Page 94 of Carousel

His nostrils flare. He no longer looks like the mild, if eccentric man I’d come to know.

Now he looks like his State Craftsman brother – once he’d been disappointed. Or provoked.

“If anything,” he continues, more to himself. “I have been far too lenient with him.”

He breaks eye contact with me first. Skims his gaze over the officers, as though he could burn through them all.

“Do not pretend what I just said comes as news to you,” he spits at them. “Just as I said. We have no secrets.”

He thumps down and picks up his fork. The other officers follow suit, going stiltedly back to their own food.

All but Meg, who smooths her hair, staring at me with an expression that seems pitying, patronising, and humoured, all at once.

Riss scolds me when I sit back down. She says I shouldn’t have spoken to Dezeeves. It was improper. Not to mention risky, yet again, for my Integration.

“You’re drawing way too much attention to yourself. I wish you’d spoken to me first. I could have told you he wasn’t going to just reinstate Cosmer’s Provision. Especially not with Ephraine right there.”

“Riss,” I say, icily. “Just because you can hear every conversation in the room, doesn’t mean you have to listen to them.”

“Remember if you fail, I fail,” she states. “Negligence, remember? And frankly, I’m quite partial to being alive. I’m just trying to protect you.”

“Honestly. After this, I hope I’m never in a position where I ever have to be protected by others again⁠—”

She kicks me under the table. Hard.

“What was that for?” I hiss, moving my leg.

“Your attitude. People are going above and beyond for you, and you’re acting like it’s all one big inconvenience to you.” Her body stoops low as she murmurs, “You should have told me it was you Cosmer did the SPS for.”

I slump back. “Why? It wouldn’t have changed anything. I hate it, Riss. You know that, don’t you?” I ask, watching for her reaction. “I hate that he went through that for me. And I would never have allowed him to do it⁠—”

Huge applause and cheering cuts me off. The morale boosters have arrived – they’re marching down one of the aisles to the beat of their drums. Soldiers wolf down their food or are already on their feet, vacating the tables. Within seconds, they’re working together to push the tables and benches against the wall while the morale boosters assemble themselves at one end of the room.

Dread descends on me.

“Is there going to be dancing?”

“Of course. And we all get a drink or two. They’ll have brought something up specially.”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean of water.”

That makes her giggle. “No. I definitely don’t mean of water.”

The morale boosters, now in a line, commence their first song. It sounds to my ears, jaunty and festive, lots of different drums over trumpets and horns, but it has a strict structure, a hard, fast beat you could march to. Hevalla isn’t known for being a music-loving country, but I can see why it wouldn’t mind this music.

People are getting up to dance. They all know the steps. They sort of hop side by side to the beat with their partners. Cross each other’s arms. Go under them in a line, forming a sort of house that comes away with each couple then reassembles.

“Do you mind if I go up?” Riss asks, feet itching.

“Not at all.”

“Great. Just stay where I can see you.”

She sprints over and easily slips into step with the others.

It looks fun.

I might have wanted to join in…