The Iron Alchemist

Chapter 37

The night of the Mayors masquerade ball was upon them and there was a chill in the air; the kind that crept up one's spine and made the hairs stand on the back one's neck. Lyolis hairs stood now while the carriage shook over each dip in the road. Even inside the booth, the chill found its way in.

Lyolis squeezed Zoars hand and he must've noticed her bumpy skin because he drew close, wrapping an arm around her, warding off the chill while her skin found warmth.

Across from them sat her father Leofort and mother Lyseria, her father with a look of curious amusement while her mother stared out the window bordely, tugging on her black, jeweled gown. It look as though they were in mourning. All in black: Lyolis in a gown that matched her mothers, with a tight strapped top and ruffled skirt, matching the black pearls around her neck and wrist; while her soon to be and father  wore black, long tailed coats and trousers, and tall brimmed hats that nearly touched the carriages roof. 

"We look ridiculous," she mumbled, shifting in her seat, trying to rid whatever piece of fabric was working up her rear. "Do remind me why we have to wear such attire?"

Lyseria glanced down at the black mask in her hand, with two holes for eyes and golden glitter that glimmered around the rim. "I don't understand these traditions myself, my child."

Leofort snapped the sting on his mask. It was much the same, except more rigid and gleamless. "Why hide the face?" He questioned. There was always an enthused tone in his voice like he'd forgotten his duties as a chief, and had no worries in the world. He snapped the string once more. "We won't know who anybody is?"

"I think that's the point," Zoar grumbled. 

He seemed the least bit amused. His face sour. Staring blankly like something was on his mind … though there was always something on his mind. Zoar sat much more seriously than her father ever had. Upright, chin up, and chest out. A proper Chief one day while her slumped further in his seat, snapping the band until her mother swiped the mask for safe keeping. She seemed less irritated after that. 

I hope there's music… Lyolis thought. She missed the sound of the constant beat of drums heard in totem, the birds singing while the flutes and chimes whistled with the wind. And a proper feast... 

Her father's stomach must've heard her; it grumbled. "I don't know how much longer I can take feeble meals." He muttered and Lyolis silently agreed. "If they don't have a proper pig I may have to pack our things and leave by morning light."

Lyseria pressed her hand against the ceiling, holding herself down while the carriage rocked. "What's the matter, my chief. You're not fond of caviar and cocktails?" She laughed. And once the carriage settled she brushed her nails through her braids; the nails glued on by the maids before they left. An annoyance, Lyolis could tell, pulling at her own. "Stop picking at them, my child … you could rip your finger off."

"But they're so… awkward." Though her mother kept silent, Lyolis could see the glimmer of agreeance in her eyes. She hid her hands and picked at the nails some more.