Page 14 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

“Of course I am.” Her chin lifts and her eyes are bright, even as worry flickers behind them like a dying light bulb. She lets out a long sigh. “Or, as well as anyone can be here.”

“It isn’t exactly Buckingham Palace, is it?” I ask. One corner of her mouth lifts in a slight smile. It changes her face. Makes it more real somehow, like it’s her natural state. A lump forms in my throat and I couldn’t tell you why. She’s just so pretty. Not just in a physical way, though she’s certainly that, with everything shining, from her black hair to her green hair ribbon to her sparkling eyes. But in an alert, alive sort of way. As though she’s been curious since the day she was born, if that makes sense. I struggle to get a grip. I might not know exactly who she is, but I know who I am. Most girls like her won’t get mixed up with guys like me. Which is fine. It’s all fine. She just needed me to get away from the officer. I shift, suddenly worried she can read my thoughts on my face.

But all she says is “Not quite. Though it does have guards, only ours don’t wear bearskin caps.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Buckingham Palace.” Her gaze runs over me as though she has all the time in the world. I let her leisurely survey me, even as I tell myself that she’ll sniff the delinquency on me and run for the hills. I’m used to not being an actual choice. Plenty of those girls I kissed in Delilah’s back seat only did so for the thrill or to piss off their fathers.

“Oh. Yeah.” I’m trying to be smooth, but she befuddles my mind and my tongue at the same time.

“What’s your name?” she suddenly asks.

“Ren.” I hesitate. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Violet.” She says the words with complete confidence, as though there’s never been a time when she didn’t know who she was. She factors in my sling, and she holds out her left hand for a handshake. It’s odd to take her hand again after it wrapped so tightly around mine before. She shakes it, her touch somehow gentle and firm at once. Her face suddenly falters as she notices something over my shoulder. I follow her gaze to a bunch of kids and teens gathered around a woman outside one of the barracks.

A school, I realize.

It almost gives me a start. School hasn’t even crossed my mind once since the evacuation notices appeared. Who needs calculus when you’re too busy being stripped of all your rights? But Violet’s gaze lingers on the gathering, turning fretful.

“Are you okay?”

“That’s the second time.” Her eyes swiftly swivel back to me. I’m not prepared for the sudden return of her attention. My heart flutters in my chest like I’m a dumb smitten kid. My fox has calmed down a bit, but under her gaze, it buzzes again.

“The second time?” I’m lost again. At this rate, she won’t write me off for being a troublemaker—she’ll write me off for being an idiot who can’t follow a simple conversation.

“The second time you’ve asked if I’m okay.”

“You keeping track?” I mutter stiffly.

“Simply making observations. If anything, I should ask if you are okay.” Her hand flutters toward my hurt arm. I almost wince but manage to suppress the reflexive urge. The question brings back the sickening feeling of my shoulder popping out of its socket and the nauseating journey here, every bump in the road translating to stabs in my shoulder. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much when I ran into you.”

“Naw,” I say immediately, shrugging with my good shoulder.

“What happened to your arm?” Damn, she’s persistent.

“Fell,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m…” I realize I’m about to say okay for the third time, proving that I struggle with words in addition to following conversations—and she’s been keeping a tally. I end with “fine” instead.

A doubtful expression crosses her face. Her gaze is so piercing that it almost makes me shivery in the sweltering heat.

“As am I.” Her smile returns, and this time there’s a mischievousness to it. “Considering my recent transgression.”

“Transgression?” I can’t help it. I’m intrigued.

“I’ll tell you”—the mischievousness in her smile spreads to her eyes—“but only if you promise not to think poorly of me.”

“I won’t.” I’ve never meant anything more in my life. Maybe we have more in common than I assumed. I can’t imagine what the transgression might be, but holy shit do I want to know.

“My mother thinks I’m at class right now.” The brightness in her eyes grows, turning them into twin flares. “I’ve never skipped school before. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever blatantly disobeyed my mother before, either.”

I can’t help it. My mouth twitches. I swallow down a laugh. Skipped school without her mother knowing? That’s it? Compared to me, she’d qualify for sainthood.

“What’s so funny?” Her indignant tone sobers me up real quick. I assume a serious expression.

“Nothing,” I say. “That’s…terrible.”

“It is!” she insists. Then she falters. Her head angles as she stares at me, parsing me out. “Isn’t it?”