Chapter 37
The Maskmaker set them loose on every sun temple they came across—a way to not only feed his new army of foxes, but to disrespect his brother’s good name.
Men, women, children—all fell victim to the nine-tailed foxes and the magic of their masks.
They were too beautiful for men to deny, so beguiling that women let down their guard, so sweet that children came to them willingly.
The foxes would return to him with their bellies full, entire sects and their neighboring villages thoroughly emptied of souls.
The Maskmaker was pleased with his foxes—
Save for one.
The youngest was a curious little beast. She was the runt of the litter: smaller, weaker, and slower than her elder sisters, she had a propensity for watching humans rather than devouring them on sight.
He would need to train this strange behavior out of her.
If she didn’t eat, she would never grow strong.
“Come with me, Yue,” he told her one sunny afternoon. Her elder sisters were out on yet another hunt, but the little fox, claiming not to be particularly hungry, declined to join them.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he placed a newly crafted mask upon her face. The magic took hold and turned her into a beautiful young woman with raven hair and plump red lips.
The Maskmaker, however, did not answer.
He brought her to the outskirts of a small village.
It could only boast a few wooden buildings and one main road.
The only impressive thing about it was the sea of golden grass that surrounded it, a narrow river winding through like a blue silk ribbon.
There were a handful of humans out and about, but Yue’s attention was drawn to one in particular: a boy, playing by his lonesome next to the water.
“Your sisters are excellent hunters,” the Maskmaker said. “And I would have you be the same.”
“He’s a child,” Yue protested. “I don’t like eating children.”
“Why not?”
“Because they are small. It’s not fair.”
“Fair?” the Maskmaker scoffed. “Believe me when I say this world doesn’t care about fairness. It doesn’t care about those who are weak. Whatever you want, you must take. Remember this, Yue: never pity your food.”
The fox eyed the little boy apprehensively. It struck her as odd that his parents were nowhere in sight, nor did he seem to have any friends to play with. Isolated and alone, there was no denying that he would make the perfect meal.
And yet it didn’t sit right with her, eating someone so defenseless.
“Don’t come back until you’ve eaten,” the Maskmaker said firmly as he turned away to leave. “Or I will tell your sisters.”
Yue shifted uncomfortably. She certainly didn’t want that. Her sisters teased her often. Told her that a soft heart would one day be her undoing. She didn’t want to be the shame of her family. What she needed was to prove herself, to make her sisters proud.
She approached the boy slowly, placing her mask onto her face. It aged her into a beautiful human woman. She forced an unassuming smile upon her lips. “Hello, little one. What are you doing all the way out here?”
The boy looked up at her with large, innocent eyes the same color as axinite. Although he seemed surprised to see her, he didn’t appear to be alarmed. “I’m playing,” he said.
“All alone?”
“My brothers don’t like me, and A-Ma is sick.”
Yue tilted her head to the side, amused by the boy’s unfiltered honesty. Weren’t human children taught not to speak with strangers? “I can play with you, if you’d like.”
His face brightened. “Really?”
“What’s your name, little one?”
The boy beamed proudly. “You can call me Sonam.”