Yesss here we go. By the way! I've published two other things today; Twelfth Grade, my high school AU, and Muffle, my very Long ivyblossom one-shot (both on my alt: pondfrost) so please check em out if you're in the mood!

Chapter 12 - Clowd

My first clue that I might be in over my head is when a burly man nearly a head taller than me double-bolts the door the moment I'm inside.

The mostly bare cellar that my father brought me to last night has been transformed into something that calls to mind the glimpse I've seen of Queen Bluelianna's private quarters. Austerely detailed maps are blackened with notes in looping handwriting, crammed on each plot of land. The room is equally crowded—I catch sight of a few of the dozen I met with yesterday, but they're all engrossed in conversation with others. All the activity revolves around a woman seated behind a desk that wasn't there yesterday. I spot the girl who slipped me the note. She's deep in conversation with the woman at the desk, and after a moment, turns and points at me. I look back at them, unsure of whether I should wave. Where… am I? Who are all these people? And what truth are they going to tell me?

"I call this meeting to order!" the woman behind the desk announces, holding up her hand for silence. As she does, I note that her upper arm is tattooed, bared by the sleeveless brown tunic she wears, Wynnder in style and cute.

The symbol on the note. I realize why it's so familiar. That woman by the kitchens, when I first came to see my father. The symbol on the note and that woman's tattoo is the same as the tattoo of the woman by the kitchens. They're not the same woman, I'm certain, even though it's hard to see much of her features; the woman by the kitchens was in her forties at least and quite heavyset.

I try to see if the girl who gave me the note has the tattoo as well, but I can't find her in the crowd. The woman in charge is much younger than the woman who had been by the kitchens, in her twenties or thirties, maybe, and skinny as the trunk of an elm. As she surveys the room, I catch her eye. Her face is small and thin, each sharp feature pointing to her dark eyes, as watchful and still as a falcon's. I'm pretty sure her nose has been broken at least once.

"Order!" she calls again. The room falls silent. Then her knife-like gaze pins itself to me again. I notice that a lot of the room is staring at me, and I squirm. "As many of you may have noticed, we have a stranger in our midst."

I take a hesitant step towards her desk, feeling everyone's eyes following me, picking out how unnatural my hair is, how big I am for a kid who doesn't look more than eighteen. I wonder what they'd say if they knew I was only thirteen.

"This is the master's bastard son, half-god and probably the product of a liaison with one of ours," she tells them with no warm-up. Surprise ripples over the group, and I think if anyone wasn't already staring at me, they sure are now.

I fold my arms, trying not to be intimidated. Even standing over her, in front of the desk, it feels like she has complete control. She watches the crowd with those eyes that miss nothing, gauging their reactions. She's the reason I'm here, isn't she? I eye the girl that slipped me the note, who is now leaning against the desk and also watching the crowd as they murmur amongst themselves. Maybe she wasn't spying for my father's partner after all. Maybe she was spying for this woman. Then I turn back to the falcon-faced woman behind the desk. "Why am I here? Who are you?"

She holds up a finger. There's soil beneath her nail. "We'll get to that. What are your capabilities? How much of your father's god-magic got transferred to you?"

I scowl as she studies me. I thought I was getting good at reading people, even god-toys that I'd never met, but her stare is like a brick wall. "None of your business. Tell me who you are, or I'm leaving right now."

Yeah… I'm leaving right back through that locked door guarded by two big men. I don't even have Papercut on me. Awesome. Good planning, Clowd. I swallow, but my mouth is drying. I should've just stayed in Thundria. What in the name of the Starlaxi was I thinking with this? I'm not a god. I shouldn't get tangled up in their affairs. What kind of weird, underground cult is this?

"Fine." Her thin lips draw up in a theoretical smile, but the canny, evaluating look doesn't leave her face. "I'm Violetta. What's your name?"

Her tone's almost mocking, but I don't have a reason to keep it from her. She probably doesn't even know I might be giving away my life-force. "Clowd."

"Nice to meet you, Clowd."

