Page 34 of In the Ravenous Dark
Japha winks. “I’m patient.”
I’m not. I need to learn how to read better and write quickly, or else figure out another way to communicate with Japha.
“Anyway, what do you plan to wear?” they ask.
“Hmm?” I say, tearing myself away from my conspiratorial thoughts.
“You’re of course invited to the ball. And if not, I invite you.” Japha stands, straightening their sunny yellow peplos. “I, myself, am going to go get into something more fitting for the occasion.Darker.”
“Good idea,” I say.
I’m not going to hide. Iamgoing to ensure my mother is safe, but I’m also going to look people in the eye as I plot to escape them.
Japha moves for the door, but as they reach for the gilded handle, it suddenly opens. My father steps in. He lurches to the side after he nearly bumps into Japha, giving them a wide berth and a suspicious nod. Japha merely rolls their eyes and leaves.
“What was Japha doing here?” he demands as soon as the door closes.
“I’m not allowed to have visitors?” I ask. “Our mutual shadow didn’t prevent it, so I figured it was safe.”
“Safe? This isn’t about what Ivrilos thinks is good for you, it’s…”
When he trails off, I arch an eyebrow. “It’s about what you think?” I stand from the table. “Japha is doing more to help me than you are, so think again.”
“They’re not your friend, Rovan—”
“Excuse me,” I say, brushing by him to head for my rooms. “I apparently have a ball to get ready for.”
“I—you’re going?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
“Why not?”
“My presence specificallywasn’trequested. I’m to stay here. To rest, apparently.”
I glance back at him. Hedoesseem tired. Or, hell, maybe Penelope just wants to enjoy General Tumarq’s company without her husband around, and so she pulled some strings.
And maybe without my father hovering, warning me to keep my head down, I can discover more answers. I hoped he would be the source of some, but other than his cryptic advice to follow in his footsteps, he’s nearly been as tight-lipped as the dead man.
“Good,” I say, making my voice hard. “You won’t even have to go anywhere to do nothing, this time.”
I leave him standing over the table, looking somewhat lost even though he’s supposedly home.
Home. This will never be my home. Because I’ll never let it become that.
11
The ball is taking place in a different room from the banquet that honored the old king. The space I step into now, arm in arm with Japha, is less like a traditional ballroom and more like the Hall of the Wards, except attendees arrive as if in a proper amphitheater, entering onto marble tiers that drop down to a central dais where some of the royal family stands for all to see, with huge windows as a backdrop. The white-wood window framing isn’t regular but like the branches of a tree against the sky, clear glass invisible in between. The ceiling is made of branching windows, as well. But since it’s an overcast night outside, the white wood and marble expanse feel cavernlike in the surrounding darkness.
Unlike much of the palace, there isn’t any living greenery here. I shiver. It’s like a tomb. The only color is in the white marble under my feet, blue veined like exposed, pale wrists.
“A bit much, isn’t it?” Japha murmurs.
The two of us have arrived with Penelope and Crisea, but I’ve exchanged next to no words with anyone but Japha. Penelope and Crisea immediately seek out General Tumarq. I’m grateful that Japha sticks by me, otherwise I would have no one. And Japha seems grateful to have me. I can tell they’re on edge by how tight their fingers are on my arm.
At least I have my own dress this time: black silk, twined in a blood-red strophion dripping with strands of rubies. A ruby-studded net catches up my blue-gleaming hair, all of it draped in black and red poppies. I’m still appreciating the blank look the deadman gave me as I was leaving my quarters. It spoke of disbelief. Now he’s being especially discreet, perhaps not wanting to set off my temper. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or frustrated, and then I settle on frustrated. He’ll no doubt appear in a hurry if I decide to toss someone across the ballroom.
Japha stops, drawing me to a halt as well. “Brace yourself, but we should go pay our respects to King Tyros. It’s expected.”
I follow Japha’s gaze down along the thronging tiers to the lowest level, where the new king stands on a raised marble dais carved like an open clamshell, and at his side, Kineas, the new crown prince. Both are dressed in extravagant blue himations, golden laurel wreaths on their heads—triumphant instead of mourning now. Lydea and poor Delphia are nowhere to be seen. The younger girl is probably hiding. As for Lydea, she’s probably off sharpening her daggers.
