Page 15 of Roma Queen
Everyone is silent as Pasha regards the faces of those who have come to see him, their eyes bright and alert, their chests rising and standing proud as they all hold one collective, burning breath.
“Three years ago, I was banished from the clan for killing a man. My banishment’s served now, and I’m here…” Pasha’s scans the horizon for a second, a small frown creasing his brow. “You should know, I told Shelta I wasn’t going to come back to the clan. I told her I wanted to stay here in Washington and continue on with the way things have been since I was cast out.”
An uneasy murmur ripples through the crowd. A number of eyes shoot to me, narrowed and unhappy, as if I am the cause of Pasha’s reluctance to return to the clan. Pasha has to notice this; he holds up a hand, clenching his jaw, the corner of his mouth pulling down as he sighs.
“This woman, Zara,” he says, gesturing to me, “has nothing to do with the decision I made. I hadn’t even met her when I told Shelta I was refusing the crown. Our paths crossed afterward, and since then a lot of things have happened. I discovered that Lazlo didn’t actually die three years ago. He survived, and I think Shelta helped him. I think she arranged for him to be cared for, even if she didn’t nurse him back to health herself, and she knew I wasn’t responsible for his death even when she was pushing for my punishment.”
At the back of the crowd, a voice pipes up, female, old yet steady and strong. “And why on earth would your own mother do that Pasha Rivin?”
Pasha searches for the owner of the voice and finds her, locking onto her amongst a blur of faces. I follow his gaze and find her, too—a surprisingly tall woman with steel grey hair, elegantly swept back and pinned out of her face by shining gold berets. She’s wearing green corduroy overalls and a pale blue shirt underneath, which is rumpled and stained on the left shoulder with what looks like engine grease. The woman’s quick, warm brown eyes slide over me, a brief, casual assessment, and I don’t see any anger there. Just a gentle curiosity that mirrors my own.
“You really need to ask, Cleo?” Pasha laughs, his deep, booming voice made light as it carries on a frigid wind across the plateau. “You all voted for me. Fifteen years ago, and then again, ten years ago. Each of you voted for me to rule when I was old enough, not her. Shelta’s been a caretaker and nothing more. But in my mother’s mind, she is the rightful leader of thisvitsa. Of all the west coastvitsas. A three-year banishment for me bought her more time on the throne. It’s that simple.”
A grumble goes up. Confused expressions are traded. None of the Rivin family clan members seem stunned by this revelation. They’ve been living with Shelta for years, after all. They all know the woman very well. It would be impossible to spend any length of time around the fortune-teller and not believe her capable of such a thing.
On the horizon, the sun has begun to sink below a distant, jagged ridgeline. Overhead, any hint of cloud cover has disappeared, and the pale, stark winter blue of the sky is deepening, bruising, tinged a violent shade of violet as small pinpricks of light puncture through the mantel of the heavens. The cold sinks its teeth into my skin, deeper, deeper, until it penetrates my bones.
“How many of you knew Kezia?” Pasha calls out. “Do any of you remember my aunt when she traveled with the clan?”
Feet shuffle against the hard-packed earth. A number of people frown, younger members of thevitsa, clearly not recognizing the name. Others nod, though. Two thirds of the crowd, by the looks of things. “Of course,” the woman in the overalls, Cleo, says. “She was my friend. A friend to all of us.”
Pasha nods. There’s a fire in his voice that is setting the dusk ablaze. I wonder if he hears it himself. Every person here is hanging on the words coming out of his mouth. His tone commands attention. He speaks with authority, and demands respect. He speaks like he’s already been crowned king.“Shelta’s always told me her sister was dead. I have no idea how many of you knew otherwise, but Kezia, Sarah, as she’s now called, is alive and she’s being held hostage by the very man my mother helped to escape the clan. The same man I found assaulting a juvenile. For whatever reason, Lazlo has Sarah and he’s refusing to let her go until I accept the role of king.”
The murmuring grows louder and louder. Over the hubbub, a man cries, “Rex Pasha! Let’s do it here and now! Then let’s find the bastard and put an end to him.”
Another voice rises above the others, too. “Kezia’s agadje. She’s no longer our concern!”
I can’t discern how many people agree or disagree with this statement, but dread coils in my stomach, making me feel queasy. What if they’ve changed their mind? What if the Rivins don’t even want Pasha to be their king anymore? He’s been gone for so long. The members of this family might be used to having Shelta make their decisions for them. God…if they don’t want Pasha anymore, and won’t crown him king, then…shit. What happens to Sarah? We still have no idea why Lazlo’s demanded such a strange request, but Pasha says he was firm. If Pasha doesn’t become king of the Roma, then Sarah will undoubtedly pay the price, and I cannotlive with that.