I look around the room. Everyone's silent, watching. Some people fold their arms, returning my gaze with chilly stares like they're expecting me to whip out a dagger. As I examine them, I see that everyone whose upper arms are uncovered sport the same tattoo; two leaves, joined and pointed upward. So everyone's got matching tattoos and they sign their weird, suspicious notes with it. Definitely a cult.

"Who are they?" I ask, turning back to Violetta.

"Employees." Her tone is laced with venom even as she smiles again. It feels like a knife thrown at me, but I can't figure out why. Then she stands and I notice she's got a shortsword hanging from her belt. I wonder if she knows how to use it. "They serve your father."

I glance over my shoulder again at the dozens of unfriendly faces. They're all god-toys that work here…? "Okay. Is this… is this because of yesterday, when my dad came down to show me that you guys were happy?"

Violetta's mouth twitches, but instead of lashing out again she tilts her head. A black braid, sleek and shiny in the torchlight, flips off her shoulder and dangles behind her. "How old are you, Clowd?"

"Thirteen," I admit, wishing my voice came out less weak. "Uh… ma'am."

She blinks twice and then nods very, very slowly. "Ah. Okay, sit down." She gets me a chair, then walks back around to sit at her desk, looking something close to guilty. "Sorry about the circus. One second." Then she cups her hands around her mouth, which is pointless because everyone in the room is already hanging onto her every word, and calls, "Alright, meeting adjourned. I'll speak to him alone and update you all through Zem." She nods to the burly man who bolted the door, who then unbolts the door and lets everyone file out of the room. I catch a lot of curious stares, but at least they're gone now. The second-to-last to leave is the girl who gave me the note. She peels herself off the desk, stretches out her arms in a forcedly careless action, then looks back at Violetta. Violetta gives her a small nod, and something passes between them. Then the girl nods back and walks out the door. Zem closes the door after himself, though his footsteps don't retreat. I'm guessing they're both still stationed right outside.

Now that I have the chance to focus on Violetta alone, I notice the way she holds herself; shoulders up and back, and chin down a little like she's trying to show how concentrated she is on me. With everyone gone, she softens a little, leans back in her chair and sets her hands down, empty, on the surface of her worn desk. I don't let my guard down completely, though; they know I'm half-god and that I might have powers of some kind, and yet that big guy, Zem, and whoever the girl that was probably spying for Violetta is were fine with leaving us alone. I've also never seen a god-toy carrying a weapon. She definitely knows how to use it, I decide.

"Clowd," she begins, and now even her voice is different. Less… accusatory. "You asked your father if god-toys were treated well?"

I shift in my seat like I'm expecting a sneak attack. Is this a trick question…? But the totally unreadable wall she put up is gone; she just looks concerned now. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"What…?" I falter, but she doesn't elaborate further. Her gaze might not be as sharp or cold as it was before, but the feeling of being tested hasn't disappeared. "I… I asked him if you were treated well because…" I furrow my brow. Why did I do it? I'm not usually the type to dissect every one of my motivations for everything I ever do. "My uncle raised me, and he was a god-toy. And where I live, being a god-toy is seen as, like, I dunno. A bad thing, I guess. And then yesterday, there were acrobats and stuff performing—my uncle was an acrobat—and I saw one of them stumble and it looked like they hurt their ankle, but then they just kept going and they were smiling even though it looked like it really hurt, but no one said anything, and…" I trail off.

"Where did you grow up?"

It's hard not to ramble in the face of her expectant look. "Um, in one of the kingdoms—Thundria. My uncle ran away and joined the court when he was really young, and then when my mom realized she was pregnant, she gave me away to him."

Violetta's face flashes with surprise. "Thundria? I know someone who… hmm. Alright."

"Why are you asking all this stuff?" What would my dad think of these people? Does he have any idea this is going on?

She folds her hands, then leans back in her chair and gives me another appraising look. "I can tell you, but you'll have to promise not to run and tell your father."

"Huh? I…" I find myself chewing on my lip like Faern. "Why? What would he do?"

"Kill all of us."

"What?! No, he wouldn't."

