14. Owen

After Gilda finished molding the mask to Owen's face, they went into Coopersburgh to get a few more materials. They walked past the town's shops, watching shopkeepers make last-minute preparations for the masquerade. Tailors set up mannequins adorned with sequined dresses outside their shops amid the sunny day, attempting to sell their apparel to partygoers. Smoke plumed out from the chimney of the bakery, and the smell of freshly baked bread billowed out into the air.

A group of ladies in burgundy dresses outlined in dark fur came bustling out of a café as they passed by. A few of them laughed jovially, one of them telling the other to meet there at the same time next week for noon tea. Their heels clacked on the smooth walkway as two of them rushed off to their next gathering. Owen couldn't help but be curious as to what they were up to, or what any of these wealthy folks were up to.

Owen and Gilda walked through the town dressed in the clothes Rem brought them that morning, which still paled in comparison to that of the townsfolk. Owen glanced often at the tan silk vests that many of the men wore over long sleeve shirts. Their black trousers were rich, their boots well-polished. Burgundy-and-gold sashes wrapped around their top hats, and many of them carried canes for show. Many of the women wore heavy frocks and corsets, which he noticed were very tight at the bust.

He looked down at his own wardrobe, which was nicer than anything he'd ever owned. His vest was a deep blue, and the ivory cravat flowed down his chest from his collar. His trousers were black and sleek, though not as rich as others he saw. There was even a black jacket he wore over the ensemble, and it was enough to make him blend with the townsfolk.

Gilda wore an ivory-hued shirt with large flowy sleeves and a burgundy bodice that tightened slightly at the waist, and her skirts flowed down about her ankles. She pulled her faded burgundy cloak over it, which was a nice touch to the wardrobe.

"I wonder what these people do for a living," she said, as they walked past a hat shop. "Everyone is so dapper."

"I wish I knew." Owen glanced at the brick manor in the distance. A street wound from the square and all the way up to its gate. A tall dark fence surrounded it. "That must be Quinnby's manor."

"I'd like to know more about this Quinnby Kingsland than what Rem told us. Maybe we should ask around about him."

"Why? You don't trust him?" Owen turned a sly eye toward her.

"When it comes to bigwigs in a town like this, no. Look, there's an information booth. Let's ask that man about him."

Owen followed her down the street, passing a shop with fluffy tall wigs displayed in the window. When they got to the booth, a man with a trimmed mustache and top hat greeted them.

"Welcome to Coopersburgh," he said with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"We'd like some information on the town, please," Gilda said, her voice changing slightly to fit in while fluffing her bun with her hand. "The manor in particular. It's magnificent."

"Ah, yes, here's a pamphlet for you, miss." The man beamed at her and propped his arm up on the counter. "You'll find that the manor belongs to Mr. Quinnby Kingsland of Adelon Estates. His family owns the Kingsland Gold winery, which has been in the family for over three-hundred years."

"Three-hundred years?" Owen cut in.

"Guess his fortune has been handed down to him," Gilda muttered.

"Pardon, miss?" The man leaned forward.

"Oh, nothing," Gilda quipped. "Thank you very much, sir." She gave him half a copper piece from her coin purse and turned away, pulling Owen along with her.

"What's it say?" Owen asked, looking at the pamphlet with her.

"It says Quinnby holds a masque every winter and summer. Hundreds of guests attend if they have the invite. I suppose it's all wealthy folks, except us."

Owen read on and blinked. "He's only twenty-eight?"

"A bit surprising. I imagined him as a fifty-year old fat man with rosy cheeks, red lips, and a tall white wig."

"You really do jump to conclusions."

"Consider it more of an educated guess."

Owen raised an eyebrow. "Experienced many bigwigs, have you?"

Gilda tucked the pamphlet away into her pocket. "Never mind. Look, a general goods store. We can find some paint there for our masks."

Owen glanced at the white signs of the shops as he passed by, each one carved and painted in blue ink. Alleyways were fenced off between the red-bricked buildings, leaving little room for anyone to wander down them. Even the trunks of the trees that grew along the street were fenced off. Green ivy and plump red roses hung from their spools.

