by Amanda Foody
“Not at all,” he says. He links his arm with mine and walks us down the path. “And I don’t actually think of everyone as if they’re in a permanent state of lust.” He laughs. “But you know what they say about Gomorrah girls.”
“Careful, that’s your girl you’re talking about.”
As we turn down the path, we bump shoulders with the princess. She clutches at her bodyguard’s arm but never looks at him, as she’s too preoccupied with the sights around her. She glances at me and then recognizes my face. “Oh! It’s you again.” Without hesitating, she links her second arm with me, and I’m so taken aback that I tense. Luca shrugs beside me. “We’re looking for the pillar of salt. It’s supposedly famous.”
“It’s cursed, Your... Reia,” the man says.
Luca raises his eyebrows but says nothing.
Reia ignores him. “I heard it was once a woman,” she says to me. “Is that true?”
“So the story goes,” Luca says.
She smiles at him, and I grip his hand tighter, a bit possessively. “Do you live here, too? You don’t look like you do.”
“My tent is only a short walk from here.”
“That’s marvelous.” She sighs as we approach a clearing with a statue in its center. “I’d love to travel more.” She pauses when she sees the statue. “Well, this must be it!”
The white statue appears to be of a woman, but her salt features are so weathered down that her form is barely recognizable as human. Her head is turned, as if she’s glancing over her shoulder. When Luca mentioned the statue to me, I expected it to be taller. Instead, it’s about my height. Life-size.
I let go of the girl’s arm and creep closer to it, to see if there’s an expression on the woman’s face. There isn’t. If there ever was, the years have worn it away. I run my hand along the woman’s nonexistent facial features.
Someone chokes behind me.
I turn around just as Reia raises both of her hands to her throat, which is spurting out blood. Her eyes widen in terror, and she crumbles to the grass, facedown.
I scream and grasp for Luca, several feet away from me. The man with the princess lunges toward her body and swiftly turns her over. He tears off a piece of his shirt and ties it around her neck to stop the bleeding, but it’s clear she’s already gone.
“Who did this?” the man shouts. The people around us begin to notice what has happened, and they shriek and step back.
“I didn’t see...” Luca says. “I’m not sure what I saw.”
“But there’s no one around,” I say. “It was only us.”
“It looked like...” Luca hesitates before continuing. “It looked like her throat sliced open on its own.”
The man stands over her, ushering the crowd back. “No one move. If anyone saw anything, anything at all, you’ll be questioned. In the name of Ovren, come forward.” His voice sounds more frightened than authoritative.
The people around us whisper.
“The princess,” one says.
“I saw it. Her throat just slit open. There was no one near her. Like she was attacked by a spirit.”
“Maybe a Frician assailant we didn’t see.”
Luca squeezes me against him. “We were just talking to her,” I stutter. “How did this happen? And how did anyone else recognize her?”
Luca shakes his head. “I don’t know.” I can’t blot her panicked face from my mind. She was young. Barely twenty. With the sort of beauty befitting a princess. Yesterday, she was married. Isn’t she supposed to be living a fairy tale?
“We should get out of here. There will be trouble later.” He pulls me away from the gathering crowd. “I’ll take you home.”
He squeezes my hand comfortingly, and I try to pretend that seeing the princess so gruesomely killed hasn’t shaken me, only moments after speaking with her. I’ve spent the last month talking myself out of panic attacks. I can’t let this death of a random Up-Mountain princess cause me to utterly break down, no matter how kind she’d been. I have to be stronger than that.
But it’s hard to convince myself of this when I can’t help but think that my family isn’t okay, even if everyone is safe and under the protection of Gomorrah’s guards. Two people I loved were murdered, and we still don’t know who did it, or how, or why. Nothing about that is okay.
Luca said her throat slit open on its own. It just doesn’t make sense.
“I want to go back to my tent,” I say. There’s a lump of dread in my gut.
We don’t speak on the way there, where members of Gomorrah’s guard stand outside speaking with Nicoleta, whose back faces us. Since it’s only a little past midnight, it doesn’t seem like anyone else is home yet. Unu and Du aren’t running around the yard outside. Hawk must be on her usual hunt for a midnight snack. And Crown on one of his walks. All of them are accompanied by their guards, but, still, I cannot help but worry.
Luca hugs me and presses my face lightly into his chest. “I’m sorry. You’ve seen too much death lately.”
“I can’t get her face out of my mind.”
“I imagine. I... Do you want me to stay with you tonight? You don’t have to stay here. Or I could stay here. If you—”
“Sorina,” Nicoleta shouts. She whips around, and her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Unlike the last time I saw her this way, I don’t make a move toward her. I’m frozen. Last time she cried, we learned Blister was dead. Rather than my heart pounding and urging me forward, I feel as if it’s stopped.
As Nicoleta runs for us, Luca squeezes my arms, as if bracing me for what I might hear.
Nicoleta throws her arms around me. “You’re back. We’re waiting on the others. The guard and I have already sent some men to find—”
“What happened?” Luca asks for me. My voice is gone. I’m petrified, shaking.
