Emaris woke cradled in Tedraun's arms, a row of faces staring down at her. Masks lined the walls of every chamber in his home, every imaginable beast depicted in a cacophony of shapes and colors.

"It's a good thing Mayfly Night's finally come," she murmured into his ear.

"They'll all be gone by tonight," he said blurrily. He was not one for mornings. But unlike most of his sleepy promises, she knew this one would hold true. Then he'd start again, for next year.

They had always told her that subtlety was best, but in their excitement they gave her a gold-embroidered robe to wear, and set jewels in her hair, and sprayed too much perfume upon her wrists, behind her ears, between her breasts. They all but pushed her through the curtain of tiny threaded bells, which announced her presence to the man sitting patiently upon a cushion on the garden patio.

She sank to the ground and made obeisance gracefully, not looking up until he said, "How are you called?"

"Mayremie, my lord," she said. He was, of course, quite unlike all the descriptions. But no seated man was that tall, especially if he was usually astride his war-steed, and no shoulders could be as broad without armor. It had taken no giant to conquer all the known lands of the east, only a man. This man.

Kinari had yet to choose which face to wear on Mayfly Night. Her cousin Dayamies mocked her, "You're wingèd so much that your human face is a mask anyway." He himself already had a lion-mask, framed by a tawny mane: a proud piece of work, won through much flirtation with the mask-maker's daughter, Kinari knew.

She frowned at him. "It's not just play for me." She let her fingers trail along the extravagant feathers of a peacock, but she wanted a female guise, of course. And Day was right; she spent too much time as a bird anyway.

The mask-maker was watching her wearily. She was a patient woman — had to be, to labor over creations that would not see use but one night a year. But Kinari was keeping the others waiting.

She closed her eyes and let her hands drift where they would. Softness greeted her fingertips. She opened her eyes and found that she was touching a fox-mask.

"I can't think of an animal less like you," Day said. "It's a good guise."