Page 100 of The Only Way Out Is Up

“Is it that obvious?”

“Mmmf.” She swallows. “A little. You’re not the only one, though. See the lady in yellow in the corner?”

I look around before spotting who she’s talking about, a large, formidable-looking woman in a frilly creation the color of fresh butter. She’s staring at Quech, and her intensity and expression make it clear that if she could crush him with her will alone, he’d already be a red smear.

“That’s Evaline Gornet,” Niami says. “Fideli Gornet was her niece.”

“Was?”

“The girl Quech killed.” She leans closer to me. “She’s not officially supposed to be mad about it, but I don’t think it’s working, do you?”

“Is she going to do anything about it?”

“Doubtful,” Niami says, mouth full again. “The Gornets are Council, but only seventh or eighth. A niece or two isn’t worth going up against the Dreikins.”

“So that’s just allowed? He murders a girl in broad daylight and no one can do anything because of his sponsor?”

“Well. You say murder, Devon Dreikin says unfortunate accident during a fast-paced arena match. People always get hurt during these things, she knew the risks.”

“Accident?” I keep my voice low, but I’m surprised at the anger in it. “He beat her unconscious and then deliberately finished her off.”

“Mm-hmm.” Niami licks chocolate off her fingers. “You know it. I know it. But who wants to say that to our lovely host’s face? The stands are a long way off, you know. Hard to see clearly.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Welcome to Hod, right?”

“What about you?” I’m supposed to be gathering information, aren’t I? “You make it sound like you’re not from here.”

“Oh, my family’s Hod through and through. Haven’t been Council for ages, though, so nobody cares about us. I’m just your basic ne’er-do-well outcast, is all. My uncle threw me out because I’m not interested in fucking men.”

My brow furrows. “So what?”

“So what?” She slaps my shoulder. “You are a barbarian. When there’s money and property on the line, you’re expected to shut up and fuck whoever you’re told to. Uncle was going to have me delivered to my new family in a box, bound and gagged, before Grandma intervened.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Hard to say. He was pretty mad.” She shrugs. “Anyway, thank the stars, I moved in with Grandma and she lets me spend my days playing with runics. But the whole thing gives me a bit of perspective on”—she waves with her empty plate—“all of this.”

“It sounds awful,” I say, and I’m surprised I actually mean it. Maybe Ky’s right. In the Heap we might starve or have our fingers broken by Clawmarks, but people don’t get forced into marriage, and nobody gives a shit if you prefer cocks or slits.

“What about you? Have you got a barbarian family waiting for you back home?”

“Something like that.” My jaw clenches. Even mentioning them in this context feels wrong, like it might somehow entangle them in all of this. “It’s a long story.”

“Another time, then.” She slaps me on the shoulder again. “I’m going to find some more of those little cheese balls.”

It feels like days have passed by the time I stumble out the doors onto the veranda, pulling at the collar of my fine new outfit. The air in the ballroom is stuffy and close, with more people filtering in all the time. As the crowd gathers more densely, I find myself repelled, until I’m overcome by the need for escape.

Out here, it’s cool and dark, the sunlamps overhead long ago gone out. There’s enough light from the house that I can make out the flat blue of the cavern ceiling, only a dozen meters above the point of the roof. The gantries and scaffolding just below throw out weird, spidery shadows. In the garden the fountain splashes and a few people stroll around and lose themselves, mostly in pairs.

The veranda is almost deserted. I lean against an iron fence fancifully wrought in the shape of mythical creatures and wonder, not for the first time, what the fuck I’m doing here. I hear the sound of footsteps, boots slapping on the stone behind me, but I don’t look up.

“Finally,” a sour voice says. “A moment of peace. If they press one more glass of wine into my hand I swear I’m going to burst.”

I glance up and do a rapid double take. It’s Alzimyth standing next to me, in the same white uniform he wore yesterday morning, hands clasped behind his back as he stares out at the spectacular grounds like he’s evaluating them and doesn’t think they measure up. His eyes flick in my direction, and I wonder if I’m next on the list to review. In my surprise, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“So people from Above still have to piss, then?”

Alzimyth stares coldly for a moment. Then, just when my heart is plunging into my guts, his lip twitches in the slightest smile.

“We do, I’m afraid. Perhaps on Keter the Apex can do without the base functions of the body, but that is not ours to know. On Hesed, we piss.” His eyes narrow. “You are Taj Fara. Your runic is Star, is it not?”