Villiam and Gomorrah’s guards escort me to his caravan. I do my best to hold my head up, but I’m only moments away from tears. Venera is dead, and only now am I beginning to understand how. My family has always been inherently different than my other illusions. They’re more than a mirage, more than a trick. They live. And that’s because they’re connected to other living people.
They’re dead because of what I can do, because I don’t fully understand my own jynx-work. I never question what I don’t need answers to. I never stop to think. And my willful ignorance is the reason my family members have been murdered.
As we pass the Menagerie, even the vendors seem to understand something is wrong. Normally they would call out to us to admire their collection of lucky coins or sample a piece of kettle corn. But they don’t bother the guards, in their intimidating, all-black uniforms with swords at their hips. They don’t bother the proprietor and his daughter. Instead, they duck away and whisper words like murder and freak, and I squeeze Villiam’s hand for support.
“You and me alone, Sorina,” Villiam says firmly once we reach his caravan. Venera, my best friend, my beloved sister, is dead, and yet I feel as though I’m about to be scolded. I cross my arms and follow him inside.
We sit down, and Villiam takes my hands. “How much have you told von Raske?” he asks.
“He knows everything, because I trust him.”
“He’s an Up-Mountainer.”
“So? You don’t even know him,” I snap.
“I’m not angry with you,” he sighs. I hate when people sigh. “You’re only sixteen—this is exactly why I wanted to avoid you taking on responsibility. You’re too young. It’s not your fault that he has clouded your—”
I rip my hands out of his. “My judgment is fine.”
His frustrated expression makes it clear he disagrees. “I want you to tell me how you met and what you have been doing.”
I consider not saying anything at all, but I know that would be immature. Still, I didn’t come here to be scolded like I’m ten years old. My sister just died, and my father is supposed to have the answers, supposed to support me. Instead, he’s letting bias cloud his own judgment, letting his own prejudices distract him from what’s really important. At least Luca would listen to me. At least he wouldn’t treat me like a child.
But I talk. Not for Villiam’s sake but Luca’s. I don’t want the guards to cause him trouble. He’s there to help my family when I’m not. And I care about Luca too much to allow my father to hate him. I’ll make him understand what Luca means to me.
The story doesn’t take long. I’m careful to emphasize how Luca’s entire philosophy differed from Villiam’s, and that I was never certain which theory I believed more. I still don’t know which is right. Because I’m speaking at length, I also tell Villiam about my theory of charm-work and how my family could be linked to Up-Mountainers.
When I finish, Villiam no longer appears angry—only sorrowful. He places his hand on my shoulder, and his voice, once edged with annoyance, has become hesitant and careful.
“Dalimil has spoken of one thing: a spy within Gomorrah,” Villiam says.
My breath catches in my throat. After everything I’ve told him about how Luca has been helping me, can he really believe that Luca is the spy? It could be hundreds of different people!
“You say that Luca was determined to interview people with unusual types of jynx-work. Did it never occur to you that he possesses such a rarity himself? A boy who cannot die. What if he can use those same abilities and reverse them? Your illusions should not be able to die. Have you never thought to question him?”
I shrug his hand off my shoulder and lean back into my seat, arms crossed. “He was with me when Venera was murdered.”
“But you were both with the princess when she was. Were you watching her when she died?”
“No—”
“Did you see her throat being slit?”
“No, but—”
“What if Luca did it himself?”
“He didn’t!” My voice cracks, and I’m crying. This is too much to absorb in too short a time. I was with Luca. I wasn’t watching him in that moment, but I was with him. He didn’t... He wouldn’t...
“Don’t you find it suspicious that he spends his time prying into other people’s business, seeking out information? That he knew everything about you the first time you met?” He lifts my chin up so that I’m looking at him. “Luca must’ve been feeding this information to the Alliance’s leader.”
“No. That’s impossible... Luca would never...”
But now that the seed has been planted, it’s difficult to think of Luca without considering Villiam’s words.
Luca interviewed the rest of the suspects without me. Did he interview them at all? Or was it just a farce, a show, as our conversations with Narayan and Tuyet must have been?
He knew about our mission to find Dalimil. If he was a spy, wouldn’t he have tried to stop us? But Dalimil isn’t the Alliance’s leader. It wouldn’t have been worth giving up his position.
When he found that shortcut earlier today, did he only use it to bring us closer to the princess again? So that he would have his chance? I wasn’t watching him when the princess died. I was examining the statue.
Who else could be the spy, if not him? Luca is an Up-Mountainer,
an outsider in Gomorrah. He told me himself that he came from one of the wealthiest families in Raske.
“I don’t... He wouldn’t do this to me. He cares about me.”
But my denial sounds weak even to my own ears.
Once again, the questions were right in front of me, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t think. All this time...
Villiam hugs me, and I cry on his sleeve. “I’m so sorry, my dear. None of this is your fault.”
“I want to speak with him.”
“You will. I will send my guards to bring him here.”
“I meant Dalimil. Let me see him.” I need to know more about this spy. I need to know the truth before I face Luca again, before I accuse him of the unforgivable. “Where are you keeping him?” Gomorrah doesn’t have a prison.
“The Menagerie.”
* * *
Dalimil lies within an animal’s cage. His shirt has been removed, and his back openly bleeds from fresh lashes. On each hand, he bears matching burns, fresh and oozing.
“Back so soon?” he hisses, hearing the sound of my footprints rustling the hay. This back room is dark, lit merely by the lantern in my hand. We are alone.
My heart pounds, but I manage to keep my voice steady, to put on a show. “We have never properly met.”
