Storm of Locusts by Rebecca Roanhorse

Author:Rebecca Roanhorse [Roanhorse, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781534413528
Google: wOqODwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07GNTP7JN
Goodreads: 37920490
Publisher: Saga Press
Published: 2019-04-22T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

The air outside is decidedly cold. I’d forgotten somehow that it was December, just a few days before Keshmish. Since Neizghání didn’t celebrate the holiday and my past years had been spent solely in his company, it had kind of slipped my mind. I remember the Keshmishes of my childhood, but only in the most limited notion. I remember my nalí always got us a tree. Sometimes they were cheap, something secondhand or a freebie from the tribe, but I didn’t know the difference at the time. All I knew was that I loved the way it shined. The lights, the ornaments. Gifts weren’t much. New socks from the trading post, some hand-me-downs from one of the ladies at the chapter house. Even then I mostly liked the wrapping paper more than the presents themselves. Since most gifts came in old newspaper or paper bags folded and taped closed, the ones with the shine, no matter how gaudy and metallic, were my favorite.

I’m thinking about that now, as we make our way through all the shiny representatives here for the auction, dressed up in color and spectacle as they mill around outside. Rissa, Aaron, and I maneuver through the crowd, trying to blend in. There’s a break in the action and people have come outside to socialize, gathering around small bonfires, drinking hot alcoholic drinks of some kind and waiting for things to resume inside. There’s a decidedly festive feeling to the night, not what I was expecting from a bunch of criminals and slave traders. It’s disconcerting to think that a few levels beneath our feet, Rissa and I were in a cage awaiting vivisection just an hour ago. I shudder involuntarily, remind myself that a pretty veneer does not mean these people aren’t monsters.

Aaron sidles up to us, handing Rissa a drink. She takes it with only the slightest acknowledgment, playing her role as representative to the hilt. I don’t get a drink. Aaron explained it would be weird for a representative’s bodyguard to drink anything at all. So I tuck my hands in my sleeves, duck my head a little deeper into the heavy black cowl I’m wearing to cover my hair and most of my face, and wait.

“They’re going to be starting up again soon,” Aaron says, leaning in so we can both hear. “We got lucky. Exotics haven’t come up yet.”

“Do you have to keep calling them that?” Rissa says, her voice low and angry.

Aaron blinks, caught off guard. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

Rissa huffs, waves his apology away. “Just . . . call them something else.”

Aaron looks crestfallen in the wake of Rissa’s admonishment.

“What else can you tell me about Amangiri?” I ask.

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, not sounding like he wants to share.

“I’ve heard of a cult leader from there, the White Locust.”

Aaron stills, and his strange eyes meet mine. “Do you know him?” he asks, his voice tight.

“Only by name,” I say, working not to give anything away, thrown by his sudden intensity.

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