Beside me, Pasha holds his hands up, quieting the combination of conversation and disagreement that has erupted from his people, and everyone quickly falls silent. “I willnotbe crowned tonight. I won’t just demand the title because it was gifted to me years ago. You’ll get to speak again, for a third and final time. There isn’t time to gather all the other clans, so I’m going to let you alone make this decision. My brothers and sisters. Aunts and uncles. Hedge crawlers and hedonists.” The last two titles earn him a rumble of low laughter from the crowd.
Pasha grins as he continues. “Tomorrow night, you’ll get to cast your votes again. You can vote for me, help save Sarah, and bring Lazlo to justice once and for all. Or you can vote elsewhere. I’m sure I know of at least two other candidates who would like to throw their hats in the ring, and that’s fine by me. I trust you all. I trust you guys to make the right call.”
Pasha takes me by the hand and leads me down the final steps from the gathering hall, into the crowd. I feel small. Underdressed. Overdressed. Fuck, I can’t decidehowI feel as we weave our way through the mass of bodies; there are so many eyes boring into me that I feel like I’m about to spontaneously go up in flames.
We reach Cleo, and the woman stands in front of Pasha, hands buried deep in her pockets. She bows her head, looking up at Pasha from beneath a silver grey, arched eyebrow. “You still haven’t told us what she’s doing here,” she says softly. “I think we’re due an explanation.”
She.
Cleo’s obviously referring to me. Just like with Shelta in the gathering room, her attention is focused solely on Pasha; she hasn’t even chanced a sly look at me. There’s no malice to her voice, but the question is firm. She wants an answer, and so does everyone else. The crowd draws in as Pasha looks around at them all, opening his mouth. I have no idea what he’s going to say. I have no clue what’s going to happen if the Rivinvitsadon’t like his answer. He squeezes my hand tightly, pulling me in to his side, and then he speaks with conviction.
“I brought her here because she is mine, and I am hers. She came because I came, and from now on…wherever one of us goes, the other follows.”
Two sentences. Simple sentences, really, but frankly they are terrifying. I manage to control my shock, mastering my features into an expression that I hope will pass as calm, but inside everything is spinning. Does he mean that? How can he sound so fucking sure? Of me? Of us, whatever we are?
Pasha’s explanation is met with utter silence. Cleo’s head slowly drifts to one side as she moves closer, looking up into Pasha’s eyes. He doesn’t waiver. Neither does he blink. A second passes, and then another, long, painful second, and then finally Cleo, dressed in elegant disarray, turns to me and looks at me properly for the first time. She smiles a small, gentle smile—a smile more visible in her eyes than at her mouth—and then she’s reaching for me, placing her hand on my arm, carefully pulling me forward, and she’s drawing me inside her surprisingly strong embrace. Surprised, I hug her back. The moment’s over quickly, and then she’s releasing me.
With a casual shrug, Cleo twists around, addressing the other clan members. “Good enough for me. I’d say we should call ourselves lucky to have ourselves such a beautiful guest.” Then to me she says, “Zara, you’re welcome here. If you need anything, you come and find me. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Pasha—stoic, dark, serious, Pasha—lights up like a child on Christmas morning. I’ve heard him laugh more than once now, loud and infectious laughter that penetrates deep down to the very roots of a person, but I’ve been too overwhelmed to actuallywatchhim do it. His smile is transformational. With his raven’s wing hair, his frosty, ice-green eyes, and his overly pale skin, Pasha’s always felt like the moon—cool, and beautiful, and brilliant. Not right now, though. In this moment, eyes half closed, bowed into crescents, deep dimples in both cheeks, his smile so genuine and real, sobig, he is a goddamn winter sun, and I find myself trapped in his orbit, snared by his gravity, and any minute I am going to lose myself and be burned up by him entirely.
Wrapping one arm around Cleo, Pasha gives her a quick hug, briefer than the one she gave me. “Have I told you lately how much I adore you?” he murmurs.
The woman scowls, playfully shrugging him off. “Why don’t you just say thank you and we can all move on?” she grumbles under her breath.
The crowd disperses around us, everyone apparently satisfied by what has been said, at least for now, and eventually only Shireen and Cleo remain. With a look of concern on her face, Shireen bumps Pasha with her hip. “Know how to cause a scene don’t you, little brother. Patrin’s going to lose half his fucking hair over this.”
Pasha smirks. “He’ll be happy as a pig in shit and you know it. He’s finally gonna get his chance. Take a run at Sheltaandme in one go? Tonight couldn’t have worked out better for him.”
