“But the Spectrum—”
“Can, on occasion, be ignored. It’s so not easy to depose a Prism, you know. When you return, we’ll talk about getting you married. It’s time you start making heirs. You showing up with a bastard presses the issue.”
“Father, I’m not—”
“If you crush one of the satraps, even a rebel one, you’re going to need to buy off one of the others. It’s time. You will obey me in this. We’ll talk about the bastard problem later.”
Chapter 48
Liv had gone to the light garden high in the yellow tower to think, but it seemed she couldn’t walk ten paces without stumbling over some young couple kissing. As the sun went down, the light garden became spectacular—and a favorite of couples. Liv should have remembered. There was something particularly jarring in the sight of young lovers when she was feeling so isolated.
She left, her emotions tumbling over each other, sorry she’d been so rude to Kip, certain she was right that her father was still alive, and scared to death she was wrong. Lonely, scared of her future, and now—hit in the face with how easy everyone else seemed to find it to find someone who liked her—lonely for a boy. Any boy. Well, practically. Liv had been at the Chromeria for three years, and the best she’d done was have a few near-misses at relationships. Being Tyrean, being the daughter of a general on the losing side, and being poor had ended most interest before it began. The one boy she’d thought really cared for her had invited her to the Luxlords’ Ball and then had stood her up and gone with another girl. Apparently it had been a prank. The next year she’d briefly become the object of a competition between some of the most popular boys. For two weeks, it was glorious to be the center of attention. She’d felt like she’d finally broken through, that people were finally accepting her. One of them invited her to the Luxlords’ Ball.
Then she overheard one of the others talking about a wager they had to see who could swive her first. Her revenge had been swift and terrible. She’d promised the boy escorting her to the ball—the leader of the group, a young noble named Parshan Payam—her maidenhead if he helped her fulfill a naughty dream of hers. He’d practically drooled.
At the Luxlords’ Ball, they’d met in a darkened nook just off the main hall. She’d convinced Parshan to remove all of his clothes first, despite the proximity of practically the entire Chromeria dancing, talking, and drinking mere paces away. Then, pausing from kissing him while his loathsome hands wandered over her body, she asked how much he was going to win for winning the contest.
“You know? You’re not mad?” he asked.
“Why would I be mad?” she asked. “Close your eyes. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“A good surprise?” he asked.
She trailed her fingernails down his belly. Looked down. Licked her lips. “It’ll take your breath away. Promise.”
He closed his eyes. She grabbed all of his clothes and stormed out into the party. He came after her with a yelp, rushing naked into the party. “This is what you get for your contest, Parsham Payam!” Liv shouted, just so that anyone who hadn’t immediately seen the naked young man would notice and know who it was.
The dancers stopped. The musicians quit playing. A hundred conversations ceased. “Wagering with your friends on who can take my virginity?! You’re despicable. A cad and a liar. You disgust me. You’re not smart enough to fool me, you’re not clever enough to deceive me, and you’re not man enough to take me.” She plunged his priceless clothes into the punch bowl.
Nervous titters broke out everywhere. Parshan froze. With his clothes soaking in punch, it was pointless to retrieve them to cover himself. He did his best to cover himself with his hands.
Amid silence punctuated with scattered applause, Liv stormed out of the hall and straight into Chromeria legend. Unfortunately, passing into tower lore for wreaking vengeance on a boy who’d taken a romantic interest in you—regardless of how ignoble that interest was—was not a good way to encourage interest from others. All the other boys were terrified of her.
Why am I thinking about boys? My father’s dead.
No, he’s not. Father’s gotten out of worse things. He wouldn’t allow himself to be trapped. He’s smarter than that.
Still, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Honestly, a good cry would make her feel a lot better.
Liv trudged down to Vena’s room, but when she got there, Vena was crying. It broke Liv out of her own self-pity instantly. Vena wasn’t just crying; she was bawling. Vena’s usually artfully disheveled boyishly short hair was smashed down on her head as if she’d been holding her head in her hands. Her eyes were swollen.
“I can’t believe it, Liv! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Liv!” Vena said. “It’s a disaster. Orholam, Liv, I’m being sent home!”
Looking around the room, Liv saw that all of Vena’s stuff was already packed up and in large trunks. With how much stuff Vena owned and all the decorations she’d strewn over every open space in her little room, Liv knew she couldn’t have packed it all herself.
“What’s going on?”
It took a few minutes to get it all out in some sort of sensible order, even though the story was simple: Vena had lost her sponsorship. The Abornean lord who held her contract had lost a fortune in some business venture and needed to cut his expenses. Apparently he’d shopped Vena’s contract around and found no buyers. Some other, younger drafter’s lord had bought Vena’s room from him, though. She was to vacate it immediately. Vena had been purchased passage home, tonight. She would have to meet with her sponsor to determine how he could best make back his investment from her.
Vena could end up as a serving girl, but she feared her lord might sell her to slavers. It was illegal—a drafter’s indenture was a far cry from slavery—but there were always stories of such things.
“Liv, could you loan me some money? I could run away.”
“I can’t—”
“Please, Liv, I’m begging you. I know it’s not a loan. I’ll never be able to pay you back, but I can’t face going back. Please.”
Liv’s heart dropped. If she’d waited just one week to meet the moneylenders, she’d have drawn one more installment of her allowance, and she’d have ample money to help out her friend. “I just paid off a debt, Vena. I’ve got nothing left. It cost me everything.”
Vena wilted.
“Wait, we could sell some of my dresses. If you can wait until morning—”
“No, forget it. They’ll be looking for me by then. And they know you’re my only friend. They’ll be watching you. It was a stupid idea. I need to go face this.”
A knock on the door. “Miss?” a man’s voice called out.
Vena opened the door and four men in slaves’ clothes came in and picked up the trunks. Vena picked up her own bag. “Walk me to the docks?” she asked Liv, putting on a brave face.
Still horrified, disbelieving, Liv nodded.
They walked slowly, as if they could postpone the inevitable forever.
“This really is a great place,” Vena said, as they crossed the bridge for the last time together. “It’s a marvel. And I was here. For a while. My father was a servant; my mother was a servant. There’s nothing wrong with going home and serving. I’m not better than they are. And you know what? I met the Prism!” Her eyes were gleaming. “He called me marvelous! He complimented my dress. Me. He noticed me, Liv, with all those beautiful girls there. No one can take that away from me. How many people—how many drafters never get that much in their whole lives? The Prism himself!”