Chapter 20 - Festival of the heart

For a moment, the world seemed perfect.

Ydoc had risen from his seat with an airy chuckle and a wobble in his knees—arms briefly flailing for balance before he caught himself on a nearby pole with theatrical flair. His other hand adjusted the brim of his black chupalla hat, tilting it just so. A glimmer of shadow crossed his eyes, hiding half of a smirk.

“Well, now—who dressed me?”

He took a single step back to admire his reflection in a hanging lantern’s polished copper belly. And there he was.
Ink-black jacket hugging his arms and waist like a second skin, the high-collared vest beneath buttoned with polished bronze. From his shoulders, the cloak flowed—not fabric, but feathers. Long, sleek crow feathers layered like the wings of a dreaming beast. Each one shimmered faintly under the light, catching glimmers of purple and green. The inside lining was a deep, wet emerald—a dangerous green, like moss soaked in moonlight or the eye of a serpent mid-kiss.

He reached down and pinched the pants just below his knee, pulling them taut, then let go with a snap. A soft laugh rumbled up his throat.

“Gods, I look good.”

Not in vanity, no. It wasn’t that. This was relief.
This was the joy of slipping into skin that finally fit. The kind of joy only the half-broken know—when the mirror shows you someone whole, even for a second.

His limbs betrayed him with a faint tremble—his knees like overcooked noodles, his gait stiff and unsure. He limped forward like a colt learning its legs, but it made him laugh even harder.

“I haven’t worn my dancing suit in years!”

He gave a sharp spin on one heel and immediately had to steady himself against a pole again.

“Okay, maybe I won’t dance with Cathy just yet—”

He paused, head tipping with a dreamy grin.

“But gods, I want to. Her and her goat-folk friend. I bet they’ve got rhythm.”

There was a music somewhere nearby, a flute or maybe a reed-pipe, playing something quick and warm. And Ydoc—smiling and slightly off-balance—looked ready to join.

He took two more steps. Still shaking. Still laughing.

“I swear I haven’t been drinking,” he whispered conspiratorially to a passing mime, who offered only a stiff nod in return. “I hate the stuff. Tastes like bad fruit and shame.”

The mime gave a thumbs-up and continued juggling knives. As one does.

And then—

“Ydoc?”

He froze.

The voice was familiar. Soft—but with a rasp of command underneath, like velvet wrapped around brass.
He turned.

Ruby.

She stood just a few feet away, a pie in each hand and a raised brow on her face. The first thing he noticed was how tiny she was compared to her reputation. So much force packed into a short, stocky frame. Deep red fur, vibrant and ruddy in the sunset light. Her curly mane was tied back with a leather strap, her toolbelt clinking as she stepped forward.

And yet… her step faltered.

She looked at him—not like a friend greeting a friend—but like someone seeing a ghost standing too tall, too straight, too suddenly happy.

Because not an hour ago, Ydoc had been sobbing. Bruised. Broken. Huddled in a chair, begging to go home.

But now—

This?

This was a man dressed for a ballroom. A smirk on his face. A joke on his tongue. A crow-feather cape dancing behind him.

Ruby blinked. Her tail swished once. And still she stared.

“...You alright there, feather prince?”

Ydoc beamed.

“Better than alright, Ruby!” he said brightly, taking a few more unsteady steps forward. “I’m practically reborn! These legs? Wobbly! This coat? Divine! This face?” He pointed at his own smile, grin now stretching dangerously close to madness. “Kissable!”

Ruby squinted, holding out one of the pies like a peace offering—or maybe a shield.

“You sure you’re not sick?”

He leaned forward, sniffing the pie with a flourish.

“Sick? No. Hungry? …Possibly.”

She handed him the pie, still frowning slightly.

“Ydoc,” she said, quiet now. “You—you don’t remember anything from earlier, do you.”

He blinked. Genuinely confused.

“Earlier?”
“We were supposed to meet?”
“Wait—did I fall asleep before the party started?”

