“Not hungry? I get it, but”—he tosses a chunk of bread into his mouth—“free food is free food.”
I accept the roll, but hold it between my palms. “I’ll take it to my grandfather.”
Dorian nods. We sit in silence a few moments until he asks, “How bad were you hit last night?”
“Bad. They wrecked our home, but we’re safe.”
Dorian turns his head to face me. “Can I help you clean up? Our damage wasn’t horrible. Only the outside of our shop was painted up, posters torn down.”
“Oh, thank you, but Nico’s…”
“Veda—” Nico and an Imperi-uniform-clad Arlen approach. Nico’s just taken a bite of a turkey leg and has two others wrapped up. His eyes briefly take in Dorian sitting next to me.
I stand, step toward Nico. “I didn’t think you’d be able to get away.”
“My parents weren’t happy but I convinced them I needed to do more, help with the cleanup, especially since you were so badly hit and our village got next to nothing.” I don’t say it, but we’re always badly hit and his village never sees damage.
“Wait—did something happen last night?” Arlen jokes.
I glare, shocked but also not. I’ve daydreamed about punching Imperi soldiers in the gut, but never have my fingers itched so badly to actually go through with it.
Dorian snorts in disgust under his breath, and both Nico and Arlen glance at him. Sitting on the bench, finishing his roll, surveying the crowd, he looks back at us, then stands. “Dorian.” He shoves his hand out for Nico to shake.
Nico accepts and introduces himself and then Arlen. Dorian doesn’t offer his hand to Arlen, and Arlen keeps his thumbs firmly hooked over his weapons belt at his middle.
There’s an extended silence between the four of us until Dorian says to Nico, “I heard you braved the cheap seats today.”
“That news traveled fast.” Nico side-eyes Arlen.
“Oh, it was all the talk. But it’s about time.”
Nico’s jaw clenches slightly, but he smiles. “I agree.”
“I don’t know what he was thinking!” Arlen cuts in, hand now clenched over the blade strapped to his belt. “Why would anyone choose those seats over the comfort of the others?”
“Some don’t get a choice.”
Arlen cocks his head toward Dorian, part amused, part something sinister, based on how his eyes have narrowed, and his finger twitches over his sword.
“Well,” I break in, “we should get going. Poppy’s waiting for us,” I say to Nico. “Thanks for the bread.” I hold it up and tell Dorian goodbye.
Arlen and I exchange only a moment of eye contact.
Imperi soldiers and Basso aren’t supposed to socialize. A glance here and there, a sterile comment about Coliseum seating, a crack over the Night of Reckoning, that’ll be the extent of our engagement from now on. Basically, not much will change.
As we pass the Offering Wall—the memorial for those who’ve volunteered for sacrifice—a newly added bronze plaque, Maisy’s name freshly engraved into it, is being added. I’m reminded that I won’t ever buy eggs from her again, hear her hearty laugh, or smile back at her infectious grin.
In the distance, Maisy’s family kneels at the edge of the island, her elderly mother balled into her knees, hands against the earth. The image, sad as it is, isn’t what catches me. It’s what the woman is mumbling into the ground.
“Fear the Night … Fear the Night … Fear the Night…”
CHAPTER 8
The short voyage from the Island of Sol back to Bellona is mostly silent save the loud whimpering of an unhappy baby.
Poppy, Nico, and I pick at our turkey, stare at the foamy water as it sloshes over the deck, glance out across the endless sea. But none of us speaks.
When we arrive at the port closest to the Basso village, we’re greeted by several small fires. People have already started burning garbage, broken furniture, and ruined belongings. Poppy decides to check on the bait stand, assess the damage at the market, while Nico and I get started cleaning up at home.
I cover my mouth with my shawl to filter the smoke and the stench.
We’ve walked no more than a quarter mile down the road when Nico skids to a stop.
One of the large Imperi hourglasses from the fishing hole stands before us, so inexplicably out of place it’d be humorous if it wasn’t so menacing. It’s cracked, the black sand spilled into a large mound on the ground. Painted across the glass in what looks like blood, but I assume—hope—is the same red paint used in our home, is the ominous warning TIME’S RUNNING OUT!, the words hugged between two red crescent moons. Next to the hourglass is a long list of unaccounted-for Basso, one of the altars for the missing already forming, candles lit and dripping wax onto photos.
“I had no idea,” Nico breathes, taking in the scene. “How did they…?”
“I don’t know. They defy reason … and gravity. It’s worse than last year.” I inhale deeply. Force myself to stand straighter, peel my eyes away from the scene. “But we’ll come together. Work to clean it up. We always do.” Then I remember. “You’ve never seen this before.” Nico doesn’t respond. “This doesn’t happen up on the Hill. Not like this anyway, eh?”
Still staring at the red words, his eyes narrow and his hands form into fists at his sides. “No.”
I turn and face him. “You still haven’t told me … Why did you sit with us today?”
He gazes down at me. “I think I sort of snapped. That Basso girl inside the Coliseum kneeling, praying to the Sun for protection against the Night … This…” He motions to the disaster that is our village. “You…” He glances away. “Outside my house last night.” I nearly choke on my own saliva at the mention of it. Again, Nico finds my eyes and this time I look away. “I’ve enjoyed that feast every year … The tiny frosted cakes shaped like Suns, how when I was small my parents would let me stay up until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and how now, I’m given a glass of my father’s coveted port like it’s a rite of passage.” He shakes his head as if recalling memories I can’t begin to fathom much less put an image to. “But last night was different. Someone who knows another side of me witnessed part of it, and for one of the first times in my life, I wasn’t proud to be Dogio. Those cakes I used to fill my pockets with as a kid had a bitter aftertaste.”
“Nico … I didn’t mean to make you feel that way…”
“You didn’t. I mean, yes, you being there brought it to my attention, but only by allowing me to get a glimpse through your eyes. Because, Veda, when I saw you outside my gate, two things hit me. The first was, ‘Why the hell isn’t my best friend inside my house, enjoying this feast with me?’”
“And the second?”
“That you wouldn’t be allowed. But even if you were, you couldn’t because you were about to be attacked.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, staring back at the pictures on the altar. “No Dogio have gone missing … We never do. Why is that?”