“Tastes good,” he said.
Monikah nibbled on her toast. “Rhone? Why don’t you think I’m crazy like everyone else does?”
She’d heard the old man’s remark. He studied her. Rhone wasn’t sure how—whether it was her persistence or the fact she’d saved his life or that she had a true vulnerability—but he could see his answer mattered to her and he wanted to get it right. “They don’t really think you’re crazy. They just don’t understand you. When people can’t understand something, they demean it.”
She blinked. “Every single person demeans what they don’t understand?”
“No, but most,” he answered.
Monikah whistled low. “Sounds like you’re pretty disillusioned about people.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “That’s what life has shown me.” The gutter, the pits, the Dome, the assembly.
“If you only expect to see cruelty and rejection, how will you ever see anything else? You’ll forget kindness is there at all.”
Rhone stilled, staring at the fire. She couldn’t know how closely her words reflected what his grandfather had once told him. He didn’t do that . . . did he?
She tilted her head. “Anyway, if you don’t like how people treat others, do something about it.”
He’d like nothing more. But you had to be a king or someone higher-born to do that. “Do something about it, like you’re doing?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Right. I guess that’s a fair point. Although, I like to think I don’t hold any grudges.” She tipped her head back and sighed. “Why do you understand me and not them?”
Rhone finished his toast and put more on the grill. He’d stop after that. He had a feeling he could eat all day today and still be unsatisfied after the physical toll of the last two days. Monikah was waiting for his answer, but Rhone had never really discussed his personal life before. Only with Malir before he’d died, and even then, not much. He took in the way the Ire woman was eating her breakfast, clutching her invention to her chest. Something relaxed within him.
“You remind me of my grandmother.”
She tensed, eyes narrowing dangerously. “What did you just say to me?”
He battled against a smile. “Not like that. She was creative, like you.”
“You’re lucky you answered that right. The Boot Helper was about to become the Bruma Beater.” She studied the stick in her hands, eyes losing their focus briefly. “Bugger, I just thought of a way to improve it.”
“So?” he asked, unsure what the problem was.
She rolled her eyes. “So, now this one seems unfinished.” Monikah made to snap the stick over her knee.
Rhone lunged and plucked the stick from her grasp. “Don’t break it.” He scolded her.
“It can’t be used now. Why not?” Monikah crossed her arms, scowling at him.
He smiled and his face muscles strained. He’d been smiling too much lately; his cheeks weren’t used to it. “You’re too harsh on your work. It’s perfectly usable. And . . . you should never throw away anything you make; your inventions are memories.”
The urchin opened her mouth and then closed it, studying him. “. . . What did you grandmother do?”
“She painted.”
“Was she good?”
Rhone shrugged. “Some of her stuff is in the castle. I like to look at them, but I don’t know how to judge good art from bad.” One of the reasons Rhone stayed in the castle was so he could be close to his grandmother’s paintings.
“You don’t have any of them?”
“No, the others were lost,” he said shortly.
Monikah’s green eyes settled heavily on him for a moment.
He shrugged again. “Some kids burned them to stay warm, a long time ago.”
She gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth. “That’s horrible.”
Rhone leaned forward to grab a stick, and stoked the fire. “It was one of the worst days of my life.”
“If I were you, I’d go back and beat them all up,” she said, fists curled. “It’d make me feel better, anyway.”
He glanced at her, head tilted. Go back? He’d never thought about that.
“Was she ever exiled from Glacium for her paintings, your grandmother?”
He shook his head. “Some people didn’t understand her, I guess. She died when I was young, so it’s hard to remember,” he lied. “Glacium has many inventors. Adnan, the queen’s half-brother, is one of them.”
“And they accept inventors there?” she asked, leaning forward.
“They do, though there are not so many dangers to general life there.” Rhone gestured at the surrounding islands.
“That’s why I couldn’t leave this place,” she said, “as nice as your world sounds. There are so many things that could make life here easier. I just hope I have time to make everything my head wants to.”
“Howdy!” someone called from above.
Rhone’s eyes flickered. Not another one. “Do you put up with this all day?”
She laughed. “Pretty much. There’s not much privacy here, unless you go down into the Oscala.”
An orange-haired boy of about nine circled overhead.
“Is that Jimmy?” Rhone asked, vaguely recognizing the boy as the one who’d crashed into the castle food hall during dinner once.
The boy shouted down, “Did you really beat up twenty people, mister?”
Rhone sighed. “Your people are ludicrous.”
“They’re not,” Monikah said indignantly. “They’re just social. You’ll fit right in.”
His eyes narrowed at the blatant sarcasm.
“Yes, Jimmy, he bet up twenty men,” she called up.
“No way!”
Rhone flipped the toast, stomach grumbling.
“Are you staying here now, mister?”
He ignored the boy and Monikah shook her head and shouted, “He’s staying at least another four days.”
“You’ll be staying until the queen and king visit, then?” Jimmy shouted.
Rhone froze. What? He tipped his head back and blinked, the Ire boy’s rapid circles overhead making him dizzy. “What did you say?”
“Olina and Jovan are coming! And her brother, Olandon. There’s a meeting on.”
