To Best the Boys

by Mary Weber

“I’ll take your silence as joy.” He lifts my hand and places a quick peck on the back of it. “And please know I’ve not forgotten your idea to finish your research on the lung illness. I plan to ensure you have access to all the lab equipment you need. In the privacy of our home, of course.” His breath speeds up as he continues—as if the very idea excites him. “Imagine how people will respond if you can offer them health. They will love us, Rhen.”

  I shake my head. The lung-fluid illness? That research was from over a year ago. It took me two years to develop it only to find out it didn’t work. Something went wrong in the process and the cure began attacking itself. I heft my bag up and try to focus on what he’s been saying.

  “So? What do you think?”

  What do I think about the fact that he believes he’s officially going to court me?

  My words stick in my throat. I think this is too strange and too fast. Or maybe it’s a year too late. Maybe I would’ve been thrilled even two years ago. But now?

  I feel nothing but the world closing in.

  His gaze has fallen on my bag. “Am I right in hoping you’ve brought me a token?”

  I grip the satchel. “Actually, I think I left it with my aunt and uncle. I’ll have to go find it.” With that I whirl and hurry off—down the stairs that lead away from him and toward the space where the air and people and mindsets are clear enough for me to catch my breath again as I try to stop the spinning of an evening and event that just went off-kilter.

  My future is my own, I repeat in my head as I run. I didn’t say yes. My future is still my own.

  I don’t slow until I’ve made it down to the outer lawns where the port people are gathered beneath the white lights that ignite the dark and offer illumination while allowing me to hide. There’s a carnival here, with giant swings suspended from the trees as trapeze artists spin circles on them.

  I wander through and watch the children ooh and aah, and the men walk around on stilts with a collection of peacocks and zebras. In one spot people are dancing—in another, waiters are serving while a theater is being acted out in a garden nook. The air is rich with the smell of sugar strings being made in hot spinning bowls. The artisans are handing them out along with popped corn and toasted chestnuts.

  My shoulders relax. This is better. I can think here.

  I pass a group of boys I don’t recognize who are getting lectured on last-minute equations by a collection of parents. I chuckle and push down my nerves. If they aren’t prepared by now, a few last-minute tips are doubtfully going to help.

  “Rhen!”

  Seleni and Beryll trip down the sloped lawn toward me. “We came to get sugar strings!” When they draw close, Seleni drops her voice. “I told Beryll what you overheard Germaine and Rubin say last night.”

  Oh. I glance at Beryll.

  “Do you have any specifics?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t.”

  “Well, in that case, I’d really like to—”

  I drift my gaze across the grass as he keeps talking.

  Except, I’ve stopped listening.

  Because my eyes have landed on Lute.

  13

  Lute is with his mum and brother sitting a good distance from the crowds beside another woman with a boy who looks about half the age of Lute’s brother. Ben is fully dressed and Lute’s mum almost looks relaxed—both of which, I suspect, must feel like a victory these days. I elbow Seleni. “Hey, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

  She follows my gaze, then glances at me.

  “Otherwise, come find me in ten,” I say, striding away. I leave her to Beryll who is still chattering and slip across the lawn and through the partiers toward the small group.

  Lute hands each lady a plate of food before he takes one over to Ben. “Hey, James,” he says to his brother’s friend. “Your mum has your dinner. Ben, bud. You hungry?”

  “Lute, you eat too.”

  Lute ruffles the boy’s brown hair, then grabs the grape his brother holds up and tosses it in the air to catch in his mouth. His brother laughs. “Good job, Lute.”

  “Thanks.” Lute grins and glances over, and his gaze lands on me. His eyes light up with what looks like surprise, or maybe even pleasure, or maybe that’s just my own sudden sense of hopefulness after the conversation with Vincent. Lute knocks knuckles with Ben before he straightens and offers me a wink. “Miss Tellur. Enjoying the evening?”

  “I am. What about you both?” I wave at Ben, who puts a grape in his mouth and stares at me. He turns to Lute. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s Rhen. You remember—she came and played with you when you had the falcon spots. Her da sometimes brings you medicine.”

