“I know the people stroll the avenues, frequent shops, buy desserts—dance.”
“Dance?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Does Kyon Ensin dance?”
“With the right partner.”
The Hallafast sets down on a landing pad on the ground. Kyon doesn’t get up immediately. I glance at him in question. He let’s go of my hand and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the copperclaw I’d left in the lavare. He straightens the black ribbon that holds the fiery flower. “Will you wear this?” he asks without looking at me.
“Yes,” I reply.
His eyes lift to mine. The brightest smile I’ve ever seen from him transforms his face from handsome to striking. “Thank you.”
I lift my hair for him and brush it aside so that he can tie it around my throat. When he’s finished I feel his warm lips caress the nape of my neck. “What are you doing to me, Kricket?” he breathes against my skin, turning my insides to fire, like a dragon, infusing me with heat.
“We should go if we’re going to do this,” I tell him.
He leans away from me, and I drop my hair back into place. When I turn back to him, he takes my wrist in his hand and applies a gel-like sticker to it. I recognize it for what it is: a locator. “Just in case we should become separated, I can find you faster,” he explains.
It reminds me of the one I wore for Trey, and it makes me feel like a huge traitor. Is Kyon really my consort? Did I just agree to that when I let him put his flower around my throat once more?
I don’t have time to think about it, because Kyon takes my hand and escorts me from the Hallafast. As we descend the stairs, Kyon puts a small, round bead into his ear. It’s a communicator. He presses it and a microphone snakes out to hover by his lips. “Oscil, take the Hallafast to the hoverpad. I’ll call for it when we’re ready to depart.” He touches the earpiece again and the microphone retracts, recoiling into his ear. We reach the bottom; the stairs to the ship retract and the door closes. The aircraft lifts off straight into the air and disappears from sight.
I shiver, chilled to be out in the mountain air. I feel exposed. I haven’t been in a public place in so long that it feels threatening. “Are you cold?” Kyon asks.
“I forgot my wrap,” I reply, gazing at the crowded street fair ahead of us. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of people wandering everywhere between the tall buildings and hovering vender carts. This place makes the Taste of Chicago, the largest annual outdoor food event in that city, look like a neighborhood block party.
“Here.” He takes off his navy jacket and drapes it over me. His arm goes around my shoulders. We walk through the crowd of people; they fill in around us when we reach one of the grassy avenues. No one seems to be paying any attention to us. I glance at Kyon, who’s watching the crowd. I pull up short, trying to avoid a rowdy pack of men who are running through the crowd and jostling each other. Kyon scowls at them, ready to take the nearest one of them by the throat, but I quickly lay my hand on him. “Relax,” I order. “I’m fine.”
“He touched you!” Kyon retorts with barely suppressed rage. “No one is allowed to touch you.”
“It was unintentional—we’re here to fit in—don’t beat anybody up! You. Must. Chill. Do you know what that means?”
He looks at me in exasperation. “I never know what you’re trying to say. I have no idea what being cold brings to this situation.”
For all the stress we’re under, his words make me smile a little. I place my arm around his waist. “Walk with me.” As we stroll, I marvel at the carnival-like atmosphere around me. Everyone is celebrating the victory over Skye. It makes me shiver. Do they know what they’ve done? Do they understand that people are being slaughtered? Would they care if they knew?
I don’t get much farther before I start to attract attention. The first person to notice me gasps when I walk next to her. She holds her hand to her mouth, and then she turns to the man next to her and says behind her hand, “It’s Kricket and Kyon Ensin!” She nudges him until he turns and gazes at me. Recognition shines in his eyes. I smile at them as we continue down the crowded street.
“They know me? Us?” I ask, looking up at Kyon’s face.
Kyon nods, glancing over his shoulder at the couple that is now openly gawking at us. “You’ve been major news. The Brothers have been talking about you ever since you arrived on Ethar. They’ve given news conferences. The media here, which is controlled mostly by the Brotherhood, has reported that you have been a hostage in Rafe all this time and were being forced into an engagement to Manus.”
Their propaganda has truth to it. I was never allowed to leave the palace in the Isle of Skye. Manus had attempted to force me into becoming his consort before the Alameeda attacked us. Us. Us? Was there ever a moment when I was one of them, or was I only fooling myself? My own father doesn’t even want me. Did they use me? My heart squeezes tight as I think of Trey. No, that was real. Everything else may have been a lie, but the way I felt about him was true. I loved him and he loved me.
It’s over now, though. I know that. I have to let him go or I’ll crush him. I have no future. He isn’t made of stone, like me.
I glance behind us to find that we’re attracting a crowd. People are beginning to follow us. “Welcome home, Kricket!” a girl calls to me, waving her hand like she knows me. I smile back, seeing delight on her face at my response. She’s absolutely radiant.
Kyon leans near me. “They’ve never been this close to a priestess before.”
“Really?”
“It’s unheard of. You’re to be protected at all times from all possible threats.”
“That’s no way to live,” I reply.
We walk farther on. Kyon stops at a vendor who has the most beautiful wraps in colorful displays from his hovering caravan. “Would you like one?” he asks.
Reaching out, I smooth my hand over a soft ivory-colored one that feels like cashmere. “This is lovely,” I say to the vendor. He smiles shyly at me.
“We’ll take this one,” Kyon says. He holds his hand to a scanner. A bright light flashes over it. When he removes his hand, he gently takes his jacket from my shoulders, replacing it with the ivory-colored wrap.
“Thank you,” I say.
Something is wrong with me. I never would’ve allowed anyone to give me something without feeling indebted or feeling the need to somehow repay him. I’m surprised that I don’t feel that way now. I just feel grateful.
As I puzzle over it, several round, one-eyed camera-bots come upon us. Shaped like white, hovering basketballs, they circle us blinking, clicking and filming our every move. I see myself reflected on the side of building surrounding the thoroughfare. It’s like Time Square’s Jumbotron, but on a much larger scale—my image encompasses every side of every building I can see. I exhale deeply. Smile fading, my heart is a frantic drumbeat in my chest.
“Welcome home, Kricket!” someone in the crowd calls to me. I force another smile. I resume walking, but faster.
“How does it feel to be home?” Someone else calls out. I’m nervous. This is bad for me. Everyone will see this—not just the Alameeda. Whatever I say now could be used by Excelsior to damn me as a traitor. Everything can be spun. Innocent words can be made to appear sinister. The same goes for my answers in Rafe and New Amster. What I say now could make me a traitor there as well. They’d have even more reason to kill me, not that they need it.