The Young Gods (The Young Gods #1) [NEW DRAFT]

•capítulo catorce // chapter fourteen•

This is it, Eden thinks to himself, surveying the scene before him. This is how I'll die.

Musicians run bows over strings. Blow into flutes. Strum guitars. People laugh and dance and talk. Fine silk and petticoats rifle through his vision. He stands frozen in a corner, looking over a cup of wine, trying to stay unnoticed in the face of dangerous socialization.

"Who put dirt on your face, Sentinel?"

He starts at the sight of the Tondan man in front of him, dressed in what Eden assumes can only be traditional island wear. A red cloth is tied around the man's head, dark hair trailing towards his collarbone. Winding blue tattoos stencil his bare chest. A matching red loincloth keeps his private parts out of view, though Eden averts his eyes, clearing his throat. The man's been working the crowd in the ballroom, brown skin warm in the light from the grand chandeliers overhead, making women gasp and men guffaw. Sometimes he has a monkey on his shoulder, other times an eagle, but Eden sees no sign of either animal now.

"Where did you come from?" Eden asks. "I mean, how did you... I didn't see you come out of the crowd..."

"Oh," the Tondan says, shifting his weight. There's a glint in his dark eyes, and when he moves, the gold hoops in his earlobes jostle. "It's an old islander trick. So, again: who put dirt on your face?"

"They're freckles," Eden points out.

The Tondan squints. "Ah. So they are!" He makes a flourish with his dark hands, and in a puff of black smoke, he produces a rose. "For you," he offers.

Eden blinks. "You- how did you do that?"

A brown finger goes over browner lips. "Secret."

Eden reaches for the rose, already notching off the thorns with the edge of his thumbnail.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks.

But the Tondan man's somehow found his way into the crowd again, spooking a gaggle of noble girls with what sounds like a war cry.

"It's indecent," remarks a middle-aged man.

"It's hilarious," says another, clutching at his stomach. "This is the best hired entertainment I've seen in ages. Fill your cup with humour instead of wine, Arroyo."

Someone's nearly choking with laughter somewhere in the room, probably already deep in their cups. Eden keeps an expectant watch over the grand doors, inlaid with jewels and silver, his cup in one hand and the rose in the other. Snows and sands, his legs ache. He feels like he's been waiting forever.

A caustic flash of red cuts through the crowd. Eden starts at the sight of it, lowering his cup. He shifts out of the corner and the shadows, turning sideways to enter the mass of people congregating in the center of the ballroom. That flash of red moves when he does, never standing perfectly still, burning brighter than any fire.

A woman backs into him, knocking his cup of dark wine onto her pale dress. Her mouth opens to berate him, but when her blue eyes fall on his uniform, she swiftly falls silent. Eden mumbles a graceless apology as the cup clatters to the marble floor, still following that spark of crimson.

His hand reaches out, stretching. There's something familiar about that redness...

His fingers close around a shoulder. The boy in front of him pauses, stiffening.

"Don Ramon?"

Eden's fingers fall away when Ramon turns. Eden would've recognized that hair anywhere, even though it's been almost three years since he and the heir to House Rubio have met in person. It's curling and crimson, stark against his skin- tan from his time in the Lowlands of South Vesenna- and freckles dot his cheeks.