Chapter 12

I crawl out of the water with Sadra’s help, shivering uncontrollably. Blood runs down my arms from several scrapes. My forehead stings. I put a hand to my head and realize my wig is missing. It must have torn loose underwater.

“Where’s Luca?” Sadra asks. “Is he alright?”

“Yes,” I gasp, still shaking. “At least, he was. He was...”

“I know,” Sadra murmurs.

There’s a strange tightness in my chest. I can’t reconcile my gentle, goofy Luca with the killer I just saw. I’ve never once seen him use his knife for anything but cutting his meat--until now. It never even crossed my mind that he could use it for anything else, though I knew he had all the same training that the Prince had.

Luca’s head bursts through the surface and he hauls himself out of the water, shaking drops out of his eyes. His mouth is a flat, straight line and his brows are drawn together. He looks...dangerous. Not like my Luca. I back away from him uneasily.

“Let’s go,” he says shortly.

Luca leads us through what seems like miles of dark, twisting tunnels. He doesn’t look at me, and I don’t speak to him though I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the back of his head. Ismeni has been staring at me ever since I ditched my wig, but she hasn’t said anything yet. I really hope she doesn’t, though I can’t help feeling pleased that she’s finally recognized me. If Luca doesn’t know the truth about me, that’s definitely not how I want him to find out--especially now.

Of course, since it’s exactly what I don’t want to happen, Ismeni finally does confront me.

“Who are you?” she asks, grabbing my arm and turning me around to face her.

“Sasha,” I say, barely resisting the urge to put my knuckles to my forehead and look away. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We will make time for this,” Ismeni snaps. “You’ve stolen something precious to me, and I want to know who you are.”

Now I’m just lost. “I don’t understand.”

“Liar,” she says, clearly furious. “That’s the body of my thrall Blue that you’re wearing. Who are you?”

“

” I stare at her in complete astonishment. “What in the name of all the stars in the sky are you talking about?”

“My husband’s sister has high standing in the House of Light and Shadow,” she says threateningly. “She told me all about how spiritwalkers invade the bodies of compromised thralls. So who are you and why did you take my Blue from me?”

I can’t help it. I laugh in her face.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I inform her. “And neither does Cimari, assuming she wasn’t lying to you. We really don’t have time for this.”

“We’re not finished,” Ismeni says hotly as I turn away. She tightens her grip on my arm. “Answer me! Cimari saw Blue die. She cleansed and destroyed Blue’s body. How did you get your hands on it?”

“Hah,” Sadra says. “Is that what she told you?”

“No one believed your lies,” Ismeni says primly. “As if anyone could believe that a sister of the House would purposely destroy a thrall.”

“That’s why she was sniffing around the Temple?” Sadra laughs. “She thinks I told the House that she killed your thrall? I almost wish you knew the truth so you could appreciate the irony.”

“She would have killed me,” I snap, and jerk my arm out of Ismeni’s grip. “She almost did.”

“Killed you?” Ismeni cries, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even know who you are--aside from a thief, that is. Why Blue? Surely there are other thralls to steal.”

“I am Blue,” I shout. “But that’s not my name. My name is Sasha. I was torn away from my home and beaten, starved, enslaved. You truly thought I was a toy, and I forgive you for that because you didn’t know any better and because you were mostly kind to me. But you were--you are--wrong. You’re so wrong.

The House of Light and Shadow doesn’t create thralls--it steals them.

the thieves. The House mages steal the voices and free will of real people. Men and women with jobs and friends and families that they’ll probably never see again because of ignorant, complacent people like you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ismeni says tightly. She’s gone dead white.

“Well, that’s your right, I suppose,” I say with a shrug. “I honestly don’t care what you think. We need to keep moving.”

I turn away to hide my lie--of course I care what she thinks--and find Luca staring at me with an expression I can’t define. We lock eyes for a moment, then look away. He doesn’t say anything. He just gestures for us to follow and continues into the dark.

When we finally emerge from the tunnels, I almost don’t notice because it’s still the dead of night and the moon and stars are hidden by clouds. As Luca and his little orb of light move forward, I see that we’re in a forest. Beyond that, I have no idea where we are.

