Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Talum was shaped like a kidney bean, long and curved at both ends. The wealthiest lived on the hills for the views, or along the soft beaches of the east coast. On the southern tip of the isle lay the craggiest, least accessible part: the Rocks.
Geologists weren’t sure what had formed Talum, but they suspected a volcano, which had left behind both the main island and an islet, uninhabited save for a herd of sheep and red succulents.
The glossy rock of the islet and the Rocks was difficult to build on, and therefore uninteresting to the law-abiding, wealthy denizens of Talum.
But because the Rocks were riddled with caves and hidden beaches, it was the perfect place for wild parties.
I’d never been invited to a party at the Rocks before.
Stefan led the five of us across the island on the tram, disembarking in the leatherworking district. From there, we followed progressively narrower streets, then ducked between two decrepit houses whose barren yards turned rocky, then to glazed rock itself as we left the neighborhood behind.
For fifteen minutes, we scrambled over the jet-blue rocks. There was nothing on this side of the island—no trees or houses—to protect us from the racing wind, and it scoured our skin, cold and fierce. Was it the best idea in the world to have an outdoor party in deep winter? Maybe not.
“There,” Stefan said, sounding satisfied as we reached the edge of a cliff. “Welcome to the Rocks.”
Before us, the rocks canted down toward a sandy cove, cut off from the rest of the shoreline by the cliffs.
Bonfires lit the beach, and music drifted up, drums and bells, the thrumming melody resonating deep in my bones.
In the night-dark river, a floating plank bridge led twenty yards offshore to a wooden platform with a bar.
People crowded it, dancing and blowing green smoke circles through pipes.
I shivered, wrapping the scarf Daziel had made me more securely around my neck, the air cold and sharp in my lungs. This wasn’t my comfort zone. I was not cool enough for this.
“Let’s go.” Stefan bounced down the stairs cut into the rocky cliffside, and the rest of us followed.
He led us to a bonfire, where we stood close enough for warmth against the chill and the right distance from the music for it not to overwhelm.
Yael and Stefan looked entirely at ease, Daziel sanguinely unimpressed, and Gidon and I kept shooting each other shocked what are we doing here looks.
It was cold with the wind off the river and the chill of the night, even with the fire and our warmth spells. Some people sewed spells into their jackets, but neshem could ruin fabric, so people usually carried porous stones, the heat spells slowly pulling on neshem and dispersing heat.
Then there were less magical ways to stay warm. Stefan lifted a bottle of champagne from his satchel and poured it into tiny cups. “Cheers! We did it!”
“To Naomi.” Yael raised a cup, and I felt a rush of gratification and shyness at her words. If I lived a hundred years, I doubted I would be as composed and serene as she was. “Who figured out the palindrome.”
“It was really Daziel,” I said. He stood beside me, heat radiating off him.
Unlike the rest of us, who’d bundled ourselves so thoroughly as to abandon fashion, he’d carefully arranged his scarf around his shoulders to appear careless.
It accentuated his neck rather than cocooned it, the long bronze column strong and elegant in a way I hadn’t realized necks could be.
“He thought about looking for a pattern we could recognize in Language X.”
“To Naomi and Daziel, then,” Yael said, a small smile on her mouth. Her short blond hair had been completely hidden by a giant white hat. “The most unlikely pair of cryptographers.”
“Cheers!” We clinked our drinks together. I looked at Daziel. He smiled with such warmth my stomach clenched, and goose bumps flared along the back of my neck and down my arms. He made me feel like he saw me.
Like he delighted in me.
“And congrats to all of us,” Yael said. “We pulled off something no one else managed. Something we’ve been working toward for years. Two things, actually—repairing the scrolls and cracking the first hurdle.”
“Cheers!” we all cried again. The bubbly was going straight to my head, and I drank a little extra to warm myself against the night.
I wanted to nestle into Daziel’s warmth with an almost physical yearning.
I held myself back, still too wary and shy to risk rejection.
Though, maybe, with the moonlight and the confidence from tonight’s discovery, I could be brave.
“What’s that?” Gidon asked the older two, nodding at the platform across the water, with the bar and the floating haze above it.
Daziel was the one who answered. “Menthaloc.”
Though the smoke wasn’t familiar, I recognized the name. Menthaloc: a hallucinogen I hadn’t known existed before I came to Talum.
“You like?” Stefan asked him. “We could get some.”
