“This is your fault,” Declan mutters back.
“My fault?”
“You were the one who wanted something witchy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I scoff. “Was magickally landing in the desert not your idea of the perfect first date?”
He doesn’t answer, but I catch the slight flex of his jaw like he’s fighting the urge to argue. It’s the smallest chink in that polished exterior.Victory.
Performers part for us in a stream of moving color—dyed feathers arranged like wings, carmine and tangerine silks that ripple with every step, bronze beads that shimmer in the sun. Their faces are painted in slashes of red and curls of yellow. Some have tiny mirrors affixed to their foreheads, catching and throwing the light like otherworldly third eyes.
They glide past like living illusions, all shimmer and sparkle. But up close, the cracks show—hollow eyes, smiles stretched too wide, shoulders, jaws, fists tight and locked in place.
One woman in a corset of obsidian beads and citrine gems catches my gaze as we’re led past. She’s perched on a barrel outside a tent, reading from a curled scroll. Her painted face is split down the center, one half in warm oranges with feathery lashes, the other stark white with a single teardrop drawn beneath her eye.
“Where the hell are we?” I murmur under my breath.
Her head snaps up, and in one fluid motion she springs from the barrel, landing in front of me light as a sprite. She tilts her head, studying me like a bird.
I clutch my purse tighter as she blocks my path, cutting me off from the guards and Declan.
“It’s all for show,” she murmurs, her voice thin and papery. “No one listens unless it sparkles.” Her smile sharpens as her fingers twitch in the air, jerking like puppet strings pulled too tight.
“Back to your script!” Dav’s bark cracks across the sand. “Know your place.”
The woman flinches and scurries away to her tent.
My stomach twists. I wrap my arms around my middle and hurry to catch up.
We need to get out of here. Figure out wherehereeven is.
I adjust the strap of my purse and glance sideways at Declan, voice pitched low. “Aren’t you supposed to do something? Like Hulk out or brood our way to freedom? Me, Declan. Me knock other man on head with stick. Me win woman.”
Declan doesn’t even blink. “Do you want me to lean into the heteronormative bullshit, or do you want me to be in touch with my emotions, Amanda? Pick a fucking lane.”
Shit, he’s right. He’s right and I hate it. But I will never admit that out loud.
“You pick a lane,” I grumble, squaring my shoulders.
He mimics me in a high-pitched falsetto.“You pick a lane.”
I whip my head toward him. “Real mature, Declan.”
Ahead of us, Dav turns with an exhausted sigh, his robes jingling with the motion. “Quiet,” he snaps. “We have arrived.”
He parts a deep-crimson silk curtain. Sunlight knifes through the opening. Without an explanation, he shoves us forward.
As I stumble through the curtain, a hand tugs on my purse. I whirl around, palm itching for another slap. Tarek’s eyes are wide and apologetic as he eases the strap from my shoulder.
“Forgive me!” he says quickly, holding it up like he’s fending off an attack. “I ought to have done so sooner, but… Well, you did not strike me as the sort to bear weapons.”
I glower but let him take it.
“Come along!” Dav barks.
I squawk as he grabs my arm and yanks me forward.
We’re marched up a steep wooden ramp, the boards groaning beneath our feet, then shoved onto a raised platform that sits at the center of the camp like the bright, burning heart of the sun. Gleaming obsidian pillars encircle the stage and the crowd. They stretchup from the sand and reach for the sky, their blunt tops reflecting the sunlight so fiercely they look as if they’re holding up the sky itself.
