made any move back to their shirts until the protocol ʼcar drifted into view, humming down to hover about twelve feet above the center of the field. Even from the edge of the street, Ilyana could feel the uncomfortable pressure of the air field. No one moved for a moment. Finally the young women and men sauntered back to the sidelines to pull on their shirts. Ilyana admired their insouciance. It lent the trivial nature of their defiance some excitement.
She tugged self-consciously at the hem of her shorts. Her knees and calves were showing, but she was still classified as a child, so it ought not to matter. And the protocol ʼcar didn’t have Chapalii stripes, which meant it was human officers, and especially in the summer they tended to go easy on people. The ʼcar banked, skipped on an air current, and moved away, and the game resumed, with arm flags now. Ilyana peeled a wet leaf off her left blade and skated on.
Coming down Kensington Court Place, she called a greeting to a neighbor and stopped in front of her door. She unsealed her blades, caught them under an elbow, and placed her left hand on the doorplate. The front door opened. At once she knew that her good mood was not to last. As if she had really believed it could.
Valentin sat on the bottom step, feet planted on the entry-way tile. He looked cross. Way, way up at the top of the flight of steps that angled around and around, she saw a face peering down from the third level, withdrawn quickly when it saw her movement below.
“Who’s that?” she asked, jerking upward with her chin. “It wasn’t Hyacinth or Yevgeni.”
Valentin shrugged. “Hopeful actor, probably. How should I know? Why should I care?”
“Just that they’re spying!” said Ilyana in a loud voice, hoping the person upstairs could hear her. “What are you doing down here?”
He shrugged again, but said nothing.
“Answer me!”
He had dark shadows under his eyes, set off by the pallor of his face, and he was thinner than ever. Ilyana bit down on adding: You’ve got to eat more! because she had learned that to draw attention to that problem only made it worse. Valentin made a face and stared down at his bare feet. He had grown prettier with puberty, maybe because he was just undernourished enough that he hadn’t quite yet grown into that awkward half-man stage, but it was an unhealthy, waiflike prettiness. It attracted the wrong kind of attention.
“Oh, gods,” said Ilyana, feeling a sick thread of doubt claw through her. “Dad didn’t invite over that awful groping old woman again, did he?”
Valentin shut his left eye and squinted at her through his right one. “Neh. I didn’t mind her. I made her pay for it with nesh time.”
“Valentin!” Ilyana shrieked. She wanted to punch him and protect him, at the same time. Somehow, her father managed to attract the most horrible old perverts, maybe just because he was willing to do anything he had to in order to get better acting parts and more access to the people who held the reins of power in the entertainment tribe. “Or are you just joking me?”
For a second she thought he was going to say: “Oh, what do you care?” But the last time he’d tried that she’d slapped him once hard. Finally he traced the red curlicues fired into the tile with a toe. But he didn’t answer.
Like a winter storm blasts in, bleakness hit. “Oh, Valentin,” she whispered. “Did you really?”
His toe moved, but none of the rest of him did. “I just gotta have the nesh time, Yana,” he said finally without looking at her. “I don’t care anymore what I have to do to get it.”
She sat down next to him, and he made room so she could. She set her blades to one side and slipped the duffel off to sit on the step above. The marble felt cold through her shorts. She put an arm around his thin shoulders. “Valentin, you don’t got to. I don’t know—I could ask Diana. She’ll take you to see a doctor. If I go, too, and explain,
She tugged self-consciously at the hem of her shorts. Her knees and calves were showing, but she was still classified as a child, so it ought not to matter. And the protocol ʼcar didn’t have Chapalii stripes, which meant it was human officers, and especially in the summer they tended to go easy on people. The ʼcar banked, skipped on an air current, and moved away, and the game resumed, with arm flags now. Ilyana peeled a wet leaf off her left blade and skated on.
Coming down Kensington Court Place, she called a greeting to a neighbor and stopped in front of her door. She unsealed her blades, caught them under an elbow, and placed her left hand on the doorplate. The front door opened. At once she knew that her good mood was not to last. As if she had really believed it could.
Valentin sat on the bottom step, feet planted on the entry-way tile. He looked cross. Way, way up at the top of the flight of steps that angled around and around, she saw a face peering down from the third level, withdrawn quickly when it saw her movement below.
“Who’s that?” she asked, jerking upward with her chin. “It wasn’t Hyacinth or Yevgeni.”
Valentin shrugged. “Hopeful actor, probably. How should I know? Why should I care?”
“Just that they’re spying!” said Ilyana in a loud voice, hoping the person upstairs could hear her. “What are you doing down here?”
He shrugged again, but said nothing.
“Answer me!”
He had dark shadows under his eyes, set off by the pallor of his face, and he was thinner than ever. Ilyana bit down on adding: You’ve got to eat more! because she had learned that to draw attention to that problem only made it worse. Valentin made a face and stared down at his bare feet. He had grown prettier with puberty, maybe because he was just undernourished enough that he hadn’t quite yet grown into that awkward half-man stage, but it was an unhealthy, waiflike prettiness. It attracted the wrong kind of attention.
“Oh, gods,” said Ilyana, feeling a sick thread of doubt claw through her. “Dad didn’t invite over that awful groping old woman again, did he?”
Valentin shut his left eye and squinted at her through his right one. “Neh. I didn’t mind her. I made her pay for it with nesh time.”
“Valentin!” Ilyana shrieked. She wanted to punch him and protect him, at the same time. Somehow, her father managed to attract the most horrible old perverts, maybe just because he was willing to do anything he had to in order to get better acting parts and more access to the people who held the reins of power in the entertainment tribe. “Or are you just joking me?”
For a second she thought he was going to say: “Oh, what do you care?” But the last time he’d tried that she’d slapped him once hard. Finally he traced the red curlicues fired into the tile with a toe. But he didn’t answer.
Like a winter storm blasts in, bleakness hit. “Oh, Valentin,” she whispered. “Did you really?”
His toe moved, but none of the rest of him did. “I just gotta have the nesh time, Yana,” he said finally without looking at her. “I don’t care anymore what I have to do to get it.”
She sat down next to him, and he made room so she could. She set her blades to one side and slipped the duffel off to sit on the step above. The marble felt cold through her shorts. She put an arm around his thin shoulders. “Valentin, you don’t got to. I don’t know—I could ask Diana. She’ll take you to see a doctor. If I go, too, and explain,
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