I dressed up the next morning before I heard any noise in the house. The bed was empty already when I woke up, which I found not in the least odd since Zoya seemed like an early bird. Leaving bed before dawn would be in her nature.

  Inconspicuously, I tiptoed outside and closed the door, only to be greeted with a soft chuckle of mockery somewhere by my side. Very slowly, I pivoted on my heels and spotted a man tending to a sleek horse in our yard. He appeared strikingly familiar, the large midnight blue eyes, the lips…

  “Z…” What was his name, again? “Zack?” I tried, squinting at him. I felt that was it.

  This amused him even more. “It’s strange when you say my name like that. It’s very disconcerting. Like when we were younger and you would scream my full name for throwing mud at you.”

  I stood, completely bewildered. Then I took a breath, “I think I drank way too much wine yesterday. How did I usually call you?”

  The man eyed me suspiciously, but then shrugged. “Piggy-boy. Rugrat. Tot-sod. In that lane. It has to be offensive and preferably rhyme, is what I’ve noticed.”

  I laughed. Sounded about right.

  “Where are you headed, sis?”

  “Oh, nowhere. I needed some air,” I waved indefinitely. Hopefully, my lie was convincing enough. It wasn’t; he gave me a pointed look. “I wanted to go around town,” I added. And explore the vicinity. But I stumbled across a brother. Splendid.

  “Forgot to buy something?” Zack continued to brush the horse’s sheen gently.

  “New buttons for my cloak,” I announced, suddenly impressed with my own rapid creativity. “Can’t look at the old ones anymore, and the seam is falling apart these days.”

  He snorted. “Wanna go together? I need to take Jun to the blacksmith and get another look at his shoes.”

  The name struck me, and I blinked. Jun? “My Jun is a lighter sheen,” I heard myself say, defensively.

  My brother regarded me with genuine confusion. “Your Jun?”

  What was I talking about? I did have a Jun, though; I swear I did. What happened to him? I shook my head. “Nevermind, let us go.”

  Zack dropped the subject, and hoisted me on the saddle behind him. In a calm trot, we headed for the village.

  The woods appeared to be absorbing the morning light, their shadows so thick that the tree crowns barely changed their ominous outline. It was peaceful, and the only noise I heard came from the warbling robins and the river’s flow, which soon remained at our rear.

  Even for a wanderer like me, the village seemed attractive: little, sturdy houses huddled together, each of their yards surrounded by idyllic white fences, just like ours…

  I furrowed. Not a wanderer—a wonderer, I meant. And I didn’t like houses? But these looked like comfort and love, so I wouldn’t mind living in them for an indefinite time.

  Why would I not? Wandering around was dangerous; it also left you miserable and coinless. Owning such a house would remove travel concerns. Not that I ever traveled. Or worried about traveling. That was a ridiculous thought. Me, traveling.

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  It seemed the primary subject of discussion everywhere we went was the incoming evening feast over the King’s visit. I pretended to be deeply surprised and smiled about it enthusiastically. What was so exciting about an event that was repeated every single week?

  At the smithy, the glow of incandescent steel captured my attention. The blacksmith was a rough man, with a weathered look in his eye and a ruddy complexion. Judging by their interactions, he and my brother were on friendly terms and I only half listened to their pleasantries and consequent conversation. My interest dropped halfway when the blacksmith mentioned he was crafting jewelry as a gift for the King.

  In the back, a mighty-looking apprentice and an older smith struck down on hot iron in an oddly measured rhythm. My eyes shifted on them and remained there. Thud, the apprentice struck the hot steel, ding, when the older smith hit the cold anvil face as a signal to the apprentice with his light, one-handed hammer. Thud. Ding. It sounded a little like… like the ticking of a pendulum, really.

  Thud, ding, thud, ding.

  “Jewelry wouldn’t impress him, you know,” my brother chuckled. “Already he has mountains of it, and nothing you craft would compete with whatever he’s carrying on his neck.”

  “What does he carry on his neck?” I snapped my head back to the men next to me.

  “Nobody knows,” the blacksmith told me, busying himself with shoeing Jun anew. “But it must be his most valuable possession, for he’s carrying it everywhere he goes. It’s of a crucial importance to the Carnival… or so the people say.”

  They continued discussing what a proper gift for the King would be, choosing to set aside the mystery of the jewelry he carried around. The persistent sounds coming from the inside of the blacksmith shop bothered me, nailing into my skull. I couldn’t wait to leave.

  My brother noticed my inconvenience and asked the blacksmith to hurry. I distracted myself by people-watching: carts went by full of grain harvest sheaves, and others loaded with harvest fruits and vegetables. Women bought fabrics and ribbons for costumes, and together with them children ran around with handfuls of wax candles and decorations. Excitement buzzed in the very air. The more I observed, the more it fuddled my mind.

  Everyone was happy.

  Even Jun had new, strong shoes and was wagging his tail about it. Zack helped me up on his back and carried me off to the nearest tailor where I absently bought a dozen black buttons, to back up my excuse to visit the village with solid proof.

  The tailor reminded me he had a whole variety of extravagant accessories on display as well, in case I needed to beautify my clothes for the celebration. Polite refusal didn’t do the trick. He chased me with propositions until I announced I fancied nothing from his inventory and had no plans to embellish myself with trinkets and whatnot for this Carnival. It shocked him into astounded silence as if my coldness and lack of enthusiasm were the darkest of sins. Likely, I was his first and last customer to ever display such behavior.

  With a quick nod, I left the shop and rejoined Zack. He noticed my mood had dulled, but said nothing about it. Instead, he directed Jun toward home and let me cling to him, hands around his waist and cheek leaning against his back. The dreadful noise from the marketplace soon muffled once we ambled down the cobbled road on the village’s outskirts.

  “The King is coming tomorrow night, yes?”

  Zack confirmed.

  “Where does he travel when he’s not here?”

  The pause was heavy. Must be outrageous to ask those questions. Or I was just asking obvious questions. Either way, my brother humored me without additional comments, “The jewelry and gifts he arrives with, they’re from the rest of the villages across this land. He’s alternating between them at all times. Wherever he arrives is the celebration. When he leaves, you prepare for his next arrival. That is why we call it the Eternal Carnival.”

  “Besides this village, how many others exist?” I prodded.

  “Eleven.”

  Eleven? This number had significance to me, though I couldn’t recall why. My head was throbbing, trying to remember. Soon I gave up, fingers rubbing at my temple to ease the ache that clustered there ever since I heard the awful clock-like sounds at the blacksmith shop.

  “What is he like?” I shot out another question before Zack could change the subject.

  Another moment of silence passed, and I slightly leaned to catch a glimpse of my brother’s face. He was thoughtful. “He’s all a Carnival King should be, I think,” came the slow answer. “Veiled in mystery. Magnanimous. And above all, entertaining.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see,” he chuckled.