CHAPTER 16 RAYA #2
who left them behind. So basically, I’m blinking into a hazier version of the Gray that’s filled with a bunch of these colored lights, and sometimes there’s lots of them, and sometimes there isn’t, and they’re all intersecting with each other and branching off in different directions, kind of like a giant web.
Except the fresher trails are brighter and more solid than the older ones, and they also end abruptly whenever their owners phase in or out of the Gray, so it’s not always as simple as following an unbroken line.
And the strangest part is that I can see further than you’d expect, almost like I’m looking at a map—but only up to a certain point, it’s not endless. ”
“Well, that sounds . . . confusing.” As much as I can picture the scene he’s describing, I can’t quite wrap my head around how he’d go about deciphering the mess.
There are hundreds of Shades in Sarotuza, and they’re constantly shimmering, and wisping, and phasing between realms. If he’s having to sort through them all to find one light trail, then where the hells does he even start?
“It was, at first,” Ezzo admits. “And humbling. And overwhelming. And downright terrifying, if I’m honest, knowing just how many full-blooded Shades are in my general vicinity at any given time. But I got better at it with practice, same way everyone else does.”
“Not everyone.” The words escape before I can stop them, echoing my shame through the night.
“So that was true—what you said about failing?” Ezzo’s voice softens around the ask.
“Trust me, I wish it was a lie.” I wish I could have practiced my way to the right questions instead of having to gamble my future on a forbidden one. “But you were right about me: I’m not a great seer.”
“Be great at something else, then,” he says, like it’s as simple as that.
“That’s not how it works, Ezzo, I’m an Indigo; my choices are to see better or lose my magic. Those are the rules.”
“Then forget about the rules for a second.” He turns to face me with his whole body, so that he’s walking backwards in front of me instead of at my side. “What would you want to do if the Council didn’t get a say?”
“Erm . . . I’ve . . . never really thought about it.”
“So then, don’t think about it,” he urges. “Just pick the first thing that comes to your mind.”
“Okay, well . . . this might be silly, but I’ve always loved reading the Council’s news blasts,” I tell him, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the ground. “Did you used to get them back in Isitar, too? The weekly papers they put out?”
“Oh yes, I’m familiar with the Council’s news blasts.” A wry edge creeps into his voice. “Though I can’t say I approve of their content.”
No, I don’t imagine he does. They don’t tend to be that Hue-friendly.
“Well, content aside, I’ve always thought it would be fun to write those pieces, or to research them, maybe—or even just to lay the pages out.”
“Huh.”
Every part of me reddens as Ezzo gruffs out a laugh.
“What? Why is that funny?” The blood in my cheeks begins to burn like wildfire. I should have known better than to tell a half breed anything—let alone something so fanciful and private. I should have never opened my mouth.
“It’s not funny—it’s just kind of ironic,” he says, and I’m surprised to find that there’s not one hint of mocking to his smile. “You’re an Indigo Shade who can quite literally see the future, but you’d rather spend your life reporting on the past.”
Oh.
Right.
That is kind of ironic.
“And I suppose you’d pick something better?” It takes everything I have not to drop the wounded pretense and smile back. When he’s not lecturing me on all the ways Shades are evil, Ezzo’s actually quite easy to talk to.
“I mean, ‘better’ is a pretty subjective term when it comes to daydreaming, but I would probably run some kind of art class.” It’s the very last thing I expect him to say, and he says it so quietly that it almost feels as though he didn’t intend to say it, either, like he’s admitting to a dark past.
“So you—you’re an artist?” Perhaps the reason that strikes me as so implausible is because I’ve never had to think of Hues as anything other than an illegal act.
But Ezzo does have that look about him, I guess.
The fine, pretty features; the distant, piercing eyes; the mussed, slightly too long hair that lends him a romantic charm.
I can imagine him swanning around an art studio, his clothes stained with paint and his hands creating beauty with a brush. I think that life would suit him.
“What, me? Gods, no—there’s not an artistic bone in my body.” He immediately dispels that notion to dust. “I just miss being surrounded by it, is all. By the joy of creation.”
“Then why did you leave it behind?” Even as I ask the question, I realize the answer might lay with my kind. “Did the trackers drive you out of Isitar?”
“No, it wasn’t the trackers.” The change in him is both instant and abrupt.
