She ran a hand over the soft leather of a pair of black gloves, then glanced over her shoulder. Malachi had turned to speak with the driver. She spun away from the glove vendor, slipped a hand into her bodice, and extracted the letter. Trevi was bent nearly double to place his velvet-wrapped daggers into the shelving built into the lower half of his cart.
She shoved the letter at him, her hand trembling. He looked up in surprise.
“From His Eminence Asa,” she mumbled. “It’s urgent or he would have brought it himself.”
There was time for Trevi to give her a short, wordless nod, when she heard footsteps on the cobbles. She turned back to the glove vendor and caressed another set of gloves, these a rich brown.
Malachi appeared beside her.
She lifted the gloves. “I like these, Your Eminence. Are they a worthy gift?”
She had no money. But she was hoping the merchant wouldn’t accept payment from the Heir. That it was the choosing of the gift, not the purchasing of it, that had value.
Malachi nodded at the merchant.
She handed the Heir the gloves, their hands brushing as he accepted them.
“Thank you,” he said.
Just then, the first fat drops of rain fell.
They hurried to the canal, where Maris and Cassia were waiting in a large black gondola. As soon as Nomi and the Heir climbed in, the gondolier set off with urgency.
Nomi couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She’d done it. If all went according to plan, she’d see Renzo in just under a fortnight.
And, someday, Serina.
The rain dinged against her beaded dress, darkening the silver. She flinched when the sky flashed above them. Thunder shook the boat, loud enough to hurt her ears. With the stress of her task relieved, her fear of thunderstorms rose. When the boat docked, she scrambled onto shore before the Heir could help her.
“Excuse me, Your Eminence,” she murmured, her voice cracking.
Behind her, she heard Cassia say something cutting, just as a great gust of wind swept her hair back from her face, and the storm shot arrows of cold rain at her. Thunder roared.
She was hurrying frantically toward the palazzo when a hand grabbed her arm. “This way.”
The Heir led her along a path to the right of the staircase, into a twisting garden. Lightning raced across the sky. He pulled her under an overhang, out of the worst of the rain. Gooseflesh rose along Nomi’s exposed arms. It felt like Lanos in the late summer, when storms lashed the valley and the air cooled, making way for the sharper winds of fall.
She looked around, but they were alone.
“I’ve found something you’re afraid of,” the Heir said.
Nomi stared up at Malachi through her wind-whipped hair. “You think storms are all I’m afraid of?”
Lightning flashed, sparking in his eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”
Nomi leveled a stare at him. “Don’t you want me to be?”
His voice rose against a rumble of thunder. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?” Nomi swayed. The rain was picking up, great bursts of it pouring onto the garden. The overhang did little to protect them. Her hair and dress stuck to her skin, heavy with water. Her heart beat too fast, urging her to flee.
“This. Different. Defiant.” Malachi took a step toward her, but it almost looked as if he fought the impulse, a frown thinning his lips. His eyes showed a strain she didn’t understand. “I don’t know if I’m meant to be punishing you, or—”
“Do your worst,” Nomi said madly, the storm egging her on. “You’ve already sent my sister away. Made me yours.”
“You never respond the way I expect.” Malachi ran a hand through his wet hair. He looked out at the hedges, streaming with rain. “When I chose you… I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know why—”
“I do,” she said, rain lashing her face. She couldn’t hold her tongue; she couldn’t be demure. Not when she stood in the center of a thunderstorm, her fear and fury raging just as loud. “Because you wanted to break my spirit. Isn’t that it? That’s what your father said.”
“He does not speak for me,” he snapped, shocking her. “I am not my father.”
“No,” she said, thinking of what Asa had said. Volatile. “You’re worse.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Frustration filled his voice. Lightning illuminated his reddened cheeks. She cringed at the brightness. “You’re—”
Nomi stepped up to him, an inch away, her heart pounding. “What?” she challenged.
He stared down at her through the flashing rain. “Dangerous.”
