Ashetta
burning glances turning heads
His teeth catch my attention—not as long as mine, or as the Ancients I’ve seen tonight, but there’s a sharpness there that suits Hawthorn. It makes his grin more interesting. More dangerous, in the way a blade’s glint is dangerous.I tip the last of my cider back when he finishes his own, the warmth sinking deeper into my limbs. It’s enough to have me already thinking about what I’ll grab next from the table behind us, even though the edge of a buzz is already humming through me. I search the options, and select another shot—downing it just as he addresses masks.
When I turn back to him, my jaw works once, a restless tic that comes with the thought of another kind of mask—polished wood and, gleaming paint and anonymity. The Guild of Masks. A name, a place, a lifetime ago.
“I’ve worn many masks myself,” I say at last, my voice a little lower, not unkind but edged with memory. ”Born of necessity or just a guarded nature?”
He leans in, and I meet it with a slow lift of one brow, steady and curious. “If by it you mean Ludo, then no. I haven’t.” My head tilts slightly, as if that might catch the wisp of a Herald’s presence in the air. “Do you think it’ll show? Considering all this is for it?”
I take a small step closer, the murmur of my next question for him alone. “Are you loyal to Ludo? Had any experience with it?”
stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you
