Shadows in Velvet - Part 4

The underground chamber beneath the House of Ambrith smelled of rose ash and old metal. Torchlight flickered off columns carved into laughing faces, hundreds of them, smiling, grimacing, leering down as if mocking every step the trio took.

Vaelin moved first, his blade sheathed but his hand never far. Elira followed in silence, her senses stretched thin over the ambient magic that pulsed like a second heartbeat through the floor. Behind them, Tovi whistled a soft, discordant tune, fingers trailing along the walls as if greeting old friends.

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who just betrayed his ex-lover to an unconscious heap,” Elira said.

“Please,” Tovi said, skipping over a cracked tile. “That wasn’t betrayal. That was preventative heartbreak. Besides, Stonehand tried to collapse a library on me once. We’re even.”

“Elira,” Vaelin murmured. “There’s blood magic here.”

She nodded. “It’s bound to the masks. Every one of them is a soul seal.”

Vaelin grimaced. “That’s a lot of souls.”

“Verashtel was built atop older bones,” Tovi said, almost absently. “Before the noble houses, before the gods, there were the Laughing Cults. People who thought suffering was divine humor. They fed pain to their relics. Wore joy like a curse.”

Elira eyed him. “And you know this because...?”

“I may have joined one. Briefly. It was a phase. Very dramatic. Lots of paint.”

Vaelin shot him a look.

Tovi rolled his eyes. “Fine. I conned a high priestess out of a mask that whispered secrets when kissed. Terrible conversationalist, lovely cheekbones.”

They came to a circular atrium where a dais rose from the center, and on it, a single mask floated midair.

It was unlike the others, pure white, no ribbons, no decoration. Just a smile carved too wide.

Elira shivered. “That’s the Anchor.”

“The Mask that Laughs,” Tovi whispered, voice suddenly grave. “The relic they used to bind the first soul city.”

Vaelin looked from the mask to Tovi. “You brought us here. Why?”

Tovi met his gaze. “Because the assassin’s real employer isn’t Stonehand. And it isn’t Mereth.”

Elira’s eyes narrowed. “Then who?”

Tovi’s voice dropped. “The Mask. Or something pretending to be it.”

A sudden laugh rang out.

Not from any of them.

It echoed through the stone, up from the walls, down from the grinning pillars.

It came from the mask.

It laughed.

Elira reached for her spellcraft—but her magic recoiled. The air turned slick. Heavy. The veil between life and echo began to thin.

“Tovi,” she said tightly. “Did you know it would wake up?”

“I suspected.”

Vaelin’s eyes burned. “And you didn’t think to mention that?”

Tovi shrugged. “I figured it would add urgency. And look, it worked!”

The mask laughed again, and this time, the chamber shifted.

The walls peeled away, revealing dozens of figures cloaked in velvet, masks like theater tragedy drawn over hollow faces. Each figure held a blade. Each wore a different noble crest.

“They’re not alive,” Vaelin said. “They’re… echoes.”

“More than echoes,” Elira corrected, stepping forward, hands raised. “These are the bound ones. The assassins of the first Laughing Court. Preserved in memory by the Mask.”

Then the relic spoke.

“You wear false names,” it said. Its voice layered, overlapping, rippling with a thousand past tongues. “You hide behind shadows. You think you’re not being watched.”

Vaelin stepped forward. “We’re not hiding. We’re hunting.”

“And I,” said the mask, “am waiting.”

The echo assassins stepped forward in unison.

Steel hissed.

Magic swirled.

And Tovi laughed.

“Well, this got exciting quickly.”

He spun forward, knives appearing in both hands, each one glittering with carved glyphs. “I’m going to distract the death echoes. You two handle the talking ghost hat.”

“Are you serious?” Vaelin asked.

Tovi grinned. “Absolutely not. But I’m fabulous, and that’s close enough.”

He darted into the fray, moving like a comet through cloth and steel. His blades flashed, but never struck to kill, just enough to send an echo stumbling, just enough to keep them confused.

Elira closed her eyes. She reached not for her outer magic, but the spell-root buried deep in her voice. Her connection to memory. To truth.

She spoke.

A single word. Old. Forbidden.

The echoes paused.

The mask turned toward her.

Vaelin used the moment to step behind it, no longer on the dais but within its radius. His blade gleamed, tip etched with sigils from the mirror vaults.

“Time to be quiet,” he said—and struck.

The blade pierced the air beneath the mask, not flesh but presence.

The laugh choked.

The mask fell, lifeless, clinking to the floor.

Every echo vanished.

Silence returned.

Tovi staggered back to them, breathing hard. His plum doublet was torn, one cheek cut, and he looked utterly delighted.

“Well,” he panted, “that was horrifying. And strangely cathartic.”

Elira looked at him. “You risked your life.”

Tovi winked. “You noticed.”

Vaelin cleaned his blade. “You still haven’t told us the real reason you’re helping.”

Tovi looked between them, the humor flickering in his eyes.

Then he said, softly, “Because I owe someone a better ending than the last one I gave. And because… watching you two care for each other makes me believe I might do the same one day.”

Elira blinked.

Vaelin looked away, expression unreadable.

Tovi smiled again, gentler this time. “But don’t get sappy on me. I’m still going to charge you both for emotional labor.”

They left the chamber behind.

But the mask that laughed?

It didn’t break.

It waited.

And somewhere, in the city of veils and velvet, a new hand reached toward it. Unseen. Unsmiling.

Waiting to try again.

___________________________________________________

All Parts of the Series

Shadows In Velvet Part 1

Shadows In Velvet Part 2

Shadows In Velvet Part 3

Shadows In Velvet Part 4

Shadows In Velvet Part 5