The Glass Arrow(46)

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I don’t need him to be kind, I need this to be over.

With a sudden burst of recklessness, I yank the stretchy dress over my head. It takes forever to come off, getting stuck around my shoulders, and then around my hair and my earring, and then the metal bracelet. But finally I’m free of it, in just my underclothes, with the cold air biting into my skin. Goose bumps race over my body. My belly button feels like it sucks back all the way to my spine. I crumple the dress in front of my chest.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter.

His eyes go round with shock, and his mouth falls open.

He takes a step back, then forward, then looks around the office. Then up at the night sky. He points at me and turns around. I don’t move, because now he’s the one who’s acting like he’s lost his mind.

“Oh,” I say. “Can you not do it or something?” Maybe Drivers are like Pips, missing the right equipment, I don’t know.

He turns sharply. There’s a glint in his eye that makes my mouth go dry, and I swallow. For a moment we just look at each other, trying to figure out what the other is thinking. Trying to figure out how to begin. I never figured there’d be so much thinking involved. Then he reaches forward and snatches the dress, stretching it taut as one sleeve is still hooked around the chain.

I guess he has the right parts after all.

But he only shakes his head, and attempts to hold the dress in front of me like a curtain.

It takes me a moment to realize what he’s doing.

“I won’t tell on you,” I assure him, pulling the fabric down. His stare drops to my chest and lingers before he blocks it again with the dress.

I snort. “They only gave me a four for these,” I say, pulling back my shoulders.

When he doesn’t move, I step to the side, forcing him to look at me.

“Kiran, come on already, I won’t tell. You have my word.” I make sure he sees my eyes as I pretend to stich my lips shut.

He holds his hands out, then points at his chest. His meaning is clear.

“Why me?”

My shoulders slump. My insides tie into knots. His eyes are still boring into me, and I can feel the shame heating my cheeks. I’m reminded of all the times I made Salma help me clean rabbits. She always said the same thing, “Why me?” Great. Being with me is as detestable to Kiran as slicing up a dead rabbit is to Salma.

“My legs scored seven and a half stars,” I tell him. I look down at the slender muscles of my thighs, and he shakes the dress impatiently in front of me.

I take it, half wishing that knife he’d thrown had hit the mark.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll find another way.” I make it sound mean, but I’m a little relieved.

His mouth is pinched at the corners in anger when he draws an X over his cheek with his first finger, then points at me.

“I know,” I tell him. “They’ll mark me. But it’s the only way, don’t you see? I’ll never get out of here otherwise.”

He points at his chest, and then slices his hands in his no gesture.

“I hear you,” I tell him slowly, the words sharp. “I get it. I’m not stupid, you know.”

He turns away. I stuff myself back into the dress, half livid, half panicked.

“Kiran!” I whisper as he turns. But it’s too late. He’s already over the stream, stalking towards the barn. He slaps a hand against the side paneling just as he passes through, and even though he can’t talk, it sure feels like he’s had the last word.

The chestnut mare I recognize from town, and a few other horses, spook at the sound and gallop out into their paddocks, kicking and whinnying. A few moments later the Watcher is outside, staring at me blankly. Then Daphne shows up, peering around the corner of the office wall as though she’s about to witness something terrifying.

“What happened?” she asks when the Watcher leaves to go back inside.

“Nothing,” I say flatly.

“Did you fall?”

“Go back to sleep,” I say. She huffs and stomps away.

I slide back against the wall, but I don’t sleep. I shred tufts of grass in my fists and sniffle as the air becomes sharply chilled. I keep thinking about Mr. Greer and the Governess. About the mayor’s house, protected in the Magnate district. About how Kiran won’t help me even to save my life.

*

I DON’T MOVE ONCE during the night. I stay there through the morning, thinking, wishing, looking for something I’ve missed, something I haven’t tried. I bite my nails down to nothing. I screw my thumbs into my temples. The Watcher brings me meal pills in another aluminum bowl, but I don’t touch them. All my ideas are coming up blank.

Sometime in the afternoon Daphne comes back around the corner. Her hair has gotten wavy out here in the moist air and sticks out on one side. From the tearstains down her freckle-free, coal-smeared cheek, I can tell she’s had about enough of the solitary pen.

“They’re here for you,” she says.

I don’t stand until the Pips make me.

Within the office my bracelet is removed, then I’m led through the door with the key code and down the long, windowless hallway with the flickering lights. My footsteps are heavy, slower than the pattering of the Pips’ padded shoes. The dread turns my guts to water. It feels like I’m climbing back onto that stage again, only this time not for the auction, but for the hangings.