Free Masks by E. C. Blake

who had shared her bed since she was a baby, lay by her pillow; she pulled him to her chest and held him tightly, staring up at the square of stars she could see through the skylight’s glass.
    Keltan’s warnings about the Mask uncomfortably echoed her own doubts. But . . .
run away?
If she missed her Masking, she’d be sentenced to death. Whatever life was like behind the Mask, it had to be better than no life at all!
    She hoped Keltan was right, and an unMasked Army was waiting to take him in. Because otherwise . . .
    ...otherwise, his naked body might soon be hanging from the gallows by the Traitors’ Gate.
    She shuddered. No.
She
would not run. She would take the Mask, just as she was supposed to, join her father as his apprentice, and put away her childhood. There really was no other choice.
    Besides
, she thought muzzily as sleep at last claimed her,
Father has been working so hard on my Mask . . . I can’t let him down.
    And I can’t wait to see it.

FIVE
    The Masking
    T HE NEXT MORNING Mara stumbled down to breakfast, yawning and stretching, once again wearing the staid blue skirt and white blouse her mother preferred, though she hadn’t gone so far as to put on shoes. To her delight, her father stood at the counter, his back to her.
    “Daddy!” She ran up behind him and threw her arms around him. “Eat breakfast with me!”
    She felt him stiffen, freezing in the middle of whatever he was doing. She squeezed him tighter.
    “Let go of me, sweetie,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.
    She gave him a final squeeze, then let go and stepped back. He turned around, a steaming mug of black-bean tea in his hand, and she almost gasped: unshaven, with dark shadows under his eyes, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “I wish I could, Mara, but I’ve got too much work to do.” He didn’t seem to want to meet her eyes: his gaze slid past her, and he started toward the stairs.
    “My Mask, right?” Mara called after him.
    He stopped, one foot on the stairs. “That’s right,” he said after a moment.
    “What does it look like?” Mara knew that by tradition no one knew what their Mask looked like until the moment it was presented to them, but she was desperate to keep her father talking to her, starved for the sound of his voice. “Is it beautiful?”
    From where she stood, she could just see the mug of tea in his right hand. It trembled. “It is what it is,” he said at last, still without looking at her. Then he resumed climbing the stairs. A moment later she heard his workshop door close—and lock.
    Mara blinked back tears.
At least when I’m Masked, I’ll have my father back
.
    She went to the sideboard, where her mother, who seemed to be out, had left cheese and bread and a couple of hard-boiled eggs. She took an egg, a chunk of cheese, and a slice of bread back to the table, poured oil into a small bowl, dipped the bread into it, and chewed on her breakfast while also chewing over the conversation with the boy in the cellar the night before. By morning light, his fears about the Masks seemed silly, and so did hers. So Sala had been a bit standoffish. So what? People changed. Sala really
did
have more responsibilities now. She was officially an adult, and adults
were
different than children, weren’t they? It wasn’t a bad thing. It was just the way things were.
    Before you know it, she’ll be married
, she thought.
Before you know it, so will I. And then we’ll have children of our own . . .
    Again she pushed that uncomfortable thought aside. Time enough to worry about
that
later.
    Much
later.
    The important thing was that when they were both Masked, she and Sala could be friends again. As for all that stuff about the Masks changing people . . . nonsense, and she knew it. Her
father
was making her Mask, and he would never make something that would harm her. He might be a bit preoccupied right now, but she knew he loved her. She had a lifetime of memories of cuddles, of