TALIA
I sit at a long dining table on a raised dais taking shallow breaths in a gorgeous dress that doesn’t leave me quite enough room to breathe deeply. I didn’t realize there would be a formal dinner to celebrate my return, but apparently, the entire Citadel is here. The ballroom takes up most of the thirty-fifth floor. Music fills the air, bright and jaunty and strange. There are stringed instruments and drums and flutes played by a small orchestral group of musicians clad in blue—Azures—in the center of the room. Everyone here is dressed in the height of Nimali fashion, but only the Cardinals and a scattering of Azures are present.
I learned about the caste system from the library. It couldn’t tell me why it was developed and if those particular colors represented something specifically, but Cardinals are aristocrats and usually have predator daimons. The Azures are the craftsmen, artisans, and innovators. While the Umbers are essentially peasants and their daimons are the “useless” animals like mice or bunnies or sparrows. They’re the worker bees and just a few steps up from drudges.
Daimons aren’t hereditary—apparently a child of parents with a predator is far more likely to leash a predator, but exceptions happen all the time. Family members end up in totally different castes and it’s considered normal. The whole thing makes me vaguely sick to think about.
Lyall sits on my right; his portion of the table is populated by his Cabinet, a half dozen distinguished looking older people who I was introduced to when we sat down. But the names went by so fast I couldn’t keep up with all of them. My half of the table is taken up by my courtiers. Elayne managed to sit next to me and seems very proud of herself about it—I wonder if there was some kind of power struggle involved there. Dominga is directly across from me, her back to the ballroom, kind of like she wants me within sight at all times—or am I being paranoid? Next to her sits a dark-skinned man, Sir Barrett, who favors her a great deal, even going so far as to wear a matching scowl. He’s the minister of something or other—I wish I could remember.
Shad is seated at the far end of the table. I’d hoped he’d be closer and we’d get a chance to talk, though I guess this isn’t really the time or place for any sort of meaningful conversation. I would like to get to know him better, though. His placement so far away, like he’s a prince in name only, also makes me angry.
Lyall is deep in conversation with his Cabinet members and turned fully away from me, so I focus on my squad. “How often do you have dinners like these?” I ask.
“Every two or three months. There is much to celebrate here,” Elayne responds happily. She goes into a long discourse on previous celebrations, filled with gossip about people who I don't know and couldn’t care less about. But I listen politely and sip my water, taking appetizers when offered by passing Fai with platters.
Dominga stops me when I accept a brown sphere that reminds me of a meatball. “You don't like those.” Her simple words dig into me, and I smile.
“Thank—” I cut myself off when she narrows her eyes.
Lyall shifts in his seat next to me. It’s strange that I can’t hear anything of his conversation. Not that I’d understand much if I were to eavesdrop. But Elayne answers my unasked question. “They're using a dampener. Probably talking about state secrets at the dinner table. Always working.” She shrugs.
I turn to Dominga. “Sir Barrett is your father?”
“Yes. He was an advisor of the king's for nearly twenty years before that.”
“Are all of your parents in the Cabinet?” I ask the others.
Elayne chitters, shaking her head. “No. My father is merely one of his advisors. You were gracious enough to bring me in to your retinue two years ago.”
Alaya pipes up. “I was in the Azure orphanage, where you do charity work. You invited me to become a courtier and I'm ever so grateful. It’s quite an honor for someone like me to be elevated.” Her gown is a pale rose and her quiet sincerity is so welcome. A caste can be changed, but only by a member of the royal family. I’m glad to know that Celena has done at least some good in her position.
Dominga, seated next to Alaya, gives the girl a look that is about ten degrees warmer than normal. Nice to see something can melt the ice.
Young Ofelia sits on Elayne's other side. She cranes her neck to speak softly. “My father was one of the king's valets. We were both elevated early last year.” Her dress is even paler than Alaya’s. She breathes a few more words that I don’t catch before going back to her not-meatballs.
So, Celena chose to bring up two Azures to Cardinal status and add them to the two daughters of aristocrats as her crew. What does it mean? I wish I knew the politics of how this all works, but that kind of information isn’t available in the library. Then another thought strikes me. I slide a gaze at Lyall, who is still ensconced in a silent-to-me conversation.
“What do you think of the Fai drudges? If they’re prisoners of war, shouldn’t they at some point be released? It seems cruel to keep them here and make them serve us.”
Elayne opens her mouth, but Dominga speaks first. “The Fai are savages, Your Grace. They live in grass huts and chew on leaves and weeds. When they attack, they don't leave prisoners—they kill everyone in their path. And they hoard the lifeblood of our civilization, the bliss, like the religious zealots they are. We give them purpose, try to tame their barbarity. They should count themselves lucky to serve us.”
