Thirty-One
It turns out to be only one window, but it’s a big one, one of the huge panes that looks onto the veranda. People scream and back away from the glass shards, which lie like a spray of silver foam across the tiles.
Ky—of course it’s Ky—is framed in the broken outline. She’s panting, having just thrown something heavy, her hand groping at her side for a sword that isn’t there. Her sublime silver dress is bunched and slipping and her face is an ugly red.
Opposite her is a tall man in a formal guard’s uniform, the colors matching the livery of the Dreikin servants all around us. It takes me a moment to recognize the mop of brown hair, and then my heart clenches; Gestian, who’d tried to kill us back on Malkuth.
“My, my,” he says, and clicks his tongue. He is wearing a sword, and his hand rests casually on the hilt. “Maybe you spent too long in the lower tiers, Kycilea. Their manners have clearly rubbed off on you.”
Ky seems speechless. I start heading toward her, but I have to push through a ring of onlookers.
“Not the only thing that has, I’ll warrant,” Gestian says. “You didn’t even stop at Malkuth, did you? You went all the way down. Is it true that in the undercity they rut in the street like feral dogs? It must make it easier to sell your cunt—”
“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Ky growls. “How dare you.”
“How dare I?” Gestian looks around. “I’m only saying what everyone’s thinking—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you say,” she snaps, straightening up. “How dare you wear that uniform? How long did you wait before putting it on? Was my father even cold when you jumped to suck at Devon Dreikin’s fat teats?”
His lip twists. “I don’t appreciate your tone. Especially from someone of such lax morals she brought her barbarian lover to a civilized party.”
“Better a whore than a traitor,” Ky grates. “At least a whore is honest about what they do.”
“Is that an accusation?” Gestian looks around, playing to the crowd. “Miss Tranto, if you believe I’ve wronged you, then make your challenge as honor demands. If not, then I’ll thank you to restrain your slander.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Ky’s face is scarlet and her jaw is set. She’s going to do it if I don’t stop her.
I fight my way free of the last rank of spectators and dash across the gap to her side. I make a grab for her arm; she tries to shake me off, but I pull her close and hiss into her ear.
“Don’t give him what he wants.”
“He killed him,” Ky whispers. “He killed Father, and he’s laughing—”
“Because he wants you to fight him!”
She tries to pull away. “What the fuck do you know about it?”
“I don’t know all the rules here, but people are people, right?
” I speak quickly. “When the Clawmarks want to hurt someone but they don’t have a good reason, they push them around, insult them, bait them into taking a swing.
You said Gestian can’t touch you while the tournament is on, but if you challenge him—”
“Then I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Is that going to fix anything?”
“Oh dear,” Gestian croons, his tone dripping with mockery. “A lovers’ tiff?”
“Come on.” I pull on Ky’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Slowly, very slowly, she starts to move. Gestian clicks his tongue.
“I hope I haven’t made you feel unwelcome,” he says. “Apologies. On behalf of my employer, please, stay and enjoy the festivities. We haven’t even had the fish course yet.”
“I’ll kill him,” Ky mutters, but she keeps putting one foot in front of the other. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.”
“I’ll help you,” I whisper back, and once again I’m surprised how much I mean it. Gestian’s whole manner is calculated to offend, and it’s fucking worked. Quite apart from the debt I owe the man for chasing us out of Venci’s, I want to wipe that smile off his face. “But not here.”
Ky gives a jerky nod of agreement. The crowd parts before us as we limp to the main doors, and glancing over my shoulder I’m gratified to see Gestian with an irritated look. Better luck next time, asshole.
With the carriage door closed behind us Ky breaks down in tears, her knees drawn up and face buried in her crossed arms. I hover awkwardly on the opposite seat, feeling like I should put my arm around her but too nervous to actually do it.
Fortunately the runic carriage knows its own way home, and it clip-clops carefully around the traffic jam in Dreikin’s driveway.
Her sobs gradually fade to subtle shakes of her bare shoulders. By the time we’re back at her estate, she’s silent and motionless except for the occasional bump of the wheels. The runic carriage pulls around to where Bradley is waiting for us.
