Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(77)

“Only our shadows move on,” Dara said. “I could see you trying to remember.”

I blushed. “Forgive me. It’s been some time since my studies covered other beliefs.”

“Worry not.” She leaned back in her seat. “Bopha takes our shadows and adds them to her own. But without, we cannot join her in eternity. That’s why the fire killings are even more abhorrent to us. A person cannot cast a shadow when the light is coming from them.”

“What happens if they die without a shadow?”

Dara bowed her head. “Nothing happens, dear Mira. Nothing at all. They simply end.”

I shuddered. The thought of nothing happening after death was enough to haunt me for days. I changed the subject. “What do you think will be served at dinner tonight?”

That was an easy question. Dara had chosen the menu. While she described all seven courses, I divided my attention between that and the window. But mostly, I wished I were sitting next to Hristo. If I could even meet his eyes, that would be something, but he sat on the other side of Elbena, and everyone would know something was wrong if I leaned forward to look around her.

If Hristo had known the quiet code, I could tap a message. I could say hello. I could say I missed him.

The carriage stopped at three points on the drive, and every time a police officer opened the door, peered around the interior, and asked to see Dara’s papers. “Thank you, Lady President Soun.”

“They know who you are,” I said the last time, as we drew closer to the spires. “Why do they need to see the papers?”

“I may be the leader of the Bophan people, but I am still a person like anyone else. If I insist on checkpoints to ensure the safety of tonight’s dinner, I must submit to the inspections as well.”

If only she felt so passionately about the equality of Hartans.

A wide band of park ground ringed the Shadow Spires. Broad-leafed trees grew at regular intervals. Benches (I counted five) and tables (two within sight) had been sprinkled across the grass. All were painted bright white, and already glowed under the streetlights.

The spires themselves were something else entirely.

From the docks, I’d thought the buildings were marble and copper, but that had been under the afternoon light. Now, as we passed between two of the towers, I noticed the noorestones embedded right into the walls. They’d been placed next to the veins of copper that swirled over the exteriors, like the tattoos that covered Dara’s throat, or Chenda’s face.

When the carriage stopped and we were released, I dropped back my head to find that the bright noorestones climbed up the towers all the way to the top of every spire.

Three footsteps thumped behind me. I held my breath, hoping it was Hristo, but the sound was too noisy to be him; Hristo moved like a ghost when he wanted. And he wouldn’t risk his cover.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Elbena stood next to me and lowered her voice. “Doesn’t it make you wish you could see beautiful things like this all the time?”

I kept my voice equally soft, under the gentle cacophony of a stream of people on their way to the wide-mouthed doors of the central spire. “Of course.”

“Don’t forget.” She touched my arm so I’d go with her. The party waited. “All you have to do is deliver the speech.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR




DELIVER THE SPEECH.

That was all.

That was always the Luminary Council’s wish of me. Say the words. Look the part. Inspire confidence.

My long gown gleamed in the noorestone light, bright against my skin. I missed this—feeling beautiful—but how could I embrace this life now that I knew the cost?

Conflicted, I followed Elbena and Dara to the enormous open doors of the High Tower, where eight armed guards waited. They searched our bags and waved us into the grand lobby. The five of us strode through the huge space, with ceilings that stretched far higher than normal, making Dara’s voice carry as she pointed out pieces of art and architecture, and educated us on their historical importance.

A bubbling fountain with a map of the Fallen Isles on the bottom, and dozens of small fish meant to signify the Upper Gods, who’d chosen not to descend to Noore.

A lightless chandelier constructed after the North Mine collapse, when thirty miners were killed in a cave-in.

And a statue of Bopha herself, her arms and hands and fingers stretching toward a window so narrow that it would admit the morning light only twice a year.

Finally, we reached a marble staircase in the center of the room. The steps spiraled up and up, with noorestones embedded in copper all along the inner handrail. Our shadows moved against the white walls, silent reminders of Bopha’s power here.

Music drifted through the building—the gentle one-two-three beat of a waltz caught and tangled on my counting. The only music in the Pit had been what I’d brought in my mind, Kumas’s sad attempts, and the horrible noise of Hurrok’s screaming every night.

This music—real music—drew me upstairs. My soul was starving for it.

On the landing, we turned one corner into a huge ballroom where a dozen musicians played on a tall stage that sat under a great, circular window in the back. I identified a flute, violin, and some kind of bass stringed instrument before Elbena’s gasp drew my attention away.