Free Masks by E. C. Blake Page A

storytelling and laughter, of running to Daddy for comfort when she’d skinned her knee or been stung by a bee, to prove it.
Whatever he makes for me will be beautiful
.
    As for “Keltan,” well, he was . . . delusional, that was the word.
All that crazy talk about the unMasked Army. The unMasked Army is a myth!
She felt sorry for the boy, risking his life for nothing. And she
would
keep her word and not tell anyone she’d met him. He might be crazy, but she didn’t think that would matter to the Watchers, and she didn’t want him to end up hanging on a gibbet outside the Autarch’s Palace.
    She shuddered at the thought. Ugh. Not the best thing to think about at breakfast. She pushed away what was left, half a slice of oil-soaked bread and a good-sized chunk of boiled egg, got up, and took the dish to the sideboard. She put the leftover food into the compost, then pumped water into the bronze sink and fired the rock-gas burner underneath it. As the water heated, she looked out at the bright blue sky.
Another warm day
, she thought, and her arms and legs itched at the thought of wearing a long skirt and long sleeves. But she felt guilty about sneaking out the night before, and promised herself she’d be extra-good all day to make up for it.
    Besides, she only had two short tunics: one was wadded up in the garden shed, and the other was crumpled up under her bed, black with coal dust.
    The water wasn’t as hot as her mother would have made it, but hot enough for Mara. She turned off the burner, took the hog’s-bristle brush from its hook just below the windowsill, and began scrubbing her dirty dishes.
I’ll have to figure out some way to wash that tunic
, she thought.
And my sheets. They were black when I—
    “Good morning, Mara,” her mother said from behind her. She jumped, then turned to see her mother smiling at her from the archway leading into the front room.
    Mara forced a laugh. “You scared me!” She hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she felt. “Good morning, Mother.”
    “Come in here,” her mother said. “I have something to show you.”
    Mara dried her hands on the blue towel hanging on a peg beside the window and went over to her mother. “What is it?”
    “Close your eyes,” her mother said.
    Mara blinked at her, then giggled and said, “All right.” She closed her eyes. Her mother took her hand and led her into the front room.
    “Now . . . open them.”
    Mara opened them, and gasped.
    In a patch of the bright morning light that poured through the diamond panes of the tall windows stood a dressmaker’s dummy, wearing the most beautiful dress Mara had ever seen.
    Shimmering green, sparkling with tiny glittering stones sewn into the fabric, it seemed almost to float above the dummy. It had a high waist and a low back and no sleeves. A shawl, so delicate it might have been made of blue smoke, its fringe glittering with more of the tiny gems, more drifted above than hung from the shoulders. On the floor beneath the dummy rested two silver shoes, with open toes and high heels.
    Mara took it all in with an open mouth, then suddenly remembered to breathe. “For me?”
    “For you,” said her mother. “For your Masking.”
    “Oh, Mommy!” Mara flung her arms around her mother and squeezed her tight. “It’s beautiful!”
    “Would you like to try it on?” her mother said.
    “Would I!”
    She dropped her skirt and blouse where she stood, then, wearing only her thin drawers, pulled on the dress. Her mother watched her, a strange expression of mixed amusement and sadness playing around her lips. When Mara had everything on, tottering a bit on the heels, the shawl over her shoulders, her back feeling daringly exposed, she looked at her mother and said, “How do I look?”
    “You’re beautiful,” her mother said. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “My little girl . . .”
    “Get Daddy,” Mara said happily. “He should see—”
    Her mother wiped her eyes, and shook her