She is striking.
Nazirah sees it all, but none of it matters. What matters is she has never looked this much like Riva before in her life. She touches her face, speechless. Having her mother here, with her in this small way, means more to Nazirah than beauty ever could.
“I have grandson for you,” Padmakali says seriously. Nazirah laughs, the tinkling of bells. From the final box, Padmini removes a large gold bangle. She slips it on Nazirah’s arm, right above the bracelet from her first trip to the Deathlands. It’s embellished with a dozen red suns, inlaid with rubies. Padmini says something to Nazirah, happily grabbing her wrist. “Padmini is saying you now are Deathlander too,” Padmakali translates. “You are having the red sun like us.”
Nazirah is touched by Padmini’s heartfelt words. She begins tearing up, but Padmakali shouts at her “Not to be ruining the makeup.” Nazirah hugs those three nesting dolls tightly before they leave, feeling closer to them than she dreamed possible when they first marched through her door. She walks to the mirror again, tucking the pendant out of sight. Standing before the mirror, she puts a slow hand up to her reflection. Nazirah traces the lines of her face, of Riva’s face, heart-shaped and honey-eyed.
Nazirah finds herself in that mirror. She may look like Riva, but she is not Riva. She is not Kasimir. She is born of them, but entirely her own.
She is Nazirah Nation reborn.
There is soft rapping at her door. Behind it is Olag, dressed in a suit with diamond studs in each ear. “You’re looking especially dapper tonight,” Nazirah says, taking Olag’s proffered arm. Nazirah doesn’t think he understands her, but Olag flashes the first real smile she’s seen him wear. Nazirah returns the smile, letting him lead her to the celebration.
#
The party is lively and intimate, like Solomon promised. But it is nothing like Nazirah expected. For the past two days, Nazirah assumed Solomon’s celebration would resemble Victoria’s gala. That party was luxurious and strange, uptight and stuffy. But this is the Deathlands, not Mediah.
She should have known better.
The first thing Nazirah notices is the music. It is throbbing, pulsating, intoxicating. Cymbals crash. Camel leather guitars strum, vibrating deeply. Lutes serenade. Drums bang. Men play the cane flute, while women sing loudly. Partygoers everywhere chant in Deathlandic, crooning and rhythmically handclapping. They sway their hips, gyrating, alternating between sharp and flowing movements. Some people jump acrobatically to the music in a circle. Veiled women with bright saris and bare midriffs belly dance through the crowd. People smoke hookah in a corner.
Solomon sees her, rises in greeting. “Look at you!” he exclaims. “You are exquisite, the jewel of Renatus!”
Nazirah blushes. “Thanks for lending me the dress and bracelet, Solomon,” she says. “They’re absolutely gorgeous.”
“You are mistaken,” he replies kindly. “The gold will fade and the lace will unravel. You are the true beauty. And they are yours to keep. Mementos of your time here.”
Nazirah is floored. “Are you sure?” she asks.
“Of course I am!” he says, guiding her through the crowd. “How do you like the festivities?”
“They’re amazing!” Nazirah shouts, struggling to be heard over the music. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“A truly Deathlandic event!” he cries, leading her to a large table with the rest of her campaign members. “As promised!”
Nazirah spots Adamek speaking to a dark-skinned beauty with purple lips and gold bangles up her arms. He is dressed in a metallic sharkskin suit with an open white shirt. Aldrik, bouncing an obscenely young ingénue on his lap, leans over and says something to him. Adamek laughs. Nazirah has never seen him look so relaxed, so approachable before. Several exotic girls, and quite a few boys, gather around him like moths drawn to a flame. Because he is the flame, the fire everyone wants to be burned by.
Nazirah included.
Aldrik kisses along the girl’s neck, glancing at Nazirah casually. He blinks his one eye several times before recognizing her. “Good God, Nation!” he cries drunkenly. “You mean there’s actually a girl under that harpy exterior?”
Adamek looks up, their eyes lock. Nazirah watches him follow the curves of her dress all the way down and back up again. The girl with the purple lips continues chattering away, touching his arm intently. But his focus isn’t on her anymore. Nazirah sits down with her back to all of them.
This is a very dangerous game she’s playing. And if there’s anything Nazirah hates more than losing, it’s being in over her head.
She watches the crowd for hours, mesmerized, craving to join the swaying mass. The partygoers dance individually, steps uncoordinated, all of them to their own rhythms. But together, they somehow move as one, part of something more than themselves. Together they are whole, carefree, careless.
She wants that feeling.
“Nation.”
Adamek sits down beside her, his jacket now removed. He hands Nazirah a drink, which she sips without a second thought. “Tequilux?” she asks curiously.
Adamek smirks. “That’s your drink, right?”
“Thanks.”
“Sure,” he says, shrugging.
“So,” Nazirah asks, “how does this compare to a Medi party?” She already knows, of course. But she’s curious what he will say.
Adamek stares ahead. “Medis are all about showing off,” he says. “It’s about having that something, that hook, which no one else has.”
Like tigers, perhaps.
“And this?”
“This is about the vibe,” he says, “the experience … the feeling.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” He looks at her oddly, but she is lost in thought. “I always wanted to come here,” she says. “When I was little, Kasimir brought home a Deathlandic peddler for dinner. I remember listening to his stories, wanting to experience it all for myself.” She sighs. “But he was always too afraid to take me.”
Adamek gives a short, mirthless laugh. “Sounds nice,” he says, “having a father who cares.”
“Cared,” she corrects automatically.
“Cared.”
Nazirah glances at him, but he remains fixated on the crowd, eyes glazed over. Turning her attention to the table, she finds that Aldrik is gone … probably to bed with that infant. “Disgusting,” she mutters.
Adamek also focuses on the empty space over her shoulder. “Yes, he is.”
“Do you think anyone here really believes we’re together?”
“Probably more than we think.”
“But we hate each other.”
“Cheers to that,” he replies, clinking his glass with hers and taking a sip. “Half the time I’m around you, all I want to do is strangle you with my bare hands.”
“And the other half?”
He looks at her fully now. Nazirah is acutely aware that she is entering forbidden territory.
“Miss Nation.”
They glance up at the new, deep voice. Standing before them is a handsome, tall man. He is dark, with kind eyes, and a dazzling white smile. He looks strangely familiar, although Nazirah knows she’s never met him before.
“Nazirah, please.” She extends a hand to him, which he kisses softly. He’s completely disarming and Nazirah is grateful for the distraction.
“Nazirah,” the man corrects. “Your face is legendary throughout our humble territory. But you are somehow even more beautiful in person.”
Nazirah flushes. “What is your name?” she asks.
“I am Ramses,” he says, “son of the late Khan.” Adamek stiffens beside her, but Ramses pays him no notice. “Would you do me the great, undeserved honor of a dance?”
“Of course,” she says, standing up and setting her drink down. Nazirah is more than eager to get away from Adamek and their escalating conversation. Ramses escorts Nazirah into the throng of bodies. He gently grabs her hands and they begin dancing to a lively tune. Nazirah tries to follow the people around her, laughing as she stumbles, unfamiliar with the steps that come naturally to them. Ramses grins, teaching her the moves patiently.
“You’re a quick learner,” he says, dipping her effortlessly.