Blind the Eyes: Enter the City of Nightmares by K.A. Wiggins

Author:K.A. Wiggins [Wiggins, K.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-7775174-6-5
Publisher: Snowmelt & Stumps, an imprint of K.A. Wiggins
Published: 2022-05-20T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27: Compromise

I DRESS ON my own, rustling around behind the wall hangings to find the stash of clothes and decorations and paints and even a pitcher of dust, all prepared and waiting. There’s no sign of Ange or Cass.

It’s time to take control of the situation. Even if Cadence’s visions aren’t real, from what the enforcers said, I know the Mara are still taking people in Refuge. If we could reach them and get Refuge out of the way, even with the horror of the Exchange, wouldn’t that be better? One life for so many more?

I’ll convince Ravel to save the workers right now. Maybe that’s been Cadence’s plan all along, to shock and motivate me, but that’s almost certainly giving her way too much credit. She’s sick, more twisted than I could ever have imagined. I see through her now. She takes joy in tormenting me.

I might not be able to stop her, but I can do something about the torment of others.

In my head, I sound much more determined than I feel. My stomach tells a different story, tangling into knots like the threads that drag me into the visions. I’m going to need all the confidence I can muster, which is why I choose a veiled mask from the shelf. It feels comfortingly familiar, brushing Refuge-style down the bridge of my nose and deflecting my breath back at me. It’s the best of both worlds, the elaborate costume of Freedom with the comforting familiarity of Refuge modesty. I want to send a message: I don’t care what name Ravel wants to call me, and I do want to please him, but I’m not just his doll. I need him to listen to me, properly listen, tonight.

That’s the plan, anyway.

Ravel gathers me to him with an enthusiastic: “Victoire!”

He examines my costume. “That’s a good effort, flame.” He brushes back the veil on my mask, touches my lips with his thumb, and sighs. “But I’d like to make a few suggestions?”

He says it like a question, a warm lilt at the end, but though his lips smile, his eyes are sharp amidst the glittering frame of his mask. He lounges on the cushions, which I’ve rearranged carefully to hide leftover paint smears and glitter.

“Ange,” he says, jogging his heel.

He doesn’t yell, but there’s immediately a rustling behind the far wall. Still, it’s a few moments before she appears. She hurries across the room, eyes on the floor.

“My dear Angelique,” Ravel says, with a beckoning flourish. Her shoulders are very tight and straight as she steps closer. “I trust you spent an enjoyable evening?”

“Uh-oh,” Cadence whispers.

Ravel’s voice is at its most liquid, golden and warm and smooth. The pink feathers in Ange’s hair tremble, but the rest of her is rigid. Ravel swats a cushion off the edge of the bed and pats the clear space it makes beside him.

It’s one of the places where I’d smeared paint in my sleep. Bedraggled feathers and glitter smear his palm. He cocks his head.

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