Chapter Nine
Nine
“I knew it,” Leah said the next day when I told her what Daziel had said.
We were in the Testylier House common room, where we’d curled up on the most comfortable couch before the fireplace and wrapped a cozy blue blanket around our legs.
Each of us clasped a mug of mint tea, a plate of spice biscuits on the table before us, while outside a storm lashed at the windows.
“Ezra’s right, the Sanhedrin should be figuring out why the magic is off and fixing it. ”
I put my tea down so I could rub her arm gently. “Are you worried about your family?”
She nodded. “I’m not so worried about the autumn winds being off, but it’s more if the Maestril also acts differently.
We depend on the Maestril—it dries out the soil soaked by rains all winter and blows away the dust brought in by the Trio Winds.
It’s like clockwork. But…” She sounded defeated.
“Nothing else is normal this year, so what if the Maestril isn’t either? ”
The riverlands produced the nation’s silk, wine, and olive oil—Ena-Cinnai’s major exports. If their harvests failed, it wouldn’t just bankrupt families like Leah’s; it would hit the whole nation. “I’m sure the Maestril will be fine.”
She pressed her lips together. “I hope so.”
Marie, a girl from the fourth floor, stuck her head into the common room. Water dripped from her white School of Religious Studies blazer, and her hair was plastered to her head; she’d clearly just come in. “Naomi? There’s a courier here for you.”
Leah and I exchanged curious glances. I’d never had a package delivered before, only letters from my family.
“Thanks,” I said, climbing out from beneath my blanket and heading into the foyer, Leah beside me. A woman stood there in the brown-and-green outfit of the courier service, a slightly damp-looking rectangular package at her feet. “Hi? I’m Naomi bat Yardena.”
The courier scrounged a pad out of her waterproof satchel and held it out, rainwater forming puddles around her. “Sign here, please.”
I did, glancing at the returnee’s address as I did so. “Oh no.”
“What?” Leah leaned over my shoulder to see. “Who’s it from?”
“My aunt.” I smiled weakly at the courier as she departed.
“I completely forgot she told me to come to a party she’s hosting this weekend.
” The idea of being presented to my aunt’s colleagues and peers made me sick.
I imagined they’d be adult versions of élodie and Birra, dressed brilliantly and sneering politely.
“And she told me to confirm I had a decent outfit or she’d send something. ”
“Amazing.” Leah eyed the package with excitement.
If she hadn’t been the eldest child and expected to take over her family’s silk farm, I imagined she might want to do something in fashion.
“Do you think it was a passive-aggressive slam, like ‘you definitely don’t have something,’ or was it supposed to be nice? ”
“No idea. I barely know her. To be fair, I definitely don’t have anything fit for Society Hill.” I’d happily accept an outfit from my aunt if it meant I could fade into the party’s background instead of being the poor relation who stuck out like a sore thumb.
Leah smirked. “You could borrow something from élodie or Birra.”
“I’d rather stab my eyes out, thank you.”
We took the package back to the common room, placing it on a coffee table and peeling back the brown paper. A white box lay within, emblazoned with the seal of a house of design I didn’t recognize.
“Oh my god,” said one of the other girls in the room, Suri, who sat with another fourth-floor girl, Danielle. “Is that from Shoshana’s?”
“I don’t know?” I said. “My aunt sent it over.”
The two girls joined us, kneeling on the other side of the coffee table. “It definitely is,” Suri said, examining the box’s seal.
“Nice,” Leah said. “I bet you can resell it for a ton.”
I undid the strings and lifted away the box’s top to reveal white paper folded around the outfit.
Untucking it, I glimpsed the fabric within—navy silk with silver threading and glinting seed pearls.
I lifted out the first piece, a high-necked top, and Leah pulled out the matching billowy pants with the classic cinched ankles of Talum fashion to protect against the wind.
“Your aunt has taste.” Leah sounded astonished. “This cut only just came into style.”
“It’s tiny,” I said, holding the top against my front.
“That’s fashion.”
“Look at this threadwork,” Danielle said. “It’s impeccable.”
I murmured in agreement, then refocused. “What if I’m cold?”
