Chapter 1 #2
A spike of fear cuts through the buffer of contentment the soiree creates for me. I long to plunge into the sea of dancing bodies, allow the expensive silks to sweep me up as the protective cocoon of tonight forms around me.
I grab a chicken drumstick with silver tongs and ignore her. The servants would give me looks if I grabbed it with my hands. I sigh, feigning indifference. “All I have to do is prove to the judges my Morphia isn’t dangerous. It’s not too hard.”
Eliza crosses her arms over her chest, reveling in the crack in my enjoyment. She leans in so close I can smell her wisteria perfume. “Reginald’s coming over to dance with you. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
This time, I curse aloud. Reginald’s the son of a gem miner and very proud of it. I’m proud of my father too. He’s the only Morphic on the council, but I try not to work it into every conversation.
Reginald bows low before me, fluffy hair bouncing as he inclines his head.
He holds out his hand, gemstone rings gleaming in the candlelight.
“My father said I should ask you for a dance. As he’s an incredibly intelligent man, I’d be a fool not to listen to him.
As would you, Rosaline Damarcus.” He clears his throat and adjusts the buttons of his crushed blue velvet coat.
I struggle to keep my lip from curling in disgust and take his hand to silence him. “Thank you, Sir De’Lacy. I’d be honored.” The words come out half choked and taste bitter in my mouth.
“Take my handkerchief before we go. You have chocolate on your face.” He pets my arm with fingers greasy from eating roast chicken. “If people see you dancing with me, you’ll want to look your best.”
The waxed mahogany dance floor creaks with the weight of a hundred dancers.
People come from all over our province for this ball, traveling for days in over-packed carriages for a single night of resurrection.
With my trial looming, Father says my gift has even attracted wealthy families from the northernmost provinces of Tamarynth.
Most of them are on the dance floor now, red-faced and laughing.
They’re drunk on the thrill of seeing their dead come back to life.
It’s all wondrously normal for me. Like breathing or blinking, I don’t think about it. Except when it doesn’t work. My eyes drift back to the family painting on the wall.
“You stepped on my foot.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. Reginald smells of garlic and grease, and I breathe to the side. I drag him to the right side of the dance floor, where there are vast glass windows. Being closer to the starlight and sweeping green hills of the front lawn gives me my breath back.
Reginald’s hand moves down the bare skin of my shoulder blades and settles on the small of my back. “Imagine my powerful family name at the end of yours.”
I shrink away from his touch. The soft chords of violin music envelop us. Damn. It’s a slow song. I’ll be lucky to make it out of here without a unity proposal.
Through the windows, I glimpse a spirit outside until I realize the apparition is me.
Thick, dark auburn hair hangs down my back, swinging with each turn. Pale skin glows back at me, corpse-like in the window. When I look down at my real body, the ghostly illusion shatters with the constellation of freckles dotting my arms.
Picture-perfect, but there’s a gaping hole in my chest. Even as I try to enjoy myself, a hollow pit threatens to consume me. Is this my life if I fail my trial? Dancing with men and women, trying to decide whose ornament I’d like to become?
Easy for Eliza. She’s always wanted to teach at a boarding school like Mother did before she moved on to summer semesters at the University of Credence. Their goals are different from mine. Much different. And—
When did Reginald put his hand on my ass? With ladylike grace, I squeeze his shoulder until he has no choice but to raise his hand or lose the arm. I’m torn between wanting to run from the dance floor or smack him in the face. Both are equally appealing.
My eyes sweep the room, settling on a tall young man wearing a deep emerald-green coat at the edge of the dance floor.
He bobs along with the music; a tattoo of a spider is etched into the warm brown skin of his neck.
A gold pin of a hawk in flight fastened to his lapel marks him as a member of the esteemed Morphic hunters.
Jasper cranes his neck to lock eyes with me, but his lopsided smile slips when my eyes widen in a silent urge for him to hurry.
He shoves through the crowd to get to me, treading on toes and jostling men of high standing.
“Roe,” he says, pushing Reginald aside and holding his hand out to me, “I’d love a dance if you’re game.” I allow him to pull me away from a disgruntled Reginald. Jasper swings me in a lavish twirl. “Thought you needed rescuing, kid.”
Jasper will always call me kid, even when I’m fifty. He’s twenty-five now. The same age Leith should be. His soft eyes remind me so much of my brother that I want to cry. I force myself to look over Jasper’s shoulder and focus on the family portrait. There he is. Forever eighteen.
Leith had blue eyes like a sky after a storm and dark brown hair cut short.
He stood as tall as Father and had the long eyelashes and sly smile of his mother.
We may have been half siblings, but Leith was never half anything.