Violetta's face gets a little colder, one feather closer to falcon-woman. "Clowd, I know it isn't easy to hear. Just listen, alright? You don't know me, but you know I'm a god-toy that's worked for your dad, right?"

I nod, discomfort worming in my stomach. Kill them? My father wouldn't kill anyone unless his life was in danger. It's against the knight's code.

"I wasn't born a god-toy." The intensity of her stare makes me shrink and she seems to see that, leaning back in her chair and lowering her voice as she continues. "My brothers and I were born in a village, a few leagues north of here. We left to find our fortunes, and while my brothers went into farming, I hoped to get a job in one of the beautiful mansions I saw as a girl, walking with my father. I was fourteen. They took my life-force, and now I can't leave. I am not an employee. I am a prisoner."

I'm mute.

"Being paid in food-and-board with no option to leave is not work." Her hands curl into fists on the table. "And every one of us is in the same situation. Most were born into it, and many don't even know there's another option besides working for the gods until we die. I'm trying to change that, and I think you might be able to help us. But if your father discovers this insurgency, understand that when I say you will destroy everything we've tried to build and we will all be dead."

She seems to realize I'm stiff as a board and more than slightly terrified. Violetta relaxes a little and reaches out to touch my hand. Her hands are rough as sandpaper.

"We're not asking you to lie for us," she says. "Just that you don't tell your father."

"Isn't that lying?" I protest.

"No, it's… omission." Her lips twist wryly, and she shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have involved you if I had realized just how… young you are. But still, even if you can't… take on the responsibilities that I envisioned, I think you can do a lot of good for us. You said you were from Thundria, correct?"

My eyes drift to the map behind her. Notes and annotations crowd over all the manors and farmlands, but the stretch of land that I'm assuming is the kingdoms, based on the placement of what's probably the Rivien sea and the moors of Wynnd, is almost completely blank.

"Yeah."

She contemplates me in silence for a moment, and then her eyes drift up, unfocusing as if she's picturing something in her mind. Her gaze returns to me. "I'll be perfectly clear. My end goal is the liberation of all god-toys, through any means necessary. You and your kingdom are in a unique position to help us; you have the trust of the gods, and your kingdom has a fighting force that could go up against them."

I'm already shaking my head. "No, no, we—they—we don't have enough—we're not strong enough to defeat gods. We couldn't fight them."

Violetta raises a dark brow. "No? With the advanced life-force and organized warfare of the kingdoms..."

I think of Cindra, of the destruction wrought on her life just by the gods' carelessness. What would the focused wrath of the gods look like? They could wipe Thundria off that map. If Violetta's right, if my father really would… My heart twists at the thought of my father attacking Fiyr, Samn, Faern. Would he? I don't know Violetta. But I admit to myself that I don't really know him, either. I only met him a few months ago. That's not long enough to make a good judgement, is it? Anyway, even if Thundria could just storm the manors and free all the god-toys…

"What about your spirits? Your life-force?" I point out.

"What do you mean?" Her brow furrows.

What? Does she not know about… "You said they took away your life-force, right? That's… you can't survive without your life-force. Being near the gods' magic is what's keeping you alive; if you kill them or run away somehow, you're just going to eventually die…" I trail off as her expression makes it clear this is the first she's hearing of it.

"The life-force wouldn't return if we left the gods?"

I pause. Thundria's collection of admittedly-small research made it seem like there was pretty much no chance of survival. "I don't think so. It's… once it's gone, it's gone. Spirit-clipping is supposed to be permanent. But…" I hesitate. Is it even worth mentioning? "I did find something that suggested there was a cure… at least at some point, a long time ago. I have no idea what it was, though."

Violetta purses her lips, then nods. There's steel in her spine as she straightens, and I get the impression that her fight for freedom has been rife with setbacks, which doesn't really make me feel any better about being the bearer of another one. "We will find it, then; if it exists anywhere in this world, we will find it. This is valuable information. Thank you."

