It was such an affectation, Nothing laughed.
Kirin’s expression darkened, and she laughed harder.
“Never mind her,” Sky said reassuringly. “I appreciate it.”
The prince narrowed his eyes at Nothing, then painted sweetness back onto his face and fluttered his lashes at Sky. “You can eat, then.”
Nothing kept her smile on as she stood and stripped off her clothes. Kirin’s eyes widened and she just shrugged. She hung the shirt and trousers on the pavilion to dry.
“Demon,” Kirin accused as she passed him, walking to the rear of the barge to spread herself out in the sun.
A while later Kirin dropped a robe on her. “Food,” he said.
Having been lightly asleep, Nothing rubbed her eyes. Her skin felt hot and maybe slightly burned. She grimaced, practicing wild, scary faces that bared her teeth and widened her eyes into saucers. Then she wrapped herself in the robe and joined Kirin and Sky at the stove.
They lounged on pillows, eating lentils Kirin had cooked with dried meat and peas. The sun dragged down, pulling clouds with it in long orange streaks. At one point Kirin stood and went to the rail to offer lentils to the Selegan. The sight warmed Nothing’s heart. Though it had been a long day, it had been a good one, and she wanted to remain on the river forever.
When Kirin rejoined them, his shoulder leaning against Sky’s, Nothing said, “Kirin you should make Sky your First Consort.”
Sky stilled, and Kirin frowned, carefully not looking at his bodyguard.
Nothing said, “He deserves to be First. What does it matter your heirs would come from a Second Consort? If you can’t do it, you should let him go.”
“Nothing,” Sky said in a warning rumble.
“Make Sky your First,” she challenged. “It is a better offer than Second. He deserves it.”
“And would you be my Second?” Kirin sneered.
“Kirin, don’t.” Sky made it a command.
Both Kirin and Nothing stared at him, shocked.
Sky gritted his teeth and leveled Nothing with a brief, meaningful look. Then he faced Kirin. “If you ask, she’ll say yes. She always does what you ask.”
“We are going to free her,” Kirin said, and it was tinged with just enough regret to infuriate Nothing.
She tucked her knees to her chest and planted her chin there.
“Does that matter?” Sky sounded almost tender now. “You never owned my name, and still I do as you wish.”
“Because you want to,” Kirin argued. “Because I’m right.”
“And you’re the Heir to the Moon.”
Kirin shrugged one shoulder, haughty and cool.
Nothing snorted. “How do we even love you?”
A triumphant smile spread slowly across his wicked mouth. “A heart has many petals.”
Sky glowered, but it was shadowed with amusement.
They were helpless for the prince, Nothing knew, and she lay back, hands folded against her chest. She went to sleep listening to her prince and her friend quietly bicker and tease, until Kirin finally whispered, “Would you say yes?” and Sky whispered back, “If you ask.”
THIRTY-TWO
NOTHING WAITED THREE MORE days before taking another taste of the pear. Partly because she didn’t think to earlier. When she remembered it, she was stunned at her own forgetfulness.
It was just before dawn, before either of the boys woke, before villagers put their small fishing boats out onto the river, and she nibbled at the edge of her previous bite: surprisingly none of the pear had browned or bruised, despite her keeping it in her pocket.
She opened her eyes in the sorceress’s bedroom. One entire wall was comprised of mirrors in many shapes and sizes. The sorceress knelt before a rectangular mirror that leaned against the wall. A rainbow of paint pots was arrayed around her. She leaned in and drew a curving feather of bright blue down her cheek with a thin brush.
Nothing did not speak, but met the sorceress’s eyes in the mirror.
“Hello,” the sorceress said. She flicked her brush against her chin, completing the delicate feather, and set the brush down on a scrap of cloth.
Still Nothing remained quiet. She’d thought, lying awake in the first light over the barge, as the stars diminished, that maybe the sorceress watched the morning arrive too. It had made her feel cold and lonely. So she’d come.
“Nothing,” the sorceress said in a light singsong. Coaxing Nothing to speak.
“Do you think I can do magic away from the mountain?” Nothing asked in a rush.
“Yes.”
Nothing sat down abruptly. “Just as easy as that?”
“You can speak with spirits and demons, you can hear the aether and see it, can’t you? So you can do magic.” She picked a new brush and dipped it into a pot of vivid gold. With it, she dotted tiny sparkles along the feather on her cheek, as though it shed glittery sunshine.
“How?”
“Ask a witch. Ask the great demon of the palace. Ask someone who is with you.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Come home and I’ll teach you more.”
Nothing scooted closer. “Paint my face?”
The sorceress turned and patted a pillow beside her. Nothing situated herself upon it, facing the sorceress. “Be still,” the sorceress said.
Nothing closed her eyes. The first touch of the brush surprised her, and she jerked from the cold paint.
“Nothing,” the sorceress chided.
“Sorry,” she answered with a grimace before relaxing her expression.
It became soothing: the stroke of paint, the tickle as it dried, the absence and soft tap-tap of a brush to the rim of a pot. Nothing tried at first to track the shape of the strokes as they covered her left cheek and curled around her mouth, as they fluttered over her left eyelid and just barely lined her right eye. She breathed slowly and evenly, finding great calm in merely sitting and holding still. It was easy, she realized: just existing in the sorceress’s presence. She liked it.
“Do you remember the first dinner we shared?” the sorceress asked. “You arrived with your face painted like a furious green demon, with red eyes and a scowl.”
“I was angry. I wanted to be scary.” Nothing opened her eyes. “I didn’t know how it would make you feel.”
The sorceress wore a soft smile. “How did it make me feel?” she asked tenderly.
“Like you were right about me.”
“You surprised me, and I am not used to being surprised.” The sorceress leaned in. “I liked it. I like you, Nothing. I like what you are now.”
“I like you, too, except…” Nothing stopped. She licked her lips and tasted paint. As she started to turn to look in the mirror, the sorceress flattened her hand against the frame and it blackened. Nothing scowled for real now. “What?”
“What don’t you like?” the sorceress asked.
Nothing had to think about what she’d been saying. Then she answered, “You take hearts.”
“Bargain. It is always a bargain.”
“That doesn’t make it less cruel, less…” Nothing fluttered her hands. “Less inhuman.”
“Some girls are very willing to give up their hearts, and their lives.”