Everyone Always Leaves
“Why can’t we call it magic?” Marieke, councilor Nabil’s seven year old daughter, asks me again. She’s chewing on the end of a blade of grass, her little legs crossed underneath her.
I stand, brushing dirt of my trousers, and watch Lise attempt to herd the other children back into the château in an orderly fashion. We’ve just finishing up our lessons with the council member’s children, something that the education branch is specifically tasked with. Ever since Lise and I turned sixteen we’ve been teaching the young ones. Anyone our age or older had had lessons from Father.
“Magic makes it sound mysterious, but alterations aren’t like that, right? You can learn how to do it, just like everyone else can,” I tell Marieke.
“But why does it come from the suns?” she asks as she clambers to her feet.
“We don’t know that yet,” I admit. “But that’s one of the things the council researches. Who knows? It could be your job one day.”
Marieke shakes her head. “No way. I’m going to know all the plants in the world instead,” she insists. “Just like Papa.” She takes off running in the opposite direction of the château, yelling, “I already know a bunch!”
I follow her, having little other choice, and stop just short of where Marieke is crouched down. “These ones are dahlias,” she tells me, running a hand over a bunch of pink flowers as large as her head. They’ve only just bloomed and are beautifully vibrant, planted along the path near the plum trees. I wait as she babbles a few facts about them and then starts attempting to count the petals on one.
“Come on, Marieke, someone will be here to pick you up, and we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” comes a voice from behind me, and suddenly Mickaël is walking around me and stopping in between me and Marieke, his hands clasped behind his back.
All the words I’d had suddenly drop into the pit of my stomach as I recall our conversation from two days ago. The conversation I’d had with Lightfoot, to be more precise. I’d done a superb job of avoiding Mickaël since then. As soon as I’d stormed off that night I’d recognized how poorly I’d handled the entire conversation, but I couldn’t very well turn around and apologize. I mean, I could have, but I refused to.
Truth be told, I’d been caught completely off guard by his refusal to help me. We’d never worked explicitly together, but I’d always assumed our goals were aligned, and that he considered me an ally. But it seems that he’s as snobbish as Lightfoot as he tends to be as Mickaël.
“I didn’t realize you were coming,” I tell him flatly, watching Marieke pick a ladybug off a leaf and scrunch up her face, concentrating, before successfully altering a patch of skin on her hand reddish with black spots.
Mickaël observes Marieke as well, a soft smile on his face. “That was very good,” he tells her, and she gives him a cautious look. To me he says, “A neighbor’s duty.” The cosmology château, where he lives, is closest to the environment château, so he has escorted the kids before. But only when his older brother Adrien is busy.
“You two should go,” I say, folding my arms.
Marieke is sitting in the dirt again, and Mickaël lazily circles the nearest plum tree. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re mad at me. But I don’t see why,” Mickaël says, catching my eye as he reaches up and plucking a plum from its branch. “Is she mad at me?” he asks Marieke in a stage whisper, offering the girl the plum.
Marieke shies away from the fruit and stands up. “Usually when Julienne’s mad she’s mad at Lise,” she states matter-of-factly.
Mickaël erupts into laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes, you’re right,” he says, looking at me as he takes a bite of the plum. I try not to roll my eyes too hard, and I make sure not to smile either.
“Alright, come on, Marieke.” I gesture toward the château, and luckily I don’t need to prod Marieke any more; she skips off in the direction of the limestone building.
Mickaël matches my stride as we follow behind the girl. “What’s upset you?” His hair isn’t tied back at all, and it swirls around his face as a breeze blows by us. When I don’t answer, he takes another bite of plum. “If it’s what was said at the council dinner, just know that it’s not an issue. No one’s even talking about it.”
“You are,” I bite back.
“Fine, then at least I hope she’s worth the trouble.”
