“Of course,” Thomas says. “My apologies, Miss Carter. Rain’s been having trouble making a career commitment."
“At least he has a choice,” I say. “Those of us who didn’t grow up Patrician get arrested for so much as questioning the career assigned to us.”
Thomas nearly chokes on his drink. “Excuse me?”
“I think what Miss Carter is trying to say,” Forest says. “Is that she appreciates very much how our government provides jobs for them.”
I’m about to correct him, but seeing Thomas’s face redden makes me realize I’d better not overstep my bounds. He is a politician, he does work for Chief Titus Whitcomb, and he will have me sent back to the prison if I demonstrate any signs of treason.
I smile politely and pick up my glass. “Yes. That’s exactly what I meant.”
Rain snorts and stuffs his last bite of his steak into his mouth.
“What’s the weather like this time of year in the Community Garden?” Thomas asks.
Now it’s my turn to choke on my drink. Why are we talking about the weather? “Freezing,” I say when I recover. “It’s winter, and we don’t have a cupola to keep us warm.”
My mockery goes unnoticed by all but Rain, who snickers across the table.
Thomas continues asking me questions about life in the Community Garden, but the conversation is strained, the atmosphere tense. The rest of the conversation is shallow, and I offer safe answers to Thomas’s questions with a fake smile. The whole time, Rain stares at me from across the table, an amused look in his eyes and two fingers planted over two smirking lips. It’s unnerving. The tension leaves my body when dinner’s finally over and Forest escorts me outside.
Finally.
“I’m sorry about tonight.” He leads me to the waiting jeep. “I didn’t realize how pointed my father’s questions would be. And Rain—”
“Don’t apologize for Rain.”
“He’s a shoddy jackal.” He leans his hip against the vehicle and drags his hand down the length of his face. “Don’t listen to a word he says.” He crosses his arms, stares down at me. “You are attending the Feast of St. Nick tomorrow, right?”
“Um…I don’t think so.”
Forest’s eyebrows furrow. “Why not?”
“I don’t really…I’m not…Frankfort material.” I peek up at him. “I don’t think I would exactly fit in.”
“Well, of course you would. You’re a Patrician.”
I bristle at the way he says that. Because apparently Proletariats wouldn’t fit in, but I have Patrician blood, so I’m magically one of the rich kids.
“Please, Ember.” Forest takes my hand, and the gesture is so intimate, I have trouble finding my tongue. “Please come. I’d love to see you there.”
“Why?” I pull away from him because he’s engaged to another woman. “Why do you want me to go? So you can show off your fiancée?”
He winces and I immediately feel bad. I shouldn’t be so snarky, but I’m so incredibly irritable after that dinner with his father and Rain, not to mention seeing all that fresh food that doesn’t get past the shoddy Frankfort cupola. And I’m still hung up on what Judah said about never trusting a politician. What’s more, Forest never told me about the special power the Patricians have. The power that I don’t fully understand. So why should I trust him? And why should I feel any obligation to go to that shoddy party tomorrow?
I take a deep breath, let it out, force calm into my voice.
“Listen,” I look at Forest. “I’m sorry if I seem harsh. I don’t really care about the celebrations. I’m just trying to get through the next few days so I can go home and resume my normal life.”
His frown deepens. “You want to return to the…the Community Garden?”
“Of course I do. It’s my home.”
He looks down, his brows furrowed in thought, then he looks at me, his eyes deep and compelling. “You may not be able to return home that soon, you know. You have until they figure out what’s going on with you, and even then, Chief Whitcomb may have other plans.”
“Plans? Titus, the Chief, might have plans for me?” Now I’m really confused. “Why on earth would he give a jackal’s nuts about me?”
Forest waves his hand in the air impatiently. “You’re an interesting specimen, Miss Carter. A new project that has opened up a new realm of possibilities. Possibilities that Chief Whitcomb doesn’t like very much, because if there are other unregistered Patricians out there, it could mean he’ll lose control.”
