Illusions of Fate (3 page)
“If things were simpler,” he says. And this time in his smile I am shocked to see the same ache I feel for Melei.
With that, he turns and leaves. I watch, bewildered as he walks away, his shadow stretching longer than any others around him, like it wants to stay.
I press my fingers to my chest. What nonsense is my heart pattering out? I barely know him, and I’m almost certain I don’t care for him in the slightest.
What an odd, beautiful man. I will never understand the customs of this insane country. Frowning, I find the nearest bench to rest on and another bird, as big and black as Sir Bird, lands next to me and caws.
“I don’t have any food for you.” I feel strangely melancholic in spite of the sunshine. The last two conversations with Finn are the most personal I’ve had with anyone since I left home. “That’s that, I suppose. Just you and me, Sir Bird.”
The bird answers with another loud caw, then a clacking attack of wings as it flies in my face. I scream and throw my arms up, trying to protect myself as it scrabbles for a hold on my shoulders. Standing, I twist and turn, stumbling down the path, but the possessed bird continues its attack until I feel a sharp burning sensation in my bun. It flies away, a clump of my hair and the blue ribbon that held it back dangling from its claws.
There’s a strange note of regret in its fading caws. Feeling the back of my head with probing fingers, I find a tender spot where the hair was ripped out.
I do
not
accept that blighted bird’s apology. I collapse onto another bench, warm tears tracing down my face, less from the pain than from the shock of it all. I hate this wretched country.
“WHAT’S GNAWING YOUR SOUL?” JACABO ASKS IN
the soft, musical language of our home. Here everyone calls him Jacky Boy, but he’s rather less a boy than a man—a large man at that, with his head shaved bald and a pronounced limp. When I looked him up to deliver his parcel, he knew without asking just what the city was doing to me, and immediately offered work and lodging.
He’s the type of man I am proud to know.
I wave a hand in the air. He chuckles at the familiarity of the gesture. I wish I could bare my soul to him in Melenese with the same ease, but the sad fact is, thanks to my mother’s determination, I am more fluent in Alben. I don’t even think in Melenese, and most of my dreams are narrated in the harsher tones of this country’s language.
It makes a soul lonely when even your tongue has no home.
Last night’s dreams required no language, though. I dreamt of beady yellow eyes watching me from the darkness. The memory of claws and feathers and beaks has me on edge. Today I begged a hat from Ma’ati, a maid here sweet on Jacky Boy, and wore it to my classes. Partly to protect my hair, but mostly so I could resist the temptation to watch the sky.
“Thinner on the carrots.” Jacky Boy nods at my work, and wordlessly I follow his instructions. I helped with the cooking some as a child, but we had a woman from the village who bore the brunt of the meal-making. This, however, is nothing like what we supped on. All creams, heavy sauces, and meat, with vegetables nothing but an afterthought.
I work mainly with chopping. Jacky Boy likes consistency in his kitchen, and I am very good at creating even, calculated amounts. Then he adds the artful touches that turn a tenpenny cut of meat into a queen’s head dollar. The ways of the rich. They will pay ten times as much for a meal because it is served on a beautiful plate, just as they will pay ten times as much for a bed and a roof if well-decorated.
Though I do envy them the goose-feather down.
I’ll bet Finn sleeps on goose-feather down. I’ll bet his sheets are the finest and softest materials, and that—
“Jessa.” Jacky Boy nudges me with his elbow. “That’s enough carrots to garnish a full cow.”
I jump guiltily, as though Jacky Boy knows I was thinking of a boy’s bed. “Oh, sorry!”
“Delivery,” says an oddly familiar voice, and I look up to see a tall, young man, his sharp, almond eyes instantly recognizable though it takes me a few moments to connect them with the younger version I remember.
“Kelen?” I gasp.
His face breaks into a smile as he looks me up and down. His brown skin isn’t as tan as it was on the island, and his hair is cut closer to his head in the Avebury style, but there’s no mistaking him.
