Movement No. 8
Tempest
Growing up, I was never very good at playing pretend, or telling a fib. I would rather keep quiet than say something other than the truth. It’s not that I was morally righteous or anything—I just knew I wouldn’t get away with it.
I am a terrible liar and the pressure of keeping up with the layers of facades I’m maintaining right now is already starting to eat away at me.
I don’t know how people do this for their job.
Hel, Yasmeena and Gemma do this professionally.
They spy on people, lying to them I’m sure, but it might be easier for them because it’s only temporary.
They get to come home to their family of carnies.
I might be trapped in this lie until the day I die.
Even if our plan works and we break off our engagement, my people will always think that at one point I loved Yasmeena.
It wouldn’t be so bad, but for Fenris and Stephano and the others who know what The Devil’s Masquerade did to Tyrus—it’s dishonorable.
I’m not sure they’ll ever forgive me. I know I wouldn’t.
In a way, I almost hope someone challenges me when it becomes my time to step up as Alpha. As much as I love this pack, there might be something freeing about being absolved of the history and my responsibility. To just be a lone wolf.
Almost. The problem is, I was built for this. Literally bred to one day assist the leader of my pack.
I shift my feet back and forth, the river water up to my ankles, and let the cool stream flow past me.
There’s a large fish down below, its blue scales sparkling in the crystal clear water, and I’m half-tempted to make it my lunch, when it starts moving closer and I see it’s not a fish at all, but a merfolk.
“Good morning! What brings you here?” she asks, and I freeze.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize the river belonged to anyone.”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t, I’m just not used to visitors.”
I’ve never seen a merfolk this close, or outside of a tank.
She’s beautiful, her skin a vibrant azure.
Each scale shimmers like a gemstone in the sunlight, creating miniature rainbows as she shifts.
Most demons, half-demons, and demon-hybrids have red or pink, relatively humanoid hands.
I have paws, which is also fairly common, but this mermaid has webbed fingers that remind me of a frog.
They’re really cool and an ounce of me wants to keep observing her, but I know that would be weird.
“I’m Tempest,” I say, looking up at the sky, trying to recall her name. “You’re… Taryn?”
“The one and only. It’s okay to look at me, I’m not allergic to staring,” she says, and I glance back down into her cerulean eyes. “I don’t get to see many lupion up close. Can I see your… claws?”
I nod, one corner of my mouth turning up. “Only if I can see your hands as well.”
We place one hand into the other’s, and I peer at the sheer flesh spanning her fingers, and the way it blends in with the skin of her hands so seamlessly. She’s still staring at my paws when my eyes roam over her form, noticing the soft curve of her body, as well as scars from tiny incisions.
Under her jaw, at the side of her breasts. I wonder what caused them. Should I ask, or just leave it alone? I don’t want to be rude.
I shouldn’t be making friends here, but I also don’t have to be a dick to everyone. Besides, maybe having an ally within the carnival, or even someone who likes me enough not to kill me, could be a good thing.
Especially when I take out Draven.
When I glance back up, she meets my gaze. “I’m—”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” I say, my heart lurching into my throat. “You don’t have to tell me what happened to you; I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“It’s okay, I’m not ashamed of who I am, I’m just shy.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I’m trans, they’re surgery scars.”
I let out a breath of relief. “Oh. Oh thank goodness. Sorry, I really didn’t mean to stare. Okay, I meant to stare, but like… at your scales, not your scars.”
Taryn lets out a giggle. “You’re fine, take a deep breath,” she says, and I oblige. “I always felt like I was a woman, and I always wanted to be a star, and now I’m both. I’m incredibly happy.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, wishing I could replicate some of her joy and confidence. I have spent my entire life being told who I am, instead of discovering it for myself. I don’t think about my own wants or desires, only the needs of my pack.
What if things were different?
“What about you, wolf girl. Any cool scars?” She waggles her eyebrows at me, but I shake my head.
“No, unfortunately most of mine were self-inflicted. No exciting fight stories here. I was afraid people would make fun of them, but they’re all covered by fur or tattoos now,” I say, a partial truth.
“People who joke about scars have never been cut. It’s easier to make light of someone’s pain when you’ve never felt it,” she says, her voice comforting. “Regardless, your tattoos are beautiful.”
Most of my scars were from the demons in my head, not the ones on Hel, but I’ve gotten my fair share of violence, too. Mostly from my training as second. They’d have me follow the enforcers into dangerous situations when I was as young as fourteen. I can’t say I miss it.
“Thanks,” I say. “So what’s the deal with everyone here?”
Taryn cocks her head to the side. “What, my story wasn’t interesting enough?”
“No,” I let out a small laugh. “It’s not like that, I just—what do I need to know to understand everyone?”
And what can I use against them when it comes time to fight?
“Where do I begin? Draven and Absinthe have super traumatizing childhoods. Lilian is a rich kid gone rogue.”
“What about Reina?” I want to ask about Yasmeena, but I don’t want to reveal all my cards just yet.
“I actually don’t know much about Baelor or Reina’s pasts. Yasmeena and Khalid are orphans from another continent—”
“Orphans. Like, their parents died?”
“Yeah, some kind of freak diving incident killed their dad, and their mom essentially died of a broken heart. It’s really sad,” she says, and a new wave of understanding passes over me.
My mother might be aloof and neglectful, and my father might be too hard on me, but at least my parents are alive. No wonder Yasmeena sees me as a spoiled princess.
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah, they were street performers before migrating over to Haeresis and joining the carnival. Did Yasmeena not tell you?”
“No. Well, I mean she’s told me some things, but no. A lot of this stuff never came up,” I say, standing. “Hey, can we do this again sometime?”
“Stare at each other on a river bank?”
“No. Well, sort of. Can we meet and just talk? It would be nice to have a friend here.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Good.” A pang of guilt hits my chest at her vulnerability, and I wish we could become friends for real. The kind of friendship that spans a lifetime, like what I have with Zuri and Clio.
But even if it’s temporary, and even if my father would say it’s ill-advised, I think I deserve at least one person here that I can be myself with.