Chapter Thirteen
Two hours after the contest ended and Pa had triumphed spectacularly with his brilliant peach pie, which everyone agreed tasted like the last sunset of summer, they were still at the festival.
Marin had intended to exit quietly two seconds after it was over, but then the music had started, and Dax’s face had lit up like a cat presented with a fish feast. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that the plan was to leave.
He’d been handed a guitar, and he was coaxing sounds out of it that she didn’t think were possible, creating a rhythm with the heel of his hand on the body of the guitar all while he played chords and runs on the strings.
Everyone was dancing, including Marin’s parents, who were swirling and twirling, their bells jangling as they spun. Ree was in the heart of it all, having the time of his life, skipping and shimmying between the dancers.
On all the rooftops, the winged cats were clustered, napping now that their bellies were full. She thought she spotted Stowy among them, in a cozy pile of cat fur and feathers.
She’d seen neighbors and old friends, and it had all gone fine. No one had mentioned Iovar, except in oblique glad-you’re-doing-so-well-now references, and she hadn’t seen even a hint of—
“Mariner.”
And she’d jinxed herself by thinking about him.
Every muscle in her body tensed. She considered not turning around, pretending he wasn’t there, but if she was supposed to be demonstrating that she’d moved on and he was unable to hurt her anymore, it would be better to act as if hearing his voice didn’t launch her back into that horrible time two years ago when her world fell apart.
Or was torn apart. After the barest of pauses, she said, “Iovar,” in a level voice.
A greeting, not an accusation, even though he deserved one.
She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Instead, she kept watching Dax, who was smiling so freely as he played. There were others playing with him, drummers and a flutist. He’d let them lead on the songs, and he complemented them with his wizardry on the guitar.
“Is that truly Daxicend, the imperial composer?”
Startled, now she looked at him. He’d grown a mustache. It wasn’t the best choice. It had come in flecked with purple, which made it resemble a venomous caterpillar. She was flat-out embarrassed of her past self for finding this man attractive. “You know him?”
“Not personally, no, but by reputation,” Iovar said.
His mustache wiggled as he talked, and she couldn’t stop staring at it.
Had someone told him it looked distinguished?
If so, she owed that person a pie. “He’s known as the finest composer of this generation.
What, in the name of the sea, is he doing on Flicker? ”
Marin paused for the barest of seconds. “He’s with me.”
Even with the mustache, the look Iovar gave her made her feel as if she were a snail—tiny, squashable, with goo trailing behind her. “You?”
“Yes.” She didn’t trust herself to say more, but she crossed her arms, hoping it looked defiant but knowing it looked as if she were hugging herself.
“Then I’d like to ask you for an introduction.”
“Excuse me?”
“To the famous Daxicend, if you indeed know him.”
Marin stared at him and almost laughed. He thought she was lying about knowing him?
She supposed he lied so often that he expected it of everyone.
But hadn’t he noticed that Dax was wearing a blue sash that matched her dress?
Glancing at Dax, she realized that you couldn’t see the sash behind the guitar—the way he was bent over the instrument obscured it.
“I’d be happy to.” She suddenly grinned and felt more like a shark than a snail.
At the end of the song, Dax looked up, his eyes seeking her out. She saw the moment he saw her and brightened, and she saw the moment he spotted Iovar beside her. He cocked his head, and she mouthed the name.
She saw Dax’s expression darken, and for an instant, her chest tightened and it was hard to breathe.
She’d never seen that look on his face before—he was glaring directly at Iovar.
It was glorious, so much righteous anger on her behalf.
She hadn’t thought she was worthy of that, or that the irrepressibly sunny Dax was capable of it.
She let it wash over her like a beautiful ocean wave.
A second later, his face softened into a smile at the nearest dancers.
Still smiling pleasantly, Dax handed the guitar to its owner with a thank-you, and he crossed the square-turned-dance-floor.
Or he tried to. A straight line was impossible.
He had to weave between the careering couples and groups, occasionally being swung in a circle or trapped in an enthusiastic hug.
Another musician had taken the stage and was playing a popular dance tune, one with steps that everyone half knew and that involved a lot of twirling around, which led to a lot of people crashing into their neighbors.
