Page 10 of Ringmaster (The Kingdom of Shadow & Bone #1)

Mercy

I’m not sure if the butterflies fluttering around my stomach are from excitement or anxiousness.

In an unusual turn of events, my father brought home three tickets to the circus tonight.

At first, I thought it was strange. My father forbade me from seeing Azrael and generally hates the circus.

He also never wants to venture out in public as a family, because it requires him to be on his best behavior—something I wholeheartedly believe he’s incapable of.

But apparently, these tickets are a reward for his promotion at the factory.

More power and more money to spend on alcohol are not what he needs.

Any other time, I’d be excited to go to the circus, but now the trip is overshadowed with a melancholy-filled dread.

It feels like something could snap at any moment—a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

There are countless reasons things might go wrong tonight.

And if Azrael spots me… my thoughts spiral into the worst possibilities.

Until a shudder rips through me, tearing me away from them.

Eyes squeezed shut, I take a deep breath and run my hands down my dress to smooth it out.

Instead of imagining the worst, I will myself to picture him—splendid and magnificent, confidence rolling off his body as he stands in the center ring.

At least I’ll get to see him. I just have to keep him from noticing me.

I take one last look at myself in the full-length mirror, my mind still spinning with thoughts of Azrael. Even as we step out the front door and make our way down the long, winding road to where the circus looms on the edge of town, I can’t stop obsessing over him.

The evening breeze is soft and warm with spring, sweet notes of budding flowers fill my nostrils.

It dares me to spin around joyfully. I’m wearing a knee-length dress perfect for twirling, a matching sweater, and a lovely pair of lace gloves.

My father insisted we dress in our best clothing so he can pretend we aren’t poor—that he doesn’t drink away his paydays from the factory.

It might be one of the few things the two of us ever agree on: just because we’re poor doesn’t mean we have to dress like it in public.

My imagination carries me away as I wonder what it might be like to have an endless supply of money.

“Hurry, move along. I want to walk about and tour the sideshows before the main event begins,” Father grumbles.

I skip along a little faster, careful not to splatter dirt on my best dress.

The closer we get to the circus gates, the stronger the smell of popcorn and fried foods becomes.

I eye my mother warily as she walks briskly so as not to fall too far behind.

I already know she’s not happy about the extra laundry.

It’s just like him to only worry about his own wants and needs.

Still, I hurry along silently, fearful of the inevitable snap that might sour his seemingly good mood. Despite his complaints and growls that we’ll be late, we still manage to reach the circus gates with plenty of time to wander.

We follow the twisting dirt path, scattered with other guests and steeped in an ominous hush beneath all the laughter.

Excited squeals set the atmosphere for an exhilarating evening.

I should relax a little, smile, and enjoy myself.

Nearby families crowd around a giant wooden map, arguing over which attraction to visit first. I glance at the map: House of Oddities, Funhouse, Mirror Maze, Fortune Teller, Wonders of the World, Mermaid Lagoon.

My family moves past the crowds, Father indifferent to the map, simply following the path to wherever it leads.

I chance a look back at the big top. Behind it and off in the distance, I glimpse the boxcar houses and circus folk running around, preparing for their performance.

It makes me wonder where Azrael is and what he does to prepare.

But I don’t have long to think of him. My mother gently takes me by the hand, pulling me forward to catch up with my father, who pushes his way through the small crowds.

The first attraction we come to is a pond.

Inside, a beautiful woman sits waist-deep in water, her ruby-red hair braided with seashells.

A starfish placed just above her ear, its points nestled into the woven strands.

Next to her, a second woman with a mermaid tail dips her fins into the pond.

Her blazing black hair is twisted into locks tied with beads and seashells.

The pair are stunning. The black-haired mermaid wears coconut shells that barely cover her ample breasts.

Around us, the men and women stare with completely different looks on their faces.

My cheeks heat with embarrassment when I catch my father mesmerized by the red-haired beauty. Starfish tied together with rope cover her breasts. She’s affixed a scrap of fishing netting around each one and her upper waist to hold them in place. There’s sure not much left to the imagination.

My father gapes at them both far longer than he should, making a fool of himself and humiliating my mother, even if she refuses to say anything.

She doesn’t have to—I can see the betrayal and hurt filling her eyes, threatening to turn to tears.

She urges us both forward, away from the mermaids and on to the next attraction.

“We don’t have much time left before the show begins.

If we want to see the attractions, we have to hurry,” she says softly, but it’s clear from her expression she’s worried about her clients finding out, because if they did, they would surely have plenty to gossip about over tea this week.

I keep my negative thoughts to myself, trying hard not to glare at the back of my father’s head as I trudge behind the two of them.

At least he came willingly, without making a scene.

Clear of the mermaids, the next attraction on the trail of temptation awaits.

We stumble upon a strongman with giant muscles for arms. I’ve never seen a man this large before.

He towers over everyone and must be at least eight feet tall.

