“Do you think I can wear these ear cuffs with these shoes?” he asked. “Because you’re not supposed to mix metals.”
Nice that we were both having our own private crises. The cuffs in question were long strands of gold curving over the helix of hisear. The shoes were black with silver detailing. “I don’t think anyone will notice.”
His expression made it clear I’d answered incorrectly. “Obviously people willnotice. It’s more if it looksbad.”
“Wear different shoes, then.”
“So it does look bad?” He sounded agonized as he turned back to the mirror. A new mirror, full-length. He hadn’t liked the previous short one I had in the living room. When he’d brought this one home, I’d asked if it was because he wanted an easier ledge or whatever to step through when traveling by mirror. He’d said no, he just wanted a full-length mirror.
I bit back a smile. “It looks great.”
“You’re no help at all.” He kicked off the shoes in frustration. “The problem is I only have six other pairs of shoes—”
“I’m sorry, what? Where?”
He reached into the mirror, which I’d never seen him do before. His arm slid unsettlingly through the glass, and he pulled out a brown leather pair. “This goes better with the gold, but I’m not sure it’s the right material for the rain.”
Eventually, I hauled him out of the apartment and into my aunt’s carriage. He was still fussing when we arrived, but he stopped upon entering the dining hall, throwing back his shoulders and lifting his head like the proudest peacock in the land. I stifled my smile.
My aunt looked up. “There they are. My niece, Naomi bat Yardena, my brother’s firstborn, and her betrothed, the shayd Daziel bar Cathmeus.”
Four adults turned: two men and two women. My aunt had said people who wouldn’t normally dine with her would to meetDaziel. This group looked older than my aunt, in their sixties, and they wore more expensive clothing, less interestingly made. They looked the way I pictured Élodie’s and Birra’s families, I thought, a touch unkindly.
“Why, Tirtzah,” one of the men said. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
Tirtzah’s polite smile looked pained. “This is Councilor Monteux and her husband, Monsieur Bar Henri, and the Doctors Bernard.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
For the most part, the lunch was fine. Which is not to say it wasn’t awkward. “We’ve not been so lucky to have a shayd staying in Talum for a long stretch before,” Councilor Monteux said. “Usually the visits are as though your kind are blown here and away.”
“Perhaps we could tempt you to visit our home,” her husband said. “Throw a ball, perhaps inspired by the shedim fashions.”
Daziel smiled pleasantly. “No.”
They looked taken aback. “No? Do you have a particular objection? I’m sure we could address it.”
“I don’t want to.”
Aunt Tirtzah closed her eyes briefly. “Monsieur!” she said with forced cheer. “Have you tried the roasted sprouts? The honey-mustard glaze is exquisite.”
On the wall across from me, a line of ladybugs crawled toward the open window. The rain was slowing, at least, and I could see the sun trying to fight its way out from behind the wall of clouds. “Is there any news about the birds?” I asked.
The adults shifted. “I thought we weren’t going to speak of politics, Tirtzah,” one of the men said with a false-sounding laugh.
“My apologies,” my aunt said, and changed the subject. I grimaced into my food. I hadn’t realized it would be political to talk about the birds.
Under the table, Daziel found my hand and squeezed it.
When lunch finally ended, I was as excited as Daziel to flee the scene. Samuel dropped us off on Temple Hill. It was the highest point in the Levite Quarter and the second highest of the city’s four hills. The rain had come to a complete stop, though the pavement was wet and gleaming. The air was cool, and I was glad to have brought a bulky sweater to bundle up in.
I’d never been to Temple Hill before, though it’d been inevitable I’d visit—everyone eventually made their way here. Talum housed many temples—with twelve tribes, everyone thought they should have their own, and that was just Ena-Cinnai locals, not to mention the people from all over the continent who had built their own houses of worship in the city.
The Temple, though, was different. It had been built two thousand years ago, during the human-demon wars. Harnessing the power of shedim allowed for incredible feats—path-jumping, which allowed a person to travel great distances; construction of massive structures; wars of epic scale. All done through stealing magic from Daziel’s people.
All the streets here funneled people upward toward the Temple, though shopkeepers did their best to distract potential customers. Towering over the cafés and shops, the white stone of the Temple’s walls always gleamed in the cool winter sun, the gilded column capitals almost blinding.
We wandered up the streets until we reached the hill’s peak. Though it had been raining an hour before, it was still a weekend, and the tourists were out in spades. A long line wound from theentrance of the Temple complex, which Daziel declined to wait in. He walked to the front, smiled his sharp-toothed smile, and they handed us pins to mark we’d paid the entrance fee (we had not) and waved us right in.
