Burn the Skies

Chapter 2: Nagging

Chapter 2: Nagging

Relentlessly pestering someone full-time turns out to be yet another one of the skills Cadence is just naturally better at. I’m running out of ideas. I’ve already sung through every one of Ash’s marching songs I can remember, a dozen times each, fabricating words as needed. Staying on tune is not aligned with my goals, so that part’s fine.

Cadence is scowling. It’s unclear if that’s a result of my pitchy efforts or just her face. Our face. Whatever.

When even I can’t stand my singing anymore, I revert to peppering her with questions about everything she sees, or does, or says. It kills a few more hours. I’d like to think her heavy pauses before responding to anyone who speaks to her are due to my efforts. But it’s more likely that she’s just trying a little too hard to seem intimidating.

Which gives me an idea.

“Why do you look constipated?” I chirp in her ear, swinging around to the other side to stage-whisper, “Do you need to go to the bathroom? Go ahead—say, “May I please be excused to use the toilet, Your Worship.” You know there’s no bathroom break in the schedule, right? The mayor’s like 9,000 years old. She probably wears diapers. Wait . . . Are you wearing a diaper?”

Cadence glowers at the supplicant fawning at her and Maryam’s feet. “You heard me. It wasn't a suggestion.”

The witless division head grovels. “Of course not, Your Worsh—Hon—Majes—lady?” He darts a glance at the mayor’s inhumanly lovely face, trying to guess the correct honorific from the slightest variations in the curve of her full lips. When he gets a delicate moue of disapproval, he whimpers.

“There is no need to address us,” Her Worship Maryam Ajera, Mayor of the Towers of Refuge, Chief of the Council of Guardians, First Mother to the Citizens, Breath of Tower Regulation, kidnapper, murderer of our parents, purloiner of memories, and agency, and freedom, and all that’s good in life—says in a dangerously throaty purr. “This is my Right Hand. Her words are as my own, and will be obeyed as such.”

The man bows his dual-banded hood to the golden floor of the opulent receiving room and cowers.

“See? He’s not even looking. You could totally sneak off for a little private time. It’s not good to hold it in you know.” It would be impossible to tease her like this straight-faced—if I had a face.

Cadence emits a faint, low noise, almost a growl. The man prostrate at the feet of the two ornate, throne-like chairs whimpers. “You waste our time,” she says after too long a pause, her voice thin and abrasive next to the mayor’s. “Patrols won’t arrange themselves. Or do I need to handle this matter personally?”

“No, your . . . your Handliness. Enforcers will be posted. Immediately. Without fail.”

“If he pees himself, do you clean that up?” I’m genuinely curious—and also committed to this new bathroom-themed torment strategy. I can see a vein throbbing in Cadence’s flushed forehead. “Or is there a housekeeper lurking somewhere? How does it work? I mean, someone’s got to do the chores, right?”

Cadence scoffs. The division head darts a panicked look from her to the mayor and back again. At a sign from Maryam, he scuttles off to execute his orders.

“Embarrassing,” Cadence huffs. “Is there no one better to put in charge of Refuge Force? It’s not exactly a low stakes job.”

Maryam hums amused agreement. “You clearly haven’t had the misfortune to learn, child, that putting clever and powerful men in charge of your armed forces can backfire. Much better to have a predictably venal and spineless puppet to use or dispose of as needed.”

“And what does that make you?” I snicker, finally coaxing a futile swat from Cadence. “Gotcha.”

“The other one’s here, I take it.” Maryam flutters elegant, bejewelled fingers vaguely in our direction. “Hello, darling. I do wish we’d had more time together. I understand my boy was quite smitten with you.”

Cadence pouts. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Yes, dear. I’m aware.” Maryam reaches over and digs manicured nails into Cadence’s sleeve until blood mars the fabric.

The girl wearing my body hardens her jaw and glares back, refusing to flinch.

A warm glow of pride flickers despite my best intentions—she’s stubborn, but oh is she strong.

“I heard that, stupid,” Cadence thinks smugly.

I blow a raspberry in her ear, and follow it up with a series of inventive mouth noises despite not actually having a mouth. It works better when you don’t think too hard about it. And it’s one of the irritating activities that repetition makes worse for her and easier for me.

Maryam peers at Cadence. I freeze mid pop.

It’s as if she’s staring past Cadence to me. Which is impossible.

I pop my lips at her once in defiance. Her eyes narrow.

I shudder and hurriedly direct my noises back at Cadence—just in case.

“I’m going to change,” Cadence announces.

“No need.” Maryam licks one wet red nail and smiles.

“I don’t like you very much.” Cadence’s fists tremble at her sides, ever so slightly.

“Hurry back. We still have so much to do.”

Cadence turns on her heel, muttering, “I chose to work with you, stupid-head.”

“What was that, dear?” Lazy. Amused.

I almost feel sorry for Cadence. Almost. “‘Stupid-head?’ What are you, four?”

There’s no need for the dig. I’ve clearly already pushed her over the edge. But it’s hard to turn off the harassment once I get going.

“Like you could do better.” She stomps so hard her heel snags on the carpet. She barely manages to get her hands up in time to keep from face planting.

“Now who’s the clumsy one?”

“Whatever. At least you had time to get used to it. The last time I walked in my own skin my feet were half this size.” She waggles one foot to emphasize her point and has to scramble for balance again. “Uh. . . that sounded creepier than I meant.”

I snicker, but the truth is her complaint lands a little too close for comfort. She’s not the only one who lost years to this place. To Maryam.

“The difference is I’m a real person,” Cadence sneers, eavesdropping again. “I don’t know what you’re whining about. This was never your body to begin with. My parents were the ones who died. My life was the one ruined. You’re just in the way.”