“Alessandra,” a voice calls, and Bard emerges from the trees. He’s accompanied by Kirit and Pretty Girl, who strains at her lead rope.

Bard lets go of the rope, letting Pretty Girl leap forward and place her paws on my shoulders. Even as scared and miserable as I am, I laugh. I’m so happy to see her. I hug her tightly and smoosh her ears around while she licks every part of my face she can reach. Kirit paws my leg, yipping for attention. I scoop him up and rub my cheek against his head.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Bard. “Is Caris safe? We couldn’t think how to warn her---”

“Caris is safe,” Bard confirms. “She and Jarron are leaving the City as we speak. They’re probably out by now, in fact. They have been preparing for it since you were taken to the palace. They left when word came that the Prince was killed.”

“But how did you know?” I wonder.

“We have been watching you, of course,” Bard says, as if it were a given. He casts a dark glance at Luca. “Our resources, unfortunately, do not extend so far as to monitor your lover. I do wish you had told us about the Prince, . He could have been useful. As it is, all our plans are now compromised. We will have to make our way as best we can without the provisions and assistance I so carefully arranged along our route. I’ve sent word to my associates to stay away. The House will surely come after us.”

“Us?” Sadra says. “You’re still going to help us, then?”

“Against Caris’s very firm suggestion to the contrary,” Bard says. “Yes.”

“Why?” Sadra asks, suspicious as usual.

Bard glances at me and then away. “I have my reasons. If you do not care for my company, however…”

“No, no,” I say hastily. “Please stay. I know I made a mess of things. I’ll do whatever you say.”

“And Lucoran?” Bard asks. “You will join us as we discussed?”

“Yes,” Luca says. “My sister was very clear that I’m to help Sasha accomplish her goal. And I owe it to Sasha--and to you--for disrupting your plans and putting you all at risk.”

Bard doesn’t deny it. “What of the Councilor’s wife?”

“Oh, you’ve remembered me?” Ismeni huffs. “Excellent. Yes, what about the Councilor’s wife? Former wife, I should say. I’m sure Orean will dissolve our union and confiscate my dowry as soon as he possibly can.”

“What about her?” Sadra snorts. “She can do whatever she likes. It’s no concern of ours.”

“We can’t just leave her here in the middle of--wherever we are,” I object.

“Well, she certainly can’t come with us,” Sadra says. “Is there a third option?”

“We can at least take her as far as the nearest village,” Luca says firmly. He looks at Bard. “Can’t we?”

“I suppose we must,” Bard says, but he doesn’t look happy about it.

“Are you all quite finished talking about me as though I’m not here?” Ismeni says.

“Do you have something to add?” Bard asks politely, which seems to throw Ismeni.

“Well...no,” she says in a much less combative tone. “I’ve no notion of what to do. They think I m-murdered the Prince. They’ll search for me everywhere I might be safe.”

“Best of luck with that,” Sadra says. “It’s not our problem.”

“It may actually prove useful to have two trained light casters on hand,” Bard muses. “But the danger is considerable. As you say, Ismeni, the Council and the House will be searching for you. But tell me, do you want to accompany us?”

“I don’t even know where you’re going,” Ismeni says helplessly.

“Away from the Garden, which is all you need to know,” Bard says.

“I suppose it’s my best choice no matter where you’re going,” she sighs.

Bard nods and turns to me. “Sasha?”

“I think she should come,” I say hesitantly. It puts a weird feeling in my stomach.

“Let’s go, then,” Bard says briskly. “The provisions are nearby. Girls, change out of those dresses and leave them. Ismeni, be sure to leave behind any talismans or anything else that can be tracked. Be quick about it. I want to be into the mountains by daybreak.”

Bard--and Luca, apparently--brought packs for each of us containing sturdy shoes and warm clothes. There isn’t anything for Ismeni. Bard says she’ll have to just make do until we come to a village where hopefully we can buy or trade for what she needs. I can see Sadra physically struggling to hold back a snide comment. She does succeed, and I’m thankful for her restraint. The last thing we need is more snark.

