sternum.
“Unnatural magics,” I say, because that is the answer I am supposed to say.
“You’re healing nicely,” he says, changing the subject.
I watch his features as he smooths the palm of my hand open. Just when I make up my mind about him, he surprises me. Why didn’t he agree? It can’t be to spare my feelings when he reminds me every morning how much work I have to do before looking like a lady of court. If I say the word magpie and wait for his response, it would be strange, but I have proven to be a strange girl. I wouldn’t put it past Méndez to see this memory later, though they’ll need a new Ventári to transcribe it, and perhaps understand what I’m doing.
I let it go.
The scar down my hand is going to be an ugly thing, but I’ve grown used to it. The shape begins to look like a mountain range on a map when I stare at it long enough.
“Leo,” I say, covering the alman stone with my gloved hand, muffling sight and sound. “There’s a party in the courtyard tonight.”
He taps his chin, considering it. “And you’d like to attend.”
I shrug. A Moria is dead and I’m thinking of parties. But I need to be there.
“I’ve never been to one before. The Whispers only took me to cantinas where everything ended in fights.”
It’s not a whole lie. It’s been four days since I’ve made any progress about how to get into Castian’s apartments. Jacinta is my only lead.
“I don’t know,” he says, eyes flicking to where my gloved hand is. “Justice Méndez said to watch over you. He detests festivities.”
“Please,” I say. How can a single word sound so sad? I didn’t know Constantino, but he could have easily been me.
“One hour,” Leo says, holding up a single finger. “And then I’m marching you up here myself.”
Overcome with excitement, I throw my arms around his neck. He chuckles lightly, but the hug he gives me is comforting. I have missed being held this way, even if it’s by a friend.
Not your friend, my mind admonishes.
As we continue the routine I’ve been cultivating, I remind myself that friends don’t use each other the way I’m using Leo.
The courtyard is teeming with people. There’s music. Bodies pressed so tight they look like the ripples of a wave.
“One hour,” Leo reminds me, raking his fingers through his hair. “Don’t make me come get you. I’m a dignified attendant, not a nursemaid.”
When he leaves to sidle up to a handsome young guard, Claudia appears beside me and rests an elbow on my shoulder. “Aren’t attendant and nursemaid the same thing?”
I laugh and take the clay cup of wine she offers me. It’s sweeter than the dry vintage Justice Méndez pours from a glass decanter during dinner. I lick my lips and scan the dancing crowd. Everyone from scullery maids to kitchen hands to farm boys bring the courtyard to life. Girls in long white dresses spin, their hems billowing with every twirl. I recognize a surly-faced guard playing guitar beside a man who slaps beefy hands on percussions. Fire pits roar incandescent flames against the surrounding blue stones.
“I don’t understand the occasion,” I say to Claudia.
“The half-moon is as good a time as any,” she says. “This week leading up to the Sun Festival is going to be brutal on us. It was Queen Penelope who began the tradition of letting the staff have their own celebration. She said it would boost productivity.”
Bringing my clay cup to my lips, I hide what I want to say. We celebrated events in ángeles. Unions, births, even deaths. But we did it together.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say. “Where are the others? Davida and Jacinta?”
Claudia’s cheeks are pink from the heat and wine. “Davida likes to listen to the music from the kitchen. She peels potatoes while she pines for Hector. I tell you what—”
I sense her ramblings beginning. “And Jacinta?”
“Probably asleep in the laundry room,” she says. Then adds, “Wrapped in the prince’s sheets, I’d wager.”
I grimace, hold up my empty cup, and say, “I’m going to get a refill!”
But Claudia is already threading her body into the needle of the crowd. I snag two cups and stop by the kitchens. Davida is there, tapping her foot, working her way through a mound of potatoes. I set a clay cup in front of her. She presses her hand to her chin and pushes it outward. There were some Whispers who