Merrick stood alone by the memory of his mother. The statue’s beauty was haunting in its realism: smooth stone on the verge of movement. Gently, he touched the carved likeness. It was warm. That always surprised him, even though years ago one of his tutors had explained that this chamber sat above a hot spring, which heated the rock with its steam. However the effect was achieved, Merrick liked it, because it made it seem as if the stone he touched was just hard skin. As if any second the statue might move and enfold him in its arms.

He dropped his hand with a sigh, shaking his head. Such a fantasy, a dream from his younger years that he should have long since outgrown. He shouldn’t even be here; he should be upstairs at the gathering of chosen his family was hosting. Without his mother though, who had always spoken so excitedly about his eventual rebirth, it all felt...hollow. Perhaps if Elony could have at least joined him, but no, his father and stepmother would have none of that.

Merrick looked again at the statue’s face, at how perfectly it resembled the woman who had raised him. Many artisans used black and white marble to mimic the mottled skin tone of the Neden, but it was a poor simulacrum at best since true Neden skin looked more like ink poured into milk and then frozen: smoky tendrils of black flowing throughout the white, as opposed to the crude veining of most marble. Few cuts of rock were an appropriate match and even those that were almost always failed to have the same unique pattern as the person did. This statue though had been sculpted and then painted by Jaleen of House Dura who held in her tower chakra the vessel of Tigre, one of the greatest artists who had ever lived. Flawlessly, the duo had recreated not only the shape of his mother’s face, but also every nuance and shade of her skin that he remembered, from the especially darker cloud that stretched across the bridge of her nose to the swirl of black and white that sometimes became gray which ran up the side of her right temple.

“I won’t be able to visit you anymore, Mother,” he said, speaking softly. “At least not for awhile. I’ll keep an eye on Arrick and Derrick though. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Merrick paused, glancing down at his boots. A bit of light reflected off of the varnished leather, cast from two small braziers set on either side of the room. After all of these years, how could he still be so foolish? It was just a rock. It would never answer him, or hug him, even if it was warm.

Even if he was leaving.

“She’d be proud of us, you know.”

Merrick turned, startled to see his twin brother Derrick enter the tomb.

“Scandalized to see us lolling about in a damp, musty cavern,” Derrick continued, “instead of treating our guests with respect…but, proud.”

“I know,” Merrick said. “I just needed--”

“I know,” his brother said. “But everyone has arrived, and the two of us are well beyond fashionably late. Say your goodbyes or do them later. She’s not going anywhere.”

“I already have,” Merrick said, giving her a final brief touch, before crossing the room to Derrick, who immediately set off at a brisk pace.

The underground tomb had been dug in the shape of a family tree, starting with a chamber and statue for the great Kale himself, along with his wife, Asha. Multiple tunnels then led from that first room to chambers for each of their children, connected to another set of tunnels and rooms for their children’s children, and so on. Seven generations had passed since Kale founded the House, and his line had been prosperous, so the boys’ return journey from the outer branches was not quick, taking them past multiple statues of their deceased kin, as they navigated the maze-like passageways.

Eventually, they reached the catacomb’s entrance, just past the room where Kale and Asha stood, and ascended a long, curled stairway, which brought them to the main floor of the keep proper. As they stepped into the brighter light of the hallway, Merrick noticed for the first time that his brother was dressed to the height of extravagance, wearing a triple laced purple doublet, fountain stitched with silver; deep purple leggings, almost black, swirled with House heraldry; supple boots, turned down at the top; and a collar so high it near reached his ears. His black hair fell in perfect layers to his chin and a handful of locks had been braided with the thinnest of silver threads, making his mane seem to glow. Merrick looked down at his own white frilled shirt and black trimmed purple leggings, suddenly feeling very paltry in comparison.

“Don’t you think your outfit will make some of our less prosperous guests feel uncomfortable?” he said.

Derrick winked as he walked. “That is why you’ll be attending the commoners, Brother. Silver knows you have a way them.”

“That’s only if they are female, Brother.”

“Pity. House Arress got all of those,” Derrick said, facing front. “Don’t worry though, I hear some of our country boys wear their hair rather long. Squint a bit and you’ll do just fine.”

Merrick was about to reply when they reached a hallway that swelled with servants. Each wore the black and purple livery of house Kale and bowed with perfect grace as he and his brother walked by before scurrying back to their many tasks. Because of this, the two of them were able to knife through the sea of help without slowing, until they noticed one much taller than the rest moving straight toward them. The man’s shaved head towered above the other servants and his dark red robes seemed to suck at the light.