I'm left sort of speechless just by her sheer tenacity. I just told her that if she gets free, she's going to drop dead, and she's… more committed to it than before. "I… I'm sorry. I just don't think I can help you."

"Then all you can do for us is keep this a secret from your father."

She pauses and I'm quick to agree, stumbling over my words. "Of course. If you really think he would…" My voice fades. I don't even want to voice it, but instead of contemptuous, she just looks pitying.

"If you return to Thundria, please pass word of us to your monarch."

"Queen Bluelianna…?" I think of the queen and her absence from the court's affairs. More like pass the word to Samn. She's probably going to be really angry when I get back, too. "Yeah, okay. What's… do you and your group have a name?"

She smiles thinly and shifts one shoulder forward to display the mark on her upper arm. "Layli dubbed us the Mer-marked. And I suppose it's good to have an identifier."

It's then that I realize the tattoo's not two leaves at all, but a small, stylized fin.

The Mer… they know of the maiorum? Or at least 'Layli' does. I'm assuming the name belongs to the girl who slipped me the note. I guess we're all descended from them, including villagers and god-toys. The woman in kitchens was part of the group too. How many of my father's god-toys are plotting against him? I stare at the ink on her pale skin for another moment, trying to ingrain it in my memory, then nod. "Alright. I… I hope we can help… someday."

Violetta stands finally and motions me to the door. "I hope so too."

...

When I leave the cellar, my heart beating in my throat, I find my father waiting for me in the gardens.

"Clowd!" He always smiles when he sees me. Usually, I don't have to force the smile back.

"Hi, Dad."

He pats the bench he's sitting on, beckoning, and I have to boost myself up to get onto it. My legs dangle.

"Are you still interested in music?"

Since… yesterday? "Yeah?"

"The music teacher nearby is hosting a dinner tonight and has offered attendance to us," my father tells me, looking pleased with himself.

A dinner with other gods? I know I've eaten with my father's family, but this feels… more. Besides, I was supposed to leave today! Will one more day hurt? Maybe Violetta will tell me something else. Or I can find proof that my father would never hurt anyone. But even if he hasn't hurt anyone directly, a new, quiet voice whispers. He keeps people. You heard her; they can't leave. What kind of life is that? Even if being a Thundrian sucks sometimes, I'm not stuck in the castle. I have enough freedom to run off and stay with my god father, anyway. But Fiyr and Samn are probably worried sick.

"What do you think?" my father prompts.

"I won't…" I swallow. "I won't be able to talk to them."

"Yes you will." He waves his hand dismissively. "You have used our mental link. You can speak with images to everyone at the party."

That's true, but… I've started sending him pictures the same way he's sent them to me, just by focusing really hard on him and imagining him seeing whatever it is I want him to, but it's hardly precise. Just the idea of trying to push through the clunky language barrier while everyone else chatters easily makes my face burn.

"Do you want me to go?" I search his face, worrying. Will he be mad if I say no?

He gives me a sunny smile. "It will be fun! You can meet gods your age. Many pretty girls. I will show you how to get ready. You can take a path."

"What? A soulpath?" Protests rise in my mouth but he's already on his feet, waving for me to follow him. I try to cobble my fears together into a coherent refusal, but all I can think is Violetta's flat answer to my question about what he would do if he knew about the Mer-marked. Kill all of us. I look at the giant man—God, I remind myself—striding down the garden path toward the house and try to make sense of the two different versions; the god who keeps dozens, maybe hundreds prisoner, and my father, who's been nothing but patient and kind. I guess he's made it really clear that he wants me to stay with him. But I can still go back to Thundria, right? The reminder twangs guiltily in my mind. I need to leave. "I was… I should go ho—back."

My father looks back, almost confused, then laughs it off. "No, no, after the party. You will see what life as a god really is."

And then you won't want to go back. He keeps saying stuff like that, like he already knows what my choice is going to be. Because he thinks his life is great, or because he won't let me say no? Dread thuds into the pit of my stomach, and I follow a little further behind him, really looking at him. I'm stronger than most people, I know, but I'm still a kid… and Dad is… He's tall, strong, experienced, and if Violetta's to be believed, not keen on letting people leave his possession.

