The other man nods sympathetically. “Yesterday, my littlest daughter asked me why the fruit merchants have two piles of produce now—and why they hand the fresh food to malfetto buyers, the rotten food to us.”
A cold, bitter smile twists my lips. Of course I had designed this law precisely to make sure that the unmarked suffered. After the ordinance first came into effect, I’d spent time walking the markets, relishing the sight of unmarked people grimacing at the rotten food they brought home, forcing it into their mouths out of hunger and desperation. How many years have we waited for our own fair treatment? How many of us have been pelted in the streets by blackened cabbage and meat filled with maggots? The memory of my own burning so long ago comes back to me, and along with it, the smell of the spoiled food that had once struck me. Take back your rotting weapons, I vow silently, and fill your mouths with them. Eat it until you love it.
The men continue on, oblivious that I’m listening to every word. If I revealed myself to them now, would they fall to their knees and beg forgiveness? I could execute them here, spill their blood right in the streets, for daring to use the word malfetto. I let myself indulge in the thought as we turn a corner and enter the Estenzian piazza where the annual horse races of the Tournament of Storms are held. The square is mostly empty this morning, painted gray by the clouds and rain.
“If I saw her right now,” one of the men says, shaking water from his hood, “I’d shove that rotten food back in her mouth. Let her taste that for herself, and see if it’s worth eating.”
His companion lets out a bark of laughter.
So brave, when they think no one else is listening. I stop in the square, but before I let them go about their day, I open my mouth and speak.
“Careful. She is always watching.”
Both of them hear me. They freeze in their steps and whirl around, their faces taut with fear. They search for who might have said it. I stay invisible in the center of the piazza, smiling. Their fear spikes, and as it does, I inhale deeply, relishing the spark of power behind their energy. I’m tempted to reach out and seize it. Instead, I just look on as the men turn pale as ghosts.
“Come on,” the blond man whispers, his voice choking with terror. He has begun to tremble, although I doubt it’s from the cold, and a hint of tears beads in his eyes. His face blurs in my vision, smearing like the rest of the world, and for an instant, all I can see are streaks of black where his eyes should be, a slash of pink where his mouth once was. The two hurry off through the piazza.
I look around, amused by my little game. Rumors have spread throughout the city about how the White Wolf haunts the air, that she can see straight into your homes and into your souls. It has left a permanent sense of disquiet in the city’s energy, a constant undercurrent of fear that keeps my belly full. Good. I want the unmarked to feel this perpetual unease under my rule, to know that I am always watching them. It will make any rebellions against me harder to organize. And it will make them understand the fear that the marked suffered for so long.
Other people pass me by, unaware of my presence. Their faces look like ruined paintings. I try to push past the blurriness, but a dull headache creeps in, and suddenly I feel exhausted. A patrol of my white-cloaked Inquisitors march by, their eyes searching for unmarked people who might be breaking my new laws. Their armor looks like an undulating wave in my vision. I grimace, clutching my head, and decide to return to the palace. The rain has soaked through my own cloak, and a warm bath sounds enticing.
By the time I arrive at the steps leading up to the bathhouse, the drizzle has turned into a steady rain. My bare feet create a faint slapping sound against the marble floor as I go inside. There, I finally drop my invisibility. Usually, two maidens are trailing behind me when I come here, but I just want to sink myself into warm waters and let my mind wander away.
As I approach the bath hall, I hear a pair of voices drifting out from within. My steps slow for a moment. The bathhouse isn’t empty, as I had thought. I should’ve sent a servant ahead of me to clear the halls. I hesitate a moment longer, then decide to continue on. After all, I am queen—I can always order whoever they are to leave.
The pool stretches out in a long rectangle from where I stand to the other side of the hall. A fog of warmth hangs in the air, and I can smell the moisture. At the other end of the pool come the voices I’d heard a moment earlier. As I slip off my damp robes and dip my toes into the warm water, I hear a low rumble of laughter that makes me pause. Suddenly, I recognize who it is—Magiano. He did say he was going to be at the baths.
He has his back turned to me, and it’s difficult to see him clearly through the warm mist in the air. But it’s unmistakably him. His brown back is bare and slick, his muscles gleaming, and his braids are piled high on his head in a knot. He leans casually over the edge of the pool, and standing nearby on the stones is the same maiden I’d seen with him by the palace. She is kneeling down, her hair falling over one shoulder, a shy smile on her face as she hands him a glass of spiced wine.
Ah, the whispers say, stirring. And here we thought he was your plaything.
Again, bitterness rises in my chest—and my illusions weave an image before me once more. The maiden, no longer dressed, bathing with Magiano, water glistening on her skin, him reaching for her, running his hands along the outline of her body. Illusion. I close my eye, take a deep breath, and count in my head, trying to still my thoughts. It takes so much more effort than it once did. I feel a violent urge to get out of the pool, throw my clothes back on, and rush to my chambers, to leave them here to whatever they want to do. But I also feel an overwhelming need to hurt the maiden. My pride pushes back. You are the Kenettran queen. No one should force you to leave. So instead, I lift my chin and wade into the water, letting the warmth envelop my body.