“When will you and Chimal speak to Dalimil?” Nicoleta asks.
“This evening. But I don’t wish to concern you two with that. Your roles in this matter are very much completed, and you deserve a rest.”
Part of me wants to insist on being there, however gruesome Chimal’s interrogation methods become. That man potentially orchestrated the murder of two members of my family. But even though the fury over their deaths remains, I struggle to connect it to his face. Dalimil may not be a good man. He may even be an evil one. But when I looked into his eyes, even if he didn’t see me perched on the marble steps of the church, I didn’t sense I was before Gill’s and Blister’s killer. And I would know, wouldn’t I? The soul should recognize those who have wounded it.
Once the healer finishes treating Nicoleta, we say our goodbyes and head to our tent.
“I’m sorry,” Nicoleta says. “I nearly got both of us killed.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. I was useless.”
“Had you not been there, I wouldn’t have been able to carry Dalimil out on his own,” I say, trying to ease her mind. “It’s over. We did it. That’s all that matters.”
Outside our tent, Luca is bent over a table, playing a game of lucky coins with Hawk and Unu and Du. His face sags with relief as we approach, and he abandons the game to come to my side.
He wraps his arms around me. “Did we win?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” I press my forehead against his. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Of course.”
* * *
That evening, after a much-needed rest, I don my best mask and some bright red lipstick. Luca has promised me a night of fun.
I don’t know what to expect. Luca’s idea of fun is tea-partying with prettyworkers and telling morbid jokes. But, regardless, I could use some fun. I could use a distraction from my thoughts, which keep drifting to Dalimil and what Villiam might have learned from him by now. If he really is the leader of the Alliance, anyway.
In my excitement, I race to Luca’s tent. The Downhill is abnormally quiet for this time of night, and the weather has grown chillier over the past few days. I had to dig my thicker cloaks out of storage. The guests have also changed their clothes, shifting from pastel oranges and salmons to rich sapphires and emeralds. I don’t know why anyone would wear their best clothes to Gomorrah, but our audience members, without fail, are always gussied up in pearls and satin gloves and sweeping up-dos. Begging to be pickpocketed.
I find Luca waiting outside his tent, leaning against the silver-tipped cane that does nothing but make him look pretentious. He smiles when he sees me, that smile with the dimples that makes my insides flutter.
“Where are we going?” I ask. I try to hide the giddiness from my voice, because I’ve never been on a date and I’m starting to think that’s what this is. A real date. He’s probably going to make it a surprise. Somewhere enchanting or exhilarating, a part of the Festival only he knows.
“I’m taking you to Skull Market,” he says. “I know you’ve barely explored the Downhill.”
“You weren’t supposed to tell me,” I say.
“What?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
He furrows his eyebrows. “I hate surprises.”
“That’s because you’re serious. And bor—because you’re so deliberate.”
He flicks my forehead, on my mask.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“You were going to sayboring.”
He pulls me forward by my hand and leads me down a diagonal path, deeper into the Downhill, where I’ve never ventured before. Within a minute, we reach one of the two obelisks that mark Gomorrah’s end. They are twelve feet tall, black and identical. Their stone is so solid that no one has been able to carve into them, and, despite constant exposure to the elements, their surface remains forever smooth and matte.
