Page 48 of Privilege

19

VALE

It goes on for days.My father breathing down my neck for more information about Amity. Her friend Zeph bugging me, worried sick. I can’t convince her to do more than shop together at the market.

She’s naturally slippery, not what I would expect from someone raised in the PS. She wears something different every day, but blends in with the people around her. A slim gray hoodie. A canvas coat. On a warmer day a tank top carelessly hugs her body.

She’s stronger than I thought, her muscles wiry. I try not to stare. My first impression of her in the courthouse, scanning her wrist, I remember reaching down, but she’s pretty tall. And she can look commanding when she sets her shoulders, pulls her face into that PS mask, and sets off through the market.

Ami’s careless about her safety, making small talk with men I avoid, stopping to chat with teenagers loungingaround the entrance. When we talk, she asks about her friend.

“Is Zeph okay, can I see him?”

“He’s fine, and no. It’s not going to change,” I say curtly the third time she asks on a cloudy, humid day.

The world is tinged gray and Ami’s wearing a fraying leather jacket today over a black T-shirt. Her brown wavy hair is pulled back tight into a ponytail.

“Can you…” The usual frustration crosses her face. “Vale, please just tell me what to do. I need a chance to speak with him. Can I at least get his phone number?” she pleads.

I don’t like saying no to her, despite the amount of practice I have by now. She keeps demanding I take her to the Forge in the same careless way she chats up the weapons dealer, who she should definitely be avoiding.

She’s got an air of innocence, or she’s pulling the wool over my eyes. Innocence can resemble fearlessness, and that’s how she comes off, teetering on the line in between. I see the looks of respect she gets in the market now. She shows up each day, talks to everyone, drinks her coffee, and picks up the food she takes back to wherever she’s staying.

Sometimes I find her by the farm stands, picking through buckets of asparagus and strawberries. Other times she’s by the woman selling shoes or in line for coffee. I stay with her until she slips away, still refusing to let me go with her.

I could follow her, of course. Ishouldfollow her with all the pressure on me to find out more about Amity Bloome, but for some reason I want her to trust me.

“Haven’t your…roommates,” I stumble over the words, “told you about the Forge?”

Ami gives that shrug, the one that could be careless or thoughtless or just a willingness to put herself in danger. Zeph says it’s because she doesn’t know any better and I worry that he’s right.

“Vale.” She leans lightly against me as we wait in the crowded line for coffee and I immediately relax. Is she doing this to me intentionally? “It’s not just Zeph. If I’m going to live up here I need to learn to defend myself.”

“Your roommates aren’t helping with that?”

She huffs. “They would, but they’re painting and writing all the time.”

“You certainly act like you can defend yourself,” I lean down to say in her ear. A shiver goes through her but she doesn’t put another inch between us.

“Just a front,” she whispers back, looking up at me through half-closed eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for it too,Your Majesty.”

I cringe. “Don’t call me that,” I snap. Sometimes men call my father King, but I hate that.

“I see the way they treat you,” she says slyly, turning the conversation away from herself. “I see how they stare at you. You’re practically a prince around here.”

I turn away from her, in time to see several people quickly point their eyes to the ground. Okay, yeah.

“It’s not me,” I murmur back. “It’s my father.” Taking a chance, I tell her, “He wants to meet you…again.”

She swallows, and this time she looks worried. Good. Fear of my father is a healthy reaction.

“Why?” she asks.

We get to the front of the line. I buy us coffees and don’t miss the pleasure flickering across her face as she draws a deep breath of the steam coming off it, cuddling the cup to her chest.

“There’s nothing in it for you, I assure you,” I answer. “He probably wants to use you for the Forge.” I’m not sure why I’m telling her this. “Thinks he can get to the PS through you.”

“Maybe he can,” she says and keeps her gaze steady. We’ve slipped down into the alley, away from the crowd. When she says stuff like this I don’t know what to think. Is she really a deportee? Does she want to help the Forge or hurt it? She’s playing a dangerous game.

---