And I didn’t fall.
I flew.
46
The Talk
Ifollowed my parents into their glassed-in bungalow, drinking in the scent of brine anddrosasthat wafted off the sea and combed through the Floating Garden.
My pulse drummed inside my neck and skull, and my stomach was full of nerves. I tried to remind myself that I’d died—twice—faced innumerable monsters—most in fur, one in skin—and yet it felt like a thousand rockets had been set off inside of me at the very same time. And it all got worse when my father poured himself a whiskey before asking me to take a seat while Nima paced the plush beige carpet.
“Amoo”—Iba perched on the edge of the teal couch and swirled his drink—“you no longer have to pretend to beniceto Remo.”
I cringed, the moment reminding me acutely of the birds-and-the-bees talk Nima had given me after my spirit ceremony. Except this was so much worse, because my father was present this time. “I know.”
He took off his crown of golden leaves and placed it on the cushion beside him. “What we’re saying is that you don’t have to pursue the charade of your engagement.”
“Iba, I understand.” A small smile pierced through my nerves.
Nima thankfully stopped making tracks in the carpet. “Unless you want to.”
I stared at her and then at my father. “I know this’ll come as a surprise, but Remo and I . . . well . . . he saved my life. But that’s not the reason I want to be with him.” I toyed with the tip of my braid. “He makes me laugh, and he makes me feel safe.”
Nima took a seat next to Iba, clasped his hand, and the small gesture made me acutely aware of the absence of Remo’s hand in mine.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this is a side effect of being locked up together, of having to rely on only each other, and now that we’re safe and out, my feelings for him will fade and—”
“That’s not what we’re thinking at all,abiwoojin,” Nima said.
“It’s not?”
“No.” She shot me a small smile. “I know you and Remo always had your differences, but we’ve always liked him.”
“Really?”
“Who’s my newwariff?”
“You might love Silas but you hate Faith.”
“Hated.” Nima sighed. “But that was more her than me. Then again, I did kill her mother.”
“For a perfectly good reason.” Iba eyed the tattoo girdling Nima’s neck.
Her fingers tightened around his. “Anyway, the sins of Remo’s grandparents shouldn’t reflect on him. He was raised by a good man, and even though Faith has been difficult, she is a good mother.”
Was she? One of her sons had tried to off me.
When I caught both my parents staring at my decorated palm, I slipped it underneath my thigh, worried they might change their mind about Remo if they found out whose dust pulsed under my skin.
Iba exhaled a protracted breath. “We heard how you got that.”
“You did?” I squeaked.
“Believe it or not, Faith’s the one who volunteered the information.”
I sat up straighter.
“Karsyn’s been severely reprimanded, by Silasandby Faith,” my father said.