Huge muscles ripple across his shoulders and down his back as he poses shirtless, flexing for the gathering crowd.

Little boys jump up and down in excitement, mimicking the pose, while their mothers scold them for being too loud, cheeks flushed.

I stifle a giggle, even though I’m pretty sure he could easily squeeze the life right out of me if he wanted, without even trying.

I shudder at the thought and watch as the strongman continues to lift various items with ease.

His muscles bulge, and his bushy eyebrows furrow together as he concentrates. He makes it look effortless.

Suddenly, there’s unrest in the crowd, and I search for my father’s face, hoping he’s not involved, as several of the men from town heckle the strongman enough that he finally offers them a try.

The first man confidently strolls up to where he waits.

One after another, they file up to try to lift the objects—each one hanging their head in defeat.

I wait, breath baited on high alert, watching my father’s every miniscule movement.

Thankfully, he must be sober enough to comprehend that he can’t show him up.

I watch with temporary relief as he twists open his flask and takes a swig of liquor.

Mama shoots me a look as if to say, Don’t step a single toe out of line, Mercy.

I’m begging you. I nod in silent agreement, eyes wide as we both brace for what has yet to come.

When not a single man can lift the bars full of lead, the strongman laughs at them.

His curly mustache dances with delight, and I find myself smiling with him at their defeat.

The men walk away shamefully, muttering amongst themselves.

We walk onward too. There’s so much to see and so little time left before the flaps of the tent will open to swallow us alive. Along the path, there are various vendors. Some have braided crowns or wooden swords. Others offer sweet treats and indulgences.

A wall of mirrors affixed to a wooden fence is up ahead.

We have to walk past them to get to the next attraction.

A smile teases my lips—I love the funny mirrors that stretch your body and duplicate you into a twin.

Hooking my arm through my mother’s, I drag her over to stand with me in front of the mirrors.

“Look, this one makes you appear incredibly tall,” I shout, giddy with delight and full of excitement.

I’ve never been to this part of the circus.

Azrael told me long ago never to come to this part of the circus without him.

I suppose I shouldn’t be here, but I don’t exactly think my father would afford me that choice if I told him Azrael said it.

Even if I didn’t mention Azrael, he would still force me to come—with no regard for my feelings or concerns.

Ignoring my internal unease, I pull my mother onto the next mirror. We laugh and giggle at our changing reflections. But in the final mirror, something flickers. She moves forward—and her reflection stays still, smiling. This time, it’s my mother tugging us away.

As we near the end of the path, a beautiful voice soars over the crowd.

It’s a crystal-clear soprano that seems to carry us along with its spell.

Mother’s pace quickens, despite my father lumbering behind us slowly, sipping from his flask.

She gasps in surprise at our discovery of the bearded lady serenading the growing crowd.

Her song is heart-wrenching. The words spin a tale of being an outcast, of never belonging.

The message settles in my bones in a way that feels all too familiar.

Back when I attended school, I felt like an outcast. Never accepted by my peers and whispered about all my life. It brings tears to my eyes. But terrified Azrael will appear any minute from the shadows with a marigold, I blink them away, suppressing all my inner turmoil and emotion.

We watch until the last note fades, then drift silently past the fortune teller’s wagon, her hollow black eyes following us. Next up is the House of Oddities. The sign says it requires an extra ticket.

“We really shouldn’t indulge in spending the extra money,” my mother insists quietly, so no one else around us can hear.

“I couldn’t agree more,” my father says, surprising us both. “We need not spend money on such an unholy attraction.”

I look at my mother in shock. He didn’t even so much as argue over this declaration. It’s so unlikely for him to be agreeable.

Until now, I actually felt almost normal—smiling, enjoying the sights and sounds of the circus carnival like a regular family. But the subtle reminder of our strained financial situation brings me soaring back to reality. Try as I may, I can’t seem to escape it.

Once again, a feeling of dread settles in my stomach as I cross my fingers and hope I don’t run into Azrael.

Of all the times I’ve snuck off to the solace of the circus, never have I ever hoped and prayed so hard not to see him—unless he’s in the center of the ring, his strong jawline and muscular arms on full display beneath the spotlights.

When I fell into them a few days ago, I could feel the hardness of every single one of his muscles beneath his clothes.

They made me feel at ease, safe and protected.

There’s just something about him that always keeps me coming back for more.

I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But why? Is it the allure of something so forbidden I crave it the way a flame craves air?

Before I can get any more lost in my thoughts, I’m jostled back to the present by the sound of my father yelling to be heard over the crowd, which has grown rowdy. “We should take our seats. The show is going to begin soon.”

Eager to get this over with, I follow my parents as we walk along with the rest of the town, excitedly making their way to the entrance to the big top.

The closer we get, the more alert and uncomfortable I grow.

I try to scan the faces of all the ticket takers and come up empty.

It doesn’t mean anything. He’s never out here anymore.

Despite that, I can’t shake the feeling that someone—something—is waiting just beyond the flap.