22 Speaking of Power Dynamics #2
I have all the power in the universe, she thought. And what have I used it for? How many other people have I hurt?
And the biggest question of all: What if Spie really was the person Arbora remembered her to be? Selfish, uncaring, incapable of real love. Blind to the way her actions impacted the people around her.
Empires take.
Spie rested her forehead against the cold balcony, suddenly exhausted.
Limp, like something vital had been sapped from her marrow.
She stayed there awhile, letting the wind assault her skin, reduce her hair to tangles, as though the answers to her questions were out there, somehow, beyond the swell of the sea and the glow of the moons.
Maybe, if she stayed out there long enough, she’d find them.
Really, she was just avoiding going inside.
Having to face herself, having to be Spielin Expani again, don the skin of a person she didn’t want to be but didn’t know how not to be.
Eventually, however, the cold grew too uncomfortable, her legs numb, her eyelids heavy.
She turned back to the manor, pulled by the gravity of inevitability.
Before climbing into bed, she glanced briefly at her CB.
There were thirty-something messages from various court officials and sycophants congratulating her on the start of Love Galaxy, along with several reminders from Marta, her mother’s chief of staff, on how to appropriately comport herself.
Nothing from her mother herself, naturally. Gracelin couldn’t be bothered.
Only one message caught Spie’s interest. She tapped the icon she’d labeled Trash Girl .
What the fuck is wrong with your brother?
Spie’s exhaustion fled like surf from shore.
“Nicky!” she called, knowing he couldn’t hear her. Their walls were excellently soundproofed.
What did her fool of a brother do to Artemis?
Spie recalled the point in the evening when the trash collector had disappeared with him.
Spie had been busy getting to know the feel of Iasha’s lips (which were very soft and also very shy) and had ignored a ridiculous tug of jealousy at the thought of Nicky whisking Trash Girl away somewhere to be alone.
Spie had no right to feel jealousy. But if Nicky had mistreated the girl? Spie would personally castrate him.
She banged on the inside of the closet door conjoining their rooms. “Nicky, open up! I’m coming in. So, if you’re naked, then put on some clothes!”
When he didn’t respond, Spie waited a full gracious minute before barging into his room. He’d left his side of the closet unlocked.
His lights were off. Silver moonlight trailed in from his closed balcony doors, illuminating his empty bed.
A wheezing sound came from his private bathing chamber. The door hung ajar. Spie eased it open, revealing her brother’s silhouette. He was sitting on the tiled floor in the pitch dark, his long legs drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, his face pressed against his knees.
“Nicky?” Spie lowered herself to a crouch and touched his shoulder. “Whoa, hey, you all right?”
He lifted his face and, even in the darkness, Spie could make out tear tracks marring his cheeks. “I—” his breathing hitched. He started hyperventilating, his eyes wide and afraid, as fathomless as deep space.
She’d always known her brother to be an anxious person, but in all their years growing up together, he’d so rarely let her witness the extent of what that meant for him. Had so rarely let her in. She wasn’t supposed to be there, wasn’t supposed to be seeing him like this. But he needed her.
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Spie held his gaze with hers, squeezed his upper arms. “Breathe. From the diaphragm, long and slow. Good, good, just like that.”
Nicky inhaled deeply. “Sor—sorry. You should be sleeping.”
“ You should be sleeping.” Spie eased her grip on her brother’s arms and rocked back on her heels. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“The pressure’s just getting to me. A small panic attack. I’m fine. You can go.”
Spie thought back to Artemis’s message. Something had clearly happened between the trash collector and Nicky.
But to bring it up with him would mean admitting that Spie was in regular contact with the girl he liked.
And that felt— Well, it wasn’t wrong, was it?
No, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She needed to be in contact with Artemis.
So, why did the idea of him finding out make the back of her throat taste like ash?
Because I’m not used to keeping secrets from him; that’s all.
Keeping secrets felt wrong. But this particular secret was for his benefit—she’d brought Trash Girl onto Love Galaxy for him.
It was a kindness. So, she swallowed the taste of ash, ignoring the way it settled heavy in her stomach.
What was harder to ignore, however, was the sudden voice in her head, a voice that sounded exactly like Arbora, saying, I can’t blame you for being what you are. ..selfish and entitled.
Spie couldn’t shake the ashen feeling that said Arbora was right.
“I can sleep on the floor in your room,” Spie said. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Nicky leaned his head back against the tiled wall, wiped his eyes. “I’m okay. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you. But if you want to be alone, I get it. I’m just through the closet. Wake me if you need anything. Anything , all right?”
He nodded ever so slightly. Feeling even worse than she had before entering Nicky’s room, Spie returned to her bedroom, fell atop her covers, and struggled to fall asleep.