The Midnight Lie (The Midnight Lie #1)(38)

The Ward’s walls were sunny mirrors with no reflections. I wondered what Sid was doing. Was she sleeping through the heat? I pictured her curled up like a cat. I felt a rush of eagerness. I couldn’t wait for night to fall. I couldn’t wait to see the cool dark pool into the sky.

You mean you can’t wait to see me, Sid’s voice said slyly.

But there was nothing wrong with that. It made sense, didn’t it? Everything about her was new. New things are exciting. Everyone knows that.

The word new clung to my mind. I thought about the dream of new I had drunk from the vial.

My pace slowed.

I thought about Rinah, who wanted her baby.

I thought about my newborn self, squalling inside the orphanage box.

I glanced around the quiet, white, deserted streets, remembering in my dream, the walls were lushly painted with colors.

It was just a dream, of course. But as my steps slowed to a halt and sweat oozed down my back, I considered how Sid made me question what I believed I knew.

It occurred to me that although for years I had believed my mother didn’t want me, I couldn’t know that for certain. Maybe something—or someone—had made her abandon me.

It occurred to me that I had never questioned why, every year for the moon festival, the men painted the walls freshly white.

How many coats of paint lay thick on the walls?

Had the walls always been white?

What if my dream had been somehow real?

Normally this last thought would have sent me scurrying home, shoving the idea away, because it was the sort of thought that had always meant confusion and grief. It had been so hard when I was younger to tell illusion from truth. I should have grown out of it by now.

I needed Helin to tell me what was real. I needed Raven.

Or, Sid said, you could always find out for yourself what is real.

I looked around me. The air was heavy with heat. There was no one. Nothing moved except the marching silver ants.

I slid the gardening knife from my pocket and opened it. I approached the nearest wall and its smooth expanse of white limewash.

I scraped at the paint with the knife. White flakes peeled away, sticking to my knife, my sweaty skin. Silver ants came to see what I was doing. They walked up my knife and over my wrist, biting me as I swatted them off.

I’m not sure how long I carved away at the years of paint until finally, just when I thought I had gone crazy again, like when I was little, when I was seduced into believing impossible things no one else saw, my knife stripped away one last layer. Beneath the white lay a bloody red paint.



* * *



I can only imagine how I must have looked when I walked into the tavern. Garden dirt smeared on my face. Sleepless hollows beneath my eyes. Sweaty clothes, sweaty hair. Ant bites in a lurid string of red bumps up my arm, even some on my neck and face. Dirt and white paint under my nails. A startled expression on my face that probably grew even more bewildered when I saw who was waiting at a table inside the tavern.

Sid looked up from her plate of sun melon slices. She saw me and laughed. Her skin was clean and pure, her thin, pomegranate-colored silk dress falling in elegant folds.

Annin, who had frozen in the act of pouring Sid iced lemon water, stared at me. “Nirrim! You look awful!”

“You really do,” Sid said. “What have you been doing? Rolling around in a rosebush? What are all those red marks? Tell me.”

A blush burned in my cheeks. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You said I look awful.”

“No, she did.” Sid unfurled a lazy hand in the direction of Annin, who was glancing between us. “I merely agreed. Did you … tussle with squirrels? Dirty squirrels? Vengeful ones?”

“Shut up.”

Annin gasped. “Nirrim! She is High.”

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

Sid’s laughter melted into a slow smile. “I got tired of waiting for you.”





24


RAVEN BUSTLED INTO THE ROOM, carrying a tray laden with all the delicacies we could offer: a small sugar loaf made by me, ice cherry preserves richly purple in a tiny glass jar, chilled indi flower tea, and goat milk custard glazed with amber caramel. She had eyes only for Sid. “My lady, we are so honored! You will not want for anything here in my home, I assure you. I shall serve you myself. Annin, why are you staring?” Raven, who clearly hadn’t noticed my arrival, finally glanced in my direction. Her eyes widened and her mouth firmed. “Nirrim. Your appearance is disgraceful. How dare you embarrass me in front of our guest.”

“I didn’t know she would be here,” I said.

“That is no excuse!”

“Why not?” Sid said mildly. “It looks like she was doing work in the heat. I’m not surprised by how she looks, only by the fact that someone let her—what, garden?—in the sun on a day like this.”

“She insisted,” Raven said. “I tried to stop her. Nirrim, you stupid girl. Shut the door. You are letting the heat in.”

Sid’s smile hardened. When I shut the door, her face was thrown into sudden shadow. Her eyes glinted. “Apologize,” she told Raven.

“Of course, my lady. I had no idea that one of my servants was capable of such bad manners. Forgive me, please. It won’t happen again.”