Page 88 of Wings of Ebony
He steps closer and moonlight illuminates his face. His features are softer than I thought. His dark eyes are set back beneath a prominent brow, but they’re not stern; they’re soft, slanted at the corners.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is deep, but his hands fidget and his tone is cautious.He’s nervous!“D-did I scare you? I-I didn’t mean to. I would never—”
“It’s all good.” I offer a hand. “I’m Rue.”
Closer now, I recognize him as the guy who helped us to our seats when we first arrived. The one frustrated with the flame staying lit in the stone bowl. But judging by his ass-whooping practice or whatever that was, it looks like his magic is workingjustfine.
Nowmineon the other hand…
“Jhamal.” He bows, raising my knuckles to his pillow-soft lips, and kisses. “My pleasure, Jelani, my Queen.”
I swallow a laugh. He already feels bad and I’m trying to be polite. “I’m not a queen.”
“You’re daughter of Aasim. He works with the Grays in New Ghizon, their third in command.” He grimaces. “I don’t respect the other two. Thieves. Aasim is as good as a ruler to me. Which would make you”—he bows again—“my queen.”
I laugh; can’t even help it. He can’t be serious. Is this game? If so, it’s some weak-ass lines he spitting. He smiles and I chew my lip.
“Okay then, well, how do they say it where you are from?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I want to be annoyed, but a smile tugs at my lips. I keep walking toward the pit, now barely distinguishable in the darkness.
He follows. “What do the gents from where you are from call you?”
“I don’t know what you mean bygents. But I guess they’d call me…” I try to think of something that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous to someone who’s lived on an island that, technically speaking, doesn’t exist—for his entire life. “Guys usually say girl, woman, even chick.”
“Like with feathers, chick?” He tucks his hands under his armpits and pops out his neck.
“No.” I sigh. “Not—”
He sputters a moment like his mouth’s full of air, then bursts out laughing.
“You playing me?!” I shove his shoulder and he laughs harder. “You aretotallyplaying me!”
“No, no, only kidding.” He snorts, laughing. The definition in his jaw pulses when he laughs, and my toes are suddenly prickling. The dirt path ends and we keep walking on the rugged mountainscape, the salty air growing colder.
His chuckle settles down as we approach the pit he was training in. “I swear I only know a little. It sounds like a very different sort of place than here.”
“It is.”
“No magic?”
“None. Well, besides me.”
The light above glitters in his eyes like diamonds against black velvet. “I could not imagine a world without magic.”
“I couldn’t imagine one with,” I say, stepping into the pit, still shivering.
He conjures a flame and brushes the rim of the pit with his hands. “Some heat.” It catches, circling us. “But to be the first is amazing,” he says.
Fire dances around us, and our skin glows orange. He continues, “Your people back in your hoodhome, how do you say?”
“My hood.”
“Your hood. The people there must think you very special. They must marvel at your gift.”
“You would think, huh?”
“Now it is you who’s telling jokes.” His sleek cheekbones rise tight under his eyes as he laughs. A heat washes over me and I’m not sure if it’s from the flames popping around us, or how close he’s standing to me. I hug myself and find something other than his lips to stare at.