“What about?” Rhone stood, watching the boy. The meeting had to have something to do with Yarik’s ‘proposition.’
The boy shrugged. “Don’t know. What’s it to you?”
What was it to Rhone? Nothing. Unless you counted that he’d come here to be away from anything that reminded him of Olina. The worlds truly hated him. This had to be their idea of a joke.
“Rhone, your toast is burning,” Monikah said softly.
He glanced at the smoking bread. “Did you know about that?”
“How would I have known?” she answered.
Rhone nodded, staring at the burning toast, jaw clenched. “What does Yarik plan by having me here when they come?”
Monikah shook her head, whispering, “I don’t know.”
Chapter Eleven
Today, he was helping the urchin with her chores. It turned out everyone in the Ire had a role. The role of leader was apparently an extremely busy one, considering Yarik had been ‘tied up’ the three times Rhone had tried to track him down to demand answers.
Rhone had no idea what the man’s ploy was.
“You feed the sheep?” Rhone asked doubtfully. He peered around the fenced island, the largest island he’d yet seen, six times the size of Monikah’s.
Monikah threw out hay she’d collected from a large tent on the way here, saying, “Sure do. This is Sheep Island.”
“Seriously?”
She snickered. “No. Don’t be stupid.”
He wasn’t sure why that name was stupid when they had places like Nursery Rock and Meeting Island or whatever it was. “You do this each morning, and then. . . ?”
Monikah shrugged. “This is my only job. We just help each other out, though. Sometimes I fill in on Nursery R
ock, or with the fruit trees in the orchard, or making clothes.”
He’d never experienced anything like this before. The fighting barracks he’d joined came close, but those men had been just as likely to turn on you as help you. Rhone had never known a place where everyone willingly helped out. “And people are happy to do that?” He reached out to pat a sheep and jerked his hand back when it tried to bite him.
“Watch out, that one bites,” she said.
“So it would appear.” He glared at the sheep. The thing had an evil glint in its eye. He watched as the sheep went up and rubbed against Monikah. She patted the monster.
“I suppose everyone who stays is happy,” she said with a shrug. “It’s just how life is here; we all help out. It’s how it had to be when our grandparents first escaped here. They needed each other to survive, and that tradition has continued. Life here is getting easier now, with the tri-world accords, but we all have to help. Some people leave, for an easier life, I guess, to try their luck on the other worlds.” She heaved a bucket of water to a trough and filled it, averting her face. “That’s why I need to keep inventing stuff. Then things will get even easier and the Ire will thrive. People will stop treating us like outcasts.”
“No one deserves to be treated like an outcast.” He agreed with Monikah’s fierce words. “The Ire is a community,” he muttered, wondering if such a thing could exist.
The urchin straightened and smiled at him. “That’s right. We’re a community. And we’ll only get stronger, if I have anything to say about it.”
Rhone reached out to pat another sheep, more tentatively this time. The sheep made no move to attack him. “I envy that you have such clear purpose.”
She paused, folding her arms. “You don’t feel you have purpose? Racing your dogs is a purpose.”
“Racing my team is a challenge, and fun,” he replied with a frown.
“I would like to go dogsledding,” she said wistfully. “It must be amazing to experience the roll of the ground underfoot and the cold air on your face.”
Rhone watched her. “It is. I love listening to my dogs.”
Her eyes remained closed. “Do they bark?”
“They do, but they are so excited to run the bark is almost a scream, like a whining bark.”
A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “I can’t imagine that.”
“Then you will have to come with me and hear it for yourself,” he said.
Her eyes popped open. “What? Do you mean that?”
Rhone realized he’d leaned forward and hastily retreated. What had he said? Shit, did he just invite the urchin dogsledding? She couldn’t focus for five seconds to stay upright. “Well, I—” Rhone stared.
“You didn’t mean it, did you?” Monikah asked.
She didn’t seem offended, and that irritated Rhone for some reason. The dogsledding was his space; for a long time it had been his refuge away from unkind eyes. Whatever the urchin was, she wasn’t unkind. “Yes, I meant it,” he said, making his choice. “You are welcome to come with me to Glacium when I leave.” Continuing to Osolis didn’t feel right anymore. He had to get back to the dogs, and his other responsibilities.
Monikah’s green eyes were wide. “You do mean it! Rhone, I’m so excited. There’s no way I’m staying behind.” She stood, determination etched on her face. “I’ll find someone to watch the sheep. And if Yarik kicks up a fuss, I’ll just get exiled again.”
“You want to go that much?” Rhone asked, smiling inwardly.
“Yes,” she answered, then peered around the island. “I think I’ve done everything I needed to.”
“You think?”
She muttered to herself, eyes screwed shut, and then opened them, declaring, “Yes. I’m sure.”
Rhone strapped himself into the Soar and waited as she did the same. Monikah had promised she’d make him one of her new Soar models as soon as possible. Rhone told her not to hurry—that he could use this old, shabby one for as long as that took. Hopefully, making another of her Soar contraptions took Monikah a long time.
“Hey, Rhone?” she said as they walked to the edge of the island.
“Yes, urchin?”
