The Midnight Lie (The Midnight Lie #1)(85)

I had never seen her use her dagger, but I had touched her rangy body. I had felt the muscle that spoke of work despite the luxury she lived in.

Was a queen’s spy trained to kill?

I believed, suddenly and surely, that Sid was ready to make good on her threat.

“No,” I said. “Don’t.” I still loved Raven. I couldn’t strip the habit of years from me.

In a halting voice, I told her everything. I told her about Aden and Raven, about the heliographs and the crescent-moon pendant, about the Elysium bird and everything that had happened that night. About the smashed lantern and the burn. My words unraveling, I explained how I used to think Helin was right that I couldn’t understand the truth before my eyes, and then I changed my mind, and found strength in a newfound belief in myself. I told her how arrogant that belief was, because in the end I didn’t know anything at all. My mother’s sister had made me her apprentice, and I hadn’t known. I had seen glimpses of the necklace at her throat for years, and although the pendant had been hidden beneath Raven’s dress, it had nonetheless reminded me of my mother’s necklace, and even then I didn’t guess. I told Sid that I was a murderer, a criminal, a fool, a fool, a fool.

“You are not a fool.” She kissed my tear-wet mouth.

I tightened my fingers in her shirt. “You warned me that you are a liar.”

“I am not good with the truth. But I am not lying to you now.”

“Promise you won’t deceive me.”

Softly, she said, “I won’t deceive you.”

But she already had.





47


ON THE DAY OF THE COUNCIL PARADE, perfumed blue vines with heavy blossoms lined the edges of the main thoroughfare through the High quarter. The vines seemed to have sprung up overnight. Muslin canopies covered the walkways as they had in my visions of the long-ago Ward: brilliant patchworks of color glowing with the setting sun, embroidered moons and stars that released a refreshing, cool mist that made my skin shiver.

“I see that,” Sid said. “Don’t make me jealous of mist.”

“You, jealous? Never.”

“Not of mist,” she acknowledged, “though that little shudder of yours looked uncannily like something I did to you this morning, and I confess I am feeling challenged right now, to be so easily usurped.” She purchased a spun-sugar bird’s nest from a Middling vendor and passed it to me. It had a pink egg that hatched, an illusion of an Elysium bird coming wet from the shell. It trilled, hopped to my shoulder, spread its wings, and vanished. Sid put a shell fragment in her mouth. She made a face. “Too sweet. But you will like it.”

I shook my head, remembering all the sweets Raven had given me and how happy they had made me. “Not anymore.”

She raised a querying brow but said nothing at first, merely passed the bird’s nest to a Middling boy who was tagging along behind a High family, apparently hired for the purpose of carrying the children’s purchases from Middling vendors. He already carried several toys for the High children, who were pulling their parents toward the next stall. When the Middling boy saw the nest, he immediately crammed it all into his mouth, his eyes closing in delight.

Sid turned to me. “Why don’t you like it anymore?”

“Sugar reminds me of Raven.”

“I don’t want her to spoil things that bring you pleasure.”

“My memory is too good.”

“Yes,” she said. “I see. Maybe with time.”

“People say that only because for them time softens their memories. They forget. I can’t.” Nothing would soften my memory of Sid when she left.

“I was jealous,” Sid said. “I was jealous of Aden. The jealousy was how I knew I was in trouble.” She saw my startled expression and added hurriedly, “If you didn’t see what I felt, please don’t think you are somehow blind or broken. I didn’t want you to see it. I am good at hiding things. Everyone, even without your history, can miss what people desperately wish to hide.”

“Oh? Desperately?”

She rubbed the nape of her neck, casting me a look both sheepish and sly.

“You saw when I was jealous,” I said.

She grinned. “Of Lillin? Mmm, yes. But I shall tell you a secret.” Her soft cheek slipped against mine as she leaned forward and touched her lips to my ear. “I saw you the moment you arrived at the party in your silver dress, my serious little moonbeam, and I thought”—her mouth brushed delicately over my stuttering pulse—“how can I make her mine?”

“Poor Lillin.”

“I’m afraid I was a bit bad.”

“You went out of your way to make me jealous.”

“Did it work?”

“You know it did.”

“I do, but your honesty in admitting it demands a reward.” Her mouth glided down my neck. Her teeth nipped my throat. Her hand slipped into my dress pocket and traced patterns through the thin lining against my thigh.

I whispered, “You are trying to make me forget about the sugar.”

“Am I?”

“You don’t want me to be sad.”

“Never sad. Not you.” She kissed me. I tasted her mouth, sweet from the bird shell, and as I kissed her I yearned for more.