by Tracey Ward
He smirks. “Did you really have a nanny?”
I groan, quickly leaving him behind.
When I come out of the bathroom he’s still there, standing by the door to my room.
“Was there something you wanted?” I press.
“Still working.”
He’s motionless, watching me impassively.
“This is work?” I ask doubtfully.
“Yup.”
“It looks exhausting.”
“It’s definitely wearing me down.”
“Seriously, why are you standing here?”
He lifts his hand slowly, his lips in a tight line. He’s pointing at me.
“Me?” I ask. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve been assigned to guard you.”
His words send a shiver down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself protectively. “From what?”
He shakes his head. “I’m guarding us from you.”
I laugh, short and incredulous. “What?”
He doesn’t repeat himself.
“You mean that?” I take a step toward him, leaning against the wall for support. “You’re protecting the world from me?”
“Not the world. Just Gaia.”
“What kind of threat could I be?”
“I don’t know, but you’d make my job easier if you told me.”
I don’t. I don’t tell him because I don’t know. The only person I’m a threat to is myself. I stand a good three inches shorter than him, easily twenty pounds lighter, and he’s worried about me? It’s ridiculous.
“Well, have fun,” I tell him, heading for the door. “I’m going back to bed.”
Static crackles through the hall. The guy stops me with one hand on my arm as he reaches for a slim black radio with the other.
“Grayson,” a voice barks over the device.
The guy brings it to his lips. “This is Grayson.”
“Is the girl awake?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is she ambulatory?”
He looks me up and down quickly. “She’s walking, yes.”
“Bring her to Mayor Gustafson’s office. It’s time we had a talk with her. Out.”
The radio crackles again as he lowers it to the hook on his belt.
“Grayson?” I ask. “That’s your name?”
“Yes.”
“First or last?”
“Does it matter?”
“Do you want to know mine?”
He steps around me, leading me down the hall. “Does it matter?” he repeats.
Chapter Eleven
Gray
I move quickly, making sure we never see anyone. I stick to back roads, dark alleyways. Anywhere that I know will be empty. I glance over my shoulder every now and then to make sure she’s still there. Each time I catch her slowly fading behind me, her eyes on the ceiling and her jaw on the floor. She’s never been inside a mountain before, that much is obvious. I wonder what that feels like. To spend your entire life in the sun under the sky. Does it get old or do you love it every day? To me, standing at the brink of going on lockdown for another long night, it sounds like Heaven.
When we reach the Administration building I hear her gasp. It’s big, lit in a yellow light that makes the exterior bricks glow like gold. I quicken our pace, pushing her to the end of the corridor, stopping at a heavy oak door.
“Can you wait a second?” she asks breathlessly.
I turn, my hand half-raised and ready to knock on the door. When I see her face I feel a pang of guilt.
She’s hunched over, her hands on her knees. Her dark skin is faded to a pale under glistening sweat, making her look like she’s glowing.
“What’s wrong with you?”
She chuckles unhappily, her eyes on my feet. “I’m stagnant sick.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Neither did I until today. My body doesn’t like being on land. It’s why I keep throwing up.” She lowers her voice as she presses a hand to her forehead. “So maybe you could cut me an inch of slack and give me a second to catch my breath.”
I don’t respond but I don’t knock either. I wait for her to get herself together.
She stands up straight, hiding her face in her hands.
“Looks like Easton has been in to see you.”
“How do you know that?” she asks, her voice muffled.
“The bands on your wrists.”
She pulls her hands away, glancing at them like she’s seeing them for the first time. “Yeah. They’re the only reason I haven’t thrown up again. I’m sure Abby appreciates it.”
“I doubt it.”
“Because she hates me almost as much as you do?”
I bristle at the accusation. “I don’t hate you.”
I don’t like being around you. I don’t like looking at you. I don’t like feeling like a lie every time someone talks about you.
“Sure,” she replies sardonically. “Why wouldn’t Abby appreciate it?”
“Because she doesn’t appreciate anything. She pretty much hates everything.”
“Are you two related?”
“No, but Easton and I are.”
She stops, stunned. “No.”
“Yeah. He’s my brother.”
She stares at my face for too long. To the point where I want to squirm or look away, but I hold her gaze. I stand my ground.
“I can see it,” she says quietly. “In the eyes. You both have really blue eyes.”
They’re our mom’s eyes. Our dad’s hair. His jaw line. But that’s where our similarities end. Once you go deeper Easton starts being Easton and I—well I start being something else entirely.
I gesture to the door behind me. “Are you feeling well enough to do this now? They’re waiting.”
“What exactly am I doing?”
“You’re meeting the Mayor and Captain Fuller. Probably Treasurer Crestin too. They’ll decide what to do with you.”
Her bottom lip bulges slightly as she nervously passes her tongue over her teeth. “What kind of person is he? The Mayor?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean is he like you or is he like your brother?”
I think that question through, honestly trying not to be insulted by it but she doesn’t leave me a lot of wiggle room. What she’s asking is obvious; is he a villain or is he a hero?