"Come! You will love the mirror," he promises over his shoulder, hauling open the door of the house for me. I step through, aware of his huge presence behind me in a new way, and try to puzzle out that one. The mirror…?

Then he leads me up the stairs, past the fountain, and into my own chambers. Someone's made the bed and put away the sleep-clothes that I left in a heap at the foot of it. Not someone. Zem or Violetta or Layli or that little boy with the lisp or the woman who lied to protect him.

"Come, come." My father steers me over to one end of the room, in front of a white desk with a mirror mounted on the wall behind it. The mirror is as large as a tapestry, stretching wide enough that I can see my body from the waist up. Even my father's full stature is captured in the surface of it.

"Another use for our magic," he explains, motioning to the mirror with a wide smile. I meet my own eyes in it, feeling suddenly small and odd compared to my father. I look like a shoddy painting of him.

"How?"

"Look!" he exclaims, then reaches out to touch the surface. It ripples like a silver pool, distorting our reflection, then a moment later, it stills again. I stare into it, trying to figure out what he just did. My eyes sting.

I examine his reflection, but there's no change. Then I look back into my own eyes and my breath catches in my throat. My eyes. He darkened my eyes a couple shades, closer to his own cobalt rather than the sky blue they were before. Once I've seen it, I can't unsee it; it feels like it changes my whole face. My gaze is more intense, less… less human. No human has eyes this colour.

Is that what the tingling is? I reach up, fingers brushing my eyelashes. It's faded now, but the face in the mirror still has the same odd eyes. Are they real?

"You changed my eyes," is really all I can manage.

"I can undo it," he assures me, and touches the mirror. In a heartbeat, I'm back to normal. The churning subsides in my stomach.

"This is… preparing for the party?" Changing your face?

"It is expected to change sometimes!" He shrugs and smiles at himself in the mirror. "Here." He reaches out again.

"Wait!" I find myself exclaiming. His finger pauses mid-air. "I… um, can I try?"

He smiles again, perfectly even. I wonder if mine is that symmetrical. "Yes! You try."

Okay, let's hope I don't totally destroy my face… I picture the change, trying to cement it in my mind as I reach out and touch the mirror. I don't know if it's the mirror or me making it happen, but a moment later, it ripples and I feel my nose burn like I'm about to cry. Then I pull away and brush my fingers over the bridge of my nose.

Sure enough, the little concave curve that Fiyr and I share is gone, replaced by the solid, straight line of a Thundrian.

"Your nose?" My father wrinkles his own button-like nose. "That is not… why don't I change your face for you?"

I open my mouth, ready to protest, but he's already touched the mirror. A moment later, my whole face begins to get itchy, like feathers are brushing over it. The mirror stills, and a feeling of strong discomfort settles in my stomach. It's… me, but only barely. I raise my hands to my face, and the familiar stranger in the mirror does the same. Tracing that extra-curved nose, my newly mature features, the darkened eyes and the white-milk skin... I look like a god. No... I look exactly like my father. Every trace of Mom and Fiyr has been scrubbed away.

"You see?" Pride radiates from his smile.

"Wow," I say, because I don't know what else to say. I want to go back! So many subtle changes, all layered over each other. The line between this new, god-me blurs with the old one. Were my cheekbones shaped like that before? Was my forehead longer? Sudden fear surges in my stomach. What if I can't remember? I can't go back to Thundria looking like this.

"You want to go now?" my father asks, still smiling.

It feels like I just ate a bowl of earthworms, but I swallow down the slime on my tongue and nod. "Alright." What else can I say? But… "I should really go back home after the party."

He pouts again, but this time, in the mirror, I think I catch a flash of something a little darker in his eyes. Real anger. Or maybe Violetta's putting ideas in my head and now I'm imagining things. "Fine."

I sag a little with relief. I'll ask him about fixing my face later.

"Now you can change your clothes!" He brightens immediately as he says it. "I instructed them to place some of my clothes in your drawers."