“You need to sit down. Sorina, look at me. You’re trembling. Sorina—no! Don’t go in there!”
But I’m already running to our tent. I don’t want to hear Nicoleta tell me that another member of our family is dead. I need to see it myself. I need to make sure this isn’t some terrible dream repeating itself over and over until everyone I care about has been taken from me.
I halt as soon as I cross the threshold.
The throat of the body on our living room floor is slit, blood staining her black-and-white-striped clothes and pooling around her on the floor. She appears untouched, except for her neck. There’s no evidence of her backing away or of a fight. It seems the killer attacked her from behind, and she crumpled to the floor, the shock rigid on her face.
I wail at the sight of her and grasp Luca’s forearm for support once he and Nicoleta enter. “Sorina,” he says, trying to pull me toward him, away from Venera’s body, out of the tent, but I squirm away and rush to her side.
There’s no point checking her pulse. No person could survive that amount of blood loss. But I do it anyway. I check on her neck. On her wrists. I press my ear to her chest and listen to nothing within it.
Unlike with Gill’s or Blister’s death, there is no shock. Maybe because I’ve been afraid this would happen for weeks now, bracing myself for another loved one to be ripped away. The pain of it seems to tear me in two.
My best friend. My sister.
The anger, the grief and the suddenness feel as if a screwdriver is jutting out of my chest and turning, twisting my insides together.
“I found her like this,” Nicoleta says, sobbing. Even though she’s standing, her posture makes it seem like she’s trying to be as small as possible, to sink into herself. “The guard outside didn’t see anything, but someone could’ve snuck in when his back was turned. He wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t realize Venera was here.” She hugs her arms to her chest. “Why would someone do this?”
I don’t have an answer for
her. After a month of working with Luca to protect my family, we’ve come up with nothing, and I’ve failed them again.
“Luca, can you stand outside the tent and make sure no one comes in?” Nicoleta asks. “Let me know if someone comes. Sorina and I are going to clean her up. I... I couldn’t do it on my own.”
Luca opens his mouth as if to speak but says nothing. I doubt he is used to obeying someone else’s commands. He nods and moves to go outside.
Venera. And the Up-Mountain princess. Their two beautiful faces blur together in my mind, and I’m overwhelmed with the horror of it all. Two identical deaths.
Suddenly, it all clicks together in my mind.
Venera and the princess.
Blister and the baby prince.
Gill and the duke.
“We need to talk to Villiam,” I breathe. I grab Luca’s hand and pull him toward the tent’s exit.
“Where are you going? How can you leave right now?” Nicoleta asks, her voice high and squeaky. She tears a strip of fabric off of her tunic and ties it around Venera’s neck, just below the cut. This is not the first body she has cleaned.
“I’ve thought of something,” I say.
“The guard has already gone to notify Villiam.” She grabs a handful of white towels and lays them on the puddle of blood, sobbing silently as they stain red.
“They’re connected,” I say, and my voice speeds up in panic. “The princess from the wedding was in the Downhill today. She died the same way as Venera and around the same time. Then there was Blister and the baby prince in Cartona. Gill and the duke in Frice.”
“That doesn’t make sense. How could they have been linked to those people?” Nicoleta says. Beside me, Luca keeps a straight face, thinking.
I remember my visit to Agatha’s tent a few days ago. “Have you ever heard of a charm doll?” I ask.
“Yes,” Luca says, just as Nicoleta says, “No.”
“It’s a doll that is linked to a person,” Luca says. “Through charm-work. Whatever happens to the doll, happens to the real person.”
“But you’re not a charm-worker,” Nicoleta says. “Or...do you mean the killer is?”
“Either is possible.” It’s just like I guessed before. I must have two types of jynx-work: illusion-work and charm-work. Because I’m missing my eyes the same way Tuyet is missing a heart and that man is missing an arm. Never mind that I don’t know the first thing about charm-work. It fits.
But I never knew the princess existed until three weeks ago. I’d never heard of the Cartonian baby or the Frician duke. How could I have linked them? It doesn’t make sense.
There is the possibility, like Nicoleta said, that the killer is a charm-worker. There are at least a thousand of them in Gomorrah. But the similarity in the “phantom” body parts is too difficult to ignore.
The tent flaps open, and Unu and Du poke their heads inside. Their four eyes wildly scan the room, hopping from Nicoleta to me, to Luca, and then, lastly, to Venera on the floor. “W-what happened?” Unu asks.
“Outside, outside,” Nicoleta says. She lunges toward them, rests her hand on Unu’s shoulder and leads them away. It’s quiet except for the sound of them wailing.
“I’m so sorry, Sorina,” Luca says. He stands three feet away, the way someone would from a stranger. His face, as always, remains expressionless. I wish he would show emotion. I wish he would scream or cry or, at the very least, frown. To make it seem like he cares about the world and about me.
Then he turns around and kicks the leg of our table so hard that coins and kettle corn spill off of it.
When he faces me again, I see the failure in his eyes. The anger. Moments ago, I didn’t want to be touched, but now I run to him and bury my face in his chest. I squeeze my nails into his shoulder.