Luca still hasn’t said anything to me directly. I wonder if maybe I should say something, but every time I try, my stomach starts to feel like it’s shriveling up. Instead, I keep pace with Bard and take the opportunity to ask the questions I was always afraid might be too personal to ask in front of Caris and everyone.

“Bard,” I say in a low voice. “Before you were--taken, I guess--were you having...um, problems?”

“You mean the dreams, I suppose,” Bard says. “Yes, I dreamed of the Deadwood.”

“The Deadwood,” I repeat. It’s a fitting name for the eerie, broken forest where I first woke up. “I dreamed of it, but then...it started to get worse.”

“Worse?” Bard asks, looking at me sharply.

“I started hallucinating,” I tell him, desperately hoping he’ll say that yes, of course, he hallucinated too. “About the forest...and a nightmare from when I was a little girl. Did you…?”

“No,” he tells me, and my heart sinks. “But I know of at least one person who did.”

“Oh,” I say. That seems encouraging. “And when you got here, did you dream of...back there?”

Bard doesn’t answer right away. When he does, it’s not exactly what I hoped for.

“There’s so much we don’t know about all this, . There aren’t yet enough of us--those of us who are awake and whole--to even attempt to explain how exactly we came to be here. Myself, I’m not entirely sure we should even try.”

“But am I really here?” I whisper. “In these dreams...I’m sick and dying and completely raving. Is this my insanity?”

“I have no answer for you,” Bard says kindly. “And you are not alone in wondering. I made my choice a long time ago. At some point, you’ll need to make yours.”

“My choice?” I say with a frown. “You don’t get to choose the answer to a question like that.”

Bard looks at me with raised brows. “Don’t you?”

I’m not sure what to say to that, and Bard doesn’t seem to want to talk anymore. I fall back and trudge along next to Sadra. We’ve been walking for hours and I’m exhausted. Dawn can’t be far off. I try to remember if Bard said we were going to stop and rest at dawn. No...no, he just said he wanted to be into the mountains by dawn. But we have to stop at some point, don’t we?

I hear Ismeni curse behind me and I remind myself to be grateful. At least I have real shoes and clothes suitable for traipsing through the woods. Ismeni has to limp along in a gown and soft slippers. She hasn’t complained, though. I have to admire the pride that carries her more or less stoically through miles of rocky trails in the dark and practically barefoot.

Dawn comes and Bard gives no indication that he means to stop. We stumble along until the sun is almost directly overhead and we’re all nearly crying with fatigue. Even Pretty Girl with her bottomless well of puppy energy is drooping and panting as she pads beside me. I think Ismeni really has been crying, but silently. Her shoes have long since been sliced to ribbon. I don’t know how her feet are still intact.

“Alright,” Bard says finally. “We’ll rest here for a few hours, but then we have to keep moving. You’ll find some hardbread and dried meat in your packs and a spring beyond those rocks. Don’t eat too much.”

Ismeni lies down right where she is and falls asleep, delaying the awkward question of what she’s supposed to eat since she doesn’t have a pack of her own. I find the spring and drink deeply. It wakes me up enough so that I can try to eat. I find I don’t need Bard’s warning. The food is dry and bland and hard, and I have to force myself to eat any of it. I give up after a few minutes and lie down, but I’m too tired and sore to fall asleep.

“Let me in,” Sadra says, pushing me over so she can get under my blanket with me.

“Where’s yours?” I ask, but move over. I’m too tired to argue.

“Over there,” she says, and I see that she’s spread it over Ismeni’s sleeping form.

I smile. It’s the first nice thing any of us has done for another on this trip, and the fact that Sadra did it for Ismeni makes it even nicer. It makes everything seem a little less terrible. I lean over and plant a kiss on Sadra’s cheek.

“Don’t overthink it,” she grumbles, and turns over to go to sleep.

I turn over too and pull Pretty Girl against my chest, making her grunt. Her tail thumps sluggishly against my legs and then goes still after one last twitch. I close my eyes and stretch my legs out, trying to ease the tightness in my calves and thighs, until Sadra and Pretty Girl’s warmth eases me into sleep.

I wake up to the smell of roasting meat. Pretty Girl is already awake and begging Luca for scraps. He sits beside a small fire and turns some kind of bird on a spit over the flames while he explains to her exactly why she can’t have any. Kirit trots up to Luca with a fat rodent in his mouth, which he drops at Luca’s feet.