They're way too big, I think immediately, but I follow him over to the dresser anyways. With only the barest touch from my father, the drawer glides open, revealing gold and peach-coloured silk, cotton, fabrics that I've never seen or felt, all neatly folded and placed on top of each other. Most were born into it, Violetta's voice echoes in my ears. How old was the person who arranged these clothes, when they first learned to make such pristine folds?

"Try them on!" my father urges, and I put all thoughts of Violetta out of my head.

After I drown myself in the sweeping lengths of silky robes, and once my father snaps his fingers to make it shrink down, fitting my proportions, he deems me ready for the party. My dad must've gotten ready before he came out to the garden to find me. He said he was working, didn't he…? How much of his time does he spend on historian-ing, and how much is dressing up for fancy parties and moving houses and arranging dinners?

"Now, I will show you how to use a path! It is fun. You will see!" My father claps his hands and then wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving me a big squeeze as he ushers me out of the room. It feels less comforting, this time. I look over my shoulder, catching a last look at the new face in the mirror.

He didn't change his face, I can't help noticing as we walk down the stairs. I peer up at his strong jaw, the eyes that are now identical to mine, and wonder if 'It is expected to change sometimes!' was code for 'I don't want to bring you to a party when you look like a human.' Shame squirms in my stomach, even when there are like a billion more important things to be worrying about. Am I not enough in this world? Then I remember where we're going. I'm going to use a soulpath. I chew on my lip again, finding it fuller.

"Is it dangerous?" I ask.

My father laughs. "No! No danger in a path."

Well, that's not true. I think of Cindra, then force my brain away. I don't want him to know everything about her, not now.

I try not to look at any of the god-toys that we pass as my father escorts me out to the cobblestone path in front of the house, this time because I'm scared I'll see Zem or Violetta and not be able to control my reaction. And then, altogether too quickly, we're outside in the setting sunlight. Oh no, it's almost dark. How am I going to get back to Thundria in the night? We're all the way over by the silverpeaks!

I look at my dad, but he's already stepping away from my side and joining the rest of his family at the edge of the soulpath. His partner looks over at me and wrinkles her nose. The same one as me, now. Because now I look like I could be their full-god son. Like Mom didn't even exist. Then she steps back and vanishes.

"Clowd, come!" my father commands as another god vanishes. One of my cousins? My father hasn't bothered introducing me yet. I step hesitantly over to the edge of the glassy soulpath.

I've never seen the start of a soulpath before, but I'm guessing this is one of them. It's a big circle, a perfect glassy platform embedded in the earth, and off from the far side, a soulpath stretches into the distance, cutting over farmland and disappearing into the trees beyond.

"It is very easy," my father promises as another of his family disappears. "Just stand and let the river carry you."

I look down at the gleaming surface, lit by the reddish sun. And then up at how far the soulpath extends. Will I be able to see where I'm going? What if I hit something?

"Now go! We cannot be late," he teases, so at odds with the horror building in my chest.

But he's almost blocking my way, now, bracketing me between him and the other gods. Another steps onto the path and vanishes. It looks so easy, but…

I take a slow, shaking breath, and then step onto the surface. The last thing I hear is the thunk of my boot against the glass, before all of my senses start to go ballistic.

It feels like I've stepped into a windstorm. My body is immediately thrown forward, leaving my breath behind, and my eyes stream as I try to right myself, stumbling over the path as I'm thrust into the distance. Something's wrong, I can feel it—I'm off-balance, or I'm angled wrong, or—

I try to take a breath, but the air is blistering, and I reach out, arms wind-milling, trying to find my footing. The ground beneath my feet can't possibly be flat, because nausea roils in my stomach as I stumble, reaching out, and—

I'm flung from the path, the air flaying me as I hurtle through it, then I slam into something very hard and not moving. I crumple to the ground, curling in on myself and gasping for air. I think I can feel my bones throbbing with pain as they reckon with the abrupt loss of momentum.