“Ah,” Derrick said. “Here comes your favorite watchdog.”

Merrick frowned. Despite what he had told Elony, he had tried to sneak away to see her again the past two nights, but both times Sulan had caught him, something he had complained bitterly to Derrick about over breakfast just this morning.

As the crowd parted, another shape became visible behind the red robes.

“And your favorite leech,” Merrick said, returning the jab.

Derrick made a displeased sound in his throat.

“Your father has had me searching for you,” the man called out as he neared, talking over the heads of the remaining servants.

Derrick didn’t let him finish. “And you couldn’t find us, Sulan?” His brother gave the tall man a smile in passing. “I’ll have to remember that little spot in the future.” Derrick continued forward, and the man and leech fell into step on either side, while Merrick slowed his pace, content to bring up the rear.

“Arrick will not be attending the gathering tonight,” Sulan said, his tone serious as always. “So your father wishes for you two to take charge of the event.”

Derrick chuckled. “I never expected otherwise. Arrick has barely left his quarters since Henrita started showing.”

Merrick couldn’t help but feel a swell of jealousy at the time that his eldest brother got to have with his pregnant wife, but the sensation quickly curdled to guilt. Wishing his fate on others would do nothing to ease his own burden. Let them have their last moments. Hopefully for them they would be good ones.

“Your guests have been waiting overlong,” the leech cut in. “Some grow unhappy.”

“Felipe,” Derrick bit the name off, not even bothering to look at the younger boy. “Shouldn’t you already be tucked in for the night?”

Their step brother didn’t rise to the bait, beginning to unfurl a rolled parchment he carried. “There are seven chosen in total. Would you like a list of their names and positions?”

Derrick glared at the question, along with its source. “I knew who and what they were before your mother had you swimming in her belly. Stop wasting our time and leave us.”

Felipe gave a quick bow to both Derrick and Merrick, looking in their eyes as he rose. “I hope you enjoy the Festival tomorrow. I know I will.” With that, he was gone, whisking down a side corridor.

Merrick watched him go and then stepped up beside his brother. “You know you will miss him.”

“Bah!” Derrick said, increasing his pace.

They walked down two more halls, up three flights of stairs, and finally out onto a serene courtyard of white stone, fountains, and trees, set high up on one of the inner battlements. Stars glistened in the night sky, while the moon hung fat, nearly full, a glimmer of pink showing at its edges. Low flame lanterns had been spread across the the courtyard, their dim light illuminating multiple benches, two long tables filled with finger treats, and a small orchestra of string instruments, without taking away from the sparkling blanket of the night sky.

Heads turned as they approached, and Merrick glanced at Sulan to see if he would announce them, only to find the man suddenly gone.

By Silver, we need to put a bell on him.

“Greetings, my fellow chosen,” intoned his brother, and Merrick looked back at those gathered.

All four nobles he had met before: Zarla from House Jetir was gorgeous and knew it, her lush, black hair cascading past her buttocks; Ness from Lelik was long and thin, including her nose, which she preferred to keep tucked in a book, though she didn’t have one with her tonight; Dori from Ulis was a chatterbox, unless Zarla was nearby, then she was quiet as a mouse; Stefan from Trent, the only male noble of the group, looked exceptionally bored, even for him--his attention more on the sword belted to his waist than the people around him.

The three commoners weren’t as easy to place. Merrick knew of the giant of Paluk, of course, and the stories were no exaggeration: the lad was indeed enormous, making the tree he leaned against seem a sapling instead of the young oak that it was. The other two boys Merrick wasn’t familiar with. One was lanky, like Ness, but clearly of mixed heritage due to the sandy blonde locks he wore tied in a ponytail, while the other actually looked to be pure Desidran, with wavy, russet-colored hair, olive skin, and six fingers to a hand. Even odder, the short Desidran boy was covered shoulder to toe in a brown robe. How had Merrick never heard of him?

“My apologies for our late arrival,” Derrick continued. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Derrick Kale, and as you can likely guess with a glance, this is my brother Merrick. Welcome to our House and this gathering. Tomorrow will be a time of ceremony and crowds, of pomp and grandeur, so we thought it fitting to have something smaller now, where we might converse at our leisure. If there is anything you require, simply say it to one of the servants and it shall be provided for. Now, let us eat, speak, and drink.”

