She has olive skin made darker by the tattoos along her forehead, neck and arms. Upon closer examination, I realize it is one giant tattoo of a flower with drooping midnight-blue petals, drawn in the gentle brushstrokes of the Eastern art style. The intensity of the color and the details within the lines are so fine that it’s difficult to believe they could be drawn in such a way on human skin instead of paper.
“That’s a black maiden flower,” I say. Its essence is in one of Luca’s vials on his belt.
“Which you know because it’s a famous poison,” she says. “That’s what you were thinking. And you’re not supposed to speak, which is what he was thinking. He’s right, you know. It makes your thoughts louder.” She nods to Luca, who stiffens. “Actually, it isn’t a black maiden flower. Though it appears so in the dark. In full light, you can see the color of the petals better, a more vibrant blue. The maiden’s daughter, it’s called. Perfectly edible.”
She stands, and she’s the tallest in the room by at least three inches. She looks me up and down. “You’re Villiam’s adopted daughter,” she says.
“How do you know that?” I ask. Luca and I are standing in the shadow of her caravan—she cannot see my face. “I wasn’t thinking it. Or about to think it.”
“Because you are thinking it, whether or not you realize it. Everyone has dozens of thoughts jumbling around in their head, and almost all of them are what I call static. You think them so often you stop listening, even as they repeat over and over. I can hear you thinking I am Sorina Gomorrah—which is the loudest of the static, yet the one you ignore the most. Your identity. And then there are thoughts like Gill Gill Gill and Blister Blister Blister. The people—no, illusions—you wonder if I could have killed.”
Luca sighs. “Conversations with you always get right to the point.”
“But you’re not really interested in how I’m doing, or the weather or the nutty politics of all these cities we keep coming and going from. You’re not here for small talk.”
“Can we at least sit down?” he asks. “I’m rather fond of formalities.”
The corner of her lip twitches. It’s not exactly a smile, but it’s close. “Why not?” The three of us sit around her table. In the light, she momentarily examines my eyeless mask. Then she looks away, much in the way adults tell children not to stare at deformities.
“Why do you think my jynx-work would be able to kill illusions?” she asks. There’s no hint of annoyance in her voice at being accused of murder. “Because guilt doesn’t pinch as hard as hunger pains.” She eyes me. “Your thoughts are very loud, dear. You need to sharpen your mind.”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she meant. I clench my teeth.
“You don’t think you’re smart, either,” she says. “Being smart isn’t everything. Right, Luca? You’ve certainly learned that the hard way.”
Not a single expression crosses Luca’s face.
She examines him. “But, even so, your thoughts are difficult for me to hear. Not like you’re covering them, like a mind-worker might. Like your static is in knots.”
“That can’t be good,” Luca says, not sounding particularly concerned.
She laughs more genuinely than I imagined an assassin could. She lives in too average of a home. All this directness unnerves me. No matter what we say, she will always know the meaning behind our words. She will always be the one in the position of power. It occurs to me that, if she can hear all of my thoughts, she already knows of my feelings for Luca and about my conversation with Villiam and Chimal today. How easy it must be for her to unravel secrets. I wonder if I should leave before she discovers something else, but the damage is probably already done.
“I didn’t kill the two illusions. I had no reason to. I’m not the only assassin in Gomorrah, but I’m the best. No one is going to pay me top dollar to drown a baby. You could pay anyone to do that.”
“Not everyone would do it,” I counter.
“But someone would. Someone mad, probably, to go messing with the proprietor’s daughter. It seems to me you want someone who doesn’t make it their living to kill people. None of us are trying to be on Villiam’s bad side. We don’t mess with the guard.”
“That’s not much of an alibi,” I say.
“If it takes jynx-work to kill your illusions, mine doesn’t even make sense,” she says. “And if it doesn’t, no one is going to pay a lion to kill a caterpillar when a pigeon would do just fine.”
I whip toward Luca with a This is bullshit, right? kind of expression, but he has his eyes closed, as if concentrating.
“That makes sense,” he says.
“Any liar can make sense,” I say. She could’ve been hired by the Alliance. She could be a spy. What a brilliant spy she would make.
At this, Tuyet barks out a laugh. “If the Alliance was seeking out a traitor, they wouldn’t choose Gomorrah’s most famous assassin. They’re much craftier than that. If it’s a spy you seek, then you should concern yourselves with those closest to you.”
That would narrow our scope to Kahina, Villiam and the illusions, and none of them have the means or motive—or such cruelty in their hearts.
Luca stands and straightens his posh Up-Mountain clothes. “We’re leaving.”
“That fight brewing in your head,” Tuyet says, “take it outside.”
Luca grabs my hand, and I think it’s meant to be reassuring, but it only makes my heart hammer. He pulls me outside before I can say anything, and he crosses his arms as if bracing himself for the storm coming.
“She still could’ve killed Gill and Blister,” I say.
“She had no reason to,” Luca says. “No motive. In fact, she had a better reason not to.”
“Unless someone paid her.”
“She already made two excellent points about why she is not the woman for such a job.” Luca sighs. “If you’re so certain that woman killed them, then we can come back after we figured out who paid her to do so. But I don’t think you believe she did, anyway. You’re just in a sour mood. What was Tuyet talking about, anyway? What did she mean about a traitor?”
“I’d rather not discuss it here,” I say. I’m not convinced that we’re out of range of Tuyet’s strange jynx-work yet.
Luca swivels on his heel and walks down a path to the left. “Then let’s discuss as we walk. We’re on our way to a party. I did say festive.”
“I am festive.”
I have to nearly run to keep up with him. I lean in close so that no one can overhear us. “My investigation with Villiam isn’t much like ours,” I start. At first, I hesitate about whether to tell him. Villiam told me not to trust anyone not born in Gomorrah. But Luca has never given me a reason to suspect him, and I desperately want his advice. “Have you heard of the Alliance of Cyrille?”
“Yes.”
I should be surprised, but nothing Luca knows surprises me anymore.
“Before I came to Gomorrah, I knew a man who was involved in it. I’ve also heard people speak of it here,” he says. “Villiam believes they killed your illusions? Why wouldn’t they simply kill you, or his assistant, or people closer to him?”
“They could simply be trying to shake me. I am Gomorrah’s future proprietor.”
“And I suppose Villiam has told you what it means to be a proprietor.”
His words sting. Was everyone aware of this truth except me? If Villiam was purposely trying to keep me sheltered like he said, he really did an extraordinary job.
“I’m aware of what that means,” I say. “They think the man who attacked Villiam worked for the Alliance.”
“He probably did. Cartonian. Hiding out in Gomorrah during the day. Carrying a vial of poison to kill himself when necessary. That feels a lot like their style. But the one who killed your family? Who knew exactly how to disable Gill? Who turned no heads when he was with Blister? We’re looking for someone established in Gomorrah for more than a few hours. So it doesn’t make sense for that person to be working for the Alliance. If the Alliance simply wants Villiam dead, they wouldn’t bother with your illusions. They would send a man to spook Villiam’s horses.”