I shrug. “You have better protection, I guess. More Imperi soldiers roaming your streets … Better locks on your doors. I suppose we’re easy prey.”
“It’s not right.”
“I know.”
“Want to know the worst of it?” I don’t answer, but I hold his gaze. “Here I am, my family brushing shoulders with the highest Imperi officials, helping pass laws and regulations and plans for the island. I should be able to do something. My parents should want to do something. But they don’t. I can’t. Not yet.”
“One day maybe. Maybe you’ll be the one who sparks change.”
“Maybe.” But the word sounds hopeless.
“Still, you didn’t have to sit with us at the Offering, break from tradition.” I turn my head and look into his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re always welcome. But I’m not sure it was the smartest, most productive way to change things.”
“I know … I wasn’t thinking of the consequences, I just wanted to be near you and Poppy.”
“I’m glad you were.”
“I’ll try to do more, Veda, I promise.” I want so badly to believe he can do more. “And with the Offering today … Last night’s Ever-Sol Feast … I’m hopeful things will get better for Basso. We’ll be seeing less of the Night, I believe that.”
I want to believe that too. Have the same hope he’s got. The same faith in the Sun I once had. But just how Nico’s tiny frosted Sun cakes are suddenly bitter, something changed for me as well today with Maisy’s Offering.
It’s like my eyes opened.
And what I’m seeing? It’s not hopeful.
As Nico and I make our way back to Poppy, many are hard at work repairing the damage. Some only stare hopelessly into nothing in a dead daze. Others sob uncontrollably. The latter are the unluckiest of all. I assume they’ve lost loved ones. No one knows what becomes of them. What is known is they’re never seen again. Lost to the Night.
I try my best to search, hoping beyond all reason I’ll find one of those faces from the photos on the altar, when my sight is pulled to the Hill and the northern Dogio perch of the island. So sleepy. So still and safe and content. No smoke billowing from stinking garbage. No screams for missing loved ones.
Nothing.
A short walk up the hill yet an entire world away.
* * *
THE MORE WORK we do around our cottage, the more damage we seem to uncover. The Night weren’t here long, but they made the best of those few minutes.
Poppy’s working and swearing diligently as he hammers our kitchen table back together. I’m chipping away at the now-dried, caked paint staining our floors.
Nico is a machine, bounding up and down the stairs, bringing our supplies back from the cellar and refilling it with everything we took out to make space. Jars of pickled vegetables, firewood, Poppy’s rusty tools. Nico makes several trips from the kitchen to the cellar to the backyard to the cellar without issue or complaint.
He’s removed his jacket and scarf and only wears a light tunic, one that fits him expertly. It’s clearly tailored to his exact specifications, showing the angles of his arms and chest, but in a subtle way, yet one that still manages to pleasingly cast heat over my face. He’s rolled his sleeves above his elbows. The buttons at his chest, having come undone, show his skin, a bit of collarbone, all of it speckled in a light sheen of sweat. I try not to dwell on this, but can’t begin to help it, especially as, I swear, he’s intentionally walking past me more than he has to.
I’m in our common area mending the fabric of Poppy’s favorite chair—slashed down the back with a knife, its insides spilled—when Nico bounds up the stairs.
“Veda?” He stands across the room, several ancient tools in his arms. “Can you get me the keys to the shed? I put them in my jacket pocket.”
I nod and make my way to the kitchen, where his coat is slumped over a chair. Reaching into his pocket, I pull out the keys, but something else, a tightly folded piece of paper, falls to the ground. When I pick it up, the words DEPARTMENT OF THE IMPERI ARMY stare up at me.
I know I shouldn’t, but I do it. I unfold the paper. In Nico’s chicken scratch of handwriting, I see his name written across the top. Then his address. It’s an official army officer’s agreement.
“Veda—”
“Yesterday when you cut Arlen off after his army announcement, is this what you were trying to avoid me finding out?” I wave the form at him.
“No.” He pauses. “Well, sort of. It’s not how it looks.”
Blood rushes to my head and pounds in my ears. “I mean, really, Nico.” I raise my voice. “I’m very interested to see how you’re going to do more to help us Basso when you’re legally barred from socializing with us … With me.”
Poppy walks in, probably curious as to why I’m shouting at my best friend.
“Nicoli. Take those tools out to the shed, please?”
“Yes, sir.”
I throw the keys for the shed at him, but he catches them before they hit him square in the chest. His jaw tenses as he turns and leaves.
“Veda…” Poppy comes over and puts his arm around me, motioning I sit with him.
I show Poppy the agreement.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“No … I mean, I’m not surprised.” His voice is gentle and soft. “He’s not only Dogio, but a Denali. And very loyal, protective. It was only a matter of time.”
“But why would his parents allow him to join? Their plan is for him to take over their business. To marry a Dogio girl and have Dogio Denali babies. To carry on their legacy, not to fight, to govern. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Duty. It’s in his blood.” He pats my hand, and something about him admitting it forces a rock to lodge in my throat. Duty … Dogio have duty. Basso have … I glance around our broken home, but my eyes settle on Poppy. Basso have one another. But even that’s dwindling.
And I have a feeling, with the Night leaving their mark more and more, the Sun clearly not satisfied with the state of things, that war is only around the corner.
Nico walks back into the house, pile of wood stacked to his chin. He sets it on the floor next to the hearth and brushes debris off his shirt.
Poppy stands, picks up a couple of logs, and descends to the basement, giving us a moment to talk, clearing his throat so obviously as he leaves that it’s almost comical.
I make eye contact with Nico, who’s moved into the kitchen. He’s standing at the window and has taken off his tunic only to be left wearing a white cotton undershirt.
I walk into the kitchen and settle next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “Nico…”
He turns his head toward me, and it’s then I see his eyes are red. Nico knows I see, that I understand why, but he doesn’t look away and instead searches my face.
Turning toward me, he takes my hands in his. I inch closer and so does he. Before I know it we’re embracing, arms wrapped around each other. With Nico’s strong arms around my waist, chest pressed against mine, we’ve never been so physically close and I never want to move from this spot, this moment. My face at his chin, I can smell the woods on his neck, the saltiness of his skin.