When we enter the château, Lise is waiting with Joseph, Estelle, and Cédric. Joseph is currently trying to convince Cédric that he’s strong enough to push his wheelchair, which is doubtful, because Joseph is the tiniest (but loudest) nine year old I’ve ever seen. Cédric is telling him not to, while his sister Estelle, at sixteen, watches without comment. She starts biting her nails when we walk into the room.
“What were you doing out there?” Lise asks, pulling the château’s back doors closed behind us and putting out a hand for Marieke to hold. “Ready to go?” she asks the girl.
Marieke glances back at Mickaël and I. “I don’t wanna go with him,” she whispers to Lise. “Can’t you or Julienne take me?”
Lise shakes her head, kneeling down to get on Marieke’s level. “We’ve got to take Cédric, Estelle, and Joseph back to their château, just like we do after every lesson. Besides, Mickaël is very nice.”
Marieke, still not convinced, looks over at Mickaël again. "But where's Adrien?"
I notice Mickaël visibly flinch at the mention of his elder brother, but he tries to cover it by reaching into his pocket with a flourish and pulling out a fresh plum. He must be stocking up. “You can tell me about all the plant you know on the way there?” he tries, offering it to her.
For the second time she refuses the fruit, but she does let go of Lise’s hand. “Ok.”
Stuck with an extra plum, Mickaël turns and holds the fruit up, silently staring at me until I raise my hand, palm-up. He grins in response, placing the plum into my hand, his fingertips grazing my wrist. Without meaning to my skin alters into iridescent fish scales under his touch. He doesn’t seem to notice, just says, “Do cheer up,” before guiding Marieke away.
* *
It’s not until late that I can slip away from the château, and I’m already not liking my chances of success for this outing. But now the suns are already set, which means I need to be very careful about my use of alterations, but I can’t put this off for another day. It has to be today.
Before I lose my nerve, I’m running along the rooftops of the city, my clothes swapped out for Raven’s, my mask and hair extensions in place to better disguise my identity. I’m Raven. I’m Raven and Raven is perfectly capable of fighting when she needs to, even when Julienne isn’t.
The man at the door of the Altar murmurs something as I enter, but I’m not paying attention to him. Inside I’m met with dazzling lights, mirrors reflecting the different colored lantern flames a million times over, and the flow of costumed bodies, dancing to a drum beat that sounds a bit too much like my own heart. Usually the theatrics dazzle me, but I refuse to be distracted, because I have to find her. Kira’s always here on the same day each week, and I have to hope that she’s here tonight as well.
“Raven!” A girl no older than fifteen is in front of me, her cheeks glittering with scales and pearls, her reddish hair piled on top of her head. I've never seen her before, and I feel a bit of pride that she recognizes me, but there’s also something about the joy in her smile that makes me feel guilty.
“That’s me,” I say with a quirk of my mouth, and she laughs nervously.
We get jostled by two men dancing with each other, and she says eagerly, “I think you’re amazing!”
I’m trying to scan the room, but I take the time to look down at her. “Thank you…”
“Portia!” she shouts over the growing noise. “Are you looking for someone?”
I’m about to answer when I see a flash of blue hair, and it’s so predictable it hurts, because there Kira is, in the same outfit I’d met her in. She’s across the room, spinning in graceful circles, her arms ribboned in white lace and her hair, shaved on either side, dyed blue. I know from experience that any alterations she may have made at the beginning of the evening will have faded away by now. It's her.
“Sorry, I have to go,” I tell Portia, and she looks so starstruck that I’m not sure she heard me. I appreciate her admiration, but I’m glad that most people don’t have that reaction; it would make walking around the city a lot harder.
Eyes still on Kira, I make my way across the crowd, but an older woman with half her face and arms decorated in octopus suction cups grabs my elbow, spinning me in the opposite direction. “Dance, darling,” she’s saying, and I squirrel out of her grip. When I whip my head around, Kira is gone.
* *
previous: https://theprose.com/post/533092/to-be-lonelier-than-a-sun