“Will Chimal mind?”
“Chimal is focused on Nicoleta. He probably won’t notice.” As I turn to leave, he adds, “But, Sorina, you must be more prepared tomorrow. Half-heartedness simply won’t do.”
* * *
Later that day, fresh from ten hours of sleep—thanks to the new guards stationed around our tent—I slip down my neighborhood’s central path to see our local charm-worker, Agatha. In my pocket, a jar with holes the size of needle pricks contains a rare northern cicada, which I found crawling over my pillow this morning, as if it were a present. I haven’t personally added a new bug to my collection in a while. It feels comfortingly normal.
Agatha is setting up her stand of charms and trinkets. Most of them are hand-crafted jewelry with charmed stones, some for peace of mind, some for strength or power or meditation. I scan the bracelets for one Venera, or even Nicoleta, might like.
“Sorina,” she says. She appears not a day over thirty due to one of her beauty charms, yet her frail voice hints at her true age. “I was wondering when you’d come back. It’s been almost a week.”
“A week? I haven’t seen you in a month,” I say, confused.
She furrows her eyebrows. “You came last week, with the butterfly. Probably one of the prettier of the disgusting insects you bring to me. Have you come with another?”
Last week? A butterfly? Maybe Agatha is growing senile in her old age. But then she produces a small glass vial, and within it, a perfectly preserved butterfly, its wings a vibrant purple.
“Are you sure I gave this to you?” I ask. “It wasn’t...a gift or anything?”
“Villiam had me charm that cricket, but that was a while ago. You gave me this butterfly.” She feels my forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Dandy, as always,” I lie. Perhaps I didn’t sleep as soundly as I thought. Or maybe Agatha is just senile and doesn’t remember Villiam giving this to her instead of me.
I pull the jar with the cicada out of my pocket. “Here’s the cute little critter.”
Agatha grimaces, as she always does. “My daughter collects rings. I wish you’d find yourself a different hobby.”
I slide the jar toward her and lean against her stand.
“Here’s two copper pieces,” I say. The usual payment.
Agatha nods and ushers me inside her tent. The inside contains even more charms than on the outside. I sit on her floor cushion while she pulls the cicada out from the jar. To my left, resting on a table, is a handmade doll that resembles Agatha’s daughter.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s a charm doll,” Agatha tells me. She cups the cicada within her hands and then kisses her thumb. “There’s magic in a kiss.”
When she opens them, the cicada is frozen, petrified. She roots around for one of the glass vials she uses to store my bugs. Once she finds one, she slips the cicada inside and hands it to me.
I take the cicada and then run my fingers through the doll’s hair.
“You shouldn’t touch it,” Agatha says. She gently takes it from me. “Charm dolls are linked to a person. This one is linked to my daughter. Whatever I do to the doll, she will feel.”
“How are they linked?”
“It’s very simple charm-work—it only requires a small item from my daughter, something important to her. I sewed the item inside it, and then I give the doll its life.” She holds the doll up to my ear, and I hear a heartbeat.
“What do you use it for?”
“Oh, all sorts of things. If I pinch the doll’s arm, my daughter knows to visit me. If I bless the doll, my daughter is blessed. But charm dolls do not have the best of reputations. Without proper protections placed on the doll, someone could use one to cause another harm. Even kill them. They are simple but powerful jynx-work.”
A shiver runs down my spine. The doll looks like a toy, yet it could become a deadly weapon.
“Thank you for your work,” I say. “The cicada is beautiful.”
“If you say so.”
* * *
Luca walks me to the edge of Gomorrah, his hand in my mine. We have not kissed since that first night in Gentoa, but hand-holding has become our normal. His hand feels warm and steady. Something I could grow used to.
“We should stop here,” Luca says as we approach the edge of Gomorrah’s caravans. Once again, the Festival is on the move. “I know you don’t want Villiam seeing me.”
I suppose I should introduce Luca to Villiam properly at some point. Not as someone helping me investigate my family’s murders but as my friend. Well, more than my friend, really.
Maybe after all of this blows over.
“This is our last day here,” I say. I squeeze his hand tighter. I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t nervous. This is more than the greatest performance of my life—it’s my first role as a Gomorrah proprietor.
“Do you want me to meet with you before you leave for the wedding?”
“I... I don’t know.” In my head, I’m simply picturing this as a performance. It’s the only method that doesn’t leave me panicking from anxiety. Before a Freak Show, our only pre-show rituals are tolerating the bickers of Unu and Du and the sounds of Hawk tuning her fiddle. Or Blister’s high fives.
“I won’t be offended if you don’t want me there,” he says.
“I don’t want to make a big deal of it.”
“It’s sort of a big deal.”
“But I want to pretend this is normal. That this is what I do. I am the Girl Who Sees Without Eyes. I can make an illusion. I can fool them all.”
He nods, but, from his expression, I can tell he doesn’t understand. He gives me a hug, and I press my nose and mask into his shoulder. “Be careful,” he says.
“Always am.”
“Break a leg.”
“Naturally.”
He pulls away, his face stern and shadowed. I don’t want him to worry about me. Nicoleta and I will walk out of that wedding alive and with the leader.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. “Afterward.”
“Tomorrow.”
* * *
The limit of my illusion is nine minutes and twelve seconds.
“You will need to enter the cathedral quickly and find a place to conceal yourself while Nicoleta finds Dalimil,” Chimal says.
Nicoleta nods. I’m accustomed to seeing her fatigued, with dark circles under her eyes, complaining of a headache as she hunches over to do our laundry. But this week, she holds her head high and is fueled solely by excitement. I wish I could enjoy the thrill of this as she does. As much as I adore performing, I prefer when I have control. But the success of this mission depends on too many random factors.
“You’ll be entering with the other guests through the main entrance, but they will only see Nicoleta. The guards outside will ask you to produce your invitation, and we have a copy of one here.” Chimal slides Nicoleta a piece of golden parchment. “Your name is Lady Michala, the daughter of a distant count. The real Lady Michala has the snaking sickness, so she will not be attending.”
Nicoleta hands me the parchment, and it’s nearly impossible to read the intricate Up-Mountain calligraphy. An embellished yellow sun of Ovren glints at the top of the page.
“Sorina, once inside, you will conceal yourself somewhere and give yourself time to recuperate. Because of this, we think it’s best if you are dressed as a nun, someone who, if seen, will still escape notice. It’ll also allow you to keep most of your face covered.”
I don’t love the idea of dressing up as an Up-Mountainer. I don’t want to wear their clothes. I don’t want to look as if I belong in such a terrible place.
“Dalimil will likely be seated near the front. Repeat again what he looks like.”
“He’s six foot two, approximately sixty years old,” Nicoleta says, barely hesitating a moment to think. “Fair features and a crooked nose. His most notable characteristic is his one blue eye and one green eye.”
“That will require Nicoleta to get rather close,” I say.
“You’ll have several opportunities to do so. First, when he is entering. Second, in Up-Mountain weddings, every member of the congregation must throw flower petals into the water the priest shall bless. And third, while leaving.” Chimal studies me. “Sorina, you’ll need to cast an illusion to conceal Nicoleta when she makes her move. Then you must quickly get the three of you out. Dalimil is a large man, but Nicoleta should have no difficulty carrying him. There will be a carriage waiting for you outside.”