His lips found hers with the force of a thunderclap. She froze for an instant, and then she found herself yielding, slick with rain, fevered and shaking. He gripped her tightly, his embrace both a protection from the storm and its own tempest.
With a gasp, Nomi tore herself away. His full lips were parted, his chest rising and falling quickly, as if he’d been running.
She turned into the driving rain and fled.
TWENTY-NINE
SERINA
IT WAS LATE afternoon, nearly twilight, and Serina had almost made it to the eastern beach when a storm swept down upon her. Waves of rain soaked through her thin clothes in seconds, and the wind tore at her hair, flinging the wet strands against her chilled cheeks.
Serina kept walking, doggedly ignoring the flashing lightning and ground-shaking thunder. She was not afraid. If anything, the storm comforted her; Bruno and the other guards wouldn’t be patrolling in this weather.
Eventually, she reached the eastern beach. Instead of huddling in the small cave she’d found with Jacana, Serina sat on the wet sand and let the rain wash her clean. She held up her cupped hands and drank what she could. As she watched the lightning flash over the tossing waves, she thought of Nomi. Her sister would be frightened. Serina wished she could be there to soothe her fears, as she’d done so many times before.
The night before, after she’d been banished, Serina had gone to the cliffs and watched for more fireworks from Bellaqua. She’d thought about jumping. But the next morning, she’d still been there, still trying to figure out a way to get to Nomi.
Now, as the storm pummeled her, Serina let her mind rest. Her empty stomach ached. Her muscles cramped in the needling rain. But she drifted, and it was a gift, this momentary haze.
By the time dawn broke, the weather had cleared, leaving a morning as fresh and clean as any she’d experienced. It was impossible to let the darkness win, when the sun rose from the ocean like a phoenix, draped in fiery orange.
Serina wrapped the gash in her arm with a strip of cloth from her threadbare shirt, and then she glanced around at the wind-swirled beach and worked on developing a plan.
Food, first. She’d eaten nothing the day before.
She scrounged for berries and found the kind Cliff had told her about, that tasted like they would kill her. But they didn’t, and she kept breathing.
She examined the trees that framed the beach, and she walked the rocks that built around the narrow strip of sand. The rising cliffs didn’t interest her, but the tiny caves that pockmarked their base did. The one she and Jacana had found was one of the largest, probably big enough to hide a raft.
She was heading back toward the trees, hoping to scavenge more food, when the sound of footsteps rose above the constant drumbeat of the waves.
Serina headed toward the trail. It didn’t occur to her to hide; she assumed Val had come looking for her. Maybe even hoped he had.
But it wasn’t Val—it was Jacana.
“What are you doing here?” Serina asked. Her friend looked even more timid than usual, curled into herself and half hiding behind her stringy blond hair.
Jacana stopped where the waving golden grass gave way to golden sand. “I thought you might come here. I wanted to check on you. Make sure you were okay.”
Serina joined Jacana and sat, staring out at the water. “I can’t say I’m okay
. But I’m alive, so that’s something.”
Jacana held out a flagon. “I snitched this from the supply. I thought you could use some water.”
Serina took it gratefully, tipping a few sips into her mouth. “Thank you.”
“I couldn’t get any food, but that should last for a day or two. And you can use it to collect more.” Jacana glanced back toward the trees. “Oracle is really angry. Most of the girls are.”
Serina sighed. “I know. But I don’t think I’m wrong.”
“I don’t think you are either,” Jacana said. She took off her flimsy shoes and wiggled her toes in the sand. “But it’s dangerous. And we’re all hungry.”
“And why are we hungry?” Serina’s anger snapped and growled in her chest. “Because the Superior doesn’t send enough food? Or because Commander Ricci keeps it all for himself? I heard Oracle and Val talking.… Val said the Commander takes food meant for us.”
Jacana shrugged. “But what can we do? We can’t all submit. Like Oracle said, the guards would just kill us themselves.”
Serina watched the waves slide toward her and suck back out to sea. “What would the guards do,” she mused, “if no one went to the fights? If we just stayed away?”