“Good man,” Luca says, gently tugging Kirit’s ear. “See, Pretty? You have to help if you want some.”

I get up and cautiously approach. This is my Luca--kind, gentle, smiling, and nothing like the hard-eyed stranger from last night. I open my mouth to say...something. Anything. But Luca is already on his feet and turning away.

“I have another snare I want to check,” he says, seemingly to air. “That tree cat needs to be skinned. Pretty Girl, come with me.”

Tree cat? I look down at the rodent Kirit brought and see that it looks kind of like a brown raccoon or a really chubby ferret. It doesn’t look like any animal I’ve ever seen, but squirrels and chipmunks were pretty much the only wildlife I came into contact with in my old life, so what do I know? What I know is that it’s fuzzy and round and utterly adorable. It could be singing and dancing in a Disney movie if it weren’t for the little dots of blood congealed on its nose. And Luca wants me to--dismantle it, I guess.

Well, fine. I’m hungry and it’s making my palms sweat, so I’ll do it. At least, I’ll go find Bard and try to get him to do it. If he won’t...well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now I have to just keep moving and try to ignore the unreasonable panic that sets in whenever my stomach rumbles.

Bard agrees to skin the tree cat, but he makes me watch so I’ll know how to do it next time. It’s just gross enough to dull my appetite for a few minutes. By the time we’re done, Luca has come back and taken the bird off the spit. He puts it on a slab of rock with a “go ahead” gesture that could be meant for me or Bard or both of us.

I shoot an irritable glance at Luca, but he keeps his eyes on the piece of meat in his hand. Apparently we’re just going to ignore each other as well as all those little nuggets of conversation fodder we’ve been racking up. His complete betrayal of my trust, the revelation of my dirty little (enormous) secret, his brother’s murder, his sister’s “feeling” that I’m important, my hopefully imminent departure from this world...totally inconsequential. We can just sit on those for the rest of trip. That’ll be way better.

Sadra and Ismeni join us at the fire and we share a sullen, silent meal. Afterward, I leave to find a place to pee and do my exercises. Ismeni and Luca make a fuss at first about the delay, but Bard shuts them down with just a few words. I bet he had some sort of ritual like mine before he got the Light-thing--the Pall--taken out of his head. I wonder what it was.

We set off late in the afternoon. Bard says we’ll go until midnight, then continue on again at dawn. I don’t know which is worse--knowing or not knowing. I eventually decide I’m glad Bard told us. Just going and going and not knowing what will happen reminds me too much of those awful weeks in the Cage.

In fact, everything about our little jaunt so far brings back painful, scary memories. Especially being dirty. Ever since Isemeni had me bathed the first time, I’ve been obsessive about being clean. But now I’m not clean at all and the invisible crust of dried sweat on my neck is going to make my head explode.

“Why is the country called Kingsgarden?” I ask Sadra, trying to distract myself. “Is it because of the city names? The City of Roses, the City of Lilies, the City of Lilacs, the City of Poppies...”

“Or the other way around,” Sadra says with a shrug. “But they’re not all flowers, you know. I once heard of a town called Cucumber.”

“Really?” I ask with a giggle.

“Yes,” Sadra laughs. “There was a boy, a new initiate, who came from there. Poor thing. The jokes were terrible and never-ending.”

We both laugh and I catch a glimpse of Luca giving us the fish eye. I narrow my eyes back at him. I can laugh if I want to. I will laugh any time--every time--I feel like it. He’s the one reverting to third grade tactics. If he’s feeling crappy he’s welcome to do something about it. I force myself to turn away and continue down the path, but I feel his gaze burning a hole between my shoulder blades.

It’s been three days since we escaped from the palace, and sometimes I think it’s worse in some ways than my journey in the Cage. At least back then I knew no one was talking because we couldn’t, even though I didn’t know why we couldn’t. This silence--this deafening, impossible-to-ignore, crippling sound-vacuum--is utterly miserable. And distracting. It’s like all the things no one wants to talk about are just screaming and jumping around and poking the backs of everybody’s heads.