“Why do you call me urchin?”
“That’s your question?”
She paused. “No, my question is: Are you okay about the queen coming here?”
Rhone’s good mood disappeared in a flash.
“I don’t mean to pry,” she said.
“Then why are you?” he asked.
Her face fell.
Rhone shook his head. “I’m not sure why I asked that. You’ve been prying since we first met.”
“It’s just, I know that you must still love her,” Monikah said, her eyes round. “You loved her enough to go into the Oscala to be away from her.”
“I am aware of why I entered the Great Stairway,” he said, gripping the handle of the Soar tightly. Though Rhone was beginning to realize loving Olina wasn’t the only reason he’d come to this place.
“And she’s coming here, and you’ll see her again.”
He spun to face her. “Does this conversation have a point?” he snapped.
Monikah’s cheeks heated. “I guess I wanted to know how you’ll do seeing her.”
“I’m not in the habit of talking about this stuff.” Rhone felt the anger churning inside of him, but he couldn’t be sure if it stemmed from anger at Monikah’s pestering, or anger that he couldn’t answer. Rhone had no idea what seeing Olina would do to him.
“I’m just worried about you,” she said.
Rhone rolled his eyes and moved to the edge. Before he tipped over the side, he tossed over his shoulder, “Don’t be. I was fine before you, and when I leave this place, I’ll be fine, too.”
Chapter Twelve
Rhone sighed, glancing around Monikah’s island as the first hint of light touched the sky. She wasn’t here again. That made the total since she’d left three days.
He’d hurt the urchin’s feelings. And he regretted it. Why did he always lose his temper around her? Talking about things he’d rather keep buried clearly rubbed him the wrong way. But asking questions was a part of Monikah’s nature. It was how she was able to invent new Soars, and Boot Helpers. And though Rhone knew he didn’t have to accept that part of her personality, he found himself wanting to, regardless.
She’d asked him why he called her urchin, and while initially her speed and annoying persistence had earned her the nickname, now her cheekiness and slight vulnerability had Rhone continuing it. That, and the way she’d slipped under his guard.
He had to find her and apologize . . . again.
Spotting Hamish limping around the next island, Rhone yelled out, “Hey! Hamish!”
Hamish cupped his hands around his mouth. “What?”
“You seen Monikah around?”
“She’s hiding from you.”
Rhone set his jaw. “Where is she?”
Hamish ignored him.
“Don’t make me come over there and break your other leg,” Rhone called.
The man glanced back.
“Go on, knock him around a bit.”
Rhone glared up at the old man peering over the edge of the island above.
“She’s with her sheep,” Hamish said. “If she’s not there, she’ll be somewhere in the Oscala.”
Specific. “Thank you.”
“Don’t hurt her, Bruma. Monikah is one of us,” Hamish said darkly.
Rhone let out a short laugh, strapping himself into the Soar. “You have a funny way of showing that.”
“What do you mean?” the old man called down.
“This conversation doesn’t involve you, old man.”
Hamish and the old man waited.
Rhone blew out an irritated breath. “You call her crazy all the time. Don’t you see how that hurts her?”
The old man held out a stick, the Boot Helper. “I don’t think she’s actually crazy. She helps me.”
Rhone growl
ed at them. “Then how about you show a little fucking gratitude, instead of calling her names?”
Hamish raised his hand. “She did break my leg.”
Rhone ignored the pair of them. He paused, about to tip over the edge to fly to Sheep Island, when he spotted Yarik’s bodyguards flying his way.
They landed a few meters from Rhone.
“What do you want?” he asked the pair.
The men’s faces held several shades of yellow and green, the lingering evidence of the hits from Rhone’s fists . . . and maybe his elbow and foot at one point.
The least bruised of the men answered, “It’s been five days. Yarik wants to talk to you.”
Five days have passed? He’d been so worried about Monikah, he’d forgotten, but finding her would have to wait another hour.
“Right,” he said. “Lead the way.”
Rhone followed the men to an island he’d seen but not set foot upon. A large tent was erected in the middle as the focal point, giving him the feeling this hunk of rock was more important than the other hunks of rock in the Ire.
“Yarik is inside,” one of the men said.
Rhone unstrapped himself and leaned his borrowed Soar against a rock. His luck was holding true—Monikah hadn’t had a chance to make him a new one yet.
Rhone crossed to the entrance of the tent and bent his head to allow his large frame inside.
He was able to stand inside, with ample space to spare.
Lifting his head, he found Yarik sitting on a cushion on the opposite side of the space.
“Rhone, well met.”
Rhone didn’t answer.
The leader smiled. “Thank you for honoring our arrangement and staying in the Ire for the last five days.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“That’s what I like about you, Rhone. You don’t mince words.”
He stood in front of the Ire leader, waiting. Finally knowing what this ‘stay for five days’ bullshit was about interested Rhone greatly.
Yarik tilted his head and studied him for a long moment. “I have just met with your king and queen, and with Tatum Olandon.”
Was Olina still here? She had to be. They wouldn’t travel back on the same day. Rhone didn’t want to see her. In fact, the thought of meeting her made him want to punch the nearest rock.
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