The general goods store was packed with a bit of everything, from packaged breads to boxes of pipes to trinkets and spices. While Gilda asked the clerk for the supplies they needed, Owen browsed the shelves. As he swept over a box of tools, a shadow caught in the corner of his eye.

A guard stepped into the store. Though he wore no helm, his royal-blue breastplate bore the gold symbol of a Core.

A Legion guard!

He turned back to the shelf, looking over a few tools. The guard paid him no heed, but he walked several feet behind Gilda as she rifled over shelves for jars of paint. A few minutes later, Gilda paid for her supplies and they left. When they emerged outside, she held her bag of goodies stiffly.

"We really do stick out here, don't we?" Owen chanced a look back at the guard that had shadowed them, only for his chest to seize when he caught the man looking their way.

"Don't look back at him!" Gilda hissed.

Owen turned around, his heart reeling at the tone in her voice. "He's following us."

"I know, and you just gave him more reason not to trust us." Gilda looked straight ahead, avoiding any stares they got. "There, turn down that way."

Owen turned onto another street, and both of them sped up. They made their way down several paths, twisting and turning until Owen no longer knew where the main street was. Finally, Gilda pulled him aside into an alleyway, where they jumped the fence and ran along the narrow corridor until they turned a corner.

They stood still, trying to steady their breaths as they waited.

Owen peeked around the corner to see the Legion guard pass by the alley and turned back to Gilda. "I think we've lost him," he whispered.

Gilda exhaled and leaned her head back against a dark brick house. "Now I remember why I joined a clan before. It's hard, Owen. I won't lie to you. You got off easy for twenty-two years without being noticed. As long as you're Astran, you'll always be running."

He slouched against the building opposite her. "I'm used to moving to different places, though I can't say I enjoy it."

"Avathon is just as dangerous as Milarc, if not more so. Guards down here pay attention, and we stick out like a bad coin."

Owen thought of the two guards who questioned them on the road to Calwick. "Maybe… once we get to Merrowcrest, things will be better. I hope."

Sighing, she nodded. "Let's get going."

A few guards lingered around the town gates and lined the walls of the city. Some of them watched Owen and Gilda as they walked, but once they were outside the town gate, no one seemed to notice them. It was half a mile walk to their inn, but the street remained flawlessly paved in smooth gray granite until it ended a mile or so from the city and faded into the dirt road.

When they came to their room, Gilda sighed as she set her bag down. The room was empty, their beds unmade. Empty plates and cups littered the table.

"Looks like the two oafs are still out." Gilda shook her head.

Owen cleared away the mess and placed the dishes to the side. "Do you think the masks are dry yet?"

Gilda set out three jars of paint. "They seem somewhat dry. I think the wind helped. Should be fine to paint now. I also found some feathers for rather cheap."

Owen brought all four masks from the windowsill and sat down at the table. He grinned as he looked at the jars of red, gold, and black paint. "This should be fun. I haven't done crafts since I was a kid."

"Right, I suppose we'll have to do Brom's and Colt's too." Gilda picked up a brush and dipped it into the red paint.

"Do you think they've found us something to wear?"

"I can only hope, or else we might be turned away before we ever reach the gates. The invitation says formal attire. Even these clothes look like rags compared to the dresses I've seen today."

"You look beautiful, regardless."

Gilda's cheek dimpled. "Thank you, love. I'd rather wear rags anyhow."

Looking down at the masks, Owen chose one for himself, which he planned to paint gold with a black outline and red dots below the eyes. For Colt's, he chose the one that was half a mask, with one hole for the eye on the right side and a partial nose and eye on the left.

"I hope Colt doesn't mind that you ran out of material to make his." He laughed.

"He seems the least enthused about all of this, so it fits him."

