“Ayla,” he said, not annoyed anymore, just soft and pleading. “Please. I feel like I barely see you these days. When I do see you, it’s because something terrible has happened. I miss you. You’re my best friend and I—miss you.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Please.”
Best friend.
All she kept thinking of was the thread connecting them on Kinok’s chart—blazing red like a fire.
She looked at their joined hands. His was much bigger than hers, but they were similar in other ways: the ruined fingernails, the calluses, the marks of labor.
A feeling rose in her again, familiar as Benjy’s face: the battle between being close to him and pushing him away. Being friends with him and being friends with no one. Which was worse, vulnerability or loneliness? The danger of friendship or the safety of total isolation?
What had safety done for her lately?
“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll go.” If only to stop his pleading. If only to keep moving, to stop thinking, to stop questioning.
He whooped, pulling her outside, into the welcoming dark toward the celebration—and she let him.
There were no golden ribbons in her hair, but there were caskets of pale, sour wine, and that was just as good. Or better, maybe.
They made their way to one of the big caves at the foot of the cliffs where the festivities were being held this year, a grotto with a wet, sandy floor. Inside the cave there was a fire pit, lanterns strung over the curving stone walls, two boys playing homemade drums—the beats echoed through the cave, sound doubling back on sound, so deep and incessant that it made Ayla feel strange and almost sick inside. Overwhelmed. There was space for dancing both inside the cave and on the black sand beach outside, the tide crashing and dissolving against the rocks that lined the shore like tall, straight-backed guards.
The air was filled with flecks of white foam, the smell of smoke and wine and sea spray, the sounds of drums and dancing and old harvest songs sung in a hundred voices. Everyone was wearing a mask. Some were painted with gold or vermilion, but most were just made from scraps of straw and clothing. These people were servants. Any luxuries had to be hidden and hidden well.
The moment she and Benjy entered the cave, a boy Benjy’s age bounded up to them. He was only wearing a half mask, a silvery-purple thing around his eyes. “Ben!” he said happily, pulling Benjy into a hug.
Ayla hung back, wary. She had definitely never seen this boy before, but Benjy was hugging him back, looking equally happy to see him.
Benjy ruffled the boy’s hair and stepped back, gesturing between him and Ayla. “Finn, this is my closest friend, Ayla. Ayla, this is Finn.” Finn. She remembered the stories. He and Benjy had grown up together at the temple as kids, long before Ayla knew Benjy. Finn had been the first to run away. Benjy had been gutted by it, but the anger was what had galvanized him to leave, too. Years later, Rowan helped them find each other again. They’d kept in touch ever since.
Benjy was grinning wide, like a happy fool. “He traveled here from an estate to the east and I haven’t seen him in nearly two years, the bastard.”
Finn laughed. “It’s hardly as if you’ve come to visit me!”
“Well, at least I always respond to your letters!”
“Oh sure,” said Finn, rolling his eyes. “And it only takes you three months per letter.”
They shoved at each other, bickering with an easy familiarity. Ayla hung back, silent, feeling a little lost. She knew Benjy wrote letters to people he knew outside the palace, but none of them had ever come to visit. And to come all this way just for the Reaper’s Moon? It seemed like madness. The celebrations were a risk in and of themselves. They weren’t sanctioned—they weren’t strictly illegal, but the Automae didn’t like any human gathering, whether it was ten people or a hundred. They saw it as a threat.
“Wait here, I’ll get you both a mask,” Finn said, and disappeared back into the crowd.
Benjy turned to Ayla, still grinning. “He hasn’t changed a bit. Everybody’s best friend, everywhere he goes. I bet you a statescoin there’ll be some girl mooning after him when he’s gone, even though he’s only here for a night.” His grin faded when Ayla didn’t reply. “You all right?”
“Isn’t it dangerous to leave the estate?” Ayla said. “Did he