Or maybe it’s just me. I don’t know.

I stomp away to a nearby stream to wash myself and my clothes. Bard says we can rest for half a day, and I want to make the most of it. I don’t know if my clothes will dry in time, but I’m hopeful. It’s beautiful and sunny out, and I saw there was a flat stretch of rock that should be nice and hot.

When I get to the stream, I whip off my clothes and get right in even though the water is so cold it makes my teeth hurt. I wish there were sand I could use to scrub, but the streambed is all rock. I find some waxy weeds in the water and try to use those. It doesn’t work very well, so I spend a lot of time scrubbing with my hands and picking dirt from under my nails with a shard of rock. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about the little prickly hairs sprouting all over my body. But I can deal with that. Probably.

I give up when my hands are so numb I can’t feel myself scrubbing anymore. I take my clothes and find a place where I can sit and rub them against a rock. I think that’s how you’re supposed to wash clothes. I hold my shirt up to my face and sniff. It smells like the river. I guess that’s okay. It’s better than sweat and B.O., at least.

I hear a splash downstream and see Ismeni paddling around in the same pool where I bathed. I look away because it feels weird to stare, but look back when she starts to sing. I can’t help it.

Ismeni stops and and splashes water on her face. I can hear her crying even from here. I remember how excited she would get before--well, they were booty calls, strictly speaking, but I could tell she really loved her Prince. And maybe he loved her too if he made Arismendi promise to get Ismeni out of the palace safely.

“I can see you, Blue,” Ismeni calls tiredly. “Come down here. You don’t have to lurk.”

“My name isn’t Blue,” I say when I reach her. “I told you that.”

“You did,” Ismeni acknowledges. “I don’t believe you. That nonsense about being stolen away, I mean. I do believe you’re not my Blue.”

I pause. “I hope that changes. I don’t know what I can say to convince you. Maybe there’s nothing I can say. But I do want to thank you. I don’t know what exactly would have happened if you hadn’t taken me away from the oily man, but it can’t have been good. I’ve always wanted to thank you for that, and for not telling Cimari what happened when Dove died. If she had found out, she would have done much worse than just break my ribs.”

“The oily man,” Ismeni says slowly.

“You know, in the alley,” I say. “I was filthy and my face was cut and my hair had just been all chopped off and the House representative was trying to sell me to a disgusting, oily, fat man with red cheeks. You probably saved my life that day.”

Ismeni looks like she’s seen a ghost. “And what happened when Dove died?”

“She spoke,” I say softly. “She told us--me--she told me her true name. It was Mariana.”

Ismeni doesn’t say anything for several minutes.

“You’re lying,” Ismeni says finally, and stands up. “Her name was Dove. That was her name.”

Ismeni grabs her tattered, dirty gown and stalks away. I sigh and shrug. I tried. I go back for my wet clothes and spread them out in the sun. I lie down beside them and let the warmth from the rock and the sun seep into my muscles. At least that’s one thing that feels good. I watch the light and shadows from the trees play over my closed eyelids until a sharp pain on my left butt cheek makes me jerk upright.

“Ow,” I cry. I glare at Sadra, who grins back completely unrepentantly. I look down at the rosy, perfectly defined handprint. “Look at that!”

“I looking at it,” Sadra snickers. “Impressive, no?”

“You are a monster,” I tell her, as I often do.

“Do you want to swim?” she asks, like she didn’t just savagely and possibly permanently disfigure my behind.

Then again, it might help with the swelling and I’m pretty hot from lying in the sun. Sadra splashes into the water, squealing, and I follow. It’s such a relief to laugh and talk and pretend that everything is alright. I don’t want to go back on the road--not that there’s anything approaching an actual road. There’s barely even a trail. Whatever. I just want to stay here and not think about any of it for a while.

It’s over much too soon, but the rest did us all a world of good. I don’t know what Luca and Bard were doing to recharge, but everyone is much less grouchy, at least for the first few hours. We keep moving well past midnight, and by the time we stop to sleep everyone is pissy and frustrated.

