Chapter 23
The bosses take their time siphoning my Morphia that evening.
Although I’ve been doing a much better job as a concierge, none of them seem to care. The days run together. The punishments don’t stop, and I do my best to seem unfazed. Even if I’m screaming on the inside.
I sit in the reclining chair with my fingertips pressed into the cool metal armrests.
Boss Charmaine brings me a glass of smoking liquid after I donate.
She shoves it into my hand and tells me to drink the chunky brown sludge.
My nose wrinkles. I grew up with an alchemer father.
No way am I going to drink something that smells this rancid.
She leans down so her hollowed eyes are level with mine. Her voice lowers an octave. “Drink.”
Alana, who stands a few people in line behind me, shakes her head.
I can’t tell if she’s trying to warn me against drinking it or telling me not to cross Charmaine.
Either way, it reminds me who holds the power here.
It might not matter who the guests vote for if I can’t scrape together a single boss vote at the end of the month.
Pinching my nostrils shut, I chug the smoking potion. It’s oddly tasteless on my tongue. I wait, legs twitching with nerves. I’m reminded of what Asralyn said to me before I left the spa this afternoon. Be careful, Roe. Survive. If only she knew how few choices I have.
Then the room dims into a hazy blur. Not this again.
The glowing jars of Morphia fade until the vibrant colors of the storage room disappear in favor of a dining room.
A black chandelier hangs from the ceiling over a dark wood table set with elegant silverware and ruby-red plates.
The familiar floors and stained-glass windows fill me with a confusing mix of comfort and unease.
This is our family dining room back home at the estate.
As soon as I recognize it, I see Father, Mother, and Eliza sitting at the table.
Mother pours Father a glass of wine, and my heart lifts to see them.
Until I hear what they’re saying.
“Don’t take it to heart, Cyrion,” Mother says, taking Father’s hand. “He can’t understand the pain this has caused our family.”
“It’s not just what he said, Addy. It’s how he said it.” Father slams his fork down on the plate so hard it cracks. Eliza jumps in her seat. “He said he’ll never trust our family again.”
Eliza folds her arms over her chest. “That’s not fair. She doesn’t speak for our whole family.”
“Hush,” Mother snaps. “But you’re right. Roe is a small part of this family. The rest of us have proven we’re upstanding members of society. Your family, Cyrion, especially.”
Father puts his head in his hands. “It doesn’t matter. It will never matter.”
Silence falls over the table until Mother clears her throat. “If she loses her Morphia, no one will talk anymore. As long as she comes back like the rest of us.” A jolt runs down my spine. “I mean, non-Morphic … She’ll be accepted again. No one will be afraid.”
Father nods slowly, brows knitted together. “Yes. I believe, over time, the Damarcus name could recover.”
As quickly as the image appeared, it evaporates. My home disappears, and my family dissolves into a cloud of smoke. I jolt back into the room with the bosses and the line of staff members craning their necks to see what happened.
I jump up from my chair even though my head spins and my knees threaten to buckle. “What did you do to me?” I yell. “Was that real?”
When Charmaine says nothing, I step closer. Her face doesn’t change, save for the torn corner of her mouth that turns up in a sly smile. Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes, and rage pulses in my temples. I push down the urge to slap her, or worse. Like it or not, I need her.
I force myself to move. With long strides, I lunge for the door. If she’s not going to tell me the truth, then I’m not going to stay. If I stay here any longer, I’ll do something I regret.
The faster I walk, the more my chest hurts. I dig my fingernails into my palms so hard they leave marks. My breath heaves. It can’t be real. Father would never say those things about me. Our place in society was never more important than I was.
With night descending on the Celestial, I try to focus on a memory to keep the hallways tame. To keep the ship from consuming me. As I run up the stairs, hardly aware of where I’m running to, I start to focus on something else—someone else.
Ivander. Knowing he’s waiting for me in Dreamscape Theatre eases the ache in my chest. When did the dread turn to anticipation? My body warms, tingling with the desire to see him on the silks. The memories of us come fast and vivid, and I cling to them in these volatile hallways.
His hand on the small of my back as I try a new skill on the silks.
Him flying through the air, catching himself at the last second and glancing my way just to see if I’m watching.
