But these people look normal. Happy. Laughing and drinking at a lavish Keshmish party.
As I look more closely, I see that the decorations are not quite as bright and new as they first appeared. The golden paint is peeling off the ornaments. The white candles are melted-down stubs, reduced to pools of watery wax. The tinsel is frayed and peeling around the edges. They must be the last decorations the Amangiri used before the Big Water, likely stored in boxes for years before Gideon and his people came along to pull them out and string them throughout their dining room.
Gideon’s people are dressed in their party clothes. Nothing in comparison to the wealth I saw at the Knifetown auction and certainly nothing as otherworldly as what I remember from the Shalimar. But the people look clean. Well fed. Their clothes well taken care of. A swirl of a red dress here, the shine of a dark suit jacket there. And then there’s the wings. Not everyone has them, or at least has them on display, but enough do. They look a bit like fairies, more ethereal than insectoid under the Keshmish lights. They are strange, but beautiful, too. More artwork than grotesquerie.
As I watch, they gather around the huge table, taking their seats as if their places were decided, leaving the head chair empty. The energy in the room seems to climb, a sense of expectancy in the air, like everyone’s waiting for whoever belongs to that seat. It has to be Gideon, and I welcome the chance to finally get a look at the monster in the flesh.
And then I hear it. That laugh. The one that saved me so many times. That pulled me from the darkness in my head. That made me feel safe. That saved my life.
Kai is seated at the table, one seat away from the White Locust’s chair. His back is to me. He’s wearing a royal blue velvet suit jacket that gleams soft and lush in the golden light. His head is bent in conversation with the person next to him. A woman with long blond hair that cascades down her back. Kai’s hair is longer, too, grown out in the time we’ve been apart. It covers his neck, brushes the tops of his ears, and hangs down in a thick wave across his eyes. I watch as he tilts his head back, pushing his hair from his face with long, elegant fingers, familiar turquoise rings catching the light. And God help me, my heart does a little flip-flop. It’s not that I’d forgotten the effect he has on me, the sort of otherworldly beauty he possesses. But maybe I had forgotten how susceptible I was to it.
And I’m not the only one.
I watch as the blond woman takes a small bite of something from her plate and holds it up for him to eat. He tries to take it from her hand, but she pulls back teasingly. He gives her a little half smile and opens his mouth. She feeds the morsel to him, her fingers lingering against his lips. And then she leans in and kisses him.
And something inside me free-falls.
She pulls away, giggling. Touches a hand to her chest and rolls her head back, a pantomime of pleasure, and Kai smiles.
I’m on my knees. The rough concrete bites through my leggings, tearing my skin. Nothing, really. Bruised bone and torn flesh. Such a small pain.
Kai slips his arm around the back of the blond woman’s seat, leans close to whisper something in her ear. And for a moment his eyes flicker my way.
I press my hand to the glass.
The color on his face drains. His fingers tense, digging into the back of her chair, and his eyes . . .
I wonder what he sees. A girl on her knees just past the glass doors, palm pressed against the barrier that won’t let her in. A stubborn fool stuck out in the desert cold, while he laughs and feasts and kisses golden-haired women in the warm light.
He starts to rise from his chair, when something draws his attention back to the room. And then everyone is standing and applauding. A bilagáana man, midthirties, enters. Tanned skin and brown hair. Tall, fit, handsome. He greets people as he moves through the gathering, shaking hands and touching shoulders. He smiles with sparkling white teeth. I hear them shout his name, even from out here. Gideon. He’s wearing jeans, a matching denim shirt, a leather bolo with a silver medallion shaped like an insect. A locust.
Kai tries to leave, pressing a hand to the blond girl’s arm and mouthing excuses. She looks back over her shoulder, directly at where I am, but I can tell by her expression that she can’t see me.
But Kai sees me. I can feel it.
She grabs his hand, not letting him go. He tries again, but now Gideon is there, wrapping an arm around Kai’s shoulder and giving him a one-armed hug. And he’s saying something, and I can barely follow his lips. But then I do.
Son. He’s calling Kai “son.”
Kai shoulders fall slightly, but he covers it with a smile. The blond woman gazes at Kai adoringly. And Gideon takes his seat at the head of the table, with Kai on his right.
Chapter 36
I sit for a while, my feet dangling in the deep end of the empty pool, listening to the party. I should probably be somewhere less visible, but I know Kai saw me. I can only hope he’ll come. And if someone else finds me first? Well, I’m not sure it matters.
My breath frosts in front of me, and for a moment I’m surprised I’m still breathing. I’m surprised I’m still alive at all.
I track the path of the stars as they travel across the sky. They’re faint out here, so close to all this electric light. Neizghání used to encourage me to learn the names of all the stars, but I was always a terrible student. Náhookos Bika’ii, I recognize. The man lying on his side near what the bilagáanas call the Big Dipper. And Náhookos Bi’áadii, the woman. The man and the woman. Watching over a ruined world.
I hear him before I see him. A burst of conversation, cut off abruptly by the soft whoosh of a sliding door. The quiet tap of party shoes. The scratch of a match and the punch of sulfur. And then the scent of mountain tobacco.
He stands there, silent behind me. The only noise is the inhale and exhale of smoke from his cigarette. The night stretches, cold and distant as the stars.
“You’re wearing his sword,” he finally says.
I flinch at the accusation in his voice.
“It’s my sword now,” I say, eyes still on the night sky.
He’s quiet, and I can only guess what he’s thinking. Surely the Goodacres told him that I buried Neizghání alive and took his sword for good measure. Or maybe he thinks it means something else, something about where my loyalties lie.
“It doesn’t mean anyth—”
“I can only stay a minute,” he continues quickly, cutting me off. “They’ll come looking for me if I’m gone too long. Did you get my message?” he asks. “I left you a message at Grace’s.”
“I got it.”
His voice is sad. “Then why did you come?”
Because you said you loved me, and nobody’s ever said that to me before. “You were missing. There was blood at the guardhouse. I thought maybe you needed—” I stop myself from saying “me.” I say “help” instead. I turn to face him. “Plus, last time I saw you, you were dead.”
He pales, his hand going to his chest reflexively, the place where I shot him.
“You look good,” I say stupidly. Because he does. He’s taken off his blue jacket and the sleeves of his black button-up shirt are rolled up to his elbows, the collar loose and open despite the cold. His familiar rings glint in the light, the big turquoise one I like so much. Everything about him is elegant, even the way he holds the softly glowing cigarette between his long fingers.