“’Rina, you know I’m always ready to talk about romance,” she mumbles, “but did you have to choose ten in the morning to ask?”
“Never mind. Go back to sleep.”
She rubs her eyes and sits up. “No, it’s fine. I’m all ears.”
“According to Kahina’s fortune-work, there isn’t any romance in my future.”
“Fortune-workers don’t know everything. Tell me about him. Why are you thinking romance?”
“Because I kissed him,” I whisper.
Venera squeals and squirms closer to me. “How forward. I’m so proud.”
I hush her, not wanting to wake the others. “No, you don’t understand. I kissed him, but he didn’t kiss me back. And now I’m worried. He wasn’t in his caravan earlier. Maybe he’s avoiding me. Or he got himself into trouble—”
“One concern at a time,” she says. “How about you just tell me about him first?”
I squeeze my pillow to my chest. “Last week, I ran into him during one of his acts. He calls himself a poison-worker. People pay to kill him, and he always comes back alive. I watched him get beheaded.”
“How romantic. Your special someone sounds like some kind of demon.”
“I think he’d take that as a compliment,” I say.
“You should tell him you think he has nice eyes.”
“How do you know I like his eyes?”
She snorts. “Because you have a thing for eyes.”
I flush slightly but can’t help being a little amused at the irony. “His name is Luca. He calls himself a gossip-worker. And—”
“Wait, that Luca?” she says. “Luca von Raske? The Up-Mountainer? Sorina...I heard he isn’t interested in...romance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, half his friends are prettymen and prettywomen, yet he never shows interest in them. He’s totally apathetic to that stuff.”
“To what stuff? My stuff? Or any stuff?”
“Any stuff. Apparently.”
I think back to last night, to how he tensed, to how he claimed that he needed to “think.” That makes much more sense now. Maybe he’s just inexperienced. Maybe he really does have to think.
But think about what? Our relationship? My face?
“Well...that isn’t what I was expecting,” I finally say.
“What did you think it was? Your appearance?”
“Of course I thought it was my appearance!”
“Has he ever commented on it? Has it come up before? You’ve spent a lot of time together, haven’t you?”
“Yes. He’s seen me without my mask on, if that’s what you mean, and he didn’t even flinch.” I roll over, press my face into a pillow and groan.
Venera rubs my back in circles. I feel childish, but her touch is very comforting. “Well,” she says at last, “you know my advice is always to go after what you want, with all the confidence you may or may not have. Because you’re so powerful that you can make grown men run in fear. And you’re imaginative enough to have thought up me—and I’m, I mean, perfection.” She tosses her hair at this, smiling at me, and I can’t help but laugh a little.
“And you’re helping to hold this family together even after...everything. If he’s half as intelligent as I’ve heard, then he recognizes all of these qualities in you.”
I sink deeper into my pillow, dreading seeing him tomorrow. Even with Venera’s kind words, I cannot help thinking I’ve ruined whatever friendship Luca and I have managed to create.
*
Our first night in Gentoa, we open the Freak Show after what seems to be years of nothing. It’s strange to see each other in our usual costumes—all pink glitter and black stripes and fake smiles. Without Gill’s and Blister’s acts, we had to lengthen each of our own to keep the show forty minutes long. I haven’t thought about what I’ll add to my performance—I usually improvise, anyway.
All I think about is that Luca might be in the audience. He promised he’d come see one of our shows once we reopened. Though he probably didn’t mean the first night, the thought of him watching gives me the jitters of stage fright. And I’m never nervous about performing.
“You’re awfully jumpy,” Venera says. Her white-painted face appears spooky in our candlelit dressing area. The effect is even more dramatic on stage.
“Luca might be here,” I say.
“You have black lipstick on your teeth,” Venera says, and I scramble to fix it before pulling up the curtain.
The performance does not begin well. Tree goes into a tantrum during his act, forcing me to take control before he starts tearing out his branches, which Venera works so hard to keep trim. Crown never smiles once through his entire performance. Unu and Du hiss at each other during their dance routine loud enough that the people in the first row definitely heard Unu call Du a “growth worse than toe fungus,” which will earn him one of Nicoleta’s tirades after the show.
During my act, I scan the rows for Luca but don’t find him anywhere. My stage smile falters a bit, but I regain my composure enough to produce the illusion of a giant bird, the size of the tent and more. Every person in the room rides on its back through thunderclouds that light the sky in blinding flashes of violet. It all runs smoothly until I trip on my Strings and fall, tearing a sizable rip down the side of my cloak.
After the show, Blister isn’t there to give out high fives.
“Luca wasn’t there?” Venera asks from her usual perch at her vanity.
“Is that the boy—” Hawk starts.
I flick her on the forehead, and she clamps her mouth shut. I’m already so nervous that my stomach is cramping up. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to see him now.” My words sound brave, but it’s all a farce. I wipe off my rouge, and it smears pink down my cheek. I look like a clown.
“A date?”
“Sure,” I lie. If you can call hunting down the murderer of your uncle and brother a date. Nothing we’ve done has ever been even remotely romantic. Even the party was a business rendezvous for Luca.
“Make sure he comes tomorrow night,” Venera says. “So I can decide if he’s worthy.”
*
I decided to leave on my black lipstick from the show to remind Luca—without needing to tell him outright—that the Freak Show has reopened. When I enter his tent, relieved that he is indeed all in one piece, I catch him staring at my lips from where he’s sitting on the corner of his bamboo floor, and he quickly shifts his gaze to his hands.
My stomach churns.
“How was reopening night?” he asks.
“Not so dandy,” I say. “Tree was on his absolute worst behavior, and Unu and Du’s language made a few audience members gasp.”
“I’m sure your act was mesmerizing,” he says. “And I’m sorry I missed it. I intend to catch tomorrow night’s show.”
I mentally decide to wear my scarlet mask, which Venera always tells me is alluring.
“Should I start wearing makeup for my show, too?” he asks. “I could paint my lips blue, like a corpse.” He smiles at his own morbid joke.
I wince. The memory of his head rolling off the stage to my feet now seems more like a nightmare than a dark parlor trick.
I sit beside him. As soon as I open my mouth to speak, he rises to pour himself a glass of gin. I watch—impatiently—as he finishes the whole glass.