Lord Rodolfo de Allende of House Eternal.
Flanked by two of his bodyguards as he hands out copper piloncitos to Ophir children in the street and allows them to pet the mechanical creature. I remember, then, that the night he rescued me from Madame Verona’s goons wasn’t the first time I’d met him. I’d seen him around the Sleeve before then, this highborn lord doling out charity to hungry street urchins. I’d caught his eye, then refused his coin. “Nothing from an estate born is free,” I’d told him. Rather than turn him off, it intrigued him. He’d been persistent, returning the next night, and the next, trying to get my attention. It wasn’t until I was lying on the street, helpless and vulnerable, when he came to my aid, that I saw something other than a threat in him—I saw a protector. And more than that, if I’m truly honest with myself, I saw a way out of the Sleeve.
I realize now that Rollo had always styled himself as a savior of the Ophir. A benevolent patron. It eases his guilt. Strokes his ego. And keeps him entertained. That big bedroom must be awfully lonely without me. No one to keep him company, no one to listen to his theories on science and mechanics. How automatons are the future.
He’s dressed in his fine, beautiful clothes, and he smiles indulgently as the dirty children surround him. I feel sickened by the sight. What did I ever see in him? How did I ever think I felt anything for someone so patently oblivious and smug? I thought he was kind, that he was generous and brave. But now—seeing him cosseted by his wealth, protected by his entourage—I realize that his generosity is merely a ploy, a way to convince himself he’s not a villain. To assure himself that he’s not like the other Lacon, that he’s better than the others of his kind. Perhaps that’s all I was: a pet like the one he’s holding. A project. It made him feel good to spoil and pamper me. Saving my life was probably just an adrenaline rush. Did he ever care about me? Or did he only care about making himself feel better?
I think I have my answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREEEBAN
“Gin, you all right?” I ask. She doesn’t move, and I look over to what she’s staring at. It’s a young Laconian lord, surrounded by street urchins, handing out coins and candy. He’s laughing and joking with the kids, who leap and catch the copper pieces and wrapped sweets.
“That’shim, isn’t it?” I whisper. What was his name again? Then I remember. “Rollo.”
She nods, still unable to speak.
“Gin,” I say gently. “We have to go. You can’t stand here, people will notice. He’ll notice.”
Sure enough, the pompous lordling looks up and catches Gin’s gaze. There’s a brief flash of recognition, and his smile fades. But he collects himself and turns away. “I believe that’s all I have today, young ones.” He turns on his heel and leaves with his guards.
“That bastard,” Gin says, tears in her eyes. “I thought… I thought…”
“That he loved you?”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “Yeah.” She opens them again. “But it turns out I was just one of those kids to him, right? Someone who hung on his every word, just thankful for a piece of candy, a sliver of brass. I’m pathetic.”
I take her by her shoulders and shake her a bit. “Gin. You’re one of the bravest and strongest people I’ve met. I’m sad to tell you you’re an excellent thief and a great fighter. I know you don’t want to be, but you are. And that guy—he’s nothing. He hasn’t had to work a day in his life, he knows nothing, he’ll die knowing nothing.”
She sniffs. “Yeah.”
I let her go and she wipes her eyes and nose on her sleeve. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”
We make our way to the docks—my plan is to find an unsecured fishing boat similar to the one that took us to the Lashing that we can use to make our way to the cliffside entrance from the shore to House Dominant. After we’d spent just a few days in the Lashing, walking through the Sleeve again, where I’ve lived my entire life, feels foreign and strange. Not only is it sad and ugly, but now I see what Lacon has done to us. The Ophir work as one, as a community of equals, but here we’re estranged from each other, distrustful, wary. We don’t work together—we work against each other. Lacon has taken a lot from us, but this, I think, is the worst.
As if reading my mind, Gin asks if I’ve ever heard of the Chronicles.
“I think so—they were lost in the fall,” I say. “They were supposed to contain all the world’s knowledge of magic.”
“Tadhana says that Ophir was made of magic, that its people were magic,” she tells me.
“That would make sense. The city floated on water. It wasn’t an island—which are pieces of earth that broke off from the mainland, and are part of the earth’s core. Ophir wasn’t part of the earth.”
“But if we are magic, why are we like this now?” she asks, motioning to the run-down shacks and dirty slums.
“Lacon defeated us. Liberation Day, remember?”
“That’s another thing, Eban. Did you ever wonder why it’s called Liberation Day? They taught us that Lacon conquered us. That’s what we call them—the conquerors. That they came to Ophir with their cannons and guns and defeated us, a backward civilization, and set us to rights.”
“Okay… yeah. What are you getting at?”
“So why do they call it Liberation Day? I always thought it meant they liberated us. But from what? Now I think they call it that becausetheywere the ones being liberated. But what were they being liberated from?” she asks. “And you know what else? Tadhana doesn’t call Lacon the conquerors. You know what she calls them?”
“Tell me.”
“Rebels.”
The fishing boats are a leaky, shabby bunch, but I find one that looks seafaring enough. “I can work with this,” I tell Gin. “And I don’t have to row all the way to the Lashing.” I worry the boat will be secured with a lock, but it’s merely tied to two posts.
