Now I’m the one clearing my throat. “I’m just a few houses down, there with the lamp still lit.”
“Ah, good.” He makes to turn and leave.
“Hey,” I say, and Dorian looks back. “Thanks for the walk.”
“Sure. Thanks for the game. Rematch sometime?”
“Definitely.”
He removes his knit hat, unleashing his hair. The longer side is light, the color of the Sun at midday. It’s a mess of waves, in complete contrast to the stubble of the shaved side. Raking his fingers through, mussing it even more, he smiles and shoves his cap into his back pocket.
I realize I’m staring and I catch myself. “See you around.” I give a half grin, then turn away and head toward home.
A fresh BEWARE THE NIGHT OF RECKONING poster nailed to a nearby tree steals my attention and it hits me: Somehow, beyond all reason, I’d managed to forget what day it is for a brief moment in time.
Without thinking, I glance back.
He’s still standing there, all tall and messy haired, and hands shoved into his pockets. “Be safe tonight, V,” he calls, his tone gentle, concerned.
V? No one’s ever really given me a nickname before. “You too…” I try to match his tone. I give a half wave and surprise even myself at how quickly I bolt through the front door, shutting and locking it behind me.
It’s not the abruptness of my actions but the butterflies fluttering in my gut that shock me. It’s a feeling only associated with Nico. Until just now.
I pause, my back to the door, and think on his nickname for me. V. I turn it over in my head a few times and decide I like the familiarity of it, the simplicity of it, when I look up to find Poppy marching straight toward me, arms piled high with wooden slats, his words a running tally of tasks to be completed.
As comforting as it was to lose myself in Give and Take and pantera fish and the flutter of butterflies, there’s no escaping reality.
At sundown, the Night will attack.
* * *
POPPY AND I SKIN, clean, and cook the pantera fish in record time. The beast provides enough to barely satiate us now and salt and store for later. But we don’t get to enjoy the small feast, not really, because we’re eating while boarding up the windows, covering what little furniture we have with old canvas. We jar the fish, store the firewood (last year the Night used it as kindling to stoke the fires), and wrap up breakables.
Everything is moving smoothly until, when I run to the shed for more lamp oil, I find the can’s bone dry.
“Already? It goes so quickly,” Poppy says when I tell him. “We have candles.”
“Not near enough,” I say, tipping the basket so he can see the three lonely candles at the bottom. “This won’t last us a quarter of the night. We have to get oil.”
“I’ll quickly run to the market,” he says. “I need to pick up more canvas anyway, for the kitchen table.” I decide not to tell him it probably won’t make a difference. If the Night get in our home, a bit of fabric isn’t going to protect anything.
“No, no, I’ll go. Plus, I need to pick something up.”
“Veda…” He knows what it is, but doesn’t chide me because, though he’d never admit it, he looks forward to it all year.
“Poppy … We both know I’ll be much faster. You should stay here and keep preparing.” I look toward the windows, the walls: Everything from curtains to the few framed photos we have hanging needs to come down. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
He grumbles under his breath, but finally says something that sounds like, “All right … Be quick…”
I fill my bag with jarred worms and fishhooks for trade. As I bound out the door, Poppy shouts, “Be careful and get back here fast, eh!”
“I will, I promise!” I call back.
* * *
FAST AS MY legs will carry me, I travel from our village into town. I make it to the market just in time to trade worms for one of the last cans of lamp oil and pick up the handful of candied lemon I’ve been saving months for. Sunrise bread. I bake it once a year, the morning after the Night of Reckoning. Traditionally, it’s supposed to have a lemon custard inside. Poppy could never figure out the custard—his was more a glue—and we’d end up throwing that part away. When I started baking it, I bypassed custard altogether and added the candied lemon slices. I place them into a perfect ring right along the middle of the round loaf, so when cut into, each slice should have a sunshine-lemony surprise. It’s cheaper and easier and it’s been tradition ever since.
Unfortunately, the sweetshop is packed with Dogio and by the time I buy the candies and head to the fabric store it’s already locked and boarded up for the night. I swear under my breath for Poppy’s sake, but we’ll have to make do without the canvas.
When I turn to head home, a strange sight breaks my stride.
Imperi soldiers are pasting more warning signs, but also something new. Fresh, white postings cover the sides of buildings, are strung along the fence around the market like garland. JOIN THE IMPERI ARMY! they say. I walk closer to one of the papers. DOGIO AND BASSO WELCOME. INQUIRE AT IMPERI HILL. I read it again just to be sure I’m truly seeing it correctly.
Dogio and Basso.
Unheard of. Basso have never been allowed to serve. Never.
Then it hits me: The Night must be stronger than ever, a huge threat, if the Imperi wants Basso to join their precious army, to break the rules of society as we know them. Faith in the Sun seeing us through this must be at an all-time low.
A hammer sounds in the distance, startling me, just as a woman’s laughter slices through the air. Who the hell could find anything enjoyable at a time like this?
I’d like to spit in her general direction, but, heeding Poppy’s warning, I start back toward our village.
Not five steps forward, I encounter the woman whose laughter set me on edge. Actually, several women, men, and children. All draped in their finest black, red, and gold. Carrying packages and food and gifts up to the Dogio side of the island.
Ever-Sol Feast.
I actually did forget about it. Oh, how Arlen would love to tease me over that.
The woman laughs again.
I glance around the side of a building at her, at the procession. I suppose there is joy to be had this evening. You just need live on the right side of the island to find it.
As if from the very pit of my soul, something clicks inside me. I’m not sure if it’s the woman’s jubilant cackling, the golden sheen of her dress, the fact that the Imperi is finally allowing Basso to join the army now that they really need us—like they’re doing us a favor—or the stress of an impending Night of Reckoning, but I follow the crowd.
I need to see for myself what’s so great. What is so funny that the woman in gold would laugh all the way up that hill?
I stick to the woods a good distance behind, not daring a step onto the path that leads to the Dogio village. Tree to tree, shadow to shadow, avoiding where the Sun shines through the branches, I sneak like the sneak I’m being, following people I shouldn’t follow to a place I know I’m not welcome.
But I’m not ashamed of my sneaking. I am worried I’ll get caught. I’m a bit concerned I might run into Nico, and there’s no excuse that would ever suffice for my being here now. Yet I keep following. For once, I’m not questioning my desire to know more about these other people I share this small island with. I always keep to my own Basso business.