Page 19 of A Dance Macabre

My lip pulls up into a smirk. “Wonderful night we’re having, aren’t we?” I ask, my tone friendly and inviting.

I watch as their faces slowly transform into something peaceful. One of them lets out a pleased sigh, her smile growing wide. “As delightful as you are, Mr. Vainglory,” she purrs.

I hear Mercy gag, and I smirk. Something about her displeasure makes a small ping of delight bloom inside my chest. It almost makes me want to laugh.

I settle back into my seat, crossing my ankle over my thigh, my smile widening.

“Let therealfun commence.”

The Feastof Fools has always had a dual meaning. One for the fools themselves, the commoners, who after countless generations have somehow still managed to keep a thread ofhope that perhaps, the ruling families can be as generous as we are selfish.

We are not.

Then there is a feast just for us.

The rulers of Pravitia.

For most of the city, this misplaced hope will still ring true tomorrow. They will wake up after a night brimming with pleasure and vice. No consequences, no accountability, and they’ll have only the tiniest inkling of what it's like to be us.

What it means to be this powerful.

They will go on with their lives, clinging to that ridiculous hope and somehow still believing in the fool’s dream of free will.

When in reality, we hold their fate in our hands.

Our private soiree is taking place in the Vorovskys’ sprawling gardens. The large hedge maze looms behind us, a backdrop to our entertainment. I yawn, stretching my arms over my head, and lean into the cushioned chair as I survey the banquet table. It’s a veritable feast of roasted chickens, glazed hams, and root vegetables dripping in butter, all served on gold and bejeweled platters.

I’d be a glutton if I took even one more bite.

Besides, I need to keep my wits sharp for tonight’s final act.

I glance over to the six Pravitians we plucked from the crowd earlier tonight. They’re seated at a smaller, but just as lavish, banquet table next to us.

Unbeknownst to them, they are partaking in a much truer reenactment of the Feast of Fools. I’ve made them believe they are one of us. Special. Deserving of respect. I've made themfeelthe power we hold every single day; while their entire existence has been to act as jesters dancing for our entertainment. Even now, while gorging on their last meal, they feel no humiliation, no sense of degradation.

Instead, they feast.

Just like us.

Neverlike us.

The sound of gold cups spilling over and porcelain breaking has me glancing back to our small group. Gemini has climbed atop our table, kicking centerpieces out of his way as he struts like a peacock, the loose collar of his white linen shirt revealing the tattoos across his chest. His smile is wide and playful while his gaze is dark and mocking.

“The city is ours,” he says with exaggerated grandiosity, repeating what Aleksandr’s mother told us a week ago. Placing a hand on his hip, he leans his body forward as he wags a scolding finger at the five of us. “Our gods do notcarefor petty loyalty.” He pouts. “Do notcarefor family feuds. All thatmattersis worship and sacrifice.” Constantine bursts out in a fit of laughter at the spectacle. Picking up a cup yet to be spilled, he holds it up in the air in a toast. “If it’s sacrifice they want, then it’s sacrifice they will receive.” His glittering eyes flick to my seat, his voice turning conspiratorial. “Vainglory, care to do the honors?”

13

WOLFGANG

The waxing moon is high above our heads, soft light caressing our faces as if the moon itself yearns to be a part of this divine moment with us. We have gathered at the center of the maze, the large statue of an archer with his arrow pointing to the sky, covered in moss and vines, lording over us.

The six helpless fools are facing us. Faces smooth of worries.

Still unsuspecting.

Still so trusting.

The silence is filled with febrile anticipation. One look to my right tells me Aleksandr is feeling it too. His grin is feral as he stares at his sacrifice with promises of slaughter in his piercing gaze while Constantine paces beside him like a wild animal, the spiked ball of her morning star swishing in the air to and fro.

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