A shiver runs down my spine. The doll looks like a toy, yet it could become a deadly weapon.
“Thank you for your work,” I say. “The cicada is beautiful.”
“If you say so.”
* * *
Luca walks me to the edge of Gomorrah, his hand in my mine. We have not kissed since that first night in Gentoa, but hand-holding has become our normal. His hand feels warm and steady. Something I could grow used to.
“We should stop here,” Luca says as we approach the edge of Gomorrah’s caravans. Once again, the Festival is on the move. “I know you don’t want Villiam seeing me.”
I suppose I should introduce Luca to Villiam properly at some point. Not as someone helping me investigate my family’s murders but as my friend. Well, more than my friend, really.
Maybe after all of this blows over.
“This is our last day here,” I say. I squeeze his hand tighter. I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t nervous. This is more than the greatest performance of my life—it’s my first role as a Gomorrah proprietor.
“Do you want me to meet with you before you leave for the wedding?”
“I... I don’t know.” In my head, I’m simply picturing this as a performance. It’s the only method that doesn’t leave me panicking from anxiety. Before a Freak Show, our only pre-show rituals are tolerating the bickers of Unu and Du and the sounds of Hawk tuning her fiddle. Or Blister’s high fives.
“I won’t be offended if you don’t want me there,” he says.
“I don’t want to make a big deal of it.”
“It’s sort of a big deal.”
“But I want to pretend this is normal. That this is what I do. I am the Girl Who Sees Without Eyes. I can make an illusion. I can fool them all.”
He nods, but, from his expression, I can tell he doesn’t understand. He gives me a hug, and I press my nose and mask into his shoulder. “Be careful,” he says.
“Always am.”
“Break a leg.”
“Naturally.”
He pulls away, his face stern and shadowed. I don’t want him to worry about me. Nicoleta and I will walk out of that wedding alive and with the leader.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. “Afterward.”
“Tomorrow.”
* * *
The limit of my illusion is nine minutes and twelve seconds.
“You will need to enter the cathedral quickly and find a place to conceal yourself while Nicoleta finds Dalimil,” Chimal says.
Nicoleta nods. I’m accustomed to seeing her fatigued, with dark circles under her eyes, complaining of a headache as she hunches over to do our laundry. But this week, she holds her head high and is fueled solely by excitement. I wish I could enjoy the thrill of this as she does. As much as I adore performing, I prefer when I have control. But the success of this mission depends on too many random factors.
“You’ll be entering with the other guests through the main entrance, but they will only see Nicoleta. The guards outside will ask you to produce your invitation, and we have a copy of one here.” Chimal slides Nicoleta a piece of golden parchment. “Your name is Lady Michala, the daughter of a distant count. The real Lady Michala has the snaking sickness, so she will not be attending.”
Nicoleta hands me the parchment, and it’s nearly impossible to read the intricate Up-Mountain calligraphy. An embellished yellow sun of Ovren glints at the top of the page.
“Sorina, once inside, you will conceal yourself somewhere and give yourself time to recuperate. Because of this, we think it’s best if you are dressed as a nun, someone who, if seen, will still escape notice. It’ll also allow you to keep most of your face covered.”
I don’t love the idea of dressing up as an Up-Mountainer. I don’t want to wear their clothes. I don’t want to look as if I belong in such a terrible place.