“Somewhere in between,” I answer vaguely.
“That’s better than nothing.”
“You mean better than me?”
“That’s what I said.”
She closes the distance between us, stepping past me and grabbing the door handle. She pushes it open without knocking. It shuts solidly in my face behind her.
Chapter Twelve
Liv
The office is stuffy and dark. I don’t realize how fresh the air inside the rest of the cave is until I close that door behind me and take a stabilizing breath. It hits me hard and brittle on my tongue. Stagnant and way too warm.
I cling to the doorknob with a sweat soaked hand wondering if I should open it and go back out. It’s too dark in here, too dim for my light loving eyes to see, and some sick part of me wants to bring Grayson in to stand next to me so I’ll feel safe. Unwanted and despised, but safe nonetheless. He’s the devil I know. This room and the people supposedly in it, they’re a mystery. An unknown that holds my fate in their hands.
“Welcome,” a deep voice booms from the darkness.
I jolt, my hand slipping off the doorknob until the only part of the world I’m certain of is the floor under my feet. I feel suddenly rudderless. Like I’m drifting in nothing, rising on the hot air.
A bead of sweat tickles down my back making me shiver.
“I understand your name is Livandra,” the voice continues. “But you prefer to go by Liv. Is that right?”
I nod my head. Hopefully they can see it.
I’m getting used to the darkness by degrees. Shadows are melting away like chocol
ate in the setting sun. Behind them are figures, three of them. There’s a long table or desk between them and me, a light on the far left wall that glows weakly in a perfect square. I smell tobacco, the good kind. Someone is smoking a pipe.
“Is it a custom of the Eventide not to speak until invited to?” a woman asks from my right.
I turn toward her outline, willing it into shape. She sits lower than the others, her hair short, round, and large. Probably a mass of curls like I’ve seen on the cooks below decks. Her shoulders are slight, her bone structure small, but her voice is clear and strong. Demanding in a strangely kind way.
I take an unconscious step toward her. “No, it’s not.”
“Then I would advise you to speak up.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Good.”
They pause, their eyes weighing heavily on me. I wait patiently before realizing that’s what they’re doing too.
“Liv, yes,” I tell them steadily. “My name is Livandra Pamuk, heiress to the Second Chair in the Council of Eventide.”
I turn my arm to show them my tattoo. I don’t know if they can see it in this dim light, I can’t imagine how anyone could see anything with clarity, but there’s a grunt of understanding from my left.
“You only have three rays,” a man comments. “Someone seated on the chair has five. An heir should have four.”
I’m taken aback by his knowledge of Eventide ascension. I didn’t realize it was common knowledge.
“My brother Gav was the first born heir. His arm had four rays.”
“You’re talking about him in the past tense.”
“He—he was on the ship with me. My mother was too,” I swallow hard. “I’ve been told I’m the only survivor.”
“So far.”
“So far?” I parrot. “Are you expecting to find others?”
My questions are met with silence. It’s unbearable and oppressive, like the air in the room. The scent of the tobacco is becoming too much, too sweet, and I feel saliva pool in my mouth.
“We’re not hopeful for more survivors,” the woman speaks up. “Bodies have washed ashore.”
“How many?”
“Last count was fourteen.”
“Fourteen,” I whisper brokenly. “That’s hardly any of them at all.”
“It’s why we’re not hopeful to find more survivors. If Grayson hadn’t found you when he did you wouldn’t be here.”
I frown. “Grayson? He found me?”
“He was trying to salvage a fishing boat,” the gruff man explains. “He was pulled out to sea. That’s where he found you unconscious and tangled in debris. He brought you back in. He saved your life.”
“I had no idea. He didn’t tell me.”
“He’s humble. All of my men are.”
“Your men?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man in the middle says. “Here we brought you in and immediately started interrogating you without introducing ourselves. You’ll have to forgive us. We’ve never had an Eventide here before. It’s—well, it’s a little exciting, isn’t it, Jonah?”
“Thrilling,” he replies tonelessly.
The middle man continues without notice. “This is Captain Fuller. He’s the head of Forces, our security division. Grayson is a soldier in his ranks. They keep the peace, keep us safe. Right now they’re busy prepping the village for lock down before the frost comes. On my left is Treasurer Crestin. She heads the treasury department. You might have guessed that. All in all, she holds the purse strings and minds the coffers. She knows the count on every item in the warehouse, every egg laid by every chicken. And I’m Mayor Gustafson.”
“He heads everything.”
“Not everything, Jonah.”
“Maybe it just feels like it.”
An odd silence filters through the room, snaking past my legs, brushing against the thin fabric of my pants and making me uneasy. It slithers away toward Treasurer Crestin where it’s vanquished by her words.
“If you’re going to stay here you’ll have to work,” she tells me sternly. “Do you have any skills?”
I shake my head. “I don’t plan on staying.”
“Really? Where will you go?”
“To the Eventide.”
“You won’t be returning to the Eventide this year.”