He lifts his head at the sound of a female voice. “I was expecting the fire-worker.” His voice breaks. When he struggles to sit up to face me, I can tell how weak he is. Chimal and Agni have not been kind. Still, he lifts his head higher. “I haven’t been broken. Not by them. And I won’t be by you. You’re only a girl.”
I rest my lantern on the floor and then sit a few feet away from him, cross-legged. The metal bars of the cage are all that separates us. I can see the stubble on his chin and the dark circles beneath his eyes. I can see the hatred blazing in his eyes.
This man did not kill my family.
But he is all that stands between me knowing who did.
I untie my mask and let it fall into my lap.
He grimaces when he sees my face. “They have brought a demon to me. Whatever devil-work you have prepared, I will not break. The strength of Ovren burns in me. My mind doesn’t submit to the mind-worker. My soul doesn’t tremble at the pains of the fire- or shadow-worker.”
“You’re going to tell me the name of the Alliance’s leader, as well as the Alliance’s spy within Gomorrah.”
His voice is weak. “As I told the others...I don’t know the name of the spy.”
“I guess we shall see.”
When I perform a show, my mind isn’t necessarily with the audience. In order to conjure illusions, I must turn my focus inward. I must project and create. During the Freak Show, it’s the audience, the stage and all of my surroundings that fade into the back of my mind. The illusions are the reality. I’m more aware of the rushes of conjured wind and scents of imagined forests than I am the heat of the tent, the aromas of kettle corn and candied sweets.
It’s a blessing and a curse, so easily losing myself in my thoughts.
I seek out that unconsciousness now. The illusions burst forth, one by one, but I sink deeper into my own thoughts. I don’t want to feel what I am creating. I don’t want to witness this performance. I crouch in a corner behind my subconscious, allowing it to do as it will and as it wants.
I don’t have to hear the screams. I can tune those out. But as easy as it would be to entirely remove myself from reality, I need to be present enough to hear what I’m waiting for: the name.
Twenty-four minutes later, I hear it.
* * *
Dawn approaches outside, but I’m not tired. I drum my fingers against the table in Villiam’s caravan while I wait for Luca’s arrival, my body numb. I do not think. I do not dwell. Since my conversation with Dalimil, I haven’t truly strayed outside the confines of my mind.
I hear the footsteps as they approach. Agni nods at me, but I’m already standing. All at once, the numbness fades, and my mind fills with conflicting images of Venera’s body, of Luca’s lips, of my knees drenched in water and blood on the Freak Show stage, of Luca’s hand in mine, reassuring and steady.
No matter what Villiam said, this cannot be true.
Outside, the guards have forced Luca to his knees. His hands are bound behind his back, and he wears an impressive bruise on his cheek.
My stomach clenches in anger, both at the guards and at myself. “He’s been hurt,” I say to Agni. “This is too much. I thought you were just going to ask him questions.”
“He resisted coming. He tried to run.”
Why would he do that? Did he think I would stop the guards? Should I have?
Why would he run?
“Sorina,” Luca says. His brown eyes widen as I approach him. My instinct tells me to help him to his feet, clean off the dirt from his clothes, kiss him. But I can no longer trust my instincts. “You can’t possibly believe this.” His voice is panicked, and I turn away from him. I don’t want to see him like this.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“I wouldn’t do this to you. I would never hurt you. I wouldn’t kill anyone,” he says. I want to believe him. I want to trust him and walk away with him and never let him go. But I don’t know if I can, nor do I know if I’ve ruined any chance of the relationship that could have been between us. Either way, I have lost a second person important to me today.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“How could I have known about the charm-work? You didn’t even know yourself. It doesn’t make sense. You know this—”
“Haven’t you heard me? I don’t know.”
He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. When he opens his eyes again, they’re vacant. They don’t shine when he looks at me. He turns away. “Then I suppose my only guilt is being a freak.”
My lip quivers, but I don’t want to cry in front of the guards.
I clear my throat, prepared to apologize, to plead forgiveness. But at that moment, Villiam returns and behind him, Chimal. I leave Luca’s side and hurry to my father. He’ll question Luca, and we’ll prove his innocence. Luca will be free to go, and I will follow him.
“I heard you coaxed words out of Dalimil,” Villiam says, the surprise obvious in his voice.
“Prince Exander Kyrannos, of Leonita,” I say. “He’s the Alliance’s leader. Dalimil doesn’t know the spy’s name.”
“Exander is too young. That’s why we ruled him out before,” Chimal says. “How do you know Dalimil wasn’t lying?”
“He wasn’t.” Hearing my hollow tone, they don’t press me for more.
“These are the things he was carrying when we apprehended him,” Villiam tells me. He hands me a bag full of Luca’s belongings. His cane, with a blade concealed inside. His belt of poison vials. A handkerchief. Some copper coins. His golden pocket watch.
Hesitantly, I pick up the pocket watch and open it. I remember there being an engraving inside. It has been scratched out, as if someone purposefully tried to remove it. But the words are still visible. E. Kyrannos.
“This belongs to the prince,” I say in a shaky voice.
Villiam puts his hand on my shoulder to comfort me, but even with his steady grip, I feel as though I’m falling. Why would Luca possess something belonging to Leonita’s prince if he wasn’t working with him to murder my family? This can’t be coincidence.
I let the watch fall to the grass and wait for the closure to come. I have my answers, but my grief only feels heavier, and I’m suffocating in a truth I never wanted. In a truth that breaks my heart.
Luca doesn’t resist as the guards take him away a second time.