“No,” Daziel said. Firmly.
“I’m game,” Gidon said.
Yael was watching Daziel. She, I expected, had also noted Daziel’s certainty and wondered what was behind it. “I’m good,” she said when the boys turned to her.
When Gidon and Stefan headed to the pontoon bridge, I found I had no idea what to say now that Daziel and I were alone with just Yael. I admired her more than anyone, but maybe that was what robbed me of anything interesting to say.
Daziel glanced at me, and I widened my eyes, trying to convey my panic at trying to be cool. He suppressed a smile and turned to Yael. “So, how’d you end up interested in cryptography?”
“My parents know Professor Altschuler’s family,” she said. “Growing up, I heard about all his expeditions, and they fascinated me.”
Oh, phew, I could relate here. Dad had raised me on tales of the sprawling empire of Tzorybium, where buildings had gold-plated ceilings, and descriptions of the tropical islands of Aolong, where mist and rain were as measured as clockwork.
He’d told me of the red sand deserts to the far south and of temples topping rock formations to the north.
I wanted my world to be as wide as his. “My dad was a sailor, and he told me all sorts of stories about his travels. It’s what made me start learning languages in the first place. ”
At my side, Daziel slipped his hand around my fingers and squeezed.
A rush of almost-painful gratefulness welled behind my eyes, thankfulness for Daziel’s support, and joy that he wanted to support me. I squeezed his hand back.
Surely tonight, by the river under a bright moon, I could be bold enough for romance.
Eventually, a few of Yael’s friends joined us, and at some point, Gidon and Stefan returned, notably giddier.
By the time the moon had reached its zenith, Daziel and I had wandered off for more drinks.
I kept staring at him, at the way he glowed from within, at the dark wells of his eyes, the gleam of gold on the surface.
He was so beautiful. And he had called me beautiful, twice, and crocheted me a scarf and laced his fingers through mine.
Maybe he was also shy. Maybe I did need to be the one to say something.
We refilled our cups, then sat on a rocky boulder high up on the beach, nestled against the cliffs. We looked out at the cove, the river, the crowded platform in the distance. The stars twinkled above us, their winter light colder than usual.
A gentle breeze floated by. Wind tugged at my ankles. It smelled like summer, like green growth. Where was that scent coming from? I turned, trying to catch the direction. It shouldn’t smell like summer.
But my gaze locked back on Daziel as I turned my head, and I forgot about the tugging wind. I’d never found myself as captivated by anyone before. “Tell me something. What do you really look like?”
“Does it matter?”
It didn’t matter so much as it intrigued me. I knew parts of Daziel so well—his tastes in food and outfits, the crinkle in his brow when he was upset, the way he really liked munching on glass when he thought he could get away with it. But I didn’t know what he actually looked like. “Indulge me.”
He hesitated, twisting his signet ring distractedly. “I don’t want to scare you. Humans are notoriously high-strung about appearances.”
I didn’t want to be grouped in with humans; I wanted to be me, unique. I nudged his shoulder with mine, trying to put him at ease. “Do you have a tail?”
“Hm.”
I took the noise as an affirmation. Which, admittedly, not my favorite. “Wings?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Chicken feet?” I teased. The small spirits were said to have chicken feet; one way to tell if you had an infestation was to scatter ash on your floor and look for tracks in the morning.
He frowned. “I don’t have chicken feet.”
“That’s good,” I said with mock relief. “I don’t think I can get behind chicken feet.”
He examined his talons with deep concentration. “I do have a rear dewclaw.”
“I’m sorry, what?” While I was aware not only chicken had vestigial claws protruding from the backs of their legs—dogs did as well—I found it unappetizing.
He gestured to the back of his foot. “It’s to help with climbing.”
“Where are you climbing?”
He shrugged.
Okay, moving on. “What about a beak?”
He touched his nose primly. “I would call it noble and full of character, not a beak.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is it a beak or not? Is it made of—what are beaks made of?”
“Bone,” Daziel said. “Covered by a thin sheath of keratin.” At my blank look, he extended his hand, black talons gleaming. “The protein that covers hair and makes up fingernails.
“Really?” I placed my hand next to his, aware of the scant space between them. “What do you think is the biggest difference between humans and shedim?”
He shot me a look, a grin slowly growing, but didn’t say anything. I frowned. “What?”
“Don’t be mad.”
I got ready to be mad. “Tell me.”