Page 22 of The Never List
He must see something in my expression, because he points at my mask. “Bugs,” he says in explanation. “Interesting choice.” He glances over his shoulder at the other three kings, who are sampling the array of food and drink left on the elongated table across the room.
“They’re butterflies,” I say before I can stop myself.
Baydel snaps his head back around, eyes hard as stones.
Shit. Activate royalty filter.
“Bugs,”Baydel says, a harsh smile cutting across his lips.
I dip my chin, even though it hurts every inch of my pride to do so.
How did I get myself in this situation? I’m the absolute last person who should be around royalty, let alonespeakingwith them. Their attention is something I’ve never wanted.In fact, I’ve spent my entire life trying to stay out of their way. But here I am, in a palace room big enough to fit the entire Ashland market inside it, and all four kings are shedding their masks and studying me like I’m a creature to be dissected.
“I’m sure you’re curious why we’re here and not the Legends,” Baydel continues, switching his tone from sandpaper to honey. He waves an arm at his friends, all of whom are handsome. There’s no denying it, and there is a signature energy buzzing off them, all unique. Two of them feel like oil, slimy with a side of sting, but the other two…Jullian Erhart, Kal’s father, and Brooks Bertrand, Pierce’s father, don’t feel the same. Not as grimy but just as mysterious. I can’t tell if the kindness in their eyes is just a physical trait that helps them get defenses down or if it’s genuine. But I swear I can see regret flicker in their eyes as they look from me to Baydel.
“I suppose I’m curious about everything that will happen next,” I finally answer.
He laughs, and the sound is nothing like his son’s. This laugh is all pompous arrogance, where Jax’s laugh…goddess, that made my knees shake.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Cedar and Silk,” I say, hoping that my time spent at Layce’s will be enough to help me if he has any questions about the city.
Baydel’s lips purse at the city’s name. He shifts closer, walking toward me with such intent that I instinctively retreat until my back hits the golden pillar behind me.
“You’re an Ari from one of the lower cities?” Hewhispers the question, almost like he can’t bear to say the words.
I nod, dipping my head in what I hope looks like a combination of submission and shame. Goddess, if he knew what I really was…
I focus on keeping my breathing even. If any one of these kings could sense the demi in me, they would’ve already imprisoned me. For now, it seems, I’m safe from that at least.
“Brooks,” Baydel says, calling to Pierce’s father. Baydel doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Have we ever had a potential from the lower cities?”
“Once,” Brooks answers immediately. “She didn’t make it past her time in Kal’s city.”
Delight radiates over Baydel’s features. “That’s right,” he says, eyeing me again. “Cedar and Silk might serve the royal city, but it doesn’t have our…quality of character. Are you a seamstress?”
I shake my head. I could lie—I’ve seen Layce do magical things with all sorts of materials—but I don’t know enough. If they were to test me, ask me to make them a garment or curtains or sheets for their beds, I wouldn’t be able to.
“Dyer,” I answer. I’ve visited Layce where she works for one of the most sought-after seamstresses across the cities. I often hid in the back of the building when Layce had to deal with patrons, and I’d watched the dyeing process enough. There was something almost soothing about watching the dyers soak fabrics in large wooden barrels of colorful liquid.
Baydel’s nose scrunches, as if he’s trying to smell the remnants of the dyes on my skin. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the hot swell of my anger in check.
“Only the most successful Aris receive invitations,” Baydel says as he looks me over. “So, you were a lottery winner?” he asks, eyes raking over my mask, down my torso, and back up again. I resist the urge to tense, to turn away from the examination.
“Yes,” I say, choosing the path of least resistance. If they keep records of all the lottery winners and check, I’ll be dead for lying to him before I can even wrap my mind around trying to outsmart their game.
“What is your name?” Baydel asks.
“Rylee Gray,” I answer. It’s easier this time, since I’ve already given it to the Legends.
From the corner of my eye, I see Jullian step away from the table and casually walk toward us, stopping to lean against an adjacent pillar. His suit isn’t a bright ruby red like Kal’s was; instead, it’s a softer, subtler red and is cut perfectly for his body. He’s fit and looks no older than fifty, but I know he’s much, much older. They all are.
Thanks to my own power, I can feel theirs swirling around the room. Baydel’s is the most overwhelming because he’s so damn close to me. Because of our forced education throughout the lower cities, I know exactly what each of their powers are, and Baydel’s is by far the most terrifying, especially as he keeps dragging it over me, testing me: immobilization and control.
With a simple push of his mind, he can own my body. Make me do whatever he wants—hold still, dance, jump off the balcony.