Once I can see and breathe again, head still pounding with pain, I flex my hands, then my arms, then push myself up to a sitting position. The soulpath gleams a few metres away, and I don't think I got thrown nearly as far as it felt. I take another deep breath, feeling my heart thud back to a semi-normal speed, and then twist around to see that the hard, unmoving thing that brought me to a painful halt was in fact, a tree.

Shit. I sag, panting, and lean myself against the tree as my brain switches itself out of panic mode. Well, I'm never, ever, ever doing that shit again.

I look up, seeing trees crowding out the dusk sky. A forest? How far did I go? I try to swallow, but my tongue feels like it's covered in sand and I think the tang is blood. Blessed Starlaxi. It pops into my head without thinking. Well, they definitely aren't looking out for me if they're gonna put me through that. I look up at the sky, the two or three stars that have already appeared, and shake my head.

"Clowd? Clowd!"

My father. Relief swamps me, because even if it's him and even if everything Violetta said is true, at least I'm not alone anymore.

"Dad!" I call, voice ragged.

"Clowd!" He appears in the trees, his delicate beauty and finery so out of place in a forest like this. Then he runs over to me and gathers his arms under my shoulders and hauls me to my feet. I crumple against him, half-hugging and half-trying-not-to-fall-over. "What happened?"

"I don't know!" My voice shakes, but I don't care. "I just… it was so loud and I couldn't stay upright, and then I fell and…" I break off in a hiccuping sob.

He looks over at the soulpath. "You should try again."

"What?! No! No, I can't," I insist, pulling away and feeling one of my knees almost buckle under me.

"We'll be late." There's a bit of steel in his voice. For a moment, I can only really see his outline, framed in the twilight. His height, his wide shoulders—he lays a hand on my shoulder. "You should try, at least."

"No," I repeat, but I don't know what I'm going to do if he pushes it—we're in the middle of nowhere. What else can I do?

He looks at me again for a long moment, the tension between us stretching to the point of snapping. Then finally, he says, "Alright. It is not far, we can walk."

A relieved breath hisses out of me, and I quickly fall in step with him when he starts back off into the forest, the direction he came to find me. He listened, I try to tell myself. Still, my stupid brain is already spinning out an imaginary scenario where Fiyr was the one to find me, instead. He'd ask if I was okay because he always freaks out when I get hurt. And he'd insist that we don't go, and that he takes me back to the castle, and he wouldn't have changed my whole stupid face without asking first. But even as I try to put it out of my head, as we walk through the forest along the soulpath, I still wish it was Fiyr next to me.

Even as the trees ebb and we reach the estate of the hosts, I keep thinking, Fiyr's probably so worried. And Cindra, and especially Faern are probably scared too. Fiyr, at least, knows where I am. I flush with shame, thinking of how I reacted when he revealed he'd followed me. Because he was freaking spying on me! But now he knows that I'm with my dad. What if he thinks I'm not coming back because I decided to stay?

"Come on in, and say hello to everyone," my dad suggests. Orders, I guess. Because I don't have any power here, and he's the only one I can talk to if something's gone wrong.

"Yeah, okay." My voice is quiet, but my father either doesn't notice or doesn't care. I follow him up the path, into the house, and stare at the god-toys that take my father's over-clothes, then withdraw with practiced anonymity. More questions fill my head. Are they Mer-marked? How big is Violetta's organization? Is she even their leader, or just the one in charge in my father's manor?

I hurry after my father as he sweeps down the hall, toward the brightly lit archway. We step out into what's either a ballroom or a garden. Maybe both. The roof is open, letting in the moonlight, and the room is lit by floating bubbles of light. Some kind of enchantment, but it still shocks me out of my fear for a second. Gods cluster around banquet tables or sway to ethereal music in the centre of the floor, all talking and laughing. I freeze, but my father gives me a little push forward.

"They're your age," he whispers to me, pointing out a group of gods standing around a fountain of some kind of ruby-coloured drink. "Make friends!"

Then he merges into the crowd, claiming a plate and complimenting a nearby god with ease, and slips into a conversation.

I take an uncertain step toward the drink-fountain. Immediately the jewel-like eyes of the other young gods swivel to take me in. Well… this me, whoever he is. I swallow and wave.

