Hands Like Secrets, page 18
I sit up in alarm. “We have to dress up?”
Fien rolls their eyes. “Hello, party.”
I sigh. My taste in street clothes tends toward modesty, utility, and being as non-abrasive as possible, despite my roommate’s efforts to expand my wardrobe. The skirt and top I’d worn to the Sari had both been gifts from them. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my looks; I just don’t much care, and my years as an outcast have cultivated a need not to draw attention to myself.
“Hey!” I squawk in protest when Fien opens my trunk and starts digging around.
“You could wear that dress I got you for your nineteenth nameday.” Their voice is muffled.
“Oh, dear gods.” I flop back on my bed. “I may as well go naked.”
They make a triumphant noise and emerge from my trunk with a slinky, dusky violet dress. The skirt falls to mid-calf, and it is my favorite color...but just looking at the generous neckline and tiny straps makes my cheeks burn.
“You react this way to everything that doesn’t cover you from neck to toe,” Fien points out.
“It doesn’t exactly...hide anything, you know?”
“So, flaunt what you’ve got. Live a little!” Fien rolls their eyes again. “Just wear it, okay? For me?”
I give them an even look. “Only if you promise not to bind before the party.”
Fien pouts.
We’ve had this argument plenty of times. Their dysphoria has gotten better since they came out years ago, but they still get cavalier with self-care sometimes.
“I’m serious, Fien,” I add, sitting up. “I know you. You’ll wear your binder all day and then ‘forget’ to take it off for this party, and that adds up to, what, ten or eleven watches in a row? You can’t do that to your ribs.”
They exhale, blowing curls off their face. “Fine. You wear the dress, and I’ll be good.”
I flop back down.
“The HP still doesn’t want you out in the city by yourself, you know,” Fien adds, laying our outfits across their desk chair. “And since Valene lives all the way over in East Ridge, I figure I’ll ‘port us both.”
Well, it’s not like I imagined I could just go off on my own and track down a Cowl. ‘Porting straight from one Mantle-secured area to another will make it almost impossible to snatch any time with him, though.
“However,” Fien says slowly, a sly grin lighting their face. “I didn’t exactly mention this to the HP, but Valene asked me to pick up some bottles of moorberry wine from Sianny’s on Central Plaza. Which is, conveniently, right across from the Post. So, I thought, if you don’t mind making a slight detour before we show up at the party...”
I grin. “Fien, you are the best.”
They wink.
A tiny shiver zings through me. Tomorrow, at last, I’ll have a break from this terrible waiting!
Of course, I don’t need the Post to get word to Rafel; just a few minutes with that little sorarc. Long enough to ask him what in shayol he’s waiting for with dedication looming and to tell him what’s going on.
Something deep in my chest settles for the first time since that trip to the Sari.
I sleep that night with a hand between the mattress and the headboard, resting on a cold round object.
Fien ‘ports to Valene’s house the next morning, after Anjahel training ends, to help with decorating. Before they leave, they loan me a psittacine-embroidered white shawl and a tiny silver purse to match my dress, show off their chest to prove they’re being good, and promise to be back in time for us to ‘port into town.
I eat lunch alone, deep in thought and jittery at the prospect of freedom.
My original plan was to wait until I stepped outside Aschamon’s walls to try Rafel’s sorarc. But as I’m stacking my cutlery after lunch, I remember that he told me the wards are thin over the towers.
It’s worth a try. I go and fetch it from under my mattress.
My heart hammers as I climb the stairs of Tammar’s tower, but thankfully, the Anjahel on duty is still at lunch. I consider simply using the dormitory sorarc to reach out to him, but no, all Aschamon sorarcs are linked. Anyone in any of the other towers on campus could listen in on a conversation. Once again, I chuckle, amazed at Rafel’s foresight in giving me a safe link to him.
At the top, I sit down, clutch the sphere, close my eyes, and concentrate on Rafel’s face. The device warms under my fingers.