I sigh heavily, as if exasperated. I can’t let on how terrifying her words really are. Because if she’s wrong, if I’m not some kind of mistake, some half-formed remnant or ghost, that means she is.

And while she might be the one with memories of our past, I’m not the one stuck in it. She can’t seem to move on—

“Save it,” she snaps, throwing open the door to her dressing room. “You know you can’t hide anything from me, right? I’m not stuck in the past, I’m just trying to fix it.”

“By working with a murderer?”

“By doing whatever it takes.” She strips off her bloodstained top and tosses it in the corner.

I look away, absurdly. Not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before, though the clusters of small, dark bruises and the long, pale scratches are new. “I spoke to Ash while you were sleeping. He’s reached Nine Peaks. Everyone made it. They’re doing well. Susan—Gran said to say hi.”

“Liar.” Her voice is muffled behind a fresh tangle of glittery fabric.

“Um, I don’t think it’s meant to go on like that . . .”

She struggles for a full ten count before hurling the offending item to the floor. “Whatever. Didn’t want to wear it anyway.”

I grant her a few moments to pick through the complicated, ornate garments in peace.

“Did Ash ask about me?” she says, nose buried in the closet.

“Of course.”

She knots her fists in fabric and rips everything within reach from the hangers, casting it down at her feet. “You’re a worse liar than he is.”

“He didn’t have to ask, okay? Of course I told him. You’re all we talk about. You, you, and only you. Happy?”

“He’s my friend, not yours.” She stamps a foot, fists clenched, face flushed.

I take a deep breath, absurdly reminded of a small child throwing a tantrum. “He’s worried about you. We both are.”

“Stop it. Leave me alone. I don’t want you.”

The tantrum is escalating—which would be great if I were trying to distract her right now, instead of convince her to switch sides.

“I hate you. Just die already.” She flails, teary-eyed and red-faced, entirely ridiculous.

Somebody needs a nap. The fact that she’s wearing my face makes it all the more uncomfortable.

“Not yours! Mine!”

You’d think switching places would finally get her out of my head. No such luck, apparently. “Cadence—”

“Mine!”

“Yours,” I soothe. “You’re right. You’re the original. You’re the one with all the power. You’re the one Ash cares about, and Susan—Gran. And everyone.”

The insane thing is, she’s the one I care about too. More than I should, after her betrayal. I think it’s force of habit keeping me from strangling her, as much as anything, but just can’t shake it.

“Mine?” She peers suspiciously into the middle distance—not that she can see me any more than I was able to see her when our places were reversed.

“Which is why I need to talk to you.” Like adults, preferably. This kiddie behaviour is giving me the creeps. “You’re in charge. What you choose to do matters. So—so the Council of—I mean Susan—Gran, and Ash, they wanted me to pass a message to you.”

Cadence sniffs, rubbing a careless arm across the damp mess she’s made of her face. “Ash has a message for me?”

“And your gran. They miss you. They don’t like that you’re so far away. They want to see you.”

She nods. “‘Course. But I’m busy—tell them to wait a bit.”

“That’s just it—they can’t wait. They need your help. There’s, um, monsters attacking Nine Peaks.”

She snorts, her childish tones flattening into adolescent derision. “What do you think I am, three? Ash did not tell you he needs me to save him from monsters.”

Oops.

“What’s that about monsters, dear?” Maryam lounges in the doorway.

Cadence plants hands on hips and glares. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Oh, don’t go cutting me out of the girl talk,” the mayor pouts, her head tilted just so. “Especially when it’s about boys. Especially mine.”

“Mine,” Cadence snaps back automatically, and then flushes.

“Hmm?” Maryam’s eyes glitter wickedly, but she wafts away in a cloud of cloying gilt chiffon without further comment.

I have to stop wasting time. Maryam isn’t likely to leave us alone together for long. “Fine, you’re not a kid. So here’s the truth: you screwed up. You made a stupid mistake way back when you were little and it cost you everything. Now you’re trying to fix it, and only making things worse. You can’t work with a monster to stop the monsters. You can’t bring mom and dad back from the dead. And bringing down that barrier is only going to put more lives at risk. You don’t have to give me back my—your—body. Keep it. Keep Ash, too. It’s your life—take it. Just run away before it’s too late.”

“If it’s my life—which it is—I don’t have to take it from you. I already have it, stupid. Besides, since when have you ever known what to do? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be mindlessly plodding along like the brainless drone you are.”

I choke on a dozen different comebacks at once, giving Cadence time to wrestle her way into halfway decent attire and stalk out into the corridor. Thankfully Maryam isn’t lurking around waiting for her.

“She doesn’t lurk,” Cadence huffs.

Does so—but . . . “Look. I don't want to fight. But if you destroy that barrier, sure the Mara won’t be trapped here anymore. Instead, they’ll be able to go wherever they want. Eat whoever they want. If you keep working with Maryam, it’s only a matter of time before they kill everyone you care about. Susan. Grace. Lily. Ash. Come on, Cadence. You don’t really want Ash to die.”

She huffs. “You can’t trick me. The Mara are only dangerous because they’re trapped. I’m saving the city like mom and dad wanted, not destroying the world.”

This is where the conversation always breaks down. Every time. “Cady—”

But she takes off, dashing back to the audience room to plot destruction with her volatile new bestie. And there’s nothing for me to do but tag along and be as disruptive and distracting as I can manage until she’s too worn out to be any use to Maryam.

But if Ash doesn't have a better strategy for me tonight, I’m afraid I’ll be the one to go mad long before Cadence breaks.