Jacana rubbed her chin. “I guess they would come for us?”
“But are there enough of them?” Serina asked. “They have firearms, but there are hundreds of us and only about forty of them. And we know this island. They don’t. They stay in their concrete and barbed-wire towers, hardly patrol.…”
“But if we stay away from the fights, that doesn’t get us the food,” Jacana said softly. “There isn’t enough on the island for everyone to eat. You know that. We’d starve.”
Serina rubbed at her eyes. “You’re right.” But she couldn’t stop trying to think of a way out. “Maybe we revolt when a ship comes in, take over the ship, and escape.”
“Is that more realistic than a raft?” Jacana asked softly.
“Nothing is realistic,” Serina admitted. But she couldn’t let it go. “No matter what the plan is, it starts with getting the crews to talk to each other. Finding common ground. Maybe sharing the food we do have.”
“Without letting the guards know we’re doing it,” Jacana interjected. She glanced over her shoulder again, as if someone might come along to spy on them.
“If they knew we were conspiring together, they’d find ways to drive us apart.” Serina thought of the Commander, his eyes narrowed with cruelty. She was sure he would think of plenty of ways to make them pay.
“So how do we get the crews to talk to each other?” Jacana tucked her hair behind her ears. A fading bruise yellowed her jaw, a vestige of training. Serina’s whole body ached from the fight.
“Emissaries,” Serina said, the word evoking memories of the palace. “If Oracle were to send a couple girls to each crew, just to start a conversation… maybe they could take some kind of peace offering—a little food or extra water. If Cave crew shows they’re willing to endure hardship for the greater good—”
“The others might be more willing to hear us out. Maybe even trust us,” Jacana finished. A little light came back into her eyes.
“Yes,” Serina said. Maybe just focusing on the tiniest of first steps, rather than the ultimate goal, was best. “But I don’t think Oracle will go for it. She won’t risk her crew.”
Jacana rubbed her hands along the tops of her legs and then stood up, slipping her sandy feet into her shoes. “I’ll talk to her. Most of the crew was angry at what you said, but some of them agreed with you. I agree with you. There are a lot of us who know we’ll die when we go to the ring. And some of us would rather take our chances trying to find a way out. Maybe there’s enough of us to force Oracle’s hand.”
“She’s going to hate me,” Serina said, dropping her head to her hands. She respected Oracle—she never set out to oppose her.
Jacana let out a wispy laugh. “I’m sorry, Grace. I think she already does.”
Serina stood up too, clasping the flagon to her chest. “If she changes her mind, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
Jacana tilted her head. “Maybe… maybe you could try talking to the other clans yourself? You believe in it. It might mean more coming from you.”
“Maybe.” Serina rubbed the back of her neck. “If the other crews don’t kill me. They’ll probably think I’m trying to steal food, won’t give me a chance to explain.”
“True. But they saw you last night, making your stand. They might listen.” Jacana smiled, but her green eyes were red rimmed and sad. She squeezed Serina in a quick, tight hug. “Be careful. Mirror said the guards like to go hunting for banished girls. Without crews to protect them…” Her voice faded.
Serina’s jaw tightened. “Thanks for the warning. And the water. You be careful too.”
She watched until the girl disappeared into a patch of straggly trees. The sun was strong, pouring heat onto her shoulders, and she was grateful for the water.
She moved to the cave to wait out the heat of the day. Her stomach ached with emptiness and fear.
At some point, she drifted into an uneasy sleep, nightmares of the fight, of Anika’s determined frown, jerking her awake. She dreamt of Nomi too, locked in an embrace with Malachi, golden chains wrapped around her throat. Help me, her sister whispered, over and over. But Serina’s hands were chained too, and her legs wouldn’t move. The harder she tried to get to her sister, the tighter her restraints became.
The man holding Nomi looked up at Serina at last, and it wasn’t the Heir. It was Commander Ricci. And he was laughing.
Serina woke, sticky with sweat, tears streaming down her face.