So, you’ve figured it out at last, Gray Robe, his voice whispers in my mind. I also get the impression of a smile and him setting something down. I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten all about me.
Even the pale echo of his voice sends a thrill down my spine. Rafel’s terrible tendency to make the most mundane conversations feel like flirting doesn’t help. I ignore it.
Something is happening tonight that I thought you should know about, I say.
Tell me they haven’t moved up your dedication. His voice is sardonic, but underneath, I sense a glimmer of genuine worry.
No, nothing like that, I reassure him. Rafel, worried? It’s weird, feeling that through a sorarc. He’s such a closed book in person.
It’s good news. I have four watches of freedom tonight.
My sense of him sharpens; he’s listening carefully now. Really.
Unfortunately, I’m expected to be at a graduation party with my roommate the whole time.
Surrounded by Aschamon’s finest, I assume? He chuckles wryly. I may be good, Gray Robe, but even I’m not skilled enough to pass as a cowen amongst that crowd.
Fien says the house has lots of secluded grounds, I tell him. They also have to run an errand at Central Plaza before we get there, and I’ll be with them. I might have a few minutes to myself.
I see. I can almost hear the wheels grinding in his head. When?
Sunset. My heart flutters. Will you...can I see you, sometime tonight? I have so many questions—
Isn’t that why we’re talking right now? Amusement. Across our connection, I sense that he’s propped his chin onto one hand. My cheeks flush and I’m absurdly glad he isn’t there to see it.
But yes, he adds. We are overdue for a meeting, aren’t we?
I startle when a door slams in the stairwell underneath me. People are starting to come back from lunch.
I have to go, I say. Will you wear the disguise you wore before?
Just keep your eyes open. And take that sorarc with you.
Rafel... I twist a lock of hair around a finger and tug gently. How can I put this in a way that won’t sound insulting? I know you wouldn’t have done anything at the Sari because they were cowens. But...I won’t be able to send Fien away this time. Or anyone else.
You don’t trust me to behave myself. A soft sigh echoes across my mind. I’ve no intention of crashing an Aschamon party, Gray Robe, or harming your redheaded roommate. Okay?
He sounds hurt, and I immediately feel guilty for doubting him. Okay. Until tonight, then.
I look forward to it.
With that, he’s gone from my mind.
Chapter 21
At sunset, Fien and I leave Aschamon and ‘port into Central Plaza. The breeze makes little whirlwinds of pollen and fallen feathers that swirl around our feet, carrying the typical urban din of conversation and footsteps on cobblestone.
The plaza is alive with people, and the blackbirds are out in force, stealing bits of food from the street and tussling with yellownapes for space in the ash trees. I draw in a deep breath and exhale, light and a little giddy inside. The dusky violet dress swishes softly around my calves, a nice contrast to Fien’s dapper ensemble.
I’ve folded the shawl around my neck and shoulders, which they had laughed at, but it makes the neckline bearable. Rafel’s sorarc fits snugly inside the little silver purse at my side.
It bumps against me as I walk, a constant reminder of my real plans for the night.
Sianny’s is a cave-like place, with two entire walls packed floor to ceiling with dark bottles, and redolent with the scents of moorberry and fermentation. It’s crowded, too; Fien and I have to wait in a line that’s at least five people deep. Clearly, Sianny’s reputation as the finest winemaker in the region is well-earned.
I wouldn’t know; I’ve never much liked the taste of alcohol.
Finally, the owner hands Fien a marked, padded crate, marns exchange hands, and we reemerge into the fading light.
“Do you think a canis bird post would reach Aeden in time?” Fien shifts the heavy crate under their arm. “Or should we track down a ‘porter?”
I shrug noncommittally, searching the plaza for a flash of long brown hair.
We turn our steps toward the Post, just a block away on the east side. Only now do I consider how suspicious it might be for Rafel, or “Aeden,” to intercept me out here when Fien thinks him ignorant of tonight’s events. Conversely, what am I going to do if we reach the Post and there’s no sign of him?