Ismeni complains about having to dig the latrine hole even though it’s her turn. Luca snaps at Sadra for getting up to use the latrine hole four times before finally settling down so he can cast protective wards around the camp. Bard glares at everyone and I make weird, passive aggressive observations about all of it that no one pays attention to and which I realize sound completely ridiculous.

We continue on like this for three more days, walking until we drop and only sleeping a few hours, sometimes at night and sometimes during the day. I think Ismeni has to be doing something Light-wise to her feet to keep them intact because there’s no way she can be managing this truly barefoot.

When we suddenly find ourselves on a road, I’m confused. When we trudge into a village, I think at first I’m imagining it. It’s so busy--and loud, which is a shock after the silence of the woods. Worse, everyone is so happy and peppy. To my miserable, exhausted mind, it seems just wrong. And offensive.

“The Festival of the Sun begins tonight,” Bard tells us in a low voice. We enter what I think is an inn. “I wanted to make sure we got here in time. People notice strangers in these parts, but not so much on feast days.”

I grunt in reply and drop into a chair to wait while he does whatever he needs to do. Sadra and Ismeni and Luca all join me around the table. A serving girl comes by to ask what we want, but we’re all too tired to eat anything. Which is just as well, because Bard comes to get us and take us to our room--singular. Also bed, singular.

But I don’t care. None of us do. We all just throw our packs down and pile onto the bed and pass out. I wake up just before sunset with Ismeni’s hand squishing my face into the headboard. I push her hand away, noting with some satisfaction that I’ve been drooling all over it. Serves her right.

I get up and wander down to the common room, where delicious smells are thick in the air. Sadra and Bard are already at a table, digging into a loaf of bread and soft cheese. I sit down and snatch a hunk for myself. Around big mouthfuls, I ask what our plan is. Bard informs me that he means to rest here for the night and a good portion of the morning before we move on. I’m glad. I’m more than ready for a break.

“Food is on the way,” Bard says. “I’ll be back. I’m going to go see the landlady about gear for Ismeni. One of you might go wake her up. Ismeni, I mean.”

Sadra and I look at each other and then at the still-steaming loaf of bread. Maybe in a little bit. I stuff another chunk of bread in my mouth without bothering to spread any cheese on it and then cram the cheese in after.

“That is disgusting,” Sadra observes with her mouth full. Crumbs tumble from her lips as she speaks. “Wholly undignified.”

She tries to grin around the food in her mouth, revealing several lumps of gooey mush stuck to her teeth. I snort with laughter and nearly choke on my own oversized mouthful. Sadra pounds me helpfully on the back, stopping abruptly as Luca joins us. He drops into his chair and stares at the table.

“Pretty Girl and Kirit are outside,” he tells the tabletop. “The innkeeper wouldn’t let them in. They could do with some company.”

Clearly this is for my benefit. I do feel guilty for not even thinking about them before falling asleep, but this whole cold shoulder, quasi silent treatment is really getting on my nerves. What is his problem? I thought I was the wronged party here. Then I remember that his brother died trying to do right by people like me. I push the thought aside. I never asked Miocostin to do that. In fact, I asked him not to.

I grab another chunk of bread and go outside, where I’m instantly attacked by Kirit and Pretty Girl. Neither of them is used to being alone for more than a couple of hours and we’ve--at least I have--been asleep for at least five or six hours. They’re both desperate for attention even though I’m sure Luca was just out here playing with them.

Sadra comes to get me when the stew arrives and I all but sprint back into the inn. Someone--Luca, probably--has woken Ismeni. In the beginning, she was fussy about food but now she tucks in just as eagerly as the rest of us do. No one talks until we’re scraping our bowls clean with bread. The stew is delicious, and it’s not just because I’m hungry. Bard comes back and everyone freezes as we all realize at the same time that we didn’t leave any for him.

“You can relax,” he tells us with a slight smile. “I already ate. Ismeni, I’ve brought you clothes and shoes.”

Ismeni stares coldly at the bundle he holds out to her. “Those rags are meant to be worn? I have fallen, I grant you, but not quite so low as that.”

“Well,” Bard says with a shrug. “I suppose I can try to get my coin back if you’d rather wear that dress until it falls to pieces. It’s a long way yet.”

