“Uh, well—“
“What doyoulike to read?“ she asks in a tone that’s knowingly teasing.
I blush and hide the title of my book. “F-fiction!”
She knowingly looks at me. “Fiction is a far more fun genre. You’ve also kept up on theory?”
“Yes, Mistress.” A thousand pages in one week was tough, but after reading all ofThe Need for Modernism in Arcane Practicein three nights, I was able to waste the rest of them reading… uh, lower quality material.
“Good.” She levers open her can and takes a drink
The silence is gentle when shared with her. It’s a comfortable vulnerability, sharing this private space and meals together. I even got to show her my skills at burning pizza, and she didn’t laugh. Not that we could’ve told it tasted bad; it really is just nostalgia that gives food any taste now.
That and crushed red pepper flakes.
“Are you going with any friends to the Lights Festival?” Vincenza sets down her can. “Lucia or Hanna?”
“No, but I might meet them. I think Hanna’s taking Lucia on a date with her girlfriend. I might go and… flirt with some people.” I give an awkward laugh.
“You’ll have a lot of competition with how much they like to swarm the Ringborn with the most prominent eyes, but I find it hard to believe they won’t find something in yours.”
“I havethemost boring eye color. Even if it’s anyone’s favorite, there’ll be no shortage for them to get worked up over me. It’s not your eyes. They’re stunning, beautiful, and absolutely just your—“
Why the fuck did I say that? Fucking—I don’t even know. Fuck me onto a spike, I guess.
She plays off the compliment wonderfully, not even looking embarrassed. “Pink is fine, but I have a strong favor in my heart for a hazel-brown. Even if it’s common, it lands better when on your smiling face. I’m sure there’ll be a patron who swoons for you tomorrow night, Kate—or a consort. Love doesn’t have to make you powerful.”
“Sh-shut up! I’m… leaving. Bye!” I grab my book and go.
She chuckles back, “I’ll bring you dinner.”
Chapter 24
Hazel Eyes
I was hoping to see Vincenza a bit more before I left. My confidence in myself is… a bit null, and I was planning on trying to just repeat anything praising she said on loop.
Shedidpraise my makeup. Appreciated my nail work.
I smiled giddily at that fact, but it didn’t bring back the half hour I lost after scratching off some of the nail polish on my door handle.
It’s almost a surprise that she left no gift on the counter when I come to leave. It’s something I expect so easily, so readily. Her last two letters are still in my dress, and her gun, all of which bring me comfort.
So, I do the stupid thing and leave a letter for her. Something thankful, in colorful terms that won’t make her uncomfortable. I keep my compliments to her hair, and dress, and personality, and kindness—things she vaguely has control over. Not her eye color. Not that.
Though, it is so pretty.
Still not writing it. If she wants to know she’s attractive, that’s what her mirror is for.
I put down the letter, add a quick heart—Not a heart. Smiley face. I cross out the heart, add a smiley face, and leave.
My eyes don’t wander to the stars; instead, they drift downwards as I imagine my letter getting read. It could be now, as I jump on a streetcar, or perhaps as I wait in my seat to arrive. Maybe it’ll be tomorrow.Maybe she’ll need a year again.It’s her ownchoice when it happens.
The transition to the festival becomes obvious as buildings clear into a dramatically lit plaza of gardens. But it sprawls far beyond that, into adjacent streets and alleys where merchants peddle and attractions goad visitors.
The very first thing outside the street car is the welcome area. I’m certainly taking the popular route in, and impromptu bands serenade everyone who comes through, taking generous tips as well. I also enjoy a tasteful amount of sax, so I join in parting with some of my crescents.
I check the watch Piero gifted me: 21:23. Lasts until 4:00 tomorrow—though most might leave after the midnight showings. Enough time that I could explore without a map and get a good grip of my surroundings.
