Chapter 16 #2
I tick the drinks off on my fingers. “You prefer an Illoryan whiskey, neat. I got you a double. Asralyn prefers a Red Starfall with a decorative sparkler. She says a signature drink must be the best, and without the sparkler, she may as well be back home at her estate.” I kneel in front of the kids, touching each of their noses with the tip of my finger.
“You,” I say to Ezra, “always get a chocolate malt with a fun straw. And you,” I say to Sage, “are wise beyond your years. You get ice water with the ice shaped like unicorns.” I stand.
“Now, if you’ll all follow me, I believe there’s a surprise for the children with the performers. ”
A waiter eventually brings the drinks on a heavy tray laden with other orders, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Asralyn’s drink is correct, at least it appears to be, sparkling away over an angry red sea of Lixor.
My blood freezes as she drops in the star ice cube with silver tongs, waiting for the signature white glow to overtake the glass before taking a cautionary sip.
Her lips purse, and her brows raise slightly. She’s shocked I got it right.
I lead the way to the performers suspended from silks rigged from the ceiling over a small makeshift stage.
The performers clump together, playing violins, a cello, a viola, and a piano.
Zora sings a melodic, melancholy tune that for some reason reminds me of what happened last night.
My heart sinks at the thought that no matter how beautiful this deck may look tonight, it’s still capable of violence.
When I see Ivander dangling from a black silk, back arched and toes pointed, I inhale a sharp breath.
Now I’m even more aware of the risky gown I’ve chosen.
My dress is a sleek, silver gown with a cinched waist and an open back.
Long white plates of metal crisscross over my back, meant to resemble bone.
Zora crafted it for me, using her Morphia to make my dress look like one of my spirits—wispy and silver.
It’s a statement, one not meant for the bosses or the guests. This one’s for me, a daring silhouette that embraces the dangerous beauty of my Morphia. The Stallards gather around the performers, and this affords me a moment to speak with Ivander as he descends the silks.
“Tired yet?” I keep my voice steady despite the aggravating heat beneath my skin.
The prickle of frustration I usually feel around him has become a deep, steadier warmth in my core.
After his confession last night about his family, it’s hard to look at him the same way.
Damn him for making me care. He’s found a new family here, a purpose, and like his silks, he manages it all with grace.
There’s no one to ease the burdens he puts on himself.
“Not in the slightest,” he answers, eyes sweeping over the silver fabric hugging my frame. “Turn. I want to see the whole thing.”
I do a little spin, revealing the bone clasps against my shoulder blades. “What do you think?”
His lips lift, and he motions to the black silk suspended from the ceiling. “I believe we both chose similar themes for this evening. Watch the performance, and you’ll see.”
I swallow hard, now captivated by his outfit. He wears a deep green vest that reveals his sculpted arms and high-waisted black pants. “What’s the theme?”
He turns back to the silks, grabbing a handful of the fabric in his outstretched hand. “Rebellion,” he whispers.
My arms shiver with a new chill as I walk back to my family. I point up at Ivander and urge the children to watch, but I watch just as closely.
Sage and Ezra tilt their heads up to the ceiling, transfixed by Ivander spinning in the air. As he spins, Ivander calls down to them. “Young Ezra, what would you like to see flying through the sky?”
Ezra scrunches his nose and bellows, “A dragon!”
Many families are watching now, pointing up at Ivander. They’re all smiling—even Asralyn cracks a grin. Ivander’s body begins to change, and I finally witness the full power of his shifter magic.
A scale pattern forms over his brown skin, and his fingernails extend into claws. Spikes protrude from his arched spine, and his warm irises glow gold. When he growls, his parted lips reveal teeth sharpened into points.
Then there’s a faint cracking sound overhead as the bones in his bare feet snap. A couple of his toes jut at odd angles, and he grimaces, gritting his pointed teeth.
With this extreme transformation, he pays the price for it, although the guests don’t notice.
My stomach turns. He shouldn’t hurt himself for their entertainment. Though his muscles tighten with pain, he holds himself vertical in midair. The silks on either side of his arms could be the wings of a dragon.
Ezra and Sage clap. I’m so mesmerized, I hardly notice Zora and a few other crafters spinning in hoops of fire at the base of the silks. Not until Sage tugs on my arm, pointing. “Look! They’re on fire.”
The hoops spin with blinding speed, sending sparks into the air. Zora’s slender body spins with the hoop, somehow avoiding the spitting embers. With a jolt, I realize the scene the crafters and Ivander are creating. To the children, he’s a dragon flying through the sky, breathing fire down below.
But to the bosses watching from the perimeter of the ballroom, he’s a witch suspended above a lit pyre. My father’s words from long ago come back to me. They used to call us witches. They used to burn us at the stake.
When the crafters stop spinning, Ivander’s scales smooth out and his spikes retract. The crowd erupts into applause. Zora gifts each of the children a glowing flower that hums a song when watered.
Sage and Ezra run to show Asralyn their flowers, but I’m only watching Ivander, shaking my head. He descends the silks and cocks his head at me, as if he can’t understand what’s wrong. Through clenched teeth, I whisper, “Last night, you were the one saying we needed to be careful.”
He grins. “Someone reminded me there are more important things.”
I’m about to fire back a response when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn and come face-to-face with Asralyn. Her stormy, blue-gray eyes narrow, and I drop into a low curtsy. “What can I do for you, Lady Stallard?”
She takes a slow sip of her cocktail and inclines her head in a stiff nod to me. “I wanted to say that your improvements have not gone unnoticed.”
Warmth rises in my chest. Pressing my lips together to avoid smiling too widely, I give her another curtsy.
She waves her hand and indicates the overflowing basket of parchment slips closest to the refreshment table.
Guests write names on slips of paper and put their staff member votes in the basket.
“Don’t get excited. We voted for Alana, like everyone else with some sense aboard this ship. But I don’t see why you couldn’t climb the ranks before the final week.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Asralyn’s lip curls. “We’ll be on the dance floor if you need us. Please stop hovering.”
“Of course.” Another semi-awkward curtsy. As she disappears onto the dance floor, some of the anxiety I’ve felt all night begins to unwind. I flush hot, overcome by a rush of belief in myself, in change.
Turning back to Ivander, I throw up my hands, drunk on the possibility of making things better. “Asralyn told me I did well. I never thought that could happen.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Shut up.” I’d like to knee him in the shin, but this doesn’t feel like messing around in the theater together anymore.
I can’t let this moment go. I lean close to him, lowering my voice.
“Think about it. If we had more retrials, and if the bosses stopped abusing our Morphia, this ship could really help people. It wouldn’t be dangerous, or a punishment.
Once I get my retrial, I’ll tell Father things need to change—”
I feel another tap on my shoulder. I swear if it’s Asralyn again …
But it’s not.
When I turn, I see the thick golden hair and broad shoulders of Grayson Caddel.