I drop my knife and run, throwing my arms around him. “Kelen! I thought I’d never see you again. I asked Mama if you were in Avebury, but she said your mother didn’t know.”
Kelen laughs, squeezing me so that my feet leave the floor.
Kelen, Kelen!
“That’s very odd,” he says, his Alben accent nearly as good as mine. “Since my mother writes me once a week.”
I huff and shake my head as he sets me down. No doubt Mama didn’t want me running off to Albion and giving my heart to a Melenese boy. But this boy already
had
my heart for a few summer months when we were fifteen. Seeing him makes me think of cool, hidden pools, fruit-sweetened stolen kisses, and the glorious freedom it felt like we’d have forever.
We didn’t, of course. Kelen feels utterly out of place in this kitchen, in a way that is both joyous and painful.
“This is my cousin, Jacabo.”
“Hello,” Kelen says, nodding. He picks up a large, brown parcel from where he dropped it on the floor and hands it to Jacky Boy.
I want to drink him up, reveling in the familiar comfort of a shared childhood. That dizzy summer aside, we grew up running wild together, Kelen, me, Nuna, all of the village children. It feels like more than a lifetime ago, and I want to live in those memories, if only for a few stolen minutes. “Are you staying nearby? What are you doing? How have you been?”
A shadow passes over his face and I remember too late exactly why he came here. Not all the half-Alben children were as fortunate as me. His mother had turned to prostitution after Kelen’s father left. Some soldiers hurt her, and Kelen beat them near to death. We never saw him again after that. It was the end of my childhood in many ways, and the end of our easy romance.
I take his hands in mine. “I’m so very, very glad to see you are well.”
He nods. “Likewise. Though I’ll admit I never expected to see Miss High and Mighty working in a kitchen.”
“Oh, I’m not—” I pause, about to deny that this is why I’m here, but realize Jacky Boy is standing right next to me. I won’t demean what he does. “I’m also a student.”
“That sounds more like you. I live near the docks—no, you shouldn’t come visit,” he adds, seeing me open my mouth. “It’s not very safe. I know where you are now. I won’t be a stranger.”
My whole face is a smile as I pull him close for another hug. The physical contact is a balm to my soul. No one touches each other here, not like on Melei, where no conversation passed without touching each other. “I’m so happy, it feels like home.”
Kelen laughs darkly. “You and I remember home very differently then.”
I pull away and he nods again at Jacky Boy. “I’ll be seeing you, then,” he says, giving me his smile that always felt like a secret as he walks out of the kitchen.
I hum quietly to myself as I finish plating the food. The world feels much smaller tonight, and I like it. Kelen will be part of my life. I can hardly wait to sit and talk with him of the people we know and the island we love.
Finished, I show the plate to Jacky Boy for approval before taking it up.
I’m the only kitchen maid allowed to deliver things with the day staff gone. The entire night staff is Melenese, but apparently I’m the only one the managers find acceptable to present to their distinguished guests. It does not endear me to those receiving the meals.
I carefully lift the covered platter, Jacky Boy makes sure my white cap is in place, and then I navigate around the tables and out of the steamy heat of the kitchen. “Go straight to bed when you’re done now,” he calls after me, and I nod with gratitude.
Though the hotel is small and operating at half capacity, of course the guest ordering food at nearly midnight would be on the third floor. I blame the electric lights newly installed. If you can make night burn as bright as day, how does the body know when to sleep? My arms are trembling by the time I’ve climbed the narrow stairs hidden in back of the building.
Sleep, sweet sleep, calls to me. I’m exhausted but happy after seeing Kelen again. I balance the tray on my hip and knock three times. So close to sleep.
“Yes, what?” an annoyed voice calls.
“Meal service.” If he doesn’t open the door soon, my arms are liable to drop off, and then I’ll be no good as either a kitchen worker or a student.
“I ordered no—” The door swings open, and I find myself face-to-face with an equally shocked Finn. He’s in a dressing robe, deep wine red and open at the neck. It’s obvious from his sharp, pale collarbones that he has nothing on beneath.