“That is also fashion.” Leah slid the pants through her fingers. “You must suffer for it. Look at how luminous this is. This silk is really good quality. Do you have shoes to wear with it? Ideally silver.”
“I have a pair,” Suri said. “When are you wearing it? I can bring them over anytime.”
Daziel hopped out of the mirror above the fireplace, landing softly on the floor. Everyone flinched, then pretended not to; we were Talumizans, or we wanted to be, and we refused to be startled by anything.
Perhaps because we were looking at clothing, I noticed his: burgundy pants and a matching silk scarf held in place by a dazzling stick pin.
He’d thrown his jacket over his shoulder with faux nonchalance; I was sure he was going for a rakish air, and it made me grin.
He’d nailed it. I noticed Suri and Danielle noticing, which, confusingly, sent a twinge of pride through me.
Daziel practically quivered with excitement as he took in the fine silver embroidery done on the top’s high collar. He ran his fingers across the silk. “Stunning. Where are we going?”
The mere idea of Daziel interacting with my aunt gave me hives. “Not we,” I said firmly. “I’m going to my aunt’s this weekend.”
“I will escort you,” Daziel said happily.
“No.” I doubled down on my firmness. “This is a family thing. I can’t deal with you at the same time.” I imagined my aunt’s dour expression and, worse, her writing a missive to my parents. Horrible. “You’ll stay here.”
~ ~ ~
Daziel sulked for the rest of the week. It was very trying. He sighed endlessly, muttered asides to Paz, and draped himself across my couch like the world was ending.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked Saturday night as I got ready. Leah had come over and was helping me paint my eyelids with kohl and silver shimmer.
“It’s a lost cause,” Leah told him. “She’s stubborn.”
I pulled a face. “I wouldn’t say stubborn. What about determined?”
“Two sides of the same coin.”
“I will be on my best behavior,” Daziel pleaded. He was currently hanging—upside down from his knees—from a chandelier he’d installed in our living room. Would I be fined for that? Probably.
“Why don’t you go see if any of the boys want a pickup game of knockball?” I suggested.
Daziel dropped to the floor, twisting in the air to land on his feet like a cat. The resemblance intensified when he hissed at me. “I am not a child to be appeased by games.”
I raised my hands, suppressing my laughter to keep from disrupting Leah’s work. “Just a suggestion.”
He flopped onto the sofa, pouting. “What if there are suitors you need to deter?”
“If they’ve been invited to my aunt’s, I doubt they’ll need me for an introduction to her.”
“Plus,” Leah said, “maybe there’ll be some hot guys there who don’t want you for your aunt.”
“Are you joking?” Daziel snapped.
“Are you jealous?” I retorted. He had no business being sharp with me about other guys. We weren’t together. He had no right to act possessive like a child unwilling to share his toys.
“Oops,” Leah said, grinning at me. “This sounds like a conversation for you to have when I’m not here. I’m done! You look amazing, I did great.”
I checked out her work in the mirror. She’d made my eyes look dark and intriguing, my lips ruby, my skin poreless; she’d coaxed my hair into a six-strand crown with silver studs embedded against my dark braids. I hugged her. “You really did. Thanks.”
After she left, I went into my bedroom to change.
The top, with its high neckline and sleeveless cut, exposed my shoulders, arms, and half my midriff.
The pants laced high on my waist, though, leaving only a thin strip of skin.
The legs were wide and comfortable, yards of rippling navy silk.
The silver embroidery on the ankle cuffs and waist shimmered like stars against the night.
I looked like a different version of me, an elegant, more confident one.
When I came back out, I sent a sidelong glance at Daziel. It was silly to want him to say anything—what did it matter if he liked my outfit or appearance?
Daziel had never indicated any interest in me; he focused on knockball and training me in languages and had never given me a single compliment on my appearance or the smallest hint of a smoldering eye.
Which was fine. It wasn’t like I wanted his romantic interest. God, no, the attention of a demon was a recipe for disaster. It was only that we lived together and spent all our time together. We were—friends, I supposed, and it was natural to care about your friends’ opinions.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He ran his gaze over me, his own rather haughty and ruffled. “You’ll do, I suppose.”
His uncaring tone struck at my heart. “Fine,” I said, hating how snippy I sounded but unable to help myself, not sure how else to bandage over the wound he’d inflicted.