It isn’t like I can actually send a message; who would I address it to? Aeden, the sariskan trainer who doesn’t exist? Rafel the Crimson Cowl? That would probably get me arrested.
Where is he?
Damn his mysteriousness! I should have pressed him for details earlier.
Maybe I’ll just surreptitiously use the little sorarc again.
We dodge a cab, idling in front of the gray Post building, and pause on the steps. Nothing for it, I tell myself, gripping my purse. I’ll just have to fake my way through this.
“Well, what a coincidence!” a warm male voice croons, making us turn, and the cab door swings open. My stomach leaps into my throat.
Here he is, climbing off the worn leather seat, wearing nearly the same disguise he’d worn at the Sari Cafe. Never in my life would I have thought to see a Crimson Cowl emerge, grinning, from an Ascheran city cab in broad daylight.
Nor do I expect him to fold me into an over-the-top embrace that anchors me to the ground in pure shock. It’s so unexpected, and he lets go so quickly, that all I can do is gape like a fish.
Fien stares for a moment and bursts out laughing.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, a flush spreading over my cheeks. My roommate tries to speak but can’t yet draw breath between giggles. Rafel wears that half-innocent, half-sly smile he seems to reserve for Fien.
“Aeden,” I sputter finally, nearly choking on the lie.
“Would you believe she was about to send you a post?” Fien chortles, punching me on the arm.
My wits slowly come trickling back. All the things I need to ask Rafel spin through my mind, but none of it is safe to mention in front of Fien. Now that he is annoyingly, physically here, what am I supposed to do with him?
“As it happens,” Rafel says, with no trace of embarrassment or discomfort, “I heard rumor of a celebration that is to happen this evening in East Ridge. I was about to send a bird to Saeli, asking if she was going, when I caught sight of you from my cab.” His pale eyes flicker between the two of us, lingering on Fien’s green shirt.
“Am I to assume that’s where you two lovely ladies are headed?”
Isasar’s breath, Rafel could charm the feathers off a psittacine bird during mating season. So much so that even his misgendering of Fien, again, goes unremarked by them.
“If Saeli wasn’t so beak-tied right now.” Fien shoots a significant glance at me. “She would invite you to come with us.”
I hold my tongue.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to spare.” A smile overtakes Rafel’s lips. “I was hoping to steal Saeli for a bit before the party got started. Take her for a quick ride through Temple Park, you know?”
I bite back a sigh. “And I’d like that, but I’m not allowed.”
And I’d told him that earlier, so why even ask?
Fien nods in agreement, though disappointment for my sake purses their mouth.
“She would be safe with me,” he coaxes, leaning closer. “We wouldn’t even leave the cab. And afterward, I promise I can get her to this party in one piece.”
The sheer force of Rafel’s charisma is already chipping at Fien’s resolve; I see it in their pinched cheeks and furrowed brow. They’re a hopeless romantic, but on the other hand, they must be remembering the last time I’d spent time alone with “Aeden.”
Were it not for Yan, I’d have been up to my eyeballs in sariskan kark that night.
I keep my mouth shut, afraid to say anything. If Rafel and his silver tongue can make my roommate bend, fine, but I am hardly in a position to urge Fien to circumvent the High Priestess’ orders again. Especially since we’re technically bending the rules already.
“Saeli?” they ask, turning to me.
“It’s not a good idea.” I look away.
Fien’s faith in me is already stretched to the breaking point. What was wrong with a quick talk inside the Post building, or a walk around Valene’s yard? Why does Rafel have to make everything so complicated?
He takes a step toward me. “Do you doubt my ability to keep you safe?”
Very funny. “No.”
He smiles in a way that makes my knees feel weak.
“Don’t you want to come with me?”
Yes.
Against my will, I picture myself alone in a tiny cab with Rafel and shiver.
“You know that’s not the issue,” I say softly.
“Just a watch,” he says in a wheedling tone, fixing those pale eyes on me.
