He holds out his hand.
His eyes are questioning, but he already knows my answer.
I take it.
The walk to the outside of Gomorrah takes over forty minutes, from Villiam’s caravan to the obelisks at the edge of the Downhill. The Festival moves behind us, a roar of wheels turning and wood creaking. Neither of us speak.
I am not certain who I am doing this for. For my family? To help finish Villiam’s goals feels like a terrible insult to their memory. But Luca is right: the Alliance is a real danger. They always have been.
Am I doing this for myself? I was once a slave, according to Villiam’s stories. Even if he lied about so many other things, I don’t really think he lied about that. But I was so young. I cannot even imagine my life then. The evils of the Up-Mountains’ empires have harmed thousands, and I feel almost guilty for not remembering my past. It’s my story, yet it doesn’t feel like mine to tell. Maybe Villiam stole that from me. Maybe the Up-Mountains did.
I shouldn’t merely do this for Luca, simply because he wishes more of me. Everyone thinks I am a warrior, but I don’t believe there’s any fight left in me.
We stop in the field, its grass trampled and brown from accommodating Gomorrah. It looks as if we’ve left a wasteland behind us. Even in the sky, we have stained the clouds black.
“Leonita’s officials even reached the Downhill,” Luca says. “Look. One of the obelisks is broken.”
The one to our left is missing its point. They are no longer twins.
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I usually make my illusions up on the spot.”
“But this isn’t the Freak Show.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You sound like you don’t care.”
“What makes you think that?” I ask. Really, I don’t have enough in me to feel anything at all.
“Your voice is flat. You’re...” His face darkens as he searches for a word.Brokenwould be the best choice. He touches my mask. Matte, black, plain. “Where are the feathers? The sequins?”
“My father just died.”
“And the rest of your family is safe.”
“Are they?” I ask. “Safe from Villiam and Agni, I suppose. Agni probably forced Dalimil to lie about the spy. But Gomorrah is currently fleeing from a possible war. A Ninth Trade War, everyone is saying. This battle might be over, but there are more to come. Gomorrah has asked my family to defend it before; who is to say they won’t do it again?”
“You are. Right now.” His voice rises, and the wind carries it. We are alone in this field—the iron gates of Leonita ahead of us, the fraternal obelisks of Gomorrah behind us. “The Wandering City will always wander into trouble. You must convince Exander not to follow us there.” He points his walking stick toward the castle jutting out over the Leonitian skyline. “He should be in his castle.”
“I don’t think I can single him out from such a distance,” I say.
“Then show the whole city your illusion.”
I wither. That must be thousands of people. I don’t normally perform illusions for such a large crowd. I perform in small details: in the scurries of insects, in the glittering of stars.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
He rests his hand on my shoulder. I’m so startled, I nearly flinch away at his touch. “I’m connected to Exander, aren’t I? Use me to find him.”
I hesitate.
“Sorina. You can do this.”
I’m not a warrior.
“You’re Gomorrah’s proprietor.”
