He glanced Tahki’s way, his expression cold.
“This is Rye, my work associate,” Gale said. “You two will be teamed together. He’s your superior on the project.”
Chapter 4
OVER THE next three hours, Tahki tried to make himself as small as possible inside the carriage. It only sat four, and Gale had stuffed one seat full of small crates she said were too delicate to travel in the back, which put Tahki beside Rye. On every bump, his arm would brush against Rye’s arm. Or their knees would tap together. Or Tahki would fidget and hit his side. It was like when Tahki fell ill and his skin became overly sensitive. All these small contacts sent a spark through his body.
Rye didn’t seem to notice. Though the carriage jostled at every turn, Rye held as still and straight as a baluster. He didn’t stretch his arms or crack his neck, even after hours had passed. Maybe he hated sitting next to Tahki and loathed the idea of contact. Maybe Rye was afraid of catching a foreign illness. Maybe Tahki smelled bad. Or maybe Rye felt guilty about saying Tahki’s designs were no good, or embarrassed because Gale chose to hire Tahki for this job. But Rye didn’t strike him as the type who’d be embarrassed. Or feel guilty. Or have emotions.
Gale spoke a little at the start of the ride. Mostly, she talked about the secrecy of the project, how they wouldn’t be allowed to speak with anyone about it. Not family or friends. Tahki’s father always went on about privacy when he signed documents with allied countries. Sometimes Tahki would sneak in and read the documents, but they only contained contracts about housing restrictions or where livestock owners were allowed to drive cattle. Things no one needed to keep secret. Was this project like that? A secret not worth keeping?
At one point, Gale said something about the castle. Tahki’s ears perked up. He inquired about what castle they’d be staying at—he knew all the castles and palaces and cathedrals of Vatolokít and could reproduce most of the exteriors from memory—but Gale didn’t say and told him not to ask questions. She said she’d tell him more once they arrived and the carriage driver had gone.
They rode in silence for another two hours, which gave him lots of time to imagine what the project could be. Maybe at some point he’d meet the queen. He still hadn’t decided if he feared or yearned for a face-to-face encounter with the most powerful ruler in the world.
Tahki rubbed his wrist, wiggled his shoulders from side to side, rolled his head until the bones in his neck cracked a little.
“Stop fidgeting,” Rye mumbled. It was the first thing he’d said since the fair. He hadn’t even said hello when he saw him in the carriage, or apologized for his behavior, or explained what being a superior meant on a project like this. Tahki also noticed Gale had introduced him only as Rye, no last name. Then again, she hadn’t told Rye the fake last name Tahki had entered the competition under. Maybe last names weren’t as important here as they were back home. In Dhaulen’aii, your last name held your status, your heritage. It told everyone everything they needed to know about you. But there was no sense in worrying about it, because for the first time in his life, he actually had someone he could talk to about architecture.
“What did you think about the results?” Tahki said.
Rye opened one eye. “What?”
“At the fair. What did you think of the winners?”
Rye gave a stiff shrug. “I trust Gale’s judgment.”
“But did you take a good look at first place? The girl wasn’t exactly top of her game. I mean, all she did was take an existing cathedral and add a few hallways and balconies.”
“Huhn,” Rye mumbled and shut his eye.
Tahki didn’t want to let the conversation die. “I think Gale gave her first out of pity.”
“Pity?”
“She was from the slums. It’s not her fault she was born in a lower class, but those kinds of people just don’t receive a proper education. You don’t hear about any famous architects ever growing up in the lower cities.” Tahki remembered the way the redhead had laughed at him. “Those kinds of people don’t ever make it far in life.”
Rye opened both eyes and stared at him. “You’re a moron.”
Tahki blinked. “What?”
“Gale,” Rye said. “Switch places with me.”
Gale peeked at him from under a wrinkled eyelid and then stuck her head out the window and told the carriage driver to stop. They stretched their legs and swapped places.
“What did I do?” Tahki asked Gale when they started on their way again.
Gale smirked. “Guess where Rye grew up.”
“Where he grew up?” Tahki glanced at Rye. He had his eyes shut again, his head resting against the window. “The lower cities.”
Gale nodded. “Maybe next time, tuck that entitled attitude away when you’re trying to make friends.”
He hadn’t meant to offend anyone and knew he should apologize. But every time the words edged to the tip of his tongue, he pushed them back. They sounded needy and desperate in his mind, but mostly, they sounded insincere.
Instead of making peace, Tahki pressed his forehead against the glass window and watched the hills speed by.
THE EMERALD hills turned into golden wheat fields, and the fields turned into mountains. The mountains shrank, the ground leveled, and pale boulders the size of houses appeared beside the dark dirt road. Tahki didn’t remember when the fog moved in, but soon after, he could see nothing but a bleak white mist out his window. The fog made the world seem smaller, more condensed. Like nothing lay beyond. Like no seasons touched this place. Not sun