“She was my best friend,” I choke out.
“I know,” he whispers. He rubs his hand down my hair.
“She’s gone.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I lift my gaze to his, suddenly determined. “We need to find out why.”
* * *
Villiam arrives as we all huddle outside around a fire, where Crown cooks lamb kebabs that no one is going to eat. Villiam wears a pin-striped suit and a brown turtleneck, as if dressed to meet someone important, and Agni appears wearing his pink-and-red-striped uniform from his job at the Menagerie. The people who live in the tents nearby watch Villiam as he passes and stray over to see the commotion.
My strength seems to return to me the moment I see him, but only in a single form: fury. Nicoleta and I underwent the entire trial of this morning to protect our family, and for what? I hop off my seat and march toward him. “Venera is dead,” I say. “Someone slit her throat.”
The people nearby inch closer until a small crowd is gathered to see the drama of Gomorrah’s freaky princess.
“That’s three deaths in a month,” I say, which gets people whispering. “What has he said?” He meaning Dalimil, of course.
“We know he is not the leader, as we’d hoped.”
“Then who is?” I snap.
“He won’t say.”
“My sister is dead.”
Villiam holds out his arms for me to embrace him, but I don’t. Not at first. I pound my fist against his chest, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make me feel better. Then I let him wrap his arms around me and hold me. I feel three years old again, exhausted and scared. It is awkward, him trying to support me while his crutches support him.
“I think I understand now,” I say. “I understand how this is happening.”
I search behind me for Luca, who nods. Villiam’s eyes fall on him, as well, and then narrow as Luca approaches.
“This is Luca von Raske,” I say. “He’s been helping me look into Gill’s and Blister’s deaths. I was going to tell you, but...it’s complicated.”
It’s dead quiet, except for the sizzling of Crown’s lamb and Agni telling the spectators to return to their caravans, though with little success.
“I know who he is,” Villiam says quietly. He and Luca perform a staring contest of sorts. “Sorina, I think we should talk.”
“I think so, too. We all should. I understand why—”
“No, just you and me.” He turns away, and I’m too stunned to reply. Luca gives my hand a comforting squeeze, but his face is rigid. Villiam raises his voice so anyone around us can listen. “Everyone in this neighborhood will be questioned tomorrow about what they saw, so I advise you all to think clearly about the faces that passed you today. One of them belonged to a murderer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Villiam and Gomorrah’s guards escort me to his caravan. I do my best to hold my head up, but I’m only moments away from tears. Venera is dead, and only now am I beginning to understand how. My family has always been inherently different than my other illusions. They’re more than a mirage, more than a trick. They live. And that’s because they’re connected to other living people.
They’re dead because of what I can do, because I don’t fully understand my own jynx-work. I never question what I don’t need answers to. I never stop to think. And my willful ignorance is the reason my family members have been murdered.
As we pass the Menagerie, even the vendors seem to understand something is wrong. Normally they would call out to us to admire their collection of lucky coins or sample a piece of kettle corn. But they don’t bother the guards, in their intimidating, all-black uniforms with swords at their hips. They don’t bother the proprietor and his daughter. Instead, they duck away and whisper words like murder and freak, and I squeeze Villiam’s hand for support.
“You and me alone, Sorina,” Villiam says firmly once we reach his caravan. Venera, my best friend, my beloved sister, is dead, and yet I feel as though I’m about to
be scolded. I cross my arms and follow him inside.
We sit down, and Villiam takes my hands. “How much have you told von Raske?” he asks.
“He knows everything, because I trust him.”
“He’s an Up-Mountainer.”
“So? You don’t even know him,” I snap.
“I’m not angry with you,” he sighs. I hate when people sigh. “You’re only sixteen—this is exactly why I wanted to avoid you taking on responsibility. You’re too young. It’s not your fault that he has clouded your—”
I rip my hands out of his. “My judgment is fine.”
His frustrated expression makes it clear he disagrees. “I want you to tell me how you met and what you have been doing.”
I consider not saying anything at all, but I know that would be immature. Still, I didn’t come here to be scolded like I’m ten years old. My sister just died, and my father is supposed to have the answers, supposed to support me. Instead, he’s letting bias cloud his own judgment, letting his own prejudices distract him from what’s really important. At least Luca would listen to me. At least he wouldn’t treat me like a child.
But I talk. Not for Villiam’s sake but Luca’s. I don’t want the guards to cause him trouble. He’s there to help my family when I’m not. And I care about Luca too much to allow my father to hate him. I’ll make him understand what Luca means to me.
The story doesn’t take long. I’m careful to emphasize how Luca’s entire philosophy differed from Villiam’s, and that I was never certain which theory I believed more. I still don’t know which is right. Because I’m speaking at length, I also tell Villiam about my theory of charm-work and how my family could be linked to Up-Mountainers.
When I finish, Villiam no longer appears angry—only sorrowful. He places his hand on my shoulder, and his voice, once edged with annoyance, has become hesitant and careful.