Marin steadfastly refused to look at Iovar or respond to any of his attempts at pleasantries and instead watched Dax’s approach, as he apologized and excused himself to everyone he passed, thanking them when they complimented his playing, then pausing to pick up two pastries from a tray.
He reached them and, without looking at Iovar, held out one of the pastries to Marin. He executed a little bow. “For you,” he said. “If you like them? If not, I can give it to the cats.”
She was about to tell him thanks, it’s one of her favorites and the cats were all full of fish anyway, when Dax leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.
His lips tasted like honey and cinnamon, the flavors of the pastry—he’d been eating them all night, between songs, taking care not to get any sugary goo on the instrument.
She’d watched how careful he was, wiping his hands clean.
She didn’t know why that image of him carefully cleaning his hands popped into her head while he was kissing her, but it did.
It was a gentle kiss, as sweet as the honey that lingered on his lips and transferred to hers. And she only belatedly remembered that she was supposed to be familiar with his kisses.
When the kiss ended, he smiled at her as if she were the sun and the moon at once, and then appeared to notice Iovar as if for the first time.
“Oh, hello,” he said in a pleasant, cheerful tone.
Then to Marin: “One of your childhood friends? Introduce me?” He slid his arm around Marin’s waist as he faced Iovar.
“Iovar Revinok,” Iovar said in his booming voice.
She wondered how she’d ever found his voice attractive. She’d liked the way it commanded attention. Now it just seemed grating, cutting across the music.
“I’m head of the Merchant Bank on Flicker,” Iovar said.
He … what? When she’d left, he’d merely worked there.
She felt a shiver of unease. “Which reminds me … Marin, I hate to bring this up at a festive time, but given that you’re so rarely on Flicker, you should know that your parents’ loan repayment schedule has been accelerated. ”
“What? Why?” Marin knew she shouldn’t react.
He wanted a reaction, and he wanted her to react badly in front of Dax.
But she felt as if the ground had swelled beneath her feet, knocking her off-kilter.
If Dax hadn’t had his arm around her waist, she would have staggered backward.
“How do you know anything about that? It doesn’t concern you.
” They hadn’t gone through the Merchant Bank; it had been a personal arrangement directly with the sorcerer Yvex.
“Oh, but I’ve taken over management of my friend Yvex’s financials.”
His friend? Since when? She could feel her heart thumping fast.
Airily, Iovar said, “It’s a recent development. Yvex wanted to focus more on his research and less on mundane matters. I noticed there was some lack of precision in the agreement between your family and Yvex, and I’ve tightened that up a bit.”
“You found a loophole, and you’re exploiting it,” Marin said flatly. “To hurt me.”
He looked appalled. “It’s absolutely nothing personal.
It’s just business. I’ve been hired to look after Yvex’s interests, and that’s all.
In fact, I’m only informing you out of respect for our past relationship.
I know what a concerned daughter you are, and I didn’t want you to be caught by surprise.
The deadline has moved up. It’s due two weeks after the winter solstice. ”
She frowned. “You’re shifting the payment schedule?” The next payment wasn’t supposed to be due until the spring equinox. She was supposed to have months.
“Oh, my dear, you misunderstand me,” Iovar said.
“There’s no ‘schedule.’ That’s the deadline for the full repayment of the loan.
After much consideration, given your parents’ reputation for integrity in all their business dealings and their faithful payment of all prior installments, Yvex has generously agreed not to demand immediate repayment, as would be his right.
You have two months until it’s all due, in full, with interest of course. ”
Marin tried to keep herself from gasping and failed.
The full … in just two months? She was supposed to have nearly a year—the next payment should have been due in the spring and the final in the fall.
That’s what she’d planned, and it was going to require a lot of work and luck to meet even those deadlines.
This … It was impossible. Even if she could complete every job advertised on the job board in Dew, even if she had a fleet of supply runners working for her …
She couldn’t squeeze a year of work into just two months.
It has to be possible. I’ll make it possible. He can’t do this!
Iovar was smiling at her, the very same smile as when she’d first uncovered his deception, as if she were a child and he the adult who had all the power. And he did.