Unregistered Patricians?
“Control of what, exactly?”
“Of the people.” His voice lowers and he steps closer, intoxicating cinnamon filling the air around me. “People like you.”
I blink. What is he saying? Something Mcallister said earlier flashes through my mind. They can’t control you. What the shoddy rot did he mean by that?
“Whitcomb can’t strip me from my home because of some past events I had no control over,” I say.
Forest laughs softly. “Whitcomb can do whatever he likes. He’s the chief, you know.”
Of course I know. Who doesn’t know?
“Don’t roll your eyes, Ember.” Forest’s smile vanishes and his features become dead serious. “I went to school with Titus. Even then, everyone knew not to cross him. He has a bad temper, to put it lightly.”
“I thought you two got along? I thought you said he liked you?”
“He does. But that’s because I know how to stay on his good side.”
“Yes.” I give a whimsical sigh and dust some imaginary lint off my dress. “I suppose spying on the Proletariat in taverns and trying to use us to get to the Resurgence would keep you on the Chief’s good side.”
If he’s trying to fool me by looking shocked, he’s doing a good job.
“I wasn’t spying on you at the tavern,” he says. “And I’m not trying to use you. Holy Crawford, Ember. Do you really think so little of me? Do you really see me as some monster whose sole purpose is to torture you? What on earth have I done to make you so skeptical?”
I open my mouth, then close it. Because he hasn’t really done anything to deserve my doubt. Except not rescue me when my death sentence was set in stone. But he claims he didn’t have the power to help me in that moment.
I release a sigh and look at him. “What were you doing at The Tap, if you weren’t spying?”
“It’s not every day that I get out of my…Frankfort bubble to experience a different side of the population. I just wanted to see what the Proletariat life was like.”
“Why would that interest you?”
“As a congressman, it’s my job to know how the country is run and how its citizens are doing.”
“So you wanted to make sure everyone was working diligently, because lord knows we’re the backs you Patricians stand upon.”
He winces.
Regret floods my veins. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never been this snappy to anyone. Why do I feel the need to be this way to Forest? Especially after he invited me to dinner tonight? Despite Judah’s warning, Forest has done nothing to deserve my bitterness. He’s only been the kindest person to me since I arrived to Frankfort.
He clears his throat and opens the jeep door for me. “I can see I made a complete mistake coming out here. I apologize.” He bows and strides back toward his house.
No. Don’t leave, I want to say. “Why did you walk me all the way out here, anyway?”
He pauses, turns his head slightly. “I was going to ask you if I could escort you to the Feast of St. Nick tomorrow night, but I think I already have my answer.”
My heart twists. I open my mouth to respond, but he’s already walking through the door and closing it behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I’m alone the next morning, the fingers of guilt wrapping around my throat for turning Forest down. I almost write a letter of apology to him, but have no idea how to get it to him. I don’t really know how to call him on the phoneba
nd, either. And I almost ask LeighAnn, when Judah’s warning comes back to me, and I decide not to apologize. What good would it do? He’s dating Olivia Doss, so who cares what he thinks of me? Besides, if all goes well, I’ll hopefully leave this place in two days and never look back. So it wouldn’t matter on what terms I leave, now would it?
Two days. Just two more days until I can go home.
I spend the day experimenting with my new art supplies. I could seriously get lost in painting, coloring, and sketching, and never see another person for days.
By mid-afternoon, LeighAnn enters the room to help me prepare for the party. She brings a hairdresser, River. They bring to my room the most elegant gown I’ve ever seen. LeighAnn calls it a Victorian era dress. It has hoops, a thing called a petticoat, and loads and loads of crimson fabric.
“Red is the color of Christmas,” LeighAnn explains. “You’ll look very festive for the Feast of St. Nick.”
River pulls out a small black bag from her satchel. “But first, we do your makeup.”
