RYIN
One of the first things you learn as a drudge is to avert your gaze. Never look at anyone in the eye, especially a Cardinal. They’re the ones we have the most interaction with, and one of the aristocrats can get you sent to the locker or trammeled faster than an eye blink if they feel disrespected. The Azures aren’t much better. On the occasions when they deal with a Fai drudge, it’s like they want to assert what little power they have. They seem to think abusing us is a way to get fast tracked for an elevation in rank, so it’s best to steer clear of them when possible. Umbers barely have higher status than we do and they’re usually not a problem. So, much as it galls me, I keep my head down most of the time here. The upside is, you see a lot when you’re looking at nothing.
Tonight, however, there’s not much to report on in the ballroom. The place has started to fill up, though the royals have yet to make an appearance. A few soldiers on duty as guards are scattered across the large space, but I don’t expect to be able to collect any intel.
I was ordered to report for duty here after leaving the princess—all hands were needed on deck for the celebratory dinner. It should be a welcome reprieve from having to follow Celena’s every move. Though today’s tour was a gold mine of information. Most of the Fai drudges work in the Citadel or one of the factories. We don’t have free rein to traipse around the Nimali territory, so I took full advantage to memorize every detail I thought might be useful.
Von’s new mission, to somehow prepare an attack on the Nimali from within the Citadel, is madness. I still believe our best option is to locate a weakness that the bulk of the Fai forces can exploit, and today’s opportunity was a gift.
Memories of the afternoon in the shelter assault me unwillingly. Celena’s scent, a light and citrusy aroma, has stayed with me all day. I can’t recall ever noticing how the princess smelled before, but now I can’t seem to forget it.
But these thoughts are dangerous and useless. I force myself to focus on the task at hand, carefully placing a tray of hors d'oeuvres on a table laden with fresh flowers. These state dinners, even with their excess and pretentious finery, are actually one of the only bright spots of my time here. Most Fai feel the same. On these occasions, the Nimali decorate the otherwise sterile ballroom not with reclaimed junk from before the Sorrows, but with a profusion of flowers.
Cascades of blooms from the hothouses adorn every surface. Clusters of chrysanthemums and cockscombs overflow their vases on the tables, while garlands made of yarrow and anemone are looped on the walls. They are reminders of our home, a green and fertile place that contrasts starkly with the unyielding urban wasteland in which the Nimali live. And even if these blossoms have been plucked from their roots and sit here dying, used as mere decoration, there are enough land daimons among the Fai to keep the plants alive.
After these events, all of the flowers are meant to be thrown away, added to the compost used by the growhouses. But many are retained in secret, hidden out of sight of the Nimali in closets on Fai floors, kept alive by our daimons and bringing us small reminders of the home to which we long to return.
I’m admiring a delicate orchid set apart from the others when a hush falls across the room. I can feel her before I even turn toward the main doors. Celena has arrived.
She is escorted by the king and dressed in a blood-red, shimmering, backless gown with a plunging neckline. The architecture of the dress makes no sense to me, but she is stunning in it. For long moments I forget that I am supposed to be averting my gaze and stare openly at her.
She catches my eye and a pulse of awareness passes between us. It’s like a live wire that shocks my senses and singes my skin. I break eye contact first to stare at the floor before someone notices. But that thing—whatever it was that shot from her to me—still buzzes through my blood, heating it.
Through my peripheral vision, I observe her taking in the ballroom and decorations for the first time. Witnessing her simple wonder as her life is revealed to her again lightens something within me. It’s a sensation so disturbing that I need to physically turn away from her presence. I exit the ballroom to go back into the staging area where dozens of Fai toil to make this dinner happen.
Noomi hustles by with a covered platter in her hands. She takes one look at my face and stops, frowning.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, but she knows me too well. It’s hard to hide from her. Luckily her hands are full so she can’t question me. “Really, I am.” Then I turn like a coward and flee. Looks like I need to avoid more than one woman here this evening.
I take a position in a line of workers transferring the appetizers from the cooking trays brought up from the kitchens on other floors to the serving platters. It’s mindless, repetitive work that keeps me away from my cousin’s penetrating gaze.
The nearby door to the short hallway leading to the stairwell opens and closes constantly as food is delivered. I block it out until a change in the status quo makes me take notice. Beyond the door, I catch a glimpse of the back of Von’s head and his distinctive copper-colored hair. Facing him is Enzo, wearing his perpetual glower. I can never quite tell what Enzo is feeling, as his expression rarely changes. But he finally shrugs and hands off something to Von before heading toward the staircase.