Next to her, Sir Barrett glances over, and I wonder if they can hear us even though we can’t hear them. Dominga doesn’t acknowledge her father; she keeps her icy gaze on me.
I lower my voice and lean forward. “We steal their souls.”
Dominga leans forward too, matching my movement. “It is expedient and protects our soldiers from their retribution.” Elayne’s mouth hangs open, and Alaya has ducked her head. I realize I’ve probably gone too far, so I swallow and sit back.
Chuckles rise from the other half of the table. They must have turned off their dampener, indicating the private conversation is over.
Lyall turns to me, grinning. “Enjoying the festivities?”
“Immensely. We’ve just been chatting. My courtiers are working to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.”
“Yes, I know you all haven't spent much time together since you've returned. Rely on your retinue to get you back into the swing of things. You will need to recommence your normal duties so that there is no further break in your activities. Routines and predictable leadership keep us strong.” He squeezes my hand for emphasis.
I smile and nod as if this makes total sense, but fear grips me. Dominga’s hackles are up; she’s suspicious of me, I just know it.
Lyall turns and barks at the nearest Fai. “Serve the dinner, enough with all these finger foods.”
The woman hastens to do his bidding, practically running through the swinging door. Within seconds, the Fai in the ballroom all melt away and the lights lower. The music changes and covered platters begin to be delivered by light-footed Fai servants.
Ryin arrives with a tray full of soup bowls. He servers Lyall first, then me. When he leans over my shoulder to place the bowl, I inhale deeply. His scent had imprinted on me in the emergency shelter earlier, sort of a smoky jasmine spiciness that reminds me of incense and sitting in front of the fire on a cold, winter night. It will forever be associated with comfort in my mind…along with the weight of his hand on my back calming me and the rich baritone of his voice helping me lose myself in his words and distract me from my anxiety. And that brief brush of his fingertips on my exposed shoulder blades…the warmth of his skin and gentle scrape of his callouses…I close my eyes as I remember the moment.
Is it just my teenage crush on Victor made manifest on someone who shares his face? Or is it Ryin himself, his caution, his seriousness? The way he's been so real with me even when it puts him at risk?
A hole opens up in my stomach and I blink my eyes open to find Dominga staring. “Soup smells great,” I say brightly. I don’t dare look at Ryin now, much as I want to.
As the courses progress, others come to serve our table. Arrows of disappointment pierce me when he doesn’t return.
Over the scrape of knives and forks, Sir Barrett’s low voice resonates. “Have you given thought to when you will undergo the next daimon trial, Your Grace?”
I snap to attention. It seems that everyone along the entire table is staring at me. My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“She will do so very soon,” Lyall says with confidence. “We have spoken of it.”
“But if my memory soul is gone…if I fail again—”
“You will not.” He says it in a way that removes all doubt and firmly puts an end to the conversation. Then, seeing my startled reaction, he adds, “You are the daughter of a dragon. You are destined to have a mighty daimon. You will not fail again.”
I swallow thickly, completely unconvinced. He is willing to risk his daughter’s life on this. Does he think the daimons care whether he’s king and will leap to respond to his commands like everyone else does? What would happen to me if I tried to undergo the trial? I think I have a memory soul, but then again I should have a shadow soul as well. What if I really don’t and however I was brought here stripped me of it somehow? Maybe I was supposed to die in that hospital and I’m destined to do so here, no matter what.
For once, I’m grateful for Elayne’s chatter. She turns the conversation to mundane matters: weather, fashion, and entertainment. The troupe of actors we met today on the tour is putting on a play in a few weeks that she’s excited about.
Finally, dessert arrives, and I startle when Ryin sets a small plate down in front of me. His jaw is tense and he doesn’t meet my eyes. It would probably be unwise for him to do so, maybe even forbidden, but my chest clenches. He executes the duty quickly, then walks off. I can’t help but watch him leave.
When I face forward, Dominga is eyeing me carefully. I can never read her expressions as she’s cold as a block of marble, but she’s watching. I just have no idea what she sees. If she suspects I have any sort of feelings for him, what would happen? What would she do?
I can’t give her any more fuel for that particular fire, so I focus on the gelatinous purple and orange striped creation in front of me.
“This one is your favorite,” Dominga says softly.
I take a bite and the flavors assault my tongue. It's awful, sour and bitter and difficult to swallow a single bite of. She watches my reaction so carefully, noticing everything I try to hide. Under her narrowed gaze, I eat the entire disgusting thing.