Tainted

Chapter Forty-Six

Sani and I pause just inside the white picket fence. All around us are smells of baking bread and roasting meats. People are laughing, their gems jangling and their heavy cloaks swishing. Silk fans work furiously against sweaty faces, and decorated parasols open and close as the nobles carrying them weave in and out of tents and canvas awnings.

The tiny stone paths are packed with colorfully-dressed nobles and what must be servants in white silk livery. They move to-and-fro, crossing the regimented pathways simultaneously in a hurry and at leisure. The servants seem to move more quickly, their tight-lipped expressions showing their displeasure, but the nobles take their time. They pause at every new (or old) face and say hello.

I can feel my head jerking from left to right, unsure what to look at first.

A woman in an ice-blue gown with diamonds sewn into the hems stops and stares at me. She takes in the fabric on my cloak and the strands of dirty hair escaping from beneath the hood's cover.

I slip my arm free of Sani's and smooth the teal cloak over my thighs. Rogue was right. If I'm going to pass scrutiny here, I'm going to need a new outfit.

Sani advances forward along the path. I watch as the eyes of men and women slide to her, watching her lithe body move with every step.

Voices flit past me as I follow her, snippets of conversation that seem far too benign for this day.

"Oh do you like it? I paid three coins for it." One woman says. She tugs at a yellow scarf stitched with pink flowers.

"Delia is the top of her grade which Barth and I are absolutely thrilled about. I mean, of course she was Fated to be intelligent, but it's always nice when these little things work out, don't you agree?" Another woman says to her companion. From beneath my hood I see them both holding twin parasol with handles of faceted crystal.

"An Un-Fated tried to claim they were more deserving of the job. Can you believe it? An Un-Fated. The Goddess didn't even think them worthy enough for anything!" It's a man who says this. I look at his feet as I go by. He's wearing crocodile skin shoes that buckle on the sides. His pants are tapered at his ankles and have thin lines of silver thread stitched vertically against the black fabric.

I keep my head bowed as we move through the nobles. We reach the end of the path, and Rogue stops suddenly, swearing beside me.

I look up to see what's wrong, and I freeze, my whole body going rigid. I'm pinned by my own face staring back at me from half-priced banners, my painted Fate bared for all to see.

I grip my left arm instinctively, but it's hidden beneath bandages and my teal cloak. It's invisible, but my face isn't.

Merchants stand beside wooden stalls. They sell everything from small replicas of our duel banners, to tiny metal clappers that make a thin smacking sound when shaken, to play weapons, blunted and child-size.

My face is on everything. Not only does it decorate the miniature banners, but it's on tunics, playing cards, blankets—anything that can be painted seems to have my face. There's a regimented structure to it, as if a stencil was made and artists simply painted in the spaces on the fabrics and papers. Nearly every item has a read "half-price" tag attached. The shirts and cards that don't, have added black mourning shrouds to my face and written the date of my death beneath my head.

"What did I tell you," Sani says, leaning in. "Liability."

I grit my teeth. "Don't worry," I tell her. "I'll get a disguise. I'll meet you at the entrance to the arena."

"If you don't get arrested first," Sani says, stalking away up the path.

I'm tempted to stick my tongue out at her, but I stop myself.