I take a breath. Damn him. He’s just not going to let this go. And I still don’t trust him enough to feel safe giving an outright refusal.
I look at Fien, who exhales slowly.
“No one else knows you’re coming to this party except the HP, and she won’t be there. If you want to go with him...” They sigh again, clearly not liking this at all. “We could pretend you were in some other part of the house to explain your absence if anyone asks.”
I start to speak, but they thrust a finger into Rafel’s face.
“I’m only allowing this because Saeli is perfectly capable of taking care of herself,” they say in a fierce voice. “And if you can be half as intimidating as you are charming, I don’t think any gila worth their kark will mess with the two of you.”
Rafel folds an arm across his chest. “No one will harm her on my watch.”
I almost laugh. If only Fien knew they were already talking to the most dangerous person on Verre!
They turn to me.
“One watch. If you aren’t at Valene’s by then, I will have to tell someone.”
I nod solemnly, not trusting myself to speak.
They sigh yet again, deeper this time. “You owe me, girl.”
Rafel smiles, turning the full force of those damned eyes on Fien. “We are both of us in your eternal debt.”
I only just stop myself from rolling my eyes. Fien sniffs, smoothing a hand over their shirt, but I can tell the words have the desired effect. Hopefully, they’ll find the whole thing too romantic to bear me any lasting ill will.
They give me one last warning stare, salute, and ‘port in a flash of color.
“Shall we?” Rafel gestures toward the still waiting cab.
I swallow my apprehension and climb in, ignoring the offer of his hand. I’ve had quite enough false gallantry for one night.
The cab is little more than a round pod with wheels, solid along the walls and floor, open in front. Like all city transportation, the outside is lacquered white and engraved with Aschera’s crest: two crossed psittacine feathers with a stylized flame suspended between them.
Rafel waves to the driver and climbs in after me.
This cab is in better repair than some I’d ridden in, but like most, the upholstery is threadbare, the privacy screen is riddled with holes, and everything smells a little stale. Even Aschera’s transportation business, essential to so many workers in the city, can’t spare the funds for new equipment.
The driver swings up onto her platform behind us, barks a command to our single sariskan, and we set off toward Temple Circle.
Rafel leans back and produces a scrap of leather from a pocket in his cowen tunic. I watch in curious silence as he meticulously pulls his hair back into its customary tail. The severe style highlights his resemblance to a hunting bird, beautiful and predatory, and the way that cowen shirt clings to his slender torso as he moves should be illegal.
Stop, I chide my treacherous brain.
The little space quickly grows too warm with two people in it, but Rafel’s proximity makes it impossible to consider removing Fien’s shawl. I clear my throat instead.
“Why are we doing this?” I ask. “I could have easily convinced Fien to give us a few minutes alone inside the Post. And I did mention the house grounds—”
“I’ve something different in mind.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but silence descends between us again. The cab bumps along, heading south, bordering the acres of parkland that surround the city Temple. To our right, Aschera’s great outdoor auditorium stands silent and empty; no symphonies or dramas scheduled for tonight, I suppose.
Rafel seems preoccupied with the passing scenery outside.
“Your little act only worked because Fien isn’t suspicious by nature,” I add. “Tell me you aren’t just trying to impress me.”
He turns and deliberately trails his gaze over me.
“Maybe I’m not the one attempting to impress someone.”
His voice is so much like velvet I practically feel it caress my skin. My back stiffens as Rafel’s pale eyes follow a sliding drop of perspiration down my neck. His sudden apparent interest makes me feel every inch of exposed skin under Fien’s thin shawl and the way this violet dress clings to me.
Everything I’ve ever heard about Cowls and their appetites comes back in a rush. The drop tickles. With shaking hands, I swipe it away and yank the shawl across my neck.
A tiny gasp escapes me when he reaches out, but he merely gathers my hair to lift it free of the shawl, careful not to brush my scalp, and lets it spill down one shoulder.
“You don’t need to do that,” he says simply.
“I’m cold,” I snap.