Ruby didn’t answer at first.

He bit into the pie. It was hot, full of sweet cream and some sort of roasted fig that burst across his tongue. He made an exaggerated moan.

“Ooooh. That’s illegal. That’s illegal, Ruby.”

She smiled faintly. But it didn’t reach her eyes.

She didn’t press. Not yet. Ruby had dealt with many kinds of strange during her years in the Divide. Ghosts. Fey. Travelers who forgot their names. She knew when to pry, and when to just let someone have their moment.

She nodded once, lips pursed, and tapped his arm gently.

“Well, then. You look good, sweetheart.”
“Go enjoy the party.”

And she walked past him. Not far. Not away. Just enough to be close. Just enough to watch.

Because whatever had happened to Ydoc… whatever had rearranged him from the inside out—
it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Ruby had just taken her third step away when she felt a tug—not literal, but something in the air behind her, like a leash fastened from an old life.

“Ruby,” Ydoc called, more gentle now. “Stay. I don’t want to wander off just yet.”

She turned around slowly, narrowing her eyes—not suspiciously, but like someone checking a mirage for its seams. “...You sure?”

Ydoc gave a soft, sheepish chuckle and sat back down under the tent’s scalloped canopy. His legs wobbled again, but he masked it by resting one long arm over the side of the chair and crossing his legs with all the elegance of a playwright at intermission.

He patted the spot beside him. “Come on. Sit. Talk with me.”

That wasn’t like him. At least… not like the version of him she had grown to guard more than know.

But Ruby didn’t argue. She sat, one pie still in hand, chewing her thoughts more than her food.

Ydoc leaned his head back and sighed as if taking in a new sky, not just lanterns and fading daylight. His voice, when it returned, was silk-wrapped curiosity.

“How’s Leon?”

Ruby blinked. “...My brother?”

Ydoc’s eyes turned, calm and unblinking. “Mmhmm.”

She looked at him for a long moment, unsure if he was joking—or worse, repeating words fed to him earlier.

But there was no hint of fraud in his face. Just a gentle warmth, a patient interest.

“You remember Leon?”

Ydoc tilted his head. “Of course. I mean… I think so?” He scratched his cheek absently, smudging the drool mark he hadn’t wiped off. “Tall. Handsome. Talks like he swallowed a raincloud. Wears gloves like he’s afraid of touch.”

Ruby choked on her bite of pie.

“That’s—yes! That’s Leon!”

Ydoc gave a theatrical sigh and set his elbows on his knees. “Good. I was worried I made that part up.”

She looked at him again, eyes a little wider now. “But… when you got here, you didn’t even know your own name. You couldn’t remember anything. What… changed?”

He shrugged, slow and soft.

“I still don’t remember much. But I remember him. He’s my friend. Sort of. My… technical jailer, too, I suppose.”

Ruby gave a small, confused laugh.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Ydoc turned, meeting her eyes. “I should thank him, honestly. For letting me out today. Letting me come to the party.”

“He didn’t…” Ruby began. Then stopped. “You just… walked out of the Divide. No one let you out.”

Ydoc blinked slowly.

“Really?”

Ruby nodded, her mouth slowly opening like a question that hadn’t formed yet.

He looked down at his hands—bony and long, resting in his lap. The world was full of strange details today. His voice, when it came again, was more gentle now. Almost uncertain.

“Maybe I made it up then.”

Ruby’s heart pinched. The new Ydoc—the elegant, smiling, confident man in feathered green—was still riddled with small holes. Little errors in the weave. Little fractures where the real world glinted through.

But gods… she liked him. Whoever he was now.

She smiled faintly and leaned forward, bumping his shoulder with hers.

“You’re doing alright, you know.”

He smiled at that—truly. For a moment, everything in his posture softened.

But then—

“Ruby,” he said again, quieter now. “What about… Lucy?”

The air stilled.

Ruby’s smile faded, not with malice, but with a sorrowful pause—as if someone had tapped the needle of a record and all the dancers stopped mid-step.