You believe in it.
Jacana’s voice slowly drowned out her nightmares. Maybe it was Serina’s hunger making her delusional, but suddenly, it didn’t seem like such a foolish idea. Going to the other crews… making her case for a revolt.… A whisper of hope flowed through her. Maybe she could convince them to unite. Even one crew working with the Cave could make a revolt.
And she knew which crew to start with.
THIRTY
NOMI
NOMI COULDN’T SLEEP. Storms ravaged the palazzo until long after midnight, and she flinched with each clap of thunder and flash of lightning, feeling as if she were under attack. Eventually, when the sky finally cleared and dawn crept up her windowsill, she dragged herself out of bed and sat at her dressing table. She stared at her reflection, and it was as if she were looking at a completely different person. Her lips were tender and her cheeks flushed. She stared until her face blurred and her features didn’t make sense anymore. Even wrapped in a warm robe, she shivered.
The Heir had kissed her.
Her mind flashed back to the moment, over and over.
The lashing rain, the heat of his mouth, the way her body pressed against him as if it wanted him. But it didn’t.
I don’t.
Now, away from the rain and the heat and the anger, her stomach turned, thinking about it. Had she kissed him because she knew she had to? Because, with the Heir, it wasn’t a choice?
She wasn’t sure.
Either way, it felt like a betrayal to Asa.
And to herself.
Angeline bustled into the room, a scrap of material clutched to her chest. “Ines says the Heir has requested breakfast on the beach with his Graces. It’ll be nice to spend some time in the sun, right?”
With the Heir? Nomi’s stomach balked.
Angeline laid the fabric out on the bed—a black swimming robe. “It’s such a beautiful day. The sky is so clear. You’d never know we had storms yesterday.”
“Yes,” Nomi echoed faintly, staring fixedly at her reflection.
“Are you well?” Angeline asked. “You seem a bit preoccupied. Was yesterday’s outing taxing?”
Taxing? The Heir called me dangerous. And then he kissed me.
The words wanted to form on Nomi’s lips. She wanted to talk about it. But s
he wanted to talk to her sister. Nomi thought of her letter, traveling north to Lanos. She thought of Asa, preparing to launch a false case against his brother.
The Heir is right. I am dangerous.
After she’d donned her swimming robe, Nomi joined the others in the receiving room. Ines led them down through the palazzo and onto the beach. Bleary-eyed and reluctant, Nomi followed Cassia and Maris out into the glaring sunlight.
A wrought-iron table had been set up a few yards from the water, on a black-and-white-checked carpet. Heavy white drapes were staked out above it to provide shade. Next to the table, a row of chaises were lined up like soldiers in the sun.
The Heir sat alone at the table. Cassia stepped forward quickly to snag the seat next to him, while Maris and Nomi slowly picked their way to the table; Nomi’s strappy sandals wobbled and filled with sand. She kept her head down. Her skull felt too full, tight and near to bursting with all that had happened the night before.
Would Malachi expect more of the same?
Of course. You’re his Grace.
She was his. The thought filled her mind, inescapable. It wouldn’t matter that she had feelings for Asa. That she didn’t want Malachi to touch her.
She’d comforted herself that Cassia had caught his eye. She’d counted on him responding to the girl’s enthusiasm. But what if Malachi chose Nomi to grace his bed the night of his birthday? What if her behavior last night had ignited his interest in her?
“What happened to you and Malachi yesterday?” Maris asked quietly. “You both disappeared so abruptly. Cassia was livid.”
Nomi might have told Maris everything, but not here. Not with Cassia and Malachi so close. So instead, she said as casually as she could, “He helped me get out of the rain. Took pity on me for being so frightened.”
It wasn’t pity, she knew. It was his volatility. Ignoring her for weeks, then seeking her out. Kissing her in the middle of an argument—in the middle of a storm.
“He went tearing after you,” Maris said. “I wish he’d have done the same for us. We got soaked walking up those stairs, and I thought for certain I’d slip and break an ankle.”
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