“I’m a surprisingly good teacher,” he adds, smiling crookedly. When he stretches out a hand to me, my body shivers.
I know I shouldn’t. I know I should shut the door and not go down this road.
But he’s leaving to fight, maybe to die.
Shaking, I put my hand in his and let him pull me out of my room.
EIGHTEEN
Moonlight falls on the floor, bright enough for us to see by. In the silvery light, the red blush in my skin is barely visible—I look the same as a Silver. Chairs scrape along the wood floor as Cal rearranges the sitting room, clearing space for us to practice. The chamber is secluded, but the hum of cameras is never far away. Elara’s men are watching, but no one comes to stop us. Or rather, to stop Cal.
He pulls a strange device, a little box, out of his jacket and sets it in the middle of the floor. He stares at it expectantly, waiting for something.
“Can that thing teach me how to dance?”
He shakes his head, still smiling. “No, but it’ll help.”
Suddenly, a pulsing beat explodes from the box, and I realize it’s a speaker, like the ones in the arena back home. Only this is for music, not battle. Life, not death.
The melody is light and quick, like a heartbeat. Across from me, Cal smiles wider, and his foot taps in time. I can’t resist, my own toes wiggling with the music. It’s so bouncy and upbeat, not at all like the cold, metallic music of Blonos’s classroom or the sorrowful songs of home. My feet slide along, trying to remember the steps Lady Blonos taught me.
“Don’t worry about that, just keep moving.” Cal laughs. A drumbeat trills over the music and he spins, humming along. For the first time, he looks like he doesn’t have the weight of a throne on his shoulders.
I feel it too as my fears and worries lift, if only for a few minutes. This is a different kind of freedom, like flying along on Cal’s cycle.
Cal’s much better at this than me, but he still looks like a fool; I can only imagine how idiotic I must appear. Still, I’m sad when the song ends. As the notes fade away into the air, it feels like I’m falling back to reality. Cold understanding creeps through me; I shouldn’t be here.
“This probably isn’t the best idea, Cal.”
He cocks his head, pleasantly confused. “Why’s that?”
He’s really going to make me say it. “I’m not even supposed to be alone with Maven.” I stumble over the words, feeling myself flush. “I don’t know if dancing with you in a dark room is exactly okay.”
Instead of arguing, Cal just laughs and shrugs. Another song, slower with a haunting tune, fills the room. “The way I see it, I’m doing my brother a favor.” Then he grins crookedly. “Unless you want to step on his feet all night?”
“I have excellent footing, thank you very much,” I say, crossing my arms.
Slowly, softly, he takes my hand. “Maybe in the ring,” he says. “The dance floor, not so much.” I look down to watch his feet, moving in time with the music. He pulls me along, forcing me to follow, and, despite my best efforts, I stumble against him.
He smiles, happy to prove me wrong. He’s a soldier at heart, and soldiers like to win. “This is the same timing as most of the songs you’ll hear at the ball. It’s a simple dance, easy to learn.”
“I’ll find some way to mess it up,” I grumble, allowing him to push me around the floor. Our feet trace a rough box and I try not to think about his closeness, or the calluses of his hands. To my surprise, they feel like mine: rough with years of work.
“You might,” he murmurs, all his laughter gone.
I’m used to Cal being taller than me, but he seems smaller tonight. Maybe it’s the darkness, or maybe it’s the dance. He seems like he did when I first met him; not a prince, but a person.
His eyes linger on my face, tracing over where my wound was. “Maven fixed you up nicely.” There’s an odd bitterness to his voice.
“It was Julian. Julian and Sara Skonos.” Though Cal doesn’t react as strongly as Maven did, his jaw tightens all the same. “Why don’t you two like her?”
“Maven has his reasons, good reasons,” he mumbles. “But it’s not my story to tell. And I don’t dislike Sara. I just don’t—I don’t like thinking about her.”
“Why? What’s she done to you?”
“Not to me,” he sighs. “She grew up with Julian, and my mother.” His voice drops at the mention of his mom. “She was her best friend. And when she died, Sara didn’t know how to grieve. Julian was a wreck, but Sara . . .” He trails off, wondering how to continue. Our steps slow until we stop, frozen as the music echoes around us.
“I don’t remember my mother,” he says sharply, trying to explain himself. “I wasn’t even a year old when she died. I only know what my father tells me, and Julian. And neither of them like to talk about her at all.”
“I’m sure Sara could tell you about her, if they were best friends.”
“Sara Skonos can’t speak, Mare.”
“At all?”
Cal continues slowly, in the level, calm voice his father uses. “She said things she shouldn’t have, terrible lies, and she was punished for it.”
Horror bleeds through me. Can’t speak. “What did she say?”
In a single heartbeat, Cal goes cold under my fingers. He draws back, stepping out of my arms as the music finally dies. With quick motions, he pockets the speaker, and there is nothing but our beating hearts to fill the silence.
“I don’t want to talk about her anymore.” He breathes heavily. His eyes seem oddly bright, flickering between me and the windows full of moonlight.
Something twists in my heart; the pain in his voice hurts me. “Okay.”
With quick, deliberate steps, he moves toward the door like he’s trying very hard not to run. But when he turns back around and faces me across the room, he looks the same as usual—calm, collected, detached.
“Practice your steps,” he says, sounding very much like Lady Blonos. “Same time tomorrow.” And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in a room full of echoes.
“What the hell am I doing?” I mutter to no one but myself.
I’m halfway to my bed before I realize something is very wrong with my room: the cameras are off. Not a single one hums at me, seeing with electric eyes, recording everything I do. But unlike the outage before, everything else around me still buzzes along. Electricity still pulses through the walls, to every room but mine.
Farley.
But instead of the revolutionary, Maven steps out of the darkness. He throws aside the curtains, letting in enough moonlight to see by.
“Late-night walk?” he says with a bitter smile.
My mouth falls open, struggling for words. “You know you’re not supposed to be in here.” I force a smile, hoping to calm myself. “Lady Blonos will be scandalized. She’ll punish us both.”
“Mother’s men owe me a favor or two,” he says, pointing to where the cameras are hidden. “Blonos won’t have evidence to convict.”
Somehow that doesn’t comfort me. Instead, I feel shivers run over my skin. Not in fear though, but anticipation. The shivers deepen, electrifying my nerves like my lightning as Maven takes measured steps toward me.