Her parents’ arrangement with Yvex had been a verbal agreement, except for the bare bones of the deal—the sorcerer didn’t like formal contracts, too much paperwork that took too much of his valuable time.
Marin had tried to talk her parents out of it, but they’d been insistent, and so she’d elected to just be grateful.
They’d assured her that Iovar would never find out, that he’d never be able to hurt them.
In all his years on the island, Yvex had never bothered with banks or so much as trusted an assistant.
How Iovar had gotten his fingers into the sorcerer …
Well, that didn’t matter now. What mattered was: if Yvex had transferred the debt, there was no proof of any schedule, just the amount owed.
Legally, Iovar could do this.
Morally … He has no morals.
He could set the deadline whenever he liked.
He’d chosen two months because it was impossible, yet sounded as if he were being reasonable, even generous, by not making it due immediately.
But whether it was two months or immediately, it was all the same level of impossible, and he knew that.
She could see it in his smirk that he absolutely knew that.
Dax’s hands were on her shoulders, but she barely felt them. Her hands were clenched in fists at her side. She spat out the words, “My family wouldn’t be in debt at all if you hadn’t—”
Iovar held up his hand, calm, polite, infuriating. “I don’t think we need to rehash this. You have your opinion, and I have mine. Arguing in public wouldn’t make anyone happy, and this is the Flicker End-of-Harvest Festival, a time for celebration.”
He was right that it would upset her parents and disrupt the festival, fueling more gossip and more pity. She couldn’t allow him to have that power over her anymore.
“Just to share a friendly word of advice,” Iovar said to Dax, “as one who has been where you appear to be now…” Marin tensed, not knowing what was going to come out of Iovar’s mouth, wanting to shove her fists into his mouth, not wanting to cause her parents any more pain by causing a scene, not wanting to make them worry that she was still hurting and still capable of being hurt by him.
Iovar leaned closer to Dax. “She’s not worth it. ”
That hit like a fist to her heart.
Iovar continued, conversationally, as if helping out a buddy.
“You’ll sacrifice for her, and she’ll only make you smaller.
You’ll give up dreams for her, and she won’t replace them.
I know your reputation, Daxicend. You’re a rising star.
You don’t want to tie yourself to a supply runner who runs the second there are any hard choices to be made. ”
She made him smaller? He was the one who …
He’d demanded she give up her dreams. He wanted her small, in a box, only speaking and feeling and thinking what he wanted her to speak, feel, and think.
She wished she knew the words to strike back just as hard.
He was a snake. A worm. A weasel who sneaked into the henhouse and slaughtered birds for fun.
Her fists were clenched, and she tried to think of what to say.
And then Dax laughed.
The sudden brightness of it startled Marin—and shocked Iovar.
Still laughing, Dax shook his head. “You just didn’t know how to make her happy.” He clapped Iovar on the shoulder. “It’s okay. She’s a symphony, and not everyone understands how special that is.”
Iovar sputtered. “She’s—”
“I know it’s hard to realize the truth, especially for a man like yourself, a man of business, to accept that you will never be what she deserves, to know you’ll never be enough.
” Dax then turned to Marin and held out his hand.
The bells on his sleeves chimed with the movement.
“I don’t know if I can ever be either, but I’m determined to try. ”
She stared at him for a moment and then, dazed, she took his hand.
He led her into the center of the square. Around them, the dancers swirled and stomped and laughed and embraced and then danced more, all the bells ringing simultaneously from ankles and arms.
She didn’t look back at Iovar. She could imagine him fuming. The one thing a man like Iovar couldn’t stomach was being called out as small and lesser rate.
“Dax…” Marin didn’t know what to say. That was … amazing. And kind. And it had been enormously satisfying, even if her family was still monumentally screwed.
“He’s a weasel,” Dax said.
“He is,” she agreed vehemently. “But I’m not a symphony.”
“You absolutely are. An extraordinary symphony,” he said. “Dance?”
Holding hands, they spun together in the center of all the dancers, and she tried to focus on this moment, not Iovar and his impossible deadline, not on the coming disaster, while the winged cats watched from the rooftops, and the stars and the moon watched from above.