“What’s that?”
“My … ah, my details. In case you want to perform together again,” she whisper-rasps, working her lips into a smile that looks more sad than happy. Like perhaps she knows I won’t contact her.
That we’ll never see each other again.
I take it anyway, dipping my head in thanks, seeing Tarik emerge from the lavatory and catch my eye.
Got you.
I pivot toward the stairs and hurry from the Hungry Hollow.
In another life, I might’ve befriended Levvi. But—
So many buts.
I think back to someone else I once knew. Someone else with an easy smile and warm regard. A female who’s now a vaporous memory that doesn’t bang against my ribs or heart. Not after I tied all those heavy, painful parts to a rock now anchored to the bottom of my icy internal lake.
Companionship is something I work hard to avoid. And mostly succeed. The harder you care, the more fragile everything seems.
Easier to just …
Not.
Snow spews—fat flakes that catch on my feathered lashes and dust the pave anew. Crunching beneath my boots as I walk the dreary Ditch almost entirely bare of life at this late hour.
Both halves of the immense stone wall tower on either side of me, running parallel from east to west as far as the eye can see. Like two lofty bookcases, the path between them large enough for numerous carts to roll down, side by side.
The wall wraps around the world’s plump belly like a belt, only split down the middle in densely populated segments like right here in Gore. Deep enough that folk seem to feel a sense of safety within the lengthy trench—away from the immediate threat of predators.
False as it is.
There are just as many down here in the sheltered Ditch, if not more. They’re just well camouflaged.
A silver sowmoth splits from a swarm of them churning overhead, fluttering so close its fluffy wings dust me in a spray of luminous powder.
I smile.
I like this time of slumber, when it feels like it’s just me, the sowmoths, and the candy-colored clouds. Even though it’s not.
Even though I’ve got a monster on my heels.
Although Tarik times his footsteps to match mine perfectly, planting his feet almost soft enough to meld with the patter of snow, I sense his presence like a looming shadow threatening to gobble me up.
I should be scared. Nervous. Maybe a little sad for what I’m about to do.
Survival’s funny. Some wear it like a whisper, others like a scream. Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward.
There’s not much that’s wet and squishy left in my chest. It’s all hard and hostile, impervious to things like caring for the likes of Tarik Relaken. In fact, even if he were a pile of shit on the pavement, I’d still go out of my way to stomp on him.
Perhaps that makes me a monster, too.
I don’t dissect the thought, shoving it out of the way as I move up a stairway on the inside of the wall’s southern half, zigzagging up the levels, past doors shut up for the slumber. I keep going until the wall is just that—wall. No more dwellings bored into the sides.
Folk don’t like to live so close to the clouds, the air this far up feeling … borrowed. Like it doesn’t belong to us.
Like it belongs to the dragons.
A shiver scuttles up my spine, and I turn south down a lengthy wind tunnel that yawns to the view beyond the wall, packed full of clouds so close I could almost reach out and scoop handfuls of their heavy underbellies.
When I’m only a few long steps away from the deadly plummet to the ground below, I dig into my pocket and ease off my iron ring, exposing myself to a riot of song that threatens to mince my brain into a fine sludge.
Fucking … mayhem.
The tendons in my neck stretch, the veins in my temples pulsing with too much rushing blood and song.
I tune my mind to the highest frequency—like tightening a sound snare—then cap the opening with a sieve, isolating Clode’s manic melody blaring at the top of her billowy lungs. The Goddess of Air works up a howling eddy that makes my veil flutter about, a lopsided grin stretched across my face.
She wants to play.
So do I.
The hairs on the back of my neck lift, Tarik’s footsteps drawing closer …
Closer.
Come on, you slimy fuck. Make your mo—
His hand latches onto the back of my neck, and he shoves me against the wall face-first, using his weight to pin me in place.
My skin crawls at the heft of him. The disabling might of a male determined to take whatever he wants.
I feign a whimper. A small jostle of desperation.