In the space between heartbeats, his face hardens, the warmth in him chilling to ice.
Gone is the spark of humor and the willingness to while away the walk with idle chit-chat.
He’s back to being the surly Hue again, his eyes blinking white as a way of announcing that this conversation is done.
And so, the silence stretches between us, growing heavy and loaded as we continue to trail Alara through the shadows.
We’ve long since crossed out of Meridian territory, though the streets she’s taking aren’t telling me anything other than that she’s headed towards the slums. It’s only when Ezzo finally blinks out of his mood that I get a sense for what destination she has in mind, since the square we’re in plays host to Sarotuza’s biggest market.
The paupers’ market, we call it in the snobbier parts of town, a sprawling bazaar when it’s open—though at this time of night, it looks more like the carcass of a giant whale, all bones, no blubber, a maze of densely packed stalls that have been shrewdly stripped of their merchandise.
“This is where her trail ends,” Ezzo says, cool and casual, as though he’s not been ignoring me for the best part of half an hour.
“Okay, so then now what?” I shake my wrist at him. “While you were busy brooding, did you figure out how we’re going to phase after her?” If I weren’t so busy brooding myself, I might have thought to ask him that earlier, since this is one hurdle that no amount of discussion can overcome.
“Relax, I’m not an idiot.” Ezzo’s nonchalance fast turns smug. “I had Cemmy give me the key.”
“You—”
Unbelievable. His admission robs me of breath. This whole time—this whole baffling conversation and the sulky silence that came after—my freedom has literally been on his person, mocking me from within arm’s reach. He must think I’m the idiot for not realizing that.
“You are such an ass.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
No, he didn’t. He just assumed the role of pleasant for a brief moment in time.
“Now, do you want to keep insulting me, or do you want to get out of these cuffs?” he asks.
“I’m actually quite capable of doing both.”
“How very impressive of you.” Ezzo turns to show me his back. “The key’s in my pocket.”
“And you want me to . . . what? Watch you get it?”
“No, I need you to get it,” he says, in a tone which strongly implies that I should already know why.
“Because you’re some kind of pervert? Get it yourself!”
“Raya, I can’t.” I’m beginning to recognize the different tenors of Ezzo’s sighs.
“I’m not a Bronze and the key’s not endowed with magic, that’s why I had to ask Cemmy to uncuff you from the pipe.
” He swipes his foot through the nearest stall in demonstration, a reminder that he doesn’t control his physicality like I do.
The key would sink right through his fingers.
Colors help me, how is this my life?
“Left or right pocket?” I ask, since I have no intention of groping him more than once.
“Left, and don’t worry, being a Hue’s not contagious.”
Well, thank the shadows for that. There is absolutely no non-awkward way to reach into his pants.
No way to ignore the solid feel or the shape of him, or how his breath catches in his throat and shivers down his spine.
The fates sure are getting creative in their endeavors to turn this foolishness into love.
Telling me to kiss him in the tavern, shackling us together at the house, forcing us closer and closer—and now this?
What’s next? A single room at an inn with only one bed?
“What exactly would you have done if I’d said no?” I ask once I’ve snatched my hand back, trying to dispel the uncomfortably charged silence.
“It honestly didn’t occur to me.” Ezzo shrugs as I unlock my prison. “Why wouldn’t you have agreed to get the key if it meant removing the cuffs?”
And all at once, it hits me. The sudden and monumental shift in power.
I’m finally free of the iron. Free of him and the disgrace that would come from allowing a half breed to tether me to his arm. I could shimmer him to the trackers if I wanted, and none of his incriminating stories would stick now that I’m the one in charge.
“If the Hue phases again, you’ll never find her without my gift,” Ezzo says, guessing at the nefarious thoughts I’m weighing up.
And following her was your idea, the steel in his expression seems to add.
Though I do also see a shred of doubt in him, a tiny flash of fear in the tightening around his eyes.
Maybe he’s decided he doesn’t want to die today, after all.
Maybe he’s regretting the choice to let me hold the cards.
He makes worse decisions than I do. With a muttered curse, I reach for his cuff.
“We find Alara, we figure out what she’s doing, then we’re done. We pretend this”—I point between us—“never happened. Understand?”
He gets to live, I get to impress the Council, the future gets to stop the Meridian from killing another child. Everybody wins.