They set me in a chair with the bathroom lights focused on my face and then spread black, thick liquid on my eyelashes.
“You don’t need those fake lashes like most ladies wear,” LeighAnn says as she brushes the liquid on. “Your eyelashes are naturally long and thick.”
If they are already thick, I wonder, why do they need to paint them? Gold powder is spread on my eyelids, then they use a black pencil around the edges of my eyes. And they keep painting my face until I wonder if there will be any piece of me left when they finish.
“You’re the talk of the city.” River plugs the curling iron in. She takes a strand of my hair and curls it. “When we’re finished here, even Chief Whitcomb won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”
Oh. Chief Whitcomb. He’ll be there. He’s hosting the party. He invited me, after he saw me in the arena and decided I wasn’t worth saving. How strange that he would change his mind so quickly about me. Worms begin reproducing more worms in my stomach until I suddenly feel sick at just the thought of seeing this unstable chief.
“Is everything okay, dear?” LeighAnn asks. She must have noticed my sour expression.
“The perfumes are a bit much.” If no one notices me by my elaborate dress, they’ll definitely notice me by the strong smell that will invade the room at my presence.
My hair is curled, then put up in an intricate braid that crowns my head, with the rest falling down my left shoulder in an inky, black mass. It makes my neck look long and elegant and makes my shoulders look slender. River pins some holly into the braid.
“Now, for the dress,” LeighAnn says.
I follow them into the dressing room. River strips me down to nothing while LeighAnn picks up a series of slips and under garments and helps me dress. If I had this much fabric at home, I could make enough clothes for all the girls in my class.
The dressing portion takes the longest. They tie some complicated bodice around my waist, tightening it until my lungs have no room to expand, then pull hoops up over that. And then they pull the most beautiful part over my head. The fabric falls over the hoops in lovely layers of crimson taffeta.
River tightens the back of the dress with black shoelace-like strings. Black lace falls loosely over my shoulders like sleeves, but I realize they’re only there for decoration, because the strings on the back are what hold the dress up.
“And now, the final touch. A diamond necklace.” River tells me to spin around so she can put the necklace on.
Three strands of black diamonds wrap around my neck and connect at the front of my throat, then drip down to a larger white diamond the size of a coin. I’ve never seen a real diamond.
When I look at my reflection again, I don’t even recognize myself. “Can you tell me why I’m being showered with elaborate gifts?”
Both LeighAnn’s and River’s eyes widen in shock.
“I mean, I’m not ungrateful.” I quickly glance at the camera. “It’s just…I was a prisoner two days ago, and now I’m wearing diamonds and lace, attending the Chief’s banquet. What’s up with that?”
“You’re of noble blood, Miss Carter, and you’ve been pronounced innocent,” LeighAnn says. “These aren’t gifts. They’re what is to be expected for a Patrician like you.”
I wish everyone would quit calling me that. Just because I came from the bloodline of the founders of this country does not make me Patrician. Nor should it make me automatically innocent. I mean, I know I’m innocent, but that’s not why I was forgiven. Since coming to Frankfort, absolutely nothing has made sense and everything confuses me.
After handing me black velvet gloves that reach my elbows, LeighAnn and River leave for their dinner break.
“Your escort will be here shortly,” LeighAnn says, and they’re both out the door.
My escort. Whoever that is. It’s not Forest and that’s my fault. My own shoddy fault. I insulted him. I was short with him. I was snappy and cranky and so ready to get out of his elegant presence that I went two steps too far, and he walked off.
And now I’m in this mess.
I heave out a sigh and perch on a stool.
Who will my escort be? Another politician? I imagine some boring black suit offering me his arm, exchanging a few words of mundane small talk, and an extremely boring evening surrounded by Patricians. Nothing like the magical evening it could have been with Forest, who makes me feel worthy and beautiful and safe.
Forest, who’s engaged to Olivia Doss.