The glint in his eye when he secured front-row seats for the Stallards after I thought I was the last person he’d help.
Him believing in me enough to skip rehearsals, all to give me a chance at more votes.
His bare skin touching mine when I decided to finally let him in.
When I push open the double doors to the theater, I find Ivander already in flight.
His legs are wrapped inside the wide strips of scarlet silks, and he lets go with his arms, hanging upside down.
Reaching out with his hands, he seizes the silks, twisting his body in the fabric.
It’s like watching a bird diving for a fish in the sea.
He drops, allowing his body to plummet toward the ground.
My heart drops with him, but I’m not surprised when he catches himself.
I can’t help the pins and needles prickling in my hands and feet. The swirling of white-hot yearning in my stomach. I’ve never felt this before. This intense, all-consuming sensation of desire for something, someone solid. After the boss’s cruel illusion, I need something real.
“Ivander.” My voice breaks on his name. Our diminishing time together aboard weighs heavy on my shoulders.
The stress of bending over backward for guests, minding the bosses, and the raw horror of seeing this ship hurt people, kill people …
Our time together has built a wall around us.
A wall I hope won’t crumble when we leave this ship. If we make it off at all.
A small part of me doesn’t want to leave in case I never see him again.
Maybe that’s why he sticks around too. Even though we’re prisoners on the ship, the daily routine is a measure of comfort as opposed to the uncertainty of life off the ship.
It’s the only guaranteed way he knows he’ll be able to see the friends he’s made each day.
Ivander drops to the stage, arms stretched over his head as he keeps hold of the crimson silks hanging from the battens. “Three more nights,” he calls to me. “Unless a drink order takes you out of the running.”
I mount the stage, taking the steps two at a time, mouth open in mock offense. “Hush. It was one wrong order. I told Isla not to tell you.”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
I cross to the wings of the stage, where he lays out a new costume for me each night. The costume I have tonight is a maroon-and-gold scaled bodice and tight-fitting maroon shorts. I slip on the accompanying golden feathered wings that hang from my arms and attach to the bodice. A bird of fire.
As I walk back onstage, I’m lost in his words.
Only three more nights. I want more from Ivander, but I’m afraid to puncture the trust we’ve built together.
Neither of us wants to go back to the way things were when I first boarded.
But if Ivander’s taught me anything, it’s the necessity of trusting myself in freefall.
Leap of faith.
“You never finished telling me what happened after Malyk caught you stealing for your grandfather,” I say, joining him back onstage.
There’s a pause as Ivander senses my shift in mood. No more playing around. I exhale, realizing he wants to tell me but can’t figure out how. He clears his throat. “No one dared argue with Malyk. My mother cried—begged him to reconsider. He didn’t. It was horrible.”
I grimace, imagining how desperate she must have felt. I remember how desperate I felt in the ship’s prison. Not even my father would dare argue with a spokesman.
“My father tried to stop them from taking her Morphia. Malyk’s guards stabbed him, but luckily, he recovered.” His leaden tone is heavy with guilt. “It’s not as unusual as you think. The worst part was having to tell my sister what happened. What I did.”
Barefoot, I cross closer to him. Emboldened by his openness with me, I reach to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
His brow furrows. “I know you don’t like to be touched. All of us try to be mindful of it. But the night they tried to take your Morphia, you touched me.”
I take his hand and squeeze. “It’s easier when I choose it.”
His lips lift, and he steps closer to me. So close I can feel the heat from his body. “It’s better this way. Like I’ve earned you,” he says.
I let out a heavy breath. “Back home, nobody listened. Mother didn’t understand my deathmares.
She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel the dead’s fingers clawing at my skin, trying to use me to visit the living plane.
Most of the time when someone touches me, they want something from me.
” My shoulders stiffen when I speak of Mother.
I can’t think about what I saw back in the extraction room.
I won’t let that illusion ruin what is real right in front of me.
“Everyone has something that bothers them.” He shrugs. “I’m afraid of the open ocean.”
“What?” I’m unable to contain a smile despite the tension in the air. “You’re kidding.”
He tugs on the silk, blushing as he pretends to test its strength. “I was terrified my first night on this ship. But I didn’t have a choice.”
“You never seem scared.”