Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(76)

“Thank you for welcoming us to your island.” Elbena bowed deeply. I followed a moment later.

“Always a pleasure. It’s not every year we have such esteemed company to welcome the Twilight Senate back after the Hallowed Restoration.” Dara returned the gesture and ushered us into the carriage. “If you’re ready to go . . .”

I waited while a Luminary Guard made a show of not appearing as though he was searching the carriage for danger as he offered a hand to help me step inside.

That was something I’d always hated: we acted as though we trusted our neighbors, even as we expected them to betray us.

The Luminary Guard was Hristo, though, so when I took his hand to climb into the carriage, I never wanted to let go.

But I did let go.

Right away.

Because if I’d held on even a moment too long, Elbena would have noticed. The thought of her realizing Hristo wasn’t really a Luminary Guard and punishing him—that was more than I could stand.

I slid to the far side of the carriage and straightened my gown. The long skirt and train had been bleached into a silvery white, but the bust was all gold brocade, filled with tiny draconic details. A matching sash circled my ribs, creating a high waist that disguised my gaunt form. I’d worn this to a charity ball just six months ago and received twenty-seven compliments on it. When I’d seen my seamstress again, I had repeated every kind thing people had said about her creation, word for word. She’d been so happy she cried.

The gown was loose now, though my muscles beneath the silk were harder. Still, it felt amazing to wear something so luxurious. Even after everything had been stripped away in the Pit and I’d learned to live with less, I still wanted this: my personal guard, meals cooked by renowned chefs, and things that made me feel pretty.

Maybe that was silly.

“Will Councilor Bilyana be joining us tonight?” I asked as Elbena slid into the seat next to me.

“Of course. You can see her later, if you want.”

“Of course,” I said, mimicking Elbena’s tone. “I can’t wait.”

She shot a warning look at me.

Soon, Dara, Hristo (in disguise), and one of Dara’s men joined us in the carriage. It was a close fit. As we eased into motion, only to stop and wait for the gate to open, and then start again down the street, Elbena kept patting my hand where it rested on my knee. But rather than glare at her as she intruded on my space, I turned my attention to the bright city outside.

People walked down the road as though nothing horrible was happening anywhere. As though dragons weren’t being seized and neglected and killed. As though earthquakes weren’t destroying families. As though—somewhere on another island, hidden beneath the ground—people weren’t kept in small cages with their own filth, rewarded with rancid food for good behavior.

I tried not to imagine going back to that. To chapped hands, to pitch-black nights, to the weeping of my neighbors. To Altan.

I shook away those thoughts and focused on the Shadowed City. I needed to be alert.

Streetlights stood sentinel every five paces: noorestones placed in high steel cages, the crystals arranged so that the ground beneath them would never be dark.

“What are you looking at?” Dara watched me as I peered at the outside world.

“You have so many streetlights here.” I’d counted twenty-one already, and we hadn’t left the block where my inn was located.

“Bophans don’t like the dark,” she said. “You might have noticed.”

“That’s always seemed odd to me. You worship the Shadow Goddess.” I wanted to suck the words back in—Elbena was frowning—but Dara just waved away my gaffe, as though it had never happened.

“There are no shadows without light, Mira. And where there is light, there are always shadows.” She spoke the words as though imparting some great knowledge or understanding of the universe upon me. “In Bopha, our worship is twofold: the shadow, and the light that makes the shadow possible. To expect one without the other is”—she paused, as though trying to figure out how to explain this to an outsider—“the same as expecting a shout to have no sound.”

I thought I understood. “It wouldn’t be right to worship only shadows without also loving the thing that makes shadows possible?”

Dara smiled warmly. “That’s correct.”

“You said the worship was twofold, though. Light and shadow, but something has to block the light to make the shadow. Do you worship that, too? What makes shadows?”

The lady president leaned forward, her neck tattoos twitching as she drew a breath. “We do, Mira. We block the light to make shadows. That is human nature.”

The carriage turned a sharp corner, and when we straightened, the Shadow Spires rose ahead, filling the sky with their enormity.

“You can see,” Dara said, “why these recent arson attacks have been so horrific.”

“Lighting people on fire is always horrific.”

“Of course.” She said it like she was agreeing so we didn’t argue. Like lighting people on fire was somehow worse here. “It destroys a person’s shadow. A terrible fate anywhere.”

I searched my mind for their afterlife beliefs. Daminan people were united with their soul mates for eternity. Khulani warriors were taken to fight in a great battle. Hartans were given endless, loving families. Bophans . . .