  I stop in my tracks. I didn’t realize Lute even remembered that, it was so long ago.

  “Oh.” Ben wrinkles his nose. “You like her, Lute?”

  Lute smiles. “Yeah. I like her, Ben. She’s good people.”

  “What about Mum? Mum like her?”

  I grin as Lute laughs. “Yep, Mum likes her too.”

  “Okay. Then I like her too.”

  I grin even wider and take a seat on the grass in front of the two of them. “Nice to see you, Ben.”

  “Rhen, watch. Watch me catch it.” Ben tries to toss a grape in the air like Lute did, but it lands on his lap. He picks it up and tries again, this time a few inches from his mouth. The fruit makes it in and Ben lifts his hands. “Ta-da!”

  I clap and chuckle because it’s the nicest, most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day. Actually, it’s the most delightful moment I’ve had all week.

  The realization of which hits me.

  It’s the most delightful moment I’ve had all week.

  I pause, mid-smile and mid-delight, and stare this moment in the face. Minus Vincent’s strangeness. Minus my mum’s illness. Just Ben’s joy in impressing himself and Lute and accepting me without qualm—as the three of us sit here close to each other on the dewy grass beneath white-lit trees and a starlit sky. Amid an atmosphere drenched in music and laughter and Ben saying, “Watch me, Rhen! Watch me again!”

  “She’s watching, bud.” Lute’s eyes have softened along with his demeanor into what seems like contentment. He pokes Ben’s arm. “And you didn’t answer me earlier—are you going to be good for Mum while I’m gone?”

  His brother quits trying to amuse me and promptly shoves a bite of food in his mouth, then looks away as if he’s not heard.

  “Ben?”

  He sighs. “Yeah, I be good. Where you going?”

  “I told you—just for a day, then I’ll be back.”

  I, too, want to ask where he’s going, but I don’t because it’s obvious he didn’t answer Ben for a reason.

  “Is Rhen going?” Ben asks.

  “You going to introduce us to your friend, Lute?”

  I twist to see their mum. She’s seated ten paces away and her expression transforms from interest to recognition in a heartbeat. “Oh, Rhen! I didn’t recognize you in that hat. How are you, love? How’s your mum doing?”

  I start to offer a quick reply of, “She’s fine,” but the look in her eyes stops the words in my mouth. I swallow and feel a desire to tell the truth to this woman whose very tone gives the sense of warmth of holding your hand until the world is all right again.

  I blink back the heat from my eyes, lift my chin, and say softly, “We don’t know how long she has, but thank you for asking.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her face falls and she glances worriedly at Lute. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “I don’t think so, but thank you, Mrs. Wilkes.” I wince and look away before the guilt from earlier can flare around what is so obvious in this moment—that I am here at a party while my mum is dying at home.

  As if reading my mind, Lute’s mum gently says, “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Rhen. I want my children to grab life’s joyful moments when they can—and I’m sure your mum feels the same.”

  I blink harder and nod in g
ratitude, and Lute clears his throat. “Speaking of grabbing a moment, Mum. I’ve got Ben and James. You ladies go grab another slice of pheasant.”

  His mother starts to argue, then winks at me and acquiesces. “As long as you act like a gentleman and invite Miss Tellur to dance, son.”

  I start. What? Then notice the waltzing tune is carrying more loudly across the lawns. It’s the signal they’re getting ready to officially start the evening. I turn to Lute, and my reaction is the same as what’s on his face.

  “Yes, Rhen, dance!” Ben claps and jumps up to do a jig, until Lute and I ease back and laugh.

  “Only since you asked, Ben.” Lute hops up and extends his hand. “Miss Tellur?”

  He pulls me up and places his large, rough hand around mine while fitting the other gently against my waist, and I am instantly a bundle of self-conscious nerves.

  I try to focus on the music. On my feet. Then on his, because apparently he’s just as awful at dancing as I am. He bumps my shoe, then bursts into a chuckle as Ben cheers us on. “I should’ve warned you first. I’m kind of terrible at this sort of thing.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “I’ll take that as an achievement then.”

