The coins Villiam gave me for licorice cherries and kettle corn remain in my pocket. “We’re not hungry,” I say.
Agni nods, a knowing look in his eyes. He’s no stranger to grief.
Two guards work together and pull the Freak Show’s sign from the ground.
They’re moving our tents to be beside Villiam’s, where we’ll be under his watch at all times. I’ve been told there will be guards stationed at every entrance of our tent, from now until we are entirely certain of Luca’s guilt. It’s as if we are under quarantine. Though no one in the family cares, except for me. None of the illusions wish to participate in the investigation or even venture outside our tent. They sit inside—even Tree, who hates feeling so cramped—and watch time pass.
It’s only a short move. Still, I turn away to avoid watching my home fall apart.
The Gomorrah Festival’s Freak Show has been closed for twelve days during the height of the investigation and as we traveled from Sapris to Leonita. Over one hundred people who live in our neighborhood of the Uphill have been questioned and, under Villiam’s reproachful gaze, have detailed every person they saw that night, from the usual passersby to any particularly suspicious visitor.
“Are we moving there forever?” Hawk asks. “I like our neighborhood.”
“Only for a little while.” Until we are certain this nightmare is finished.
“Du said that Luca is the one who killed Venera, Blister and Gill,” Unu says.
“Where did you hear that, Du?” I ask, my voice sharp.
“I heard the guards talking. Why did you kiss him, then?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” I walk away, half expecting them to follow me, hoping they won’t. My Strings gather like the train of a gown, and I begin gathering them to me as I walk. My family will be safer inside my head, where no one can reach them. Even if Luca, the supposed perpetrator, is locked away in the Menagerie in a cell beside Dalimil’s, I don’t want to make assumptions. It’s been over twelve days, and I still don’t want to believe his guilt.
Nothing has been proven. Villiam has reached out to his own spies to search for confirmation. We could learn the truth at any moment. After all, we are mere hours away from Leonita. He could still be exonerated.
But the truth might condemn him, as well.
“Hey!” Du shouts. “We don’t want to—”
His protests disappear as he and Unu vanish inside my mind. Hawk, Nicoleta, Crown and Tree follow. I’m not taking any risks tonight.
But I don’t want to wait for our arrival in Leonita alone. I don’t trust myself to play nicely with my mind, and Kahina already offered to have me stay with her. But, first, Villiam has invited me to dinner. Food has always been his favorite solution for soothing a grieving heart.
Once I arrive at his caravan, I pull the book he lent me from my bag. I spent last night poring over theories about jynx-work. “I have those books of yours,” I say. I slide the encyclopedias into his shelf.
“Did you find anything in those?” Villiam asks. He pours us each a glass of wine.
“No, but I keep thinking...” I say. “The killer could be the charm-worker, not me.”
“I thought you were convinced the charm-work is what gave them their lives?” He pushes the cork back in the bottle. “Or is it because Luca is not a charm-worker?”
“There was no motive behind this realization,” I say. “It was merely a thought. And I’m not really in the mood for wine.”
“You come from a long line of Gomorrah proprietors. Wine is one of our legacies,” he says, ignoring the tension in my voice.
“I’m not against wine, but your taste is so dry. I’d prefer something sweet.”
“The tastes of Gomorrah wine are bolder. They suit you.”
“I don’t feel bold,” I say. Maybe I once was. I remember the first night in Frice, before Gill died. My family had gone to the Menagerie, but the officials stormed the Festival. It was dangerous for anyone to be out, let alone a deformed jynx-worker. I should’ve gone home with them, not strayed away and left myself vulnerable. I shouldn’t have let my family worry, especially over something as useless as money.
“Youarebold,” Villiam says. “You’re a warrior.”
“But I’m not. Not really.”
“What you’re going through is a war in its own sort of way, and I hate to see how it has affected you. But I know you. You’re strong. And you will make it through.” He watches me fondly, and I don’t know how he can manage such an expression. Perhaps he thinks I’m still the same young girl who rode on Tree’s back to escape from slavers. But I’m merely a fragment of who I was then.
“I’ve barely been any help to you since Venera—”