I blink rapidly, my eyes stinging in the low light. “Why? Why wouldn’t I go back? If I can get to Porton I can meet up with a Dasher on delivery.”
“They’ve come and gone from Porton already. They won’t be back again for a year.”
My mouth hangs open in silent protest. In shock. I can’t believe it. I’m stranded. Alone for an entire year.
“This is going to be a change for you,” she continues. “A hard one. One I think that you should manage here with us.”
I chuckle unhappily. “Where else could I go?”
“The city,” Captain Fuller tells me matter-of-fact. “Any of the other outlying towns. There are five others to choose from. Hafford is nice.”
“Jonah,” Mayor Gustafson says mildly.
“She asked what her options are. I’m telling her.”
“The city isn’t safe, even for someone who grew up around here,” the Treasurer tells me. “It would be especially unsafe for someone of your background.”
“You mean someone with my skin color,” I amend wearily.
“Yes. There are people everywhere who would look at your skin, at your tattoo, and see dollar signs. They’d wonder what an Eventide girl would be worth to the ships when they pass through again.”
“Not to mention the Balens,” the Mayor adds meaningfully.
A round of assenting murmurs vibrates from the table.
I, however, am completely lost. “Who are the Balens?”
Captain Fuller surprises me when he’s the one to offer up an answer. “Citizens of Bale, another town outside Porton. They don’t like your kind.”
“My kind?”
“They’re very superstitious,” Treasurer Crestin clarifies. She casts Captain Fuller a tight glance before continuing. “They never buy anything with the Eventide stamp on it. They think you’re bad luck.” She looks to the Mayor. “Have we taken in any Balens recently? Any marriages or hires? Sanctuary?”
He shakes his head thoughtfully. “Not in the last five years at least.”
“Four,” Captain Fuller corrects. “My cousin moved here when a veterinary position opened.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten your mother was from Bale. Well, Tim is one man. In Porton there would be fifty.”
“Fifty what?” I ask.
“Fifty men or women to worry about. You wouldn’t be safe there. Here we can protect you.”
“You would do that?”
“If you decided to stay, yes.”
“Who would protect me?”
“One of my men,” Captain Fuller says proudly. “I’ll assign someone to you until we know how things will shake out for you here.”
“I want Grayson.”
He doesn’t respond. What he’s thinking I have no idea, but here’s what I’m thinking; Grayson already saved me once. No doubt he can do it again.
“You said he’s injured,” Mayor Gustafson reasons with Fuller. “He can’t help with securing the village. This could be a good use of his time.”
“If I have to give up someone it may as well be him,” Fuller concedes, clearly unhappy. “He won’t be up to snuff again for seven weeks.”
“Good, then it’s settled.”
“So she’s staying with us?”
“Is that what you’d like to do?” the Mayor asks me. “Would you prefer to wait out the year here or in the city?”
How am I supposed to answer that? I really have no clue where here is, other than in the dirt. I have no idea what life will be like. Or what it could be like in the city. I only know what they’re telling me, but is it the truth? Their version of living is obviously different than mine, so can I take their advice? Is it worth
anything to me? Am I worth anything to them?
They say I’ll have to work, but doing what? Digging? Cooking? Sewing? Lump all those things together in a pretty little package called Things I’ve Never Done In My Life And Will Invariably Fail At, because that’s what they are.
“Did you hear me?”
I nod jerkily, the movement uncontrollable. I’m almost trembling, and whether it’s from the land sickness, the fear of staying here for an entire year – or worse, not staying here – I don’t know. It’s probably a combination of everything. Everything piling up on top of me, sinking me down inside the darkness where I wonder what I’m going to do. How I’m going to survive this.
On the ship I wanted off, I wanted freedom. Now I have it. Now I’m not so sure I want it. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want it like this. I wanted it in the water where I couldn’t fly. Where I’d sink down, down, down deep where it’s silent and black and too heavy to stand. Where I’d burst apart into a million stars that no one would see. A constellation that couldn’t be changed. Couldn’t be touched.
Could never be hurt.
“Livandra?” Treasurer Crestin snaps.
Her tone pulls me out of myself, out of the freefall I’m plummeting into. I strain to make her out in the gloom. “Yes? I’m sorry. I—yes. I want to stay. Thank you.”
“No, dear, I asked if you’re alright. You look sick.”
“I am,” I admit blearily. “This room is so dark. It’s disorienting.”
“It’s not dark in here.”
“It is to me.”
They shuffle, mumble, the Mayor whispers something to Fuller. A chair scrapes across the floor. I watch the man’s shadow go to the dim square on the wall. He stands by it for a minute before it slowly starts to brighten, taking the room with it.
It’s surprisingly well decorated with smooth, dark wood and a beautifully intricate woven rug on the floor in different shades of greens. There are books inside shelves on the walls, glass sculptures high up above them, and paintings of the sky at night, some at day. The darkness of the black and the vibrancy of the blue in the paints takes my breath away. I’ve never seen the sky like this, blue instead of yellow or orange. Pink. I’ve only seen it soft and sleepy, never wide awake. Never alive.