They sat in silence as they painted. When Owen finished his mask, he set it down to dry, then he worked on Colt's. He glanced at Gilda as she finished hers, noticing the deep lines around her eyes. The more time he spent with her, the more warmth he felt. She seemed like family at this point, so Owen was startled to realize he still didn't know her intentions for journeying with him.

"Gilda," he started, "why did you decide to stay with me?"

Pausing her work, she looked at him almost solemnly, then she said, "There's something about you that pulled me. I felt it was a sign when we first met. And then when I was imprisoned, not only was Colt there, but Brom as well." She sighed, dabbing her brush in the black paint. "Dear, stupid Brom. I knew when I saw him at the prison and found out he had met you two as well that I had to go. There are some pulls we can't resist. That person is fated to be in our lives for some reason. I felt that with you."

"But is it because we're both Astran?" He felt it was more than that, as she always turned the conversation to something else.

She shrugged. "I suppose that has something to do with it, but I don't like labels. I am me." She smiled, her dark-brown eyes reflecting his own. "And you are Owen. And we happen to be a little different from the norm. That's all."

"You mean different from people like Colt and Brom?" he asked.

"They're… not the norm."

They both cracked a laugh, then Owen picked up his brush and went back to painting.

"Well, I hope—"

When something banged on their window, Owen yelped and jumped in his seat. Heart thumping, Owen up his hand, ready to use his Essence, but when he saw Colt and Brom standing outside, he let out a breath and shook his head.

"What the hell are they doing?" Gilda got up from the table and went over to the window. She crossed her arms and smirked at the two men outside.

Brom was saying something, but Owen couldn't hear him.

"What?" Gilda put a hand to her ear. "Sorry, can't hear you."

"Let. Us. In!"

Owen could hear it this time.

"Hmm." Gilda looked up, a devious smile on her lips. "Should we let them in, Owen?" Before he could answer, Colt banged on the window with his fist. "Alright, alright." Gilda unlocked the window and opened it, and Colt and Brom tossed two sacks inside before climbing in one at a time.

Once they were inside, Colt closed the window and looked at Brom, both their faces red. Colt wiped sweat from his brow and sat down at the table with a huff, while Brom leaned his hand on the wall, catching his breath.

Owen narrowed his eyes on them. "Why did you come in through the window?"

Taking a deep breath, Colt set one of the sacks on the table. He opened it and pulled out a pair of satiny black trousers, black vests, burgundy and black bow ties, and an overcoat. "Brom has the other coat."

"You bought us suits?" Owen raised his brows.

"Uh, well, we obtained them." Brom gave a nervous smile as he swung his sack over. He pulled an ivory-colored lace dress out for Gilda and a suit for himself.

Gilda snatched the dress up and eyed the lacy material. "Where did you get all this?"

Brom scratched his neck. "We… ah—"

"It's better if you don't know," Colt assured them.

"So you stole it?" she asked.

"Look, we set out to find some clothes today, and we found some, alright?" Colt propped his legs up on an empty chair. "Don't worry about it. Just be glad we got them."

"You two stole them," Gilda groaned.

Owen shook his head and huffed, "We're trying to be discreet, and you both are stealing?"

"No one's gonna know, trust me." Colt threw his head back and closed his eyes as he caught his breath. "We made it look good, like an accident, but we had to hurry back."

"An accident?" Owen asked with doubt. He glanced at Gilda, who rolled her eyes and sighed.

Brom smiled. "You should try on the dress to see if it fits. You know, in case you might need to make some adjustments."

Gilda threw the dress in his face and growled, "How about you wear it and make adjustments?"

"You'll look far better." Brom grunted and held the dress up to himself. There was no way Brom could wear the lacy thing on his large frame but that didn't stop him from teasing, "Fine, then perhaps you'd rather wear the trousers?"

"Oh, blast it all." Gilda snatched the dress back and ran her hand over the fine silks and lace. She slowly held it up to her body, looking at her reflection in the window. It seemed just her size.

Owen glanced over at Colt and Brom, all their faces surprised at how she seemed suddenly taken with the dress after all. And then Owen noticed, for the second time that day, how Gilda's cheek dimpled.