. Air felt like daggers in his lungs.
"Might be a problem," interrupted a soft voice from behind Mutsuki. "The crown discovering a commoner was slain at the first ball of its kind. Maybe they'll make an example of you."
A dark figure emerged from the steps. Mutsuki saw Kaneki's face. And then he saw his father's. He felt water encase him. Water flowed up his arms. Water soaked his shirt. He scrabbled, fighting, fighting this time—let me breathe, let me breathe dammit, I need air, I have to breathe!
Mutsuki jerked back. He fell onto his ass. Hogi moaned, still unconscious. A thin man lay almost decapitated. And in front of Mutsuki another man—the mask maker—lay with a gash on his chest and a bruise already spreading across his forehead.
I—what? What did I do?
He remembered an axe. I—I killed my family.
I killed the thin man.
I attacked the mask maker.
Mutsuki ran.