“Welcome back, miss. Master Taj. I hope—” He stops when Ky doesn’t respond, and I interpose myself in the doorway.
“I think she needs some space,” I tell him. “I’ll take her in, if you don’t mind.”
The old man nods gravely. “Of course, sir. Please ring if you require anything.”
He steps aside, and I look back at Ky. When she still doesn’t move, I hesitantly touch her arm.
“Hey. We’re here.” I pull her hand free and give it a tug. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
She raises her head, sniffling. Her face is a horror, snot and tears mixed with makeup to make ugly streaks.
I guide her arm around my shoulders, and we descend together past the silent Bradley.
Inside I spot a sitting room with a couple of armchairs.
I pilot her into one, and she draws her knees up again while I close the door behind us.
“I’m sorry,” she says while I move the other chair closer to her. “I’m an idiot. A drunk idiot.” She looks at me over her knees, only her eyes visible. “You saved me from doing something very stupid.”
I shift awkwardly, not sure I want to accept this praise. Ky leans her forehead on her knees.
“I just… didn’t think he’d be there. I thought he’d have the decency to be ashamed of what he did. Not strutting around bold as brass, as good as announcing to the world that he slit my father’s throat for Devon Dreikin.”
“You told me Devon didn’t have the balls.”
“Maybe he grew a pair. Or maybe he’s just another fucking scavenger. What does it matter?” She wraps her arms around her knees and pulls herself into a tight ball. Her hair, coming undone from its elaborate construction, flops forward. “Dead is fucking dead.”
“Well, you did me a favor,” I say brightly, eager to change the subject. I fumble at my collar, undoing the top buttons. “I was suffocating, and people kept asking me what it was like being a barbarian. Happy we snuck out early.”
“I wouldn’t call that sneaking out.” Ky doesn’t look up, but at least there’s an edge of irony in her voice. “It’s a shame, though. I was looking forward to getting you on the dance floor.”
“We could still dance if you want.” I look around the sitting room; it’s one of the smaller rooms in the house, which means it’s only twice the size of the bakery kitchen. “This place is certainly big enough for it. Not that I have any idea what I’d be doing, mind.”
“I’ll show you.” Now she looks up. There’s a mischievous glint in her deep-sunken eyes.
“There’s no music, though.”
“I’ll hum.” She unfolds herself and gets to her feet, a little unsteadily. “Come on, up! You made an offer, no backing out now.”
Well. No backing out now, I guess. I get up, feeling more than awkward, and Ky grabs my hands.
“This one goes here”—on her hip, the sheer fabric of the silver dress barely covering her skin—“and this one here”—clasping fingers—“and now you move like this. Back and forth. See? Not so hard.”
She starts to hum a slow, sad tune, and for a while we sway together. Bit by bit the distance between us shrinks until she’s pressed against me, her head resting on my shoulder. Her hum shivers in my collarbone.
“Where would I be now if you hadn’t decided to rob my house?” she says, so quietly it might be to herself.
I shrug, careful not to dislodge her.
“I know I wouldn’t have had the money to pay off the Clawmarks without you,” I say. “Stars know what Rekas would have done to us.”
“Fortuitous for both of us that you did rob me, then.”
“Extremely.”
She raises her head, her face only centimeters from mine.
I should kiss her. Should I kiss her? She’s a mess, makeup ruined, nose snotty, but she’s still so beautiful it makes my throat tight.
Her body is pressed against mine, slim breasts flattened against my chest, our hips rubbing together.
I want to grab her, hold her, dig my fingers into that mass of white hair.
But if that’s what she’s hoping for, wouldn’t she kiss me? It’s not as though she’s ever been shy about taking what she wants. And if she doesn’t want to, and I try, then—I don’t know. What?
The moment stretches, crystalline and fragile, until it breaks.
Ky steps back, fingers leaving mine. The absence of her body leaves a chill behind.
“’m drunk,” she mutters, rubbing her arm across her nose. “I’m going to bed.”
She turns away.