The next few minutes pass by slowly. I know River told me not to touch anything because I’ll get my manicured hands dirty, but I pull off my gloves and pick up the basket containing the paint, brushes, and oil canvas. Painting is probably the last form of art I should do while wearing this dress, but it’s the only thing I want to do right now.
After placing a blanket on my lap to protect my dress, I spread the canvas on a desk in front of the window, then select the colors. Tangerine for the sunset. Silver, midnight blue, and onyx for the city and its shadows. And lime, for the tiny patch of the Community Garden I imagine in the distance. The patch that is my home.
I begin to paint.
I don’t have as much experience in painting as I would like, using crusty paints on old paper or cardboard boxes, and I’ve never had lessons. But this is a new, crisp canvas, and these paints have never been used, nor have their brushes, so I take utmost care not to make a single mistake. I pull out a brand new brush, dip it in the thick orange oil, and spread it across the white canvas.
And I completely lose myself.
While I paint, I decide that it doesn’t matter that Forest isn’t escorting me. I mean, I kind of deserved his cold shoulder. And maybe it’s good that I keep my distance from him. As if anything would come out of dating a politician anyway. We’re from two entirely different worlds. And he’s not available.
I dip my brush into the yellow paint and merge it into the orange, turning it into a coral hue for the sunset. A light knock sounds at the door. I look at the clock. It’s already time for the escort to be here. I quickly wipe my hands off on a cloth and cross the room.
“Come in.” I pull one glove over a paint-stained hand.
The door cracks open. A slender boy steps in.
And my heart plummets into my gut.
Because Rain, of all people, is my escort.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Rain,” I mutter.
He wears a black suit with a crimson vest that matches my dress. Shaggy hair falls down his ears and into his eyes.
He latches the door behind him and grins. “Don’t sound so disappointed.” He steps toward me and bows at the waist, as though I were related to Chief Whitcomb himself. “I’m your escort tonight.”
“Um…” Every word I’ve ever learned has decided to take a vacation because none of them want to face Rain. “Actually…I-I don’t need an escort.”
“Oh.” He winces, and I almost feel bad, but then he covers all emotion
with a smirky smirk and says, “Well, I suppose you could attend the party by yourself. You probably know how to get to the ballroom. And surely you know all the customs that take place, and I’m sure you’ve learned the traditional dance of St. Nick. And of course you won’t skip out because you’ll deeply offend the chief if you do.” He offers an arrogant half-smile and spins on his heel. “See you there, little apple picker.”
Deeply offend the chief? “Wait.” The word slips from my mouth before I can stop it.
He pauses at the door and glances over his shoulder with gray mocking eyes. “Yes, Patrician Sister?”
I grit my teeth, but bite back any rude comments. I’m terrified of crowds. I can’t go to the party alone. “The chief would be…offended if I didn’t go?”
He turns fully around to face me. “Well of course he would. His ego is very fragile. You received a special invitation, yes?”
“I guess.”
“So not going would be a complete insult. A proverbial slap to the face of our leader.”
I groan. Pull the other glove over my fingers. “I guess you can take me.”
“Ah.” Winning smirk back. “What an honor.”
I loathe how his voice drips with sarcasm. But he’s right. I know nothing of the Christmas celebrations. And there’s no telling what the chief would do if I offended him. I don’t know why he would even care if I showed up tonight, but whatever. According to Forest, he’s not a person to be crossed, so why risk it when I’m so close to going home?
“Shall we?” Rain extends his elbow.
I stare at it, wishing it were Forest’s. Letting out a sigh, I link my arm through his, catching the whiff of peppermint coming off his clothes. His steps are light as he leads me from the room and down the hall toward the elevator.
“LeighAnn told me you looked magnificent,” he says. “But I didn’t realize you would leave me breathless.”
My cheeks grow warm at the compliment, but I quickly remind myself that he’s probably used that phrase on hundreds of girls, so I shrug it off.
“You know LeighAnn?” I ask.
black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1) Page 16
