Page 85 of The Isles of the Gods
“By Alinor? I didn’t think you were patriotic.”
“By you,” I reply, moving another piece.
“Huh.” He frowns at the board. “I usually win at Fates.”
“You mean everyone else lets you win,” I correct him. “You should have played with me sooner.”
He’s still studying me, brow furrowed as if I’m an especially complex text. The scrutiny isn’t particularly comfortable, and I search for a change of subject. Before I find anything useful, though, he speaks.
“You’re right. I should have. Keegan, I owe you an apology. More than one. It’s not very comfortable to be standing here just now, thinking about how little I deserve your loyalty. I’m sorry I wasn’t better to you at school. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you with the respect you deserve.”
I have no idea what to say. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve composed speeches in my head, late at night. Of the times I’ve excoriated my fellow students, tearing them to shreds for the many humiliations they heaped upon me. For the way theyisolated me. For the way they left me questioning everything I did, never knowing the right thing to do or say.
But of all the responses I imagined, when I gave those speeches in my head, none of them ever felt like this.
I say nothing for so long that he bites his lip, and I realize he believes his apology has been rejected.
I must say something, whether it’s polished or not.
“The reason I was leaving home for the Bibliotek was that I saw a chance tochoosewho I would be,” I try. “Rather than existing as the person others wished to make me. The person I would like to be has changed over the years, though. I can’t deny you the same opportunity I wish for myself.”
He greets me with a familiar expression—it usually means someone is unpicking my sentences to make sense of them. “That was a lot of words, Keegan,” he says eventually.
I try again. “I mean to say I’m more interested in who you are now, and who you’d like to be, than who you were.”
He nods, and then nods again. And we both fall silent for a time, watching the activity of the square below once more.
“And I agree,” I add, after that pause. “It’s strange indeed to imagine we’re in the middle of making history.” I see a way to lessen the tension and decide to risk a joke—it’s probably the tiredness that makes me so foolish. “I hope that when our parts are entered into the annals, they at least spell my name correctly in the history textbooks. People often leave out the finalein Wollesley, and it is tiresome in the extreme.”
I am rewarded with a soft huff of laughter as he shakes his head.
It feels surprisingly good to make someone smile.
SELLY
The Diplomatic District
Port Naranda, Mellacea
Braiding my hair like this seemed a lot easier when Hallie showed me how it was done, and my arms are aching, but I’ve mostly got it up into one of the coiled crowns they like to wear here. I dab the pink goo onto my lips, rub the tiniest smear into my cheeks, and slither carefully into my dress.
I tuck my little paper boat in against my heart, though it’s bittersweet. It’s the only thing in the world that’s really my own, but it was made for me by the boy I don’t want to leave, as a promise that he’ll make sure I can. Soon Leander will find me a real boat, and he’ll set his own course in another direction.
The dock square was rowdy this morning. It started with an argument about a confiscation from an Alinorish ship, the crew following the harbormaster all the way along the wharf, shouting protests that drew in others, and from there it whipped up into a hurricane before our eyes.
By the time the city guard arrived and bundled the Alinorish captain away and out of sight, we were more sure than ever neither Leander nor Keegan could risk being recognized at the embassy, especially if what the girl at the magician’s stall said about the protests was true. So it’ll be me, all by myself.
I lift the little scrap of mirror off the wall, tilting it to study myself, and the effect isn’t half bad. I’m not sure I could wake Macean up from his nap, like Hallie said—in fact, let’s hope I can’t—but I could probably make him turn over in his sleep, from the right angle.
I run my fingers over the sparkling green beads, painstakingly sewn into a starburst pattern that begins at my waist and radiates out, catching the light with every movement. I’ve never owned anything like this. I never will again.
I buckle on my shoes, then step back out into our room, where Leander’s lazing on the bed and Keegan’s sitting in one of the two chairs, still glued to the newspaper.
Slowly he lowers it, peering at me over the top of the pages, considering my appearance, and nodding his approval of the disguise. Leander stretches and rolls over to see what Keegan’s looking at, and doesn’t bother to hide the way his gaze flicks over me, wordlessly renewing his offer from last night.
I could lean in, rest one knee on the edge of the bed, push him onto his back, and brush my lips against his. He’d let me.
But in a few hours he’ll be gone, so instead I shuffle around the edge of the bed to the door.