“What are you doing here?” I shout.
He grabs the tray and yanks it forward, pulling me with it into his room. Before I can back out, he spins me around and shoves me farther inside, the tray smashing against my ribs, then slams and locks the door behind himself.
“Open it right now!” I keep the food between us like it will somehow protect me. “How dare you follow me here! The entire kitchen staff knows where I am, and they’ll come looking for me.” He doesn’t know Jacky Boy told me I could go straight to bed.
“Lie.” His eyes are narrowed and his body is tense. He picks up his cane from where it rests against the wall. I knock the cover off my tray and grab the steak knife, dropping the rest—food and all—onto the thick, green carpet.
I force my voice to come out calmly. “I will kill you before I allow you to touch me.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at his lips. “Truth. Now.” He puts a hand into a deep pocket in his robe. “Who are you working for?”
“What are you on about? I work for this hotel, as you well know since you followed me here and trapped me in your room!”
“I never ordered food.”
“Humblest apologies, sir, it must have been the other maniac in room 312! Is he here? Because I’ll cut him if he comes near me, too!”
“More than one way to trace the path of a liar.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket. The crystal chandelier overhead gives dim light, and I cannot see what he has in his fist. He brings it to his mouth, blowing out. White powder, fine as chalk dust, billows and surrounds my head. I breathe it in and cough. It tastes like the harsh soap my mother used to wash the cleaning rags.
“Let me by, or I swear I’ll slit your throat.” My panic is rising. There is no safe way out of this situation. Either I fight my way free and am jailed for attacking a nobleman or . . . he does whatever he has planned.
I’ll take prison.
But how could I have been so wrong about him? I liked him. He never felt threatening.
“What do you know about my parents?” His voice pierces through me, and it’s as though I can feel it, tugging outward on the tender spot at the hollow of my neck.
“Nothing! Other than that they raised a madman.”
“Whom do you work for?”
“I work for my cousin Jacky Boy in the kitchen, you daft wretch.”
“I thought you were a student.”
“I
am
a student! How do you think I survive in this spirit-blasted city?”
“How did you get into the boarding school then, a simple girl coming from the colonies?”
“My father is a professor there, and I threatened to tell his wife about me if he didn’t secure my admission after I passed all the tests.” I gasp, bringing my free hand to my mouth. I’ve told no one this; not even Mama knows how I really earned my place here.
“And you practice no arts, Hallin or Cromberg?”
“I don’t understand what that question even means.” I am horrified and trembling, unsure what has come over me. “Please let me leave.” I cannot believe what I’ve admitted to. My head feels slick and slippery, like a path has formed between my brain and my tongue. I want nothing else sliding free.
He taps his fingers together as though he’s trying to divine more than my words have told him. “Why are you here?”
“Because you ordered food and I work in the kitchen!”
“Someone is playing us for fools,” he mutters. His hand snakes out and before I can raise the knife, he pulls something from my bun. Between his fingers is a single black feather.
How was that in my hair? I’ve washed it since the bird attack.
Finn holds it over a candle on the small table next to the door, and instead of lighting on fire, it evaporates in a puff of pale smoke. He looks back at me and sighs, a finger placed thoughtfully over his lips. “I’m sorry. I mean you no harm. You obviously have no part in this. My apologies for a less-than-graceful strategy. But I wonder . . .”
Abruptly standing straight, he brushes past me and leaves the scents of candle smoke and spicy cloves in his wake. The door! I dart forward but the doorknob burns my hand. I yank it back, hissing.
“Not yet, Jessamin. I need you to do something for me.”
I let out every curse I know in my own tongue, most of which revolve around the shriveling death of his manhood. I rip off my white cap and wrap it around the doorknob as a buffer, but it’s still too hot. Blowing on my burned fingers, I turn around to find Finn standing much too close. His dark eyes are locked on to mine and behind them is a frantic light—madness, anger, lust, I cannot distinguish. I am frozen between wanting to lean closer and wanting to lean away.
