I nod, holding my breath and bracing myself for the conversation that will inevitably follow. Our relationship, which had already begun with complications, has now developed into something impossible. I created him, whether or not I remember it. All of his memories—everything he is—came from Villiam, the man who intended to murder him.
And I almost let it happen. I’m shocked he can even look at me.
He climbs into the caravan and stands at Villiam’s desk. He removes his hat and soaked coat and looks up at the ceiling. “The warrior constellation,” he says.
“I forgot you knew about stars,” I say.
“My father and I used to examine them from the clock tower...” He taps his cane on the toe of his shoe. “But I suppose that never truly happened. The City of Raske and the clock tower are very real places. I’m simply not a part of them.”
My heart aches when I look at his face. At his dark eyes. At the way he bites his lip. This is the boy I’ve come to love, the only person I suspect in the world who could ever also love me.
Because I made him up.
But he feels so real. The smell of his sandalwood soap. The groans of the caravan shifting from his weight as he paces around the room. The burning in my chest. All of it is so real that I could burst from the pain of it all.
“I’m very sorry about Villiam,” he says, still standing. He doesn’t touch me the way he usually does. Five feet span between us. “I’m sorry about all of this.”
He was the one who almost died.
“I’m sorry, too,” I say bitterly. “I don’t know if I can ever say it enough. I didn’t trust you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, but, by his tone, it does.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. My headache is gone. Doesn’t seem like any lasting harm was done, though I can’t seem to stop my right hand from trembling.” He lifts it off his cane to show me the tremor. “But I didn’t come to you for small talk. Gomorrah is leaving Leonita.”
“I know that,” I say. “Everyone is packing up now.”
“Despite the fact that you and I disagree with Villiam’s motives, the Alliance is real. With the other Up-Mountain city-states in turmoil, Exander will act. What are you going to do about it?” He leans on his walking stick. “Nicoleta isn’t proprietor yet.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“I was hardly suggesting that,” he says.
In truth, I’d rather abandon the proprietorship entirely. The Festival isn’t my responsibility, and I want nothing to do with the Gomorrah family.
“What would you have me do?”
“You can do nothing. You can take Gomorrah away from here and let history play out. But that isn’t the purpose of Gomorrah,” he says. “You should give Exander something to remember. Something that will make him think twice about taking on the Down-Mountains, when the Ninth Trade War does begin.”
He wants me to create an illusion.
“I don’t want to be part of a war.”
“It’s inevitable. Just as it is inevitable that Gomorrah will be caught in the middle of it. That’s the nature of these things.” He stares out the open window. “What will you do to protect the Festival?”
It isn’t fair for him to ask this of me. I’ve already gone to extraordinary lengths to protect my family and, by extension, this Festival. I am not the proprietor. I’m merely his daughter. This isn’t my city.
My crusade is over.
“Why do you want me to do this?” I ask. “What is it to you?”
He grimaces. “You’re right. I’m an Up-Mountainer. Why would I possibly care about world events? Why would I not dwell, even a little, on the fact that I only exist because Exander exists? I have been fashioned in the image of prejudice and terror. Everything I remember about my life was invented by your father. Why would I possibly care that you are sitting in your dead father’s chair, mourning him and the future he promised you?”
I wince. “Do you hate me now?”
“No. No, I don’t hate you. Even in the Menagerie, trapped and feeling very much betrayed, I did not hate you.” He sighs, and I’m too overcome by guilt to speak. “But I know you. You aren’t going to do nothing. While Gomorrah remains in Leonita, you’re the proprietor. So...what are you going to do?”