A golden pin in the portrait marks him as a member of the Hawks, just like Jasper.
As a Hawk, he hunted and imprisoned rogue, dangerous Morphics.
Morphics who escaped their failed trials and fled.
Morphics who hurt other people with their abilities.
He always said he did it for Eliza and me.
The two people he loved more than anything.
I don’t want anyone to be afraid of you, he’d say to me.
That’s why we take the bad ones. You’re not like them.
But I’ve never been able to resurrect him, to talk to him again. Leith doesn’t come to me like the other spirits do.
Jasper pokes me in the ribs. “Quit daydreaming.” He looks over his shoulder and follows my gaze. “I know he’d want you to relax a little. He always said your gift was beautiful.”
“Not just beautiful.” I lift my chin, emboldened by my successes in summoning this evening. “I could be useful. I’d bring back victims the dangerous Morphics killed, talk to them. They can help us track rogue Morphics.”
Jasper spins me around and dips me, incorporating some fancy footwork as a few girls watch us.
“Not this again.” He stops and pulls me to the side.
I set my jaw, preparing for another warning.
“Joining the Hawks is dangerous. You know that better than anyone. Besides, it’s not me you have to convince. It’s your dad.”
I’m about to roll my eyes hard enough for Mother to sense it across the room when a hand lands on my shoulder. “It’s time,” Father says to me.
With one last stomp on Jasper’s foot, I follow Father back to the dais.
The people in line, who’ve been talking quietly and sipping drinks, straighten when they see me coming.
I ascend the steps, wishing I’d eaten more than a few truffles.
My legs quiver beneath me, and the dryness in my mouth makes it difficult to swallow.
The usual pride I feel from summoning is replaced with the unfamiliar urge to tear from the room without looking back.
Father places his arm over my shoulders and squeezes, addressing the crowd.
The music putters to a stop. I straighten my spine.
“As always, thank you for coming. This is a very special time for our family, and I’m so grateful you all get to be a part of it.
We have some guests from all nine provinces of Tamarynth tonight, but I know the residents of my province of Credence are especially excited for Roe to pass her trial.
I’m certain she will take her place on the High Council one day. ”
Cheers erupt, and I should smile, but a wave of dizziness makes me unsteady.
Father’s words regarding the importance of tonight echo in my skull, thundering so loud that the applause fades to a dull buzz.
As a man approaches me, I grab his hand but can’t focus on his energy.
I’m distracted by the nauseating texture of a callus by his thumb.
Perhaps I should have taken a second dose of Father’s potion.
I know this man but can’t think of his name. He’s asking to see his late wife.
Jumbled thoughts cram my brain, making me sweat.
It’s hard to breathe. Why is it so hot up here?
The small, cruel voice comes back, sounding too much like Eliza.
I could fail my trial, and if I do, they might take my Morphia.
Or worse: They might send me to the Celestial—a place more dangerous than prison for Morphics.
Wisps of silver light shoot from my palm in blinding rays.
I can’t control it. My chest heaves with the strain of trying to hold back.
I’ve never lost control like this before.
It’s as if my nerves from this evening have finally broken free, a wild energy eager to escape my tenuous grasp.
The body of a dead woman stands before us, not solid and rosy-cheeked the way she should be.
Rotting flesh clings to the protruding bones of the woman’s shoulders, and her cracked yellow teeth part as she opens her mouth. Oozing black goop drips from her eyes onto her stained nightgown. Translucent skin stretches over her arms, but chunks of flesh are missing from her neck and collarbone.
The scent of decomposing corpse hits the room, and people slap handkerchiefs over their noses. Guests run for the doors.
The dead woman trembles, clutching frail arms to her bleeding chest. She yells at her husband, slimy spittle running down her chin. “I was sleeping, Derrick! You woke me up, and now it hurts again.” She moans as blood blooms on the front of her nightgown.
People scream. She can’t hurt anyone. She’s not solid, but none of our guests consider that.
I freeze, unable to make myself move. With my mouth as dry and brittle as her exposed bone, I can’t form the reassuring words racing through my head.
She can’t hurt you. She can’t touch you.
My chest is so tight I can’t take a breath.
I can’t make the magic stop no matter how much I want to.
I’m not used to seeing the guests’ unbridled horror, and the fear of what they think of me immobilizes my mind and body.
Father pinches my arm. “Stop this. It’s going to be okay, but you have to stop.”
Eliza’s smirking face peers back at me from the crowd. I close my eyes and sever the connection, like cutting a string. But it’s too late.
The faces staring back at me are wide-eyed and gagging behind handkerchiefs. They’re all thinking it, just as I am. I’ve never believed it until now.
My trial is in two days, and I could fail.