Having completed his brief speech, Derrick moved toward the nobles, while subtly motioning for Merrick to join the commoners. Merrick didn’t bother arguing. He had played host before and could easily go through the motions again.

He walked over to the closest of them--the blonde, lanky one--and extended his hand.

“Hello.”

The common boy gave it a firm shake. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, with only a slight drawl. “The name is Dayle, and this is some place you have.”

“It does seem rather extravagant at times,” Merrick agreed, “but you get used to it.”

Dayle laughed, though it sounded forced. “Maybe you do, but my whole town could fit inside your four walls.” He looked from side to side, and for the first time Merrick realized how nervous the boy was. “I’m sure the Festival will be fun and all, but I’ll be ready to go when the time comes.”

Merrick couldn’t help but sigh at the thought. “So, you are looking forward to leaving then?”

“Well, we’re supposed to be, aren’t we?” Dayle said, scratching the back of his head. “Can’t say I know how I really feel. I guess it’ll be better than helping my father skin and dye. Hope it will anyway.”

A shadow loomed over them both, and Merrick looked up. The giant from Paluk had moved from the tree to stand beside them.

“Where is the kitchen?” he rumbled.

Merrick raised his hand for a servant. “Why, has the food run low?” He couldn’t imagine such a thing would have happened already, even with his tardiness.

The huge boy gave a snort. “There never was any out to start.”

“What?” Merrick said, glancing past the giant to the nearby table filled with treats.

“I need some real food, not chicken scratch.”

Merrick flicked his wrist again, annoyed that a servant had yet to approach.

“So, where is the kitchen?”

Merrick peered up at the hulking commoner, strangely wondering what it must be like to look down at everyone. “There isn’t just one kitchen, they are all through the keep. Besides, if you want something that isn’t here, all you must do is ask one of the servers.”

The giant looked at Merrick’s flapping hand to the gaggle of servants that floated around the nobles, not paying the three of them any mind. He snorted again and walked off, ducking under the archway that led out of the courtyard.

Merrick lowered his arm, frustrated at the fawning servants, as well as the Paluk boy for not listening to him. “Didn’t he already eat?” he said to no one in particular.

Dayle raised an eyebrow. “You gonna remind him?”

Merrick shook his head, realizing that he didn’t really care one way or the other.

“He’s been grumpy all night,” a voice squeaked.

Both Merrick and Dayle turned to see the Desidran boy standing a few feet away.

“I kept telling him to try these wonderful sweets, but he just wouldn’t listen. He even said he’d squash me if I didn’t leave him alone.”

The robed boy was clearly the youngest of those gathered here, and it was obvious from the sugar powder that dotted his cheeks that he had been partaking in the snacks, even if the giant wouldn’t join him.

“And you are?” Merrick asked.

“Eben,” the boy said excitedly.

“Tell him why you wear that,” Dayle said, indicating the plump boy’s outfit.

Eben immediately seemed embarrassed and the look he shot the skinner’s son was hurt, as if a trust had been broken. “I…” the boy started. “I was raised by monks. They took me in and provided for me.”

“So, you are an orphan,” Merrick supplied, one piece of the mystery clicking into place.

This, however, appeared to upset the young boy even more and he began to pout. “An orphan has no brothers or sisters.”

Merrick waited to see if Eben would explain further, but he didn’t. Still trying to be the accommodating host, Merrick said, “If you would like, arrangements could be made to provide you with more suitable attire.”

The tubby boy frowned. “Suitable?”

Before Merrick could explain, Dayle said, “Something less like a potato sack.”

Eben straightened as if slapped. “Good night to you both,” he whispered, before hurrying away.

Merrick watched the orphan’s retreat, trying to decide if he should feel badly about it. He turned to Dayle, but the skinner’s son just shrugged.

“Guess I should be settling in too, what with the Festival tomorrow and all.” Dayle glanced around at the food and music. “Thanks for this. It was nice.”

Merrick didn’t believe him, but let the lanky boy go with another shake of his hand. Dayle ambled away, and Merrick took stock of his surroundings. With his brother and the guesting nobles on the other side of the courtyard, along with all the servants, he was completely alone. In less than five minutes, everyone he was supposed to entertain had left.

Merrick pursed his lips. “Well, that went well.”