Words crowd in my mind, a symphony of different voices in a language I don't speak, and just as I feared, I freeze again. Then I fix my gaze on one of the girls, whose hair gleams like burnished copper. She smiles at me, reaching up to twirl a curl of her hair and draw it like a curtain over half of her face, hiding one of her emerald eyes.

Then I try to send her an image, one of her own beauty. You're pretty. Would a god start a conversation that way?

She smiles brighter, elbowing one of her friends as they incline their chin to her. I can't tell who's talking to who, what they're saying, or what they think of me, but… I can do this. My chest tightens and I draw a deep breath, then close the distance and reach for a glass of the ruby-drink.

It's so cold it hurts my teeth, but it's a little sweet and a little bitter. My tongue curls, but I try to enjoy it. The copper-haired girl tilts her head at me, and more incomprehensible words appear in my head.

I grimace, then try to send her an image of us communicating with little pictures bouncing back and forth between us like squires passing notes when they're supposed to be studying.

She tosses her hair back and laughs, then points at my father and gives me an inquisitive look. I nod, smiling shyly. Are all those titles going to come in handy? Is she impressed that he's my dad?

Then another image appears, of me standing with my father's hand on my shoulder. At my other shoulder is a woman with a question mark for a face. Who's your mother. I think of Mom, then question that judgement. Maybe I shouldn't tell her my mother was a human. Should I lie and send her a picture of my father's partner?

Then her friend's eyes widen and she bursts into high, cold laughter.

I stiffen, gaze flicking between them.

The copper-haired girl gets a similar look, then her smile sharpens, turning diamond-hard and dagger-sharp. Another image appears in my head. My father, resting his hand on the head of a stooping, ugly human woman. Revulsion swells in my throat and I reel away from them as the whole group bursts into laughter, all looking at me with a mix of shock and disgusted mirth. My cheeks sear. How did she realize? Can she see into my head? Of course. Because I have no idea what gods are capable, and I never should have said yes to this party. I should have run back to Thundria the second Violetta told me my father would kill them for trying to get free. My stomach swoops and for a moment I'm so nauseous I feel like I'm back on the soulpath.

I manage to swallow down the bile, but I backpedal away from the young gods, trying to escape into the crowd of curious glances. But they'll all figure it out as soon as I start talking to them. Or communicating with them, because I can't talk to them, because I don't speak their language because I'm not one of them! My eyes sting, these eyes that aren't mine, and I stumble blindly through the crowd until I find my dad.

He gasps when he sees me, then quickly turns it into a smile, wraps an arm around my shaking shoulders, and turns to his friends. I can't even muster a neutral look for the silent introduction that I'm guessing is going on right now, I just screw my eyes shut and try to forget the way the girl's face changed, the way they laughed. The image of my father and my mom, that stupid, thoughtless, warped idea of what a human is, and how easily they wrote me off.

"Clowd, are you well?" My father's face, terrifyingly unfamiliar for a moment, twists with concern. "Are they rude? You can stay with me."

The words fall like stones in a pool, and sudden understanding ripples over me as I stare up at his perfect, handsome face that is an identical copy of mine, now. I don't know if it's paranoia or if the veil has finally lifted, but absolute certainty seizes me. He planned this. Or he hoped it would happen. Now that I feel like I don't belong, I'm going to come running to him for reassurance. And I did. Humiliation chokes me for a moment, then it's replaced with the cold, creeping feeling of being trapped. Every time I ask to go, there's always one more thing I have to see. One more thing to experience before I'll be sure that I don't want to leave at all. I don't breathe for a moment, staring at him until he turns back to his friends. Then I look up at the stars, distant and unfeeling. There'll always be one more thing until I stop asking to leave. I should have listened to Violetta, should have begged her to help me and promised her Thundria's forces, because now I'm a prisoner, too.

So I put on a smile and shake my father's friends' hands, and start trying to form a plan of escape.

I'm excited! Can you guess the canon identities of these folks?

~Akila