Has he?
What will the sight of my house do to me if he hasn’t?
Forty-Two
Although most of Eponine’s face is hidden behind her mask, I don’t miss the slight curl of lip that grows as we wade deeper into Tarelexian waters, as the houses narrow, slumping against one another like exhausted children.
“Is this your first time in Tarelexo?” Sybille asks the Nebban princess.
“It is.”
Her answer doesn’t surprise me because purelings usually stay away from Tarelexo. Apparently, their keen sense of smell is overwhelmed by the troughs filled with dirty water that fleck our islands
“It’s . . . colorful.”
And it is. Although peeling and faded, our homes look like a painter’s palette. As I track the trajectory of her gaze, I realize she is speaking of our handwashed laundry that flaps in a gentle breeze.
Unlike the high and pointy, we don’t have an air-Fae at our disposal to dry our sheets. Not to mention, restrictions still exist on our—on halfling magic. The realization that I still identify as such startles me.
“Do you miss your neighborhood terribly?” Eponine strokes up and down the stem of the glass she’s had refilled so many times that Tavo has already retired three jugs.
“In all honesty, no. I miss the people there, though. I miss my grandmother and mother. The ones I grew up with, not the . . . others.”
“Obviously.” She clinks her glass with a nail that is as black as her lipstick. “My cup runneth empty.”
Syb slides me a wide-eyed stare that says,That woman’s liver must be cast in metal.Or perhaps her eyes ask,Am I forgiven?
As Tavo fills Eponine’s cup, his amber gaze settles on mine. “Will the serpents require more wine as well?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve noticed much of your wine ends up overboard.”
“Because the gondola keeps rocking, and I’d rather the wine spill into Mareluce than onto my lap and soil my lovely gown. Living in Tarecuori has given me airs of grandeur.”
Sybille cannot contain her snort.
“I agree.” Eponine presses away the long black strands of her wig. “Diotto, the gondolier is terrible. I want him replaced before our trip back across the channel.”
“That wasn’t—” I nibble on my lip. “The serpents aren’t making his job easy, Maezza.”
“No job comes without its challenges.” She watches me for a couple silent minutes as though daring me to contradict her or to press the issue.
Since I did not join her tonight to debate the merits of overcoming challenges, I turn my gaze toward the cramped islands I grew up on. Amidst the wild blooms and crawling vines, spider cracks vein the facades. When we reach the westernmost island, I sit up and grip the side of the boat.
Though many times I’ve wanted to travel across the bridges of our kingdom to check if Dante had made good on his promise, my Crow minders refused to let me venture out of Tarecuori where the streets are wide and easy to guard.
Now, as we slide beside my little blue house, I am glad they kept me in Tarecuori, for I’m uncertain how I would’ve reacted had I traveled back to my house sooner.
Although no light glows inside, moonlight drips off the shattered panes and drifts across the dusty rooms, catching on the walls reddened by slurs. What little faith I still had in Dante vanishes like dew under a burning sun.
When the gondola turns, revealing the side of my home facing Rax, Aoife hisses, and I clamp down so hard on the bulwark that I expect it to splinter, but I’m not superhuman. Not yet. The only thing that splinters is my cool when the vile words graffitied in black beside the wisteria vine sear themselves onto my lids.
“Crimson whore.” Eponine reads this out slowly. “Your home, Catriona?” Her pleasant tone makes the quiet courtesan bristle.
“Mine,” I murmur between barely separated teeth. “Dante promised to have it restored.”
A smirk plays at the corners of Tavo’s lips. “We’re still trying to find the culprits. He would like to teach them a lesson. Also, he prefers not to dip into the kingdom coffers so as to avoid being flooded by demands for handouts.”
