Iriset raises both eyebrows as high as they go. The body-twin not fully on Amaranth’s side?
Sidoné meets Iriset’s gaze. “I am privy to Amaranth’s thoughts and motivations, but in this, she has no pure motivation. She has always been precise in her political schemes, in every plan and movement. The web she wove to arrange this marriage was breathtaking. But Amaranth herself”—Sidoné lowers her voice again, and Iriset leans nearer until her breath ruffles the fine hairs beside Iriset’s ear—“does not know why she is doingthis, pushing you, demanding we continue this charade. She claims it will be good to have you with us, with Lyric, because you’re powerful as an ally. She’s placing a weapon where she can wield you at will. But she’s ignoring the personal cost of betraying him, and I think the real reason she risks so muchwith you is the Moon-Eater’s influence. She feels something in here with him that cannot be replicated elsewhere. The intensity of it. She seeks danger, seeks to achieve new heights, to prove that her life outside this temple matters, too.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
The body-twin squeezes Iriset’s wrist, fingers digging into the flesh. “Because I see it on your face. You feel him. Whatever she touches in there, you touch it too, and I do not. If there comes a time when I cannot follow her, you must. Do you understand, Iriset mé Isidor? You must.”
There’s something wild in Sidoné’s vivid brown eyes.
Just then Amaranth appears, a hand pushing the lattice neatly aside. “What are you whispering about, my loves?” Her mouth looks bitten, her head tilts languorously, and her other hand holds her robe closed between her breasts.
“You,” Sidoné says, though Iriset would have lied.
Amaranth’s smile is triumphant. She likes attention—any kind of it. Leaning down, she kisses Sidoné at the corner of her mouth, dropping open her robe. Iriset glances at her luscious hanging breasts, and beyond them at Her Glory’s belly, the soft folds of mirané-brown flesh. Iriset’s mouth nearly waters as she imagines putting her mouth all over that body. Does pregnancy make one even hornier than usual? Fuck.
Fluttering her lashes at Iriset, Her Glory bends from a standing position to press her palms to the cool tile floor, seeming to melt a bit, still in the throes of her comedown. Slowly, she stretches up onto her toes, with her hands still on the floor, groaning a little. Then Amaranth stands, arching her back with her hands reaching overhead, fingers splayed. “Tell me,” she commands, still mostly naked. Her voice trembles deep in her chest, more of an invocation.
Iriset shakes her head slowly. She has no intention of telling Amaranth or Sidoné. If she’s pregnant, she’ll just take care of it. Add it to the list! “I have to go.”
Before either says anything, Iriset rushes out of the temple to where Shahd awaits—and nearly runs into Diaa of Moonshadow. Seal Commander Iumeri Selk is at her side in full white uniform and armor, his white mask a brilliant contrast to his dark brown skin.
“Ah, daughter-in-Silence,” Diaa calls, “is Amaranth still inside? We’re looking for her. Well”—the older miran smiles with exactly the appropriate amount of flirting at Iumeri—“this one here is looking for the body-twin, more like.”
“Yes,” Iriset murmurs. “They’re both on their way out. I’m feeling slightly nauseated, if you’ll excuse me.”
Diaa sends her a truly alarmed look, and Iriset recalls that Lyric said he spoke to his mother about her potential pregnancy. “My Silence, you should sit down. Iumeri, get this child some water, would you?”
“It’s not terrible,” Iriset insists, “but I should rest.”
Amaranth appears with Sidoné just as Shahd is taking Iriset’s elbow to lead her away.
“Mother, what can I do for you? Take care, hiha,” Amaranth says kindly to Iriset, and though he glances longingly at Sidoné, the Seal Commander offers to escort Iriset. But Shahd quietly gets in his way and they make their escape.
It wasn’t a lie: Iriset is nauseated. Her insides feel like a cold marsh, and her head rings dully. But she can’t afford to return to her bed and simply rest. These new potential complications area problem for later. Now there’s a silicate anchor in her pocket, ready to be pinned in place. She estimates she needs six more days to get all her groundwork laid since she can’t exactly be overt about what she’s doing.
Iriset hasn’t visited the Color Can Be Loud Garden since the night she held that strange vigil with Lyric, before Singix died, before Iriset stole her face and gave up her own life. It feels odd to be here.
Shahd lets go of her hand and says she’ll fetch ginger tea for her stomach. Iriset smiles wearily, glad for Shahd. When she returns, Shahd will make sure there aren’t others in the garden to witness Iriset’s actions. Maybe Shahd knows more about signs of pregnancy than Iriset and they can talk about that, too.
The Seal guards fan out to tuck into the alcoves and balconies, to peer behind the large, waxy square leaves of ilyen trees, as Iriset chooses her bench. Then the guards disperse but for one, who turns his back to her as she’s requested lately.
It’s so rare for her to be alone that Iriset will take the illusion of solitude, glad she can sigh without expecting a response, glad she can peer at the invisible design threads tying up the roses, touch her fingertips to the little design panel hidden in the plinth of a marble statue. Even taste the force eddies in the air without anyone to see her stick out her tongue. It will be complicated to find the right fork in which to settle her anchor here, but of course not too complicated for her.
The lilies haven’t changed at all, their vibrant trumpets bending toward her extravagant design, aching for her craftmask. Iriset brushes her hand against their tonguelike leaves, picking up traces of red pollen at the tips of her fingers. The pollen jerks into ragged starbursts of ecstatic when the tiny powder touches her skin.
Iriset wipes her hands off on her skirts and sinks onto the bench. It’s a cool garden, shaded with its glass lattice dome and lush trees. Force-fans create a breeze, as they do everywhere in the palace complex. The entire place is such an amazing, intricate design. Designs upon designs, really. Like a living body.
That reminds her of the pulse she used to feel, when she was only Iriset, sleeping at night with her ear pressed to the thin pillows and her palms against the tiled floor. The pulse, like breathing, that holds the palace’s design together somehow. She’s never had a chance to investigate, and there’s no obvious cause for it in the security layers she’d been digging into. Maybe she doesn’t notice the breathing as Singix because so much design constantly runs over her skin and weaves through her flesh.
She’s too loud.
With a little self-deprecating smile, she considers how much she gave up, how much she took, when she became Singix. And yet, even as her shoulders droop, she thinks of Lyric sitting here beside her that night, telling her about brutality. He said her name—Iriset—and she knew even then.
A different Seal guard appears and taps the one with her on the shoulder. They nod and trade places. Then the new guard approaches her, and Iriset glances over, irritated. He approaches with purpose, yet there’s no sign of Shahd or any other messenger. “Yes?”
He says nothing but keeps coming, and Iriset gets to her feet. “What? What are you…?” And then she laughs, for she spies a small force-wire in his hand, curling and snapping ecstatically like an eager snake. She laughs because it’s too ironic, the timing.
Her amusement gives him pause.