Would it have been so difficult to say I looked pretty?
I didn’t have any problem acknowledging Daziel was exquisitely beautiful.
I mean, I hadn’t told him so to his face, but his ego was big enough, wasn’t it?
I slung my blazer on, keeping my chin lifted and trying not to let it wobble. “I’m off, then.”
I headed out. A slow, dull drizzle had begun. Thankfully, my aunt had sent a carriage. The driver, a balding man in his sixties wearing a diamond amulet of the Zebulun tribe, introduced himself as Samuel.
This was a neshem-powered carriage, which meant it needed no horses; the inner machinery had been carved with charaktêres and wrapped in piping.
An ingenious technology pumped neshem oil through the pipes so the spell kept working.
The driver had to continuously turn a wheel to add neshem throughout the drive, plus manage other knobs for turns and speed.
I peered hungrily out the window as we left Issachar Quarter.
The city’s thirteen arrondissements were named after the twelve tribes that had come together to form Ena-Cinnai—except for Roynes Quarter, colloquially known as Society Hill, site of the Politicians’ Quarter and the seat of the Great Sanhedrin.
I’d only been here once before, my very first day in Talum, when my aunt greeted me.
Neither of us had known what to do with the other.
We climbed high up the hill, the view over the rest of the city likely stunning on clearer days, and wound along a wide avenue to my aunt’s house.
Like all the buildings in Talum, it faced south to protect against the northern winds.
It was built from the yellow-orange sandstone popular to the river region.
The roof, like all roofs here, sloped shallowly to keep the winds from stealing tiles.
There, the similarities with the local architecture ended.
Because Aunt Tirtzah’s house was owned by the Judahite tribe for their representatives, it’d been built to display the power and wealth of the tribe.
The windows weren’t small, but large and spelled against breaking.
The structure surrounded an interior courtyard with a spelled glass dome that closed on blustery nights.
Cypresses lined the property, hearty trees often used as windbreaks—but inside, delicate plants signaled wealth and power.
The door flew open, and Chava, my aunt’s assistant, scowled at me. She was a round-faced woman in her midtwenties wearing a neat black sheath and a bold-shouldered jacket. “There you are.”
“Hi?” I blinked at her.
“The councilwoman wants you in the garden immediately,” Chava said, voice dire.
She took my arm and steered me inside. Confused, and a little alarmed, I allowed her to tow me to the courtyard.
Was I late? Had I messed up already? But I was wearing the outfit my aunt had sent, and I’d arrived in her carriage. What was going on?
Winding flowers twined over the rose arbor at the entrance to the garden courtyard, writhing like a mass of snakes. The glass dome above the space had been closed. I could see rain bursting upon it, but the spell on the glass transformed the pelting drops to muted genteel music.
Almond and apricot trees lined the garden’s pathways, and rosemary shrubs grew along the border.
There were extravagant flowers in bloom: great swaths of lavender and colorful lilies.
I’d heard some spellcasters specialized in succinct spells and impossibly small writing so they could carve strength and life into seeds to make them bloom out of season.
The guests were equally colorful, in wispy fabrics spelled to withstand the winds—yet another display of wealth.
The women had high, teetering hairstyles.
The men twisted silk cravats around their necks and wore long coats with exquisite embroidery.
I felt small and self-conscious. I didn’t belong here.
I didn’t know how to interact with the wealthy and beautiful, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to, either.
At the center of the courtyard clustered a thick clump of people, their attention turned inward.
The other guests darted glances their way.
In fact, the whole party seemed aimed at the center, as was often the case when someone far more important than everyone else attended a gathering.
Unease raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
A member of the grand duke’s family, perhaps.
A famed writer or singer, the likes of which these politicians rarely encountered?
No. Of course not.
There, at the very center, revealed by shifts and turns, stood an impeccably dressed young man in a green silk coat with brass buttons, supple fawn-colored boots, and a white cravat. Black stones winked in his ears, and a small red salamander curled on his shoulder.
My stomach sank.
“Ah, darling,” Daziel called across the garden, beaming like he’d just delivered the choicest of pastries. He raised a flute of champagne in my direction as I swallowed against the knot in my throat. “There you are.”