  When I lift a brow, he smirks. “You’ve apparently quite the skill for blowing up dead bodies. Since I’ve no such talent, I’m at least appeased that our waltzing abilities are equal.” His black bangs swag down as his gaze flashes to my warm cheeks, then lips, and stays there for a full count of dance steps before he looks back up to lock his eyes on mine.

  And I doubt he intends to, but what he reveals there feels like I’ve just waded too far into a sea that’s about to crash over me. All I know is that Lute is better than half the politicians and people of this world, and no amount of money can make him or his entire family richer than they already are.

  I try to think of something to say. Of anything that will keep my heartbeat from breaking through my rib cage and my head from drowning. Because suddenly the feelings inside me don’t compare to whatever this is in front of me.

  The next moment he blinks, and that hint of last night emerges and makes my lungs catch. It also makes my lips wonder what his might feel like against them, and then I’m wondering if he’s wondering the same thing too.

  If his expression is any indication, he is.

  My breath gets a whole lot shallower until my head is a hazy mess.

  One . . .

  Two . . .

  Three dance steps I don’t take . . .

  Move, Rhen. Or at least say something.

  “Mr. Wilkes,” I finally choke out. “I could show you a dead body one of these days if you’d like.”

  “Lute.”

  “I think I’d like that very much, Miss Tellur,” Lute says, before turning to Ben.

  “Lute.” Ben’s tapping his brother’s leg. “Someone’s—”

  “Well, this is becoming quite a concern,” a voice rings out behind us. “Pardon for interrupting. But Mr. Wilkes, I believe this is the second time in a day I’ve happened upon you behaving questionably toward Miss Tellur.”

  I drop Lute’s hand and turn to find Vincent three paces away. His scowl is deeper than the one last night, as is his tone. He briefly drops his gaze on me, then lifts it back to Lute, whose mouth has curved down in disapproval.

  “Mind if we have a word, mate?”

  Neither of them moves their eyes from each other as Lute appraises Vincent and, after a second, points him over to a spot far enough away from Ben to be discreet. He keeps his voice low as he strides over. “On the wrong side of the estate, aren’t you, Mr. King?”

  I sit near Ben who’s just grabbed the cake his mum brought back to him. She looks at me and smiles. “Thanks for hanging out for a bit, Rhen.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilkes,” I say, then grimace as Vincent snarls, “From the looks of things, you’re crossing into my estate, Wilkes. I’ll ask you once, politely, to back off, please.”

  “You’ll have to pardon my confusion.” Lute snorts. “Are we, in fact, waxing about your grand estate or something else? Perhaps you can be clearer.”

  Vincent leans in and lifts a hand my direction. “I believe it’s obvious what I’m talking about. And as one gentleman to a . . . fisherman, I’m requesting you honor my intentions. Miss Tellur is an old friend who is of particular interest to me.”

  “I think we should let Miss Tellur decide who her friends and interests are. But if that’s what you’re concerned about—trust me, I am quite committed to Miss Tellur’s honor.”

  “I disagree.”

  “On which part? Her decisive abilities or her honor?”

  Vincent’s hands curl into fists. “All I’m saying is stay away from her, Wilkes. Or the next time I ask, it won’t be as a gentleman. I’ve made my intentions clear and she’s accepted. Are we understood?”

  Lute goes still.

  I bristle. What is he talking about? I did no such thing. I go to say as much, but one look at Ben’s concerned face peering up at me and I check my outburst.

  Lute stares at Vincent before he flicks me a questioning look, then tightens his jaw. When he speaks again, he simply says, “Perfectly.”

  Vincent steps back in what appears to be relief. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Then, louder, adds, “Miss Tellur, I believe the contest is about to start. My parents are expecting you to sit with them. I told them you’d be right up.”

  My neck crawls at his words and tone. If Ben and Mrs. Wilkes weren’t here, I’d have sharp words for both men, but I refuse to be a source of further stress on the boy or his family. I rise as if I was just going anyway—when a horn blows across the terraces and lawns, calling everyone’s attention. Vincent nods at Lute and then hurries off to climb the hill toward the Labyrinth’s entrance.

