Page 105 of The Shape of Monsters
Something is coming that might destroy the city. Or at least fundamentally upset the perfectly balanced Holy Design.
Raia wishes with every fiber of ans being that an had no idea any of this was happening. An prefers to do ans work, to receive assignments and dive into them. Redesign the whole security grid for the palace grounds? Yes. Investigate a line of illegal craftwork? Certainly. Toy with triple balance techniques in the hopes of reconfiguring some of the basic teaching methods of the schools an was not able to get into thanks to ans Pir ancestors and lack of mirané connections? Oh, Silence,please.
Right now, an wears not only a craftmask on ans face, but a series of ecstatic buttons along knuckles and palms and pulse points that lay a mirané-brown crawl across the skin of ans hands and wrists. It’s a death sentence. But at this point, Raia might as well already be dead. The rest of ans body is covered by elaborate clothing. Layersof it—shoulder pads and a triple layer of binding, less to flatten ans minimal breast tissue but to give the appearance of muscle. An is technically too tall to be Lyric, but they’re all banking on nobody noticing—same as ans eyes. They’re dark brown at least, with hazel edges, and from a distance it works. And Raia willingly plays up ans confusion and anxiety into the understandable grief of a wretched and sad Vertex Seal.
He’s tired, Garnet says, and someone else asks,Is there anything we can do for him?
Just what he says, Garnet answers, not quite an irritable snap. He touches Raia’s arm and Raia feels it like a malaise of oil, gross and thick, because this isn’t who an is, and even though an knows, knows, knows ans life depends onhimonmanon this face and skin and masculine-forward masculine actuality, Raia stands up in order to separate from Garnet’s touch without jerking away.
Garnet’s mouth turns in a way Raia can only read as wounded, but Raia isn’t Garnet’s brother, isn’t who Garnet sees, so Raia can’t let anself feel guilt. An leaves, stalking back the way they’d come before the meeting, to the partially hidden door into the Vertex Seal’s office. If there’s one silver lining to this situation, it’s that they put an in the mask of the Vertex Seal and so an can leave a meeting whenever an wants.
How did Iriset mé Isidor do this for quads? Hide herself, play Singix, play at not knowing what she knew? The Moon-Eater’s Mistress told Raia most of the story, the plot at least, if not the various emotional entanglements. Because Raia demanded to know how Iriset was alive, in order to agree to wear her mask. Ans friend, who’d lied to an for their whole relationship, too, which Raia has realized is just the way things work in the palace of the Vertex Seal. An was a fool to believe an could do good here, could simply work to make anself and ans family proud.
Raia’s family might never know what happens to an. An doesn’tknow what Anis told them, what message they sent, the lie they devised to explain why Raia would not be coming home anytime soon. Raia’s brother got married just last year and an knows there will be a child very soon, and ans mother will never believe Raia would simply leave, but Raia needs her to believe it, because if she asks more than once, if she hints at her disbelief, that she knows something is wrong, what will the Moon-Eater’s Mistress do? An sees blood caught between the boards of the porch at ans parents’ home, draining down to the crawl space that an promised to fix one day, when an could afford an expansion to the whole house.
“Lyric.” Garnet catches up with an.
“I need to get out of this,” Raia says, plucking at the heavy sleeve of Lyric’s robe, but meaning his face.
Garnet bites back a sigh.
They go in silence. When they reach the suite, Garnet keys the design lock open and lets Raia push in. Raia heads for the huge bathing chamber, stripping as an walks. An drops a heavy outer robe, a tunic, and there’s still two layers of long vest adding to ans masculine shape. An kicks off boots and is grateful Garnet starts the bathwater.
But then Raia stops at the edge of the sunken tub, wearing only a loose sleeveless vest and trousers bunched at the ankle, and three layers of binder. An catches ans breath. Tries to. But the air is so thin, even sucking huge lungsful doesn’t help. An sees white spots in ans vision, and the walls shimmer, or maybe the thin air is turning hard, crystallizing. Soon an won’t breathe at all, an has to get out of this.
Raia claws at the underside of the craftmask, digging ans fingers in, seeking the seam or blood; it would be fine if an claws ans own skin off—at least that would be honest.
“Stop, Lyric.” Garnet grabs at ans arm and an tears away, tripping. An skids on the smooth tiles, but Garnet catches ans wrist. “Raia,” Garnet says.
But it makes it worse. Raia shakes ans head, pulls away. “Please,” an begs, and Garnet lets go.
Raia falls into the bath.
It hurts. There’s water, but only a handspan deep, so it barely cushions an against the slam of tiles to ans hip and elbow. The crack of pain makes an whimper.
Someone touches ans calf and Raia kicks out, curling away, arms around ans head. An tries to breathe again, nose skimming the bathwater, hair fallen around ans face because it’s so fucking short now, just past ans chin, butanhas long, silky, smooth hair, and has since an was ten years old, and this is wrong wrong wrong, fluffy around ans face, and Raia starts to tug at the binders, flailing wet robe away from ans arms and shoulders, eyes squeezed shut.
“I’m sorry,” Garnet says, but Raia doesn’t care, and then vaguely realizes Garnet isn’t talking to an because someone else says, “Go away,” and then there’s a splash and firm hands grab Raia’s shoulders, and even as Raia starts to lash out, the hands pull at the bindings. They’re helping.
Raia laugh-sobs, and lets the hands untie a layer and unwind the next, doing nothing but sitting half collapsed in the rising bathwater. Then an is wearing only the same layer of binder an has worn for years, most days, and Raia slaps the hands away, needs to keep it, the part of this that is ans.
The hands soften, and arms come around Raia. “Raia,” Anis mé Ario murmurs. “Raia, it’s all right. You’re all right. Please don’t take off the mask. We’re only worried it might tear, but I can imagine how it feels like a trap. I know who you are, all right? Raia mér Omorose, Raia. I can picture your face. I am picturing it, Raia.”
But Raia can’t breathe. An gasps shallow little sobs, trying to take a full breath, trying to fill ans lungs to capacity. An slows, pursing ans lips in a careful whistle, and Anis does the same. Anis holds onto Raia from behind and takes Raia’s hands, bending them back onto ans chest, both their palms layered on Raia’s bound breasts. Anis takes an exaggerated breath, lets it out slowly. Again. Raia can feel Anis’s chest on ans back, and tries to follow her.
Slowly, gently, it works.
Water faucets thunder around them, and the water is up past Raia’s ribs, at their joined hands. It’s warm. It’s soothing. Raia’s throat loosens.
Anis is humming now, and Raia breathing on ans own. An smells soapy sage and feels splatters of water on ans cheeks even through the craftmask. Iriset really is a genius, and maybe a sociopath.
“I feel better,” Raia whispers, interrupting Anis’s song.
For a moment, Anis squeezes tighter, then releases an. “Good,” Anis says, very no-nonsense. The body-twin has not interacted directly with Raia much, but has always been gentle or at least clinical. To Raia, Anis is sharp, confident, and works smoothly at Amaranth’s side, supporting her, walling her off, moving around the Moon-Eater’s Mistress like a revolving security boundary.
Raia wades to the water control and slows it, especially the cold water. The hot will continue to pour out, steaming and filling the rest of the tub while Raia cleans anself.
A little embarrassed, Raia finishes removing ans trousers and the last binding. At the edge of the tub, an snaps some ecstatic into ans fingers and pries up the buttons that change the skin tone of ans hands. That can be removed at least, for a little while. Raia’s hands look like ans own.
