The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,64
whole thing off my arm. I hadn’t even realized I was afraid to look at it. But surprised relief washes over me—the gash I sustained in the glider crash is now just a thin burn line. I test the edges of the skin and find only a dull ache, so I toss the ruined scarf into the corner.
Whatever Nimh used to cauterize it must have also contained something that speeds the healing process—I would’ve maybe preferred the royal surgeon’s neat stitches, but I can’t complain about Nimh’s results.
A lever turns out to release a steady stream of water from a spout built into the wall above the sink, and I soak the cloth beside it, using it to scrub at my exposed skin as quickly as I can. There’s a vivid line of bruising across my ribs, an angry, purplish-gray stripe underlining the tattoo my mothers disapproved of. It’s my family crest, and for a moment, I wish the wings to either side of the sky-island were real, were mine. I wish they could carry me away from here.
But the water is bitingly cold and doesn’t leave room for daydreams. I wouldn’t want to linger over the “bath” anyway—it’s approaching sunset now, and I haven’t slept since yesterday morning.
I try to order my thoughts as the cold water hits my skin, and by the time I walk out to where Techeki waits, I’ve got my game face on.
“Sit a moment,” he says, indicating the table. “Refresh yourself.”
It’s nicer than he’s been so far, and I allow him to guide me to one of the chairs. He takes his place opposite me and pours from a decanter into two goblets.
I take mine, and after a moment I realize he’s watching the way I hold it. He’s judging my manners. He wants to know who I am. And Nimh’s guidance didn’t extend beyond Tell them you helped me get home. What would she want me to say? And what’s best for me?
I wish I knew whether it was safer to be a helpful nobody or a noble guest. But I have no idea, and I also have a more urgent question on my mind: he’s just swirling his drink around in the goblet, but he hasn’t taken a sip—is it safe to drink? Am I being completely dramatic even wondering that? I’ve always been taught to be wary around unknown food and drink—though a tiny part of my mind notices I forgot those rules around Nimh.
Before I can decide what to do, he notices me noticing—and with a tiny little smile that I don’t like very much, he lifts his drink to take a long, deliberate sip, swallowing as he lowers it. See? his gaze says smugly. Safe.
But it says more than that—he’s smug because he knows that you don’t get instincts like mine drilled into you unless you’re somebody. I’ve told him something I didn’t mean to, and I could kick myself.
This guy is a player. He’d get on well with my bloodmother.
“Thank you,” I say eventually—polite, but not too gushing. I don’t want to give the impression I owe him anything, if I can help it.
He takes my words as a signal to resume conversation. “We must select clothes for you for the Feast of the Dying.”
He speaks as if I know what that is, and I don’t correct him. I assume the feast won’t involve any actual dying on my part, given Nimh could have organized that already if she wanted, and nod. “I’m honored to be attending.”
“Of course,” he agrees. “I am eager to ensure we follow the correct protocol for such an esteemed guest, to whom we owe such a debt of gratitude. Please, tell me about yourself.”
He says it so smoothly, as if the question is nothing. As if he isn’t trying to slot me into a hierarchy—figure out what value I hold for him and everyone else in the temple. Oh, old man. You have no idea whose student you’re dealing with.
I blink slowly and take my time swallowing. “About myself?” I ask, as if I barely know my own name.
“Where are you from?” he says, practically clicking his tongue now. “I am asking about your people, your home.”
“Oh,” I say, as if I understand, then proceed to completely fail to answer the question. “I just helped her make her way safely home.”
He closes his eyes for a long moment, takes a breath, tries again. “I am aware of what you have done,” he says