Bard starts to turn away and Ismeni snatches the clothes from his hands. Sadra snickers as Ismeni sails away up the stairs. I don’t laugh, but I want to. The majestic swooshing that Ismeni likes to use to get around just doesn’t really work with a dress that’s falling apart at the seams.

“How are you, ?” Bard asks me.

He sits in the chair Ismeni left and takes my hand. Or rather, my wrist. I think he’s checking my pulse.

“Fine,” I say, a little suspiciously. “Why?”

“Our journey may be more taxing for you than for the rest of us,” he says. “Because of your...condition. You must tell me if you can’t keep up. Our objective is to bring you to our friend beyond the mountains. We can’t do that if you die of exhaustion on the road.”

“I’m fine,” I say stiffly. “Really.”

“Alright,” he says. “Just remember, there’s no shame in it.”

Well, there wouldn’t be if he hadn’t just brought it up in front of my boyfriend, I think irritably. Ex-boyfriend? I don’t even know. Either way, I really don’t like that Bard basically just called me an invalid with Luca sitting right there. I’m not loving the reminder that all this is for my benefit, either.

I mutter something about finding Pretty Girl and leave. Sadra comes with me and we wander through the small but busy marketplace. Everything is lit up with torches and everyone is carrying candles up the street. They’re singing something ceremonial-sounding, like a hymn.

Curious, Sadra and I fall in with everyone else and let the crowd carry us to the center of town. There’s a huge bonfire in the center courtyard. Even out here in the boonies, the center of town is beautifully decorated. Here, though, instead of marble statues, trees have been trained to grow in spirals and starbursts. Vines cover the walls and houses surrounding the courtyard. It’s like a little pocket of forest in the middle of town.

“This is beautiful,” I murmur in Sadra’s ear. The singing has died away, replaced with an expectant silence. “What festival is this again?”

“The Festival of the Sun,” Sadra whispers back. “To welcome summer and plenty.”

“Was that a holiday in the City?” I ask with a frown.

“Yes, but it’s not a big celebration like it is in the country,” Sadra tells me. “Households usually just make small offerings, say a special prayer, that kind of thing. I doubt Ismeni did much of anything. In the City they celebrate the Fire Festival.”

“What happens now?” I ask.

“I’m really not sure,” Sadra says, craning her neck to see if anything is going on.

Suddenly there’s a cheer as musicians buried in the crowd begin to play. A space clears in the center of the courtyard and a group of young men and young women face off, each side joining hands and holding them high above their heads as they begin to move. I watch the dance, mesmerized. I want so badly to join in, my feet ache with it. I look at Sadra.

“Can we?” I mouth, pointing at the dancers.

She grins and turns, pulling me after her. We wiggle our way through the crowd until we pop out in the center circle just in time to catch the tail of the girls’ line as it passes by. I stumble through the first couple of steps until I get the footwork down and then lift my head, smiling at the girl next to me. She smiles back and squeezes my hand. The other girls smile and laugh and nod at us. They all seem delighted with our little stunt.

I gasp in surprise as the leader of the men’s line leaps into air, supported and propelled by the one next to him, and spins. He lands lightly in a crouch like a cat--like a freaking ninja--and slaps the ground before coming up to cheers and trilling shouts from the crowd.

As if it’s a signal, the girls vary the dance and I have to scramble again until I find the new pattern. But it’s fun. It’s so, so much fun. It’s nothing like the precise, carefully crafted dances in the City where every step is planned and rehearsed ahead of time. Everyone takes turns leading the line and adding her own ornamentation to the dance while everyone else follows along. When it’s my turn, I feel like I’m a little kid at my first recital.

When the music finally stops, I’m completely winded and weak in the knees. I have to wonder if maybe Bard was right and if I just did something stupid. I don’t know. Maybe. Tomorrow’s hike is certainly not going to be pleasant. But it feels good--right now, I feel good.

I catch a glimpse of Luca staring at me with an unreadable expression and feel a jolt in my stomach. I didn’t know he was there. How long has he been there? But who cares, I tell myself. He’s being stupid and weird and it’s his problem, not mine. I think. It’s been going on for so long and with so little progress that I have to wonder.

Am I supposed to be doing something about this? I don’t know. I never seem to know anything.