Von turns just as the door to the prep area is closing. He grabs the door and enters, passing right by me, clutching a small vial in his grip.
“What's that?” I sign.
He grins and puts a finger to his lips. A chill races across my skin.
I’m not aware of any missions going on tonight. A state dinner can be a good opportunity to reconnoiter targeted areas since virtually everyone in the Citadel will be in attendance, but most of those plans have been scrapped in favor of the new objectives. Whatever he’s doing either wasn’t planned or wasn’t shared with the GenFi operatives. Both of those things make me nervous.
Everyone is busy working diligently, and though we’re often left to ourselves, impromptu visits by the drudge supervisors happen at random. And if the food is late or improperly plated or found lacking in any way, someone will be punished. No one wants to be the cause of the trammeling of a brother or sister.
Von steps up to the table where the royals’ dinners are being plated and warmed. He indicates he wants to join the line and the other workers shuffle around to make room. This leaves him in front of the tureen of synthetic beef soup awaiting the porcelain bowls that have been laid out.
With a mischievous smile on his face, Von uncorks the vial in his hand. I’m over to him in a flash, so fast my daimon must have helped without my conscious thought. I grip his wrist in my hand before he can tip the contents of the vial inside.
“What are you doing?” I demand. He opens his mouth and tries to pull away, but I tighten my hold and sniff. “Blessed bliss, are you insane?”
I wrench the vial from his hand and release him, stepping back. “Senna oil? Really?” I dump the liquid directly onto the floor and toss the tiny bottle into the nearest waste bin.
“You poison the royals and half a dozen of us get trammeled at random. Can you really be that stupid?”
His face contorts in anger as he signs. “You know very well it isn’t deadly. It will just make them uncomfortable for a few hours. Perhaps clog up their sewage systems.”
“We prepare the food here. Any discomfort will still fall on our heads. You would unthinkingly sentence the lives of your fellow Fai to a fate worse than death with something so juvenile?” Eyes narrowed, he sets his jaw stubbornly as I continue. “We all want them to suffer, brother. Those of us who have been here for years, who’ve witnessed countless atrocities. That’s why we organize, and plan, and fight.”
We've attracted attention. Fortunately, none of the supervisors have made one of their appearances.
“Besides, who do you think unclogs the sewers?” I shake my head, disgusted with him.
Noomi steps to my side, sniffing. The scent of the senna oil is already fading; in another few minutes, it will filter away completely, but she recognizes it too. Her elfin features draw down with her rage. “I hope you’ll be at the ceremony tonight to see what your little trick might have cost us,” she signs, seething. “You’ve never seen one, have you? A trammeling?”
Von crosses his arms and refuses to answer, but it’s clear. He’s been here less than a full day and those kinds of horrors are unheard of in the Greenlands.
Without another word, he stalks off into the hallway. I for one am glad to see him gone.
“What could he have been thinking?" I ask Noomi.
“He wasn’t. That’s the problem.” Her jaw is still tight and her eyes hard. “I can’t believe the Crowns gave him so much responsibility. It should be you, Ryin. You should be leading GenFi.”
I step back, not wanting to rehash this old argument again.
“Look what we’re left with because you haven’t stepped up,” she continues.
I hold up my hands, hoping to stop her before she begins a tirade. Noomi is a sweet and gentle soul ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent, she’s a harridan.
“Von just needs time to adjust. To learn how things work here. Adapting is difficult when you’ve been out there on the front lines skirmishing for years. I remember what it was like being new and full of anger. Maybe some of that energy will revitalize us. We’ll just have to watch him closely.”
Disappointment wafts from her. She purses her lips. “I’ll talk to Xipporah. Tell her to keep an eye on him.” Then she heads back to her duties just as one of the Nimali supervisors appears from the main ballroom.
The soup, sans laxative, has been ladled into bowls by another worker. I pick up a tray and head out to deliver it, my head warring with my heart the entire way. After my sister died and I was captured, the GenFi in the Citadel thought that I would pick up the mantle of my father and grandfather, both great and respected Fai warriors. But my heart was broken and so was my spirit. I was in no place to lead a rebellion. I could follow orders, take on the small missions, gather intel, help wherever possible, but responsibility? Having others depend on me? How could I do that when I couldn't even save the last member of my immediate family? The girl who had been relying on her big brother to protect her?
It was the right choice then and it’s still the right one, no matter what Noomi says. But maybe the people I need to be watching aren’t just my enemies, but my allies too.