The festival moved behind them. Lanterns swayed. Music trilled. Children shouted. But none of that reached their little tent.

Ydoc’s question just hung there.

Lucy.

His voice was still bright—but under it… a hollow, aching thing. Like a piano note struck on broken strings.

Ruby turned toward him fully now. No longer smiling. She didn’t answer.

Ydoc looked at her. Not pleading. Just waiting.

And then he asked, very softly, as if it might break him—

“Did I… do something wrong?”

Ruby exhaled through her nose. Her hands tightened around her pie.
----------

Ruby didn’t know what to say.

Ydoc had asked about Lucy with such sincerity, like a child recounting a crush that had just happened—as if it hadn’t already broken.

So she stalled.

“Oh… well…” she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. “You actually, um… you did see her. Not too long ago.”

Ydoc perked up. “Really?”

Ruby gave a nervous smile. “Yeah, you two… spoke.”

His brows knit faintly. “Did we now?”

She nodded slowly.

“Was she nice?”

Ruby gave an uneasy shrug. “You… you had a fight.”

That word made Ydoc blink in open disbelief. “No,” he said, not rudely, just confused. “That can’t be right.”

Ruby raised her eyes.

“I mean—Lucy?” He laughed softly. “She’s the nicest girl I’ve ever met. Probably even nicer than you. And that’s saying something, Ruby.”

She smiled, but it was tight—fragile in the corners.

“Sure. But…” she began.

He leaned forward now, puzzled and lightly teasing. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Ruby blinked. “No! I just—Ydoc, listen—”

“No no,” he laughed, waving her off. “If I said something to upset her, I’ll fix it. I must’ve had a bad day. Spirits knows I’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

Ruby froze.

“Maybe Edwards said something awful to her,” Ydoc continued, half-chuckling, half-musing. “Wouldn’t surprise me. He’s got a mouth that poisons wells. I’ll go talk to her. We’re best friends, right? I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

“Ydoc—”

“I mean it! Lucy’s sweet. She probably just got scared off by something—”

“Ydoc.” Ruby’s voice firmed. “Don’t.”

He paused. Looked at her.

And she saw it happen—just for a flicker. A crack in his smile. The first faint twist in the threads holding him together.

“Why?” he asked. “Why shouldn’t I talk to her?”

Ruby exhaled.

“Because something happened. Something bad. I don’t… I don’t know how to explain it. You and her, you—Edwards said some awful things. Made everything worse. It wasn’t just a little fight, Ydoc. It was… it was a lot.”

Ydoc’s smile dropped, not in anger—just confusion. Like being told he’d spilled wine on a memory he didn’t know he owned.

He rubbed his eye. “That… doesn’t sound right.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You don’t remember. That’s why I didn’t want to bring it up.”

There was a silence. A beat. Then—

“Then tell me exactly what happened.”

Ruby flinched. It wasn’t a shout. But it was sharper than she’d ever heard from him. The tone of it—like someone clearing dust from a mirror, too fast, too rough.

“Ruby,” he repeated, quieter now. “Please.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t… I can’t. I wasn’t even there the whole time. Just… Edwards got involved, and Lucy ran off. You were crying. A lot. You were… different.”

Ydoc blinked slowly. He stared at the ground for a moment, then gave a loud, forced breath through his nose and stood up.

“Well,” he said, adjusting his black crow-feather coat. “All the more reason to straighten it out. It’s not like her to just… give up on someone.”

Ruby stood too. “Ydoc, wait—”

But he was already moving. Not running. Not storming. Just walking—calmly, gently, like he was sure he could untangle the whole thing with a few good words and a warm smile.

Ruby stayed behind, watching the tent flap sway as he vanished.

She sat back down slowly, her appetite gone. She picked at the edge of her pie.

Her voice was quiet.

“You remembered Leon,” she whispered to herself, eyes softening. “That means something.”

But she couldn’t help the ache in her chest. The kind you get when someone hugs you, but they’re still not really there.