Silence stretched between them. A fraying rope, about to snap. “They won’t talk to me,” Neri said suddenly.
Ysira followed his gaze to the tables below their dais, where a gaggle of children about his age linked arms, spinning each other around in time with the music. Two of the younger ones played with their enormous pet spider.
“I’ve tried to talk to them.” Neri hunched forward, pulling on his fingers. “They’re afraid of me.”
“You’re capable of things they never will be, and you’ve seen things they can’t imagine,” Ysira said. “You’re different. That isn’t a bad thing.” It was what she would have wanted to hear, but it didn’t seem to help. At a loss, Ysira asked, “Did you have friends in Zivora?” Then she wished she hadn’t, because she remembered what he’d told her in the canyon. His closest friends had been victims of the Harvest.
“I spent most of my time with Cas—” Neri’s voice wavered. “My brother and sister. My cats. Seth.” He paused. “I think Seth is afraid of me too.”
Below among the crowd, Seth sat with Mondral and Solai, chatting with the demon priests like they were old friends. He’d been quick to charm even the most suspicious among their hosts, as was his way, but his smile did not reach his eyes. Ysira suspected she only noticed because she knew him.
“He’s adjusting,” she reminded Neri. “Like you. And . . . he lost a parent.”
“I know.” Neri’s tone was worryingly detached. “He said Father killed him. I suppose it just feels likeone more thingthat . . .” He trailed off. He’d been doing that all day, slipping in and out of conversation as though some other voice had distracted him. Sometimes, Ysira caught him looking off intothe distance at something she could not see. She did her best to conceal how much it unnerved her.
Neri returned to pushing food around his plate. Ysira grasped for something else to say and came up empty. What right did she have to begrudge him for keeping her at arm’s length? She was no longer an ally against danger, no longer afriend of Uncle Seth’s,but Neri’s parent, and his experience with those was nothing if not complicated.
Finally—mercifully—Ysira saw Jacen enter the hall. He looked so odd, and neater than she’d ever seen him, in civilian clothes: trousers, boots, and a sand-colored shirt. He’d shaved, even combed his white-blond hair.
Ysira excused herself—though Neri didn’t seem to hear her—and followed Jacen to a table in a lonely corner, where he posted up with a serving of spiced pork wrapped in cornmeal. His novitiate, the dark-skinned girl who’d left the temple in tears, had joined him.
“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” Ysira said to her.
The girl stared at her with enormous white eyes. She reminded Ysira of a desert owl, the sort that liked to hide inside the giant cacti. She stared a moment longer, then mumbled something about a stomachache and slipped away.
“Don’t take it personally,” Jacen said. “It’s a miracle I convinced her to leave her room.”
He took one bite of his meal and immediately seemed to regret it. Not for the first time, Ysira felt sorry for him. Jacen was sweating as he watched the festivities, clenching his utensils in a white-knuckled grip. Ysira chose a seat that obscured his view of the liquor, but he fixated on Hesaya across the hall.
The erstwhile priest wore red, smiling as she whispered to an unfamiliar woman. Their foreheads touched, then Hesaya kissed her full on the mouth. Jacen’s eyes bulged.
The pet spider scuttled by, two delighted children in tow. Jacen actually jumped, spilling his cup of water. He let loose a vicious stream of profanity and demanded of Ysira, “Did you know about this?”
“Spiders make very affectionate pets,” Ysira said. “They’re as intelligent as cats and produce beautiful silk when properly cared for.” She stroked the front of her gown, high-collared and sleeveless with a web-like net of tiny rubies draped over her shoulders.
“I’m not talking about the blasted spiders,” Jacen hissed.
“You mean that your holy Sister is a rebel spy?” said Ysira. “Or is it the lack of celibacy that shocks you? You must realize you’re the only member of the Church who takes that particular vow seriously.”
A red flush crept up Jacen’s cheeks. “I’m not—” “Youcanfuck Seth now. It’s allowed.”
Jacen seemed rather desperately unsure how to respond. He tried to take a drink of water, found the cup empty, and grimaced. “I thought you might, actually.”
“He’s not monogamous. He likes to share—and be shared.” Ysira waved a hand. “I wouldn’t judge you either way. Most sex is overrated.”
“Is it?” Jacen said faintly.
Ysira smirked. “My standards are very, very high.”
Jacen couldn’t even look at her. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, placing his hands flat against the table. That serenity lasted all of a few seconds before a nearby shout made Jacen flinch.
“Who wants to face a legend?” Kanan Var Mondral was rather drunk, strutting around with his arms spread wide. “Come on! A friendly spar!”
Militiamen banged on tables for him, hollering their approval. “What does his demon even do?” Jacen muttered.
Ysira shrugged. “Nobody knows. Maybe it’s something humiliating, like turning him into a peccary.”
“Are there demons that do that?” “You’re the exorcist. You tell me.”
