60. Nescio

nesciō ~īre ~īuī or ~iī ~ītum, tr., (intr.)

1. to not know, to be ignorant

None of me fits here.

Each of these nobles slots into a space neatly—an outline only they can see. Someone in pink shoulder checks me, hard and quick; too many people in the crowd to catch who it was—House Michel, maybe. Luna growls, pearl teeth flashing.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “That’s what they want.”

I find a place against the wall and recover, patting Luna to calm it. Two women sit on a nearby couch with entire gutted animals around their necks, giggling.

“Sir Rax? Never in my life did I think he’d get engaged! He seemed so intent on playing the role of, well, playboy—what with all those chorus stars and fellow riders.”

“Oh, they all are at first. But one must grow up sometime and realize one’s responsibility to their House.”

Laughter flutters behind sleeves. “So very true.”

I straighten. An ice swan mocks me with my own reflection—distorted and cold—and the tempo of the music suddenly slows to a seductive crawl across the icy walls. The dance floor clears, nobles jockeying around one another to find new partners in a jumble of fur and perfume and too-pleasant smiles.

A voice reverberates out of nowhere, dark and strong as coffee. “May I have this dance?”

My stomach twists. Someone dressed in all red slides into my left. Even now, even after everything, he’s still so hard to look at. I thought he was angry with me? I stare dead ahead.

“No.”

“Do you know how to dance?”

My dresscoat suddenly feels unbuttoned too far, and I close it carefully. “I know how to ride. That’s all that matters.”

Even without looking at him, Rax’s crooked smile is obvious. “Believe it or not, Hauteclare, there’s more to life than riding.”

I swallow the instinct to kiss him again, to feel that heat in my body one more time before the end. I stare at the ice swan, but he refuses to take the silent hint.

“It’s just one dance, and it’s the tableau-diablé—the easiest for the lady. All you gotta do is cling to me, and I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

My spine ramrods. “I do not cling.”

“Only when you want riding secrets.”

A wry grin spreads on Rax’s knowing lips, and a bizarre twitch moves on mine.

“That’s the first time I’ve made you smile.” He laughs.

“And hopefully the last.” I cut.

“Oh, whoa—cute dog!” Rax kneels and offers his hand to Luna, the dog sniffing his fingers warily. He laughs and looks up at me. “You know, they say a pet takes after its owner.”

The drums of the music beat far too erratically, but then I realize the rhythm’s coming from my own chest. Ridiculous. The dance floor slowly fills in, the musicians gaining volume as my murmur loses it. “I wish you’d give up on me.”

“Oh, I will…once I’ve fought you. But until then, I’m selfishly holding on to you with everything I’ve got.”

“You can’t hold on to anyone. You’re engaged.”

“I’m sorry about snapping at you on the vis,” he says—unhearing me or ignoring me, I can’t tell. “But I’m glad my letter got to you. The second I saw you on the tilt, I knew you’d read it—all that careful positioning, your Halcyon-Briggs maneuver at the ready.”

I frown at the floor. “I wasn’t ready enough.”

Rax waves his red-gloved hand. “Helmann’s a genius—the sort who belonged in the War. No way you could’ve known where he’d come from.”

“I beat him.” I say it with no smugness, just proof. Just a warning: i beat the genius helmann, and i’ll beat you, too.

Rax’s eyes hang on my profile for a long second, and then: “You sure did. After a shitload of heart attacks on my end.”

It’s my turn to ignore his words. “You were right—defensively, he was perfect. I had to create my own openings.”

His playful smile tries to peer around my stubborn hair curtain. “So you admit it? I helped you?”

I nod. He laughs as he straightens, then offers his hand. “Was my help worth a dance?”

I slide my trembling hand in his. “This is pointless.”

His fingers close around mine gently. “Doesn’t make it any less fun.”

It’s alarming how much dancing feels like being in the saddle. It’s the same feeling of being not-alone now, of moving as one; pressed against another person, trying to touch both all of them and none of them at the same time. It’s different from our shower-room altercation. I’m hyperaware of my own muscles beneath my clothes, of his, of the places he’s hot and I’m hot and the places where those temperatures meet sweetly.

“Here.” Rax holds his arm out. “Come closer. It’s easier that way.”

I stumble forward and frantically cut off his chuckle. “Shut up.”

His hand moves onto the small of my back, and I fight every urge to lean into it. Brace softly. When he moves, I move—lightning and the thunder that follows. No, this is faster than that, quicker down to the quick, oil and flame going up together and connected visibly by their reaction to each other. The nobles rotating around us might as well be stars with how distant they feel. For a second, it doesn’t matter where I am. There’s the smell of skin and warm cloth and something separate—something I’ve scented before in the shower room—closer, stronger, all him, all pulling me inexorably into the hollow of his neck.

all of us, beasts.

Throats can be covered in blood—exposed, sliced. But this is the first time in my life I think they can be beautiful, too.

The music rises and descends—a loop. The entire dance is a single impact, heat and catalyst and realization, and the two of us at the center of it all. Moving like this, together, feels… I don’t know if he feels it. He has to—it’s everywhere. I look up. His redwood eyes are on mine already, already smiling like a fool—light and easy with no weight behind it, yet this is no smiling matter. This isn’t a smiling feeling. It’s a cliff, and only I am aware of the danger.

This is much more than just lust; this is want. This is wanting months with him, years, to figure out his smiles and his quirks and what makes him laugh and what makes him come and what makes him happy and—

The music fades. I step back, the resonant heat escaping from between us. My mouth is dry as bone. don’t panic. walk.

“H-Hey! Wait up!”

I scoop water from a pitcher at the refreshments table and chug. The freezing liquid stabs at my throat and reminds me—beautiful or not, a slit throat cannot drink. Mother is gone, and I remain. Wanting or not, I will die. I have to die. The fuel for a fire is hope, and I can have none.

There is no place in this world for me after House Hauteclare is destroyed; not with Rax, not with Dravik, not with anyone. I am too far gone. Too many scars. Too much darkness.

“Hey, are you okay?” Rax looms at my side. “If you’re not feeling well, we can—”

“Thanks are in order,” I start slowly. “For your letter on Helmann. But this is the last time I wish to see you.”

I turn. Luna trots after me. Rax is faster, taller, in front of me in a blink. “Whoa whoa whoa—did I do something wrong?”

Mother clung to hope until the very last. Father discarded her like a toy, in the end. I will not make her mistake. I will never be anyone’s toy—no matter how tempting it is. I will never again allow anyone to give me hope and then take it away.

I am a rider, and all that’s left is the impact.

“The next time we meet, Rax Istra-Velrayd, it will be in your loss and my victory.”