  As soon as he’s gone, Lute strides over and, without looking at me, says coolly, “Miss Tellur, thank you for the chat. I hope you enjoy your time with Mr. King’s family.”

  I scoff. “Mr. Wilkes. Mr. King is misinformed. As was your conversation about me—seeing as it didn’t actually include me, which I highly resent—” Except my words have been drowned out by a kid yelling across the lawn. “They’re about to get started!”

  I peer up at the stars to check the time—drat. They really are about to start. I look around for Seleni, but she’s already running toward me when a voice booms out from the terrace at the top of the hill.

  “Gentlepersons of all ages, please welcome yourselves to the Festival of the Autumnal Equinox and Mr. Holm’s Labyrinth. We have a few regulations, rules, and festivity announcements to go over, so please lend us your ear. If you don’t, you’re liable to lose that ear due to any number of dangers you’re about to experience here.”

  14

  Hurry!” Seleni hisses. “They’re making the festival announcements.”

  “Hold your panties—it’s fine. They always take forever. Now stand still!” I nudge her. “If we don’t get this right, it won’t matter how quick we get up there—your hair will give us away. What in Caldon were you doing with it anyway? Rolling on the grass?”

  She blushes as I stab another pin into her curl to flatten it back in place before she shoves her bare legs into the pair of threadbare breeches behind the row of thistle bushes where we’re changing. She ties a string through the belt loops and tightens them around her waist, same as I did mine, then straightens so we can observe our work. I pat her head. It’ll hold. I hand her a boy’s serving cap, then reach for my own to pull on like a sock over my short hair and ears.

  Seleni wrinkles her face at me. “I have never worn something so appalling in my life. These clothes give me the creeps. Did the men die in them or because of them?”

  I’m tempted to tell her she actually looks good, but that’d only offend her. “Okay, but do we look like girls?” Screwing my brow into a doubtful expression, I step back. “Because from the neck down, you’re good, but your face still looks too much like you.”
>
  She snaps her fingers, then rustles through the bag and pulls out the trimmed oil wick we brought. Smearing her fingers with the blackened grease, she proceeds to wipe it in the creases of our faces and beneath our eyes until my skin feels both smooth and itchy and nothing like I imagine most boys or men feel. When she’s done, she assesses me and nods in satisfaction. “Now you’re a boy, albeit a rather sad and unclean one. Just be careful not to rub it off.”

  I walk around her in a circle, and when we’re face-to-face again, I grin. If I look anything like her, I’m an unrecognizable ragamuffin who lives on the streets of a nameless town. “You ready?”

  She nods, even though she looks like she’s going to throw up. Suddenly I’m wondering if I will too. I’m scared, and I have no idea what to expect other than that at any moment someone in the Labyrinth or out here could recognize us.

  What if Lute and his mum find out? What if Vincent or Germaine discovers us?

  Stop, Rhen. Focus.

  You’re not doing anything different than Sam or Will or Beryll. If they can do this, so can you.

  I force my shoulders to relax and my lungs to exhale, then shove our other clothes and the lamp wick back into the bag and tie it tight. I stuff it inside the row of thistle bushes we’ve just changed behind, then stand to eye the terraces where the crowds are assembling.

  Deep breath.

  Here we go.

  “You good?” Seleni whispers.

  “No. You?”

  “Nope.”

  “All right then. Let’s do it.”

  We do our best to mimic the men as we trek the tall hill toward the Labyrinth above, which no one but contestants has ever seen inside of. Mr. Holm’s setup doesn’t allow for spectators. Just the use of his lawns, food, and entertainment as the partiers wait for intermittent updates from either the announcer or the boys who reappear from the maze once they’ve been disqualified.

  The boys are always met with a combination of disappointment over the fact they lost and excitement over whatever minimal details they’re allowed to give. Like who’s ahead, who’s behind, and who’s likely to end up dead.