Chapter 3

Everyone wanted to get closer to the guests, the foreigners. Their faces were hidden by wooden masks, expressionless features that were carved with eyes and nose in front to be identical. Even so, you could tell that they didn't originate from there based on their skin color. Some weren't as white as Brielle, though in all honesty, she doubted that anyone was paler than an albino. They were either tanned, dark-skinned, had a milky complexion, or yellowish. Their heights, too, gave them away, but then from what she'd heard, the smaller few were quick on their feet.

Brielle could barely wiggle her arms, much less raise them. They were stuck to her side, pressed to her thighs, as though she was laid on a coffin. She groaned under her breath. It wasn't a nice thought. Brielle stood on tiptoes and scanned a way out of her predicament. Hundreds, even thousands of people had made it to the square. She was a needle in a haystack. They barely paid attention to her or her woes.

The crowd gasped collectively. The drums and cymbals have seized, replaced by trumpet's horns. Their sound was intense, full, and brilliant, vibrating on her stomach, making its way to her mouth. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only reason for Brielle's dizziness. She'd finally caught sight of the master. He was on his way to the seats on the right side of the podium ahead, flanked by throngs of men. She should really get going.

"Excuse me." She wiggled her arms. "Excuse me."

Her words fell on deaf ears. The people barely registered her voice as they shifted uneasily. More than the dismissal, their burning candles drove her mad. One was held next to her hair, too close for comfort.

She cleared her throat again. "I need to go there. My master is waiting for me."

It was like she never spoke at all. Brielle was used to it, had been holding the words back for eight years, but she'd dig herself in a bigger hole if she didn't try. With an effort, she squirmed her arms up, tucking them higher than her waist. She took a deep breath and prepared to scream her request. "Excu—"

"Wow!" the crowd exclaimed, drowning her voice. Brielle's shoulders sagged. Forget about seeing the foreigners. This day was worsening by the minute.

She was still feeling sorry for herself, wondering what to do, when she felt a ripple on her immediate left, like a stone being thrown to water. The people were shifting, adjusting, about to go somewhere.

A man whipped his head to her, and for the briefest second, she thought he was going to scold her for just standing there. "Move," he said. She couldn't understand why his eyes grew large, his mouth forming a perfect O-shape. "Our gates had been breached."

Hearing those words, paranoia overtook the excitement of people. At first there were murmurs, low voices concealed by the continuous blowing of trumpets. When the news spread to just the right number of individuals, the murmurs were no longer there. The crowd pushed and pulled, shoving each other out of the way.

If one good thing came out of the building pandemonium, it was that a small opening was presented right in front of Brielle. Her decision had to be quick. If she went that way, she'd be able to worm through the people, cut through the foreigner's, and make it to her master in time for the announcement.

The opening grew wider. There was no time for self-doubts.

Brielle did the plan exactly how she saw it in her head. She side-stepped people, slipped, and pushed with the others. It was flawless at the beginning. She'd always been agile. It was when she was almost to the guests that the plan backfired. The source of the ruckus was coming from them.

It was too late to go back and slip into the safety of the crowd. She was wide open, a few feet away from the foreigners. Brielle gasped. On the other side were animals- tigers, vipers, elephants and more, of different breed and sizes, all coming towards her. If she went now, if she continued to her master, she'd be caught between the middle of the guests and the predators.

Brielle was even more convinced that this day, or maybe her whole life, was a joke. She'd fallen from one dilemma straight to another.

But no matter. Getting trampled by an elephant was nicer compared to her master's wrath. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and made a run for it. Not against the chaos, but towards it.

Never mind the hissing of the snakes. Never mind the growls that sent a shiver down her spine. Never mind that her knees were weak and she felt faint. She dashed with her head bowed, her arms swinging. She didn't stop until she'd made it to the other side where her master was waiting beside the torch-lit podium.

"My dear Brielle," he said when he spotted her. "Where did you run off to?" He was too calm, too reserved, considering that the gates had been breached and wild animals were possibly on a rampage.

She took three large gulps to sustain her burning lungs, then stole a look behind her to where she came from. The sight surprised, if not amazed her. The animals weren't violent or destructive. They were neither eating people nor squashing them to death. Like Brielle had made her way to her master, the animals reached the foreigners and were being petted as though it was an everyday occurrence.

"A bit barbaric for my taste," the master remarked. "Animals should be locked in zoo's or thrown to the wilderness, not owned like pets." He gazed at her with his dark brown eyes. "Come."

The hulking guards parted to give way at his signal. Brielle had no choice but to follow him. She had many questions in mind, many things she wanted answered, but she knew better than to ask, not when she was still guilty of being late and sneaking about.

No sooner had they walked did they reach the nearest tent. The master held the flap open and gestured inside. She took one more look over her shoulders, to the strangeness of the guests and the animals that were tame on their feet. Brielle shivered, ducked her head, and entered.

It was a pretty normal tent. The height was comfortable enough that even tall men could walk uninterrupted by the ceiling. There was a short table in the middle with a lit lamp on the center. Pillows were scattered on the rug to accommodate anyone who'd want to sit. The master let the flap drop behind him before swiveling to Brielle.

He wasn't imposing at all, not on the outside. He was tall and slim, with jet black hair. His bespectacled eyes said that he liked to read and write, which was why his vision was bad even when he was only at his thirties. The eagle pin strapped on the collar of his blue trench coat told people that he was of importance.

"You're late," he said.

Brielle lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."

His eyes flashed. "You're sorry, what?"

"I'm sorry, Master Vincent," she murmured.

He was in front of her in a few steps, brushing hair away from her face. "You went there again, didn't you? How many times did I tell you not to?"

"I'm sorry, Master Vincent," Brielle repeated.

He sighed heavily and walked to the table. He didn't sit at the provided pillows, just stood there, gazing at the flickering lamp. "As far as anyone is concerned, your father is dead, Brielle." His tone was firm. "And if he's still alive, out there somewhere, by some impossible event, he's a pariah, an outcast. You wouldn't want to lay eyes on him again. He brought humiliation to you, to me, and our nation. He's a madman."

Uncertainty lapped at her in waves. It was during these moments that she couldn't remember the father that used to rush his notes, his meals, his everything. The father that carried Brielle on his shoulders to play. The father that was brilliant. She could only recall the anger, the confusion that night when people knocked on their door, took her father away, and with it, robbed everything from Brielle, including her freedom.

"You're under my wing now, little ghost," master said. She bit her lips. It was a term her father had used on her as an endearment, which the master now used loosely. She didn't like hearing it from his mouth. "I'm expecting you never to be late again." Brielle nodded on autopilot. The master seemed pleased. He pushed his glasses with a finger, and jammed the other hand in his pocket. A red ribbon dangled between his fingers when he held them out to her. Brielle was surprised with this. She didn't expect a gift from him. A punishment was more his style. "They're not for you."

"Then who is it for?" she asked. "Master?"

"Someone you're about to meet soon," he hinted with a glint on his eyes.