“Kiss me again,” she said.

He didn’t build from tentative to feverish; he started with the sort of kiss that asked questions she didn’t know how to answer, the sort of kiss that reminded her how little she knew about him and quickly made her forget everything she knew about caution. If the boys she’d kissed before had been like him, she wouldn’t still be a virgin, but no one else had made her feel like she could be happy spending the rest of eternity kissing. It was perfect.

It was also exceedingly stupid. They barely knew each other, and no amount of physical connection would bridge the gulf of secrets that she had to keep between them.

She pulled away and put a hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. What do I really know about him? They’d run into each other a number of times over the past month, when he’d said he was home from school, but a few casual conversations and a soul-searing kiss or two weren’t reason enough to ignore all common sense. Hours of defense training had made her feel confident that she could handle anything boys tried, but in all of what she’d learned, there weren’t any lessons on how to avoid feeling like a skeeze because you reacted to a boy’s kisses like a cat discovering catnip.

“I think you need to go,” she said as steadily as she was able.

“I will go wherever you tell me. I want to see you again. I need to see you.” There was something desperate in his eyes and in his voice, and she wondered if it was the same urgency she felt.

Kaleb lifted his hand and caressed her cheek. “Please?”

“I’m moving tonight,” she said.

“I’ll come to you anywhere,” he promised.

“You hardly even know me.”

“I want to know you though. Are you going to punish me for just now finding you?” he asked.

“No, but . . .” She vacillated between wanting to believe him and doubting every word.

“Do you kiss everyone that way? Or did that feel like . . . magic? Like something unusual? If it didn’t, tell me to go, but if it did”—he shook his head and stared straight into her eyes—“admit that. I swear to you, Mallory, I’ve never felt like that because of a kiss.”

She looked directly at him, refusing to be embarrassed. “It was perfect, but one kiss doesn’t mean—”

“It could.” His hand slid up her back, and she closed her eyes as he whispered, “Tell me I can visit you. Please?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she hedged. She couldn’t think of anyone she’d ever felt so at ease around, anyone she instinctively wanted to trust, and she certainly hadn’t ever wanted anyone as much.

“Why?” He watched her, waiting for her answer, and she had to restrain herself from kissing him again.

She couldn’t answer.

He didn’t move. He simply asked, “Tell me where you’re going. Please?”

“What if it’s too far?”

Kaleb laughed softly. “Nowhere is too far.”

She clenched her hands, trying not to touch him. Now that they’d kissed, it seemed so easy, so natural, to pull him back to her.

He wouldn’t object.

Her mouth felt dry, and she took another steadying breath. She reached up to touch the skin where her pendant rested under her shirt. It was a silly habit from childhood that she’d never quite surrendered. The stone pendant was from her mother’s family, and her mother had made her promise repeatedly to never let it out of her reach. Mallory wrapped her hand around it for comfort.

All the while, Kaleb stayed completely still, watching her, waiting for her.

Mallory felt half dazed as she walked away to grab a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote down her new address and then, while she was at it, she added her cell number. “You can call me too,” she said in an almost-calm voice. “If you want to talk or whatever.”

“I do.” He took the paper, read it, and then tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m able. I can’t call when I’m away, but when I get back here . . . I’ll call.”

“You aren’t allowed to make calls from school? I get not being able to make calls in class, but you should be able to call in the dorms or the grounds or whatever.” She looked at him with renewed suspicion. “What do they do? Take your cell phones?”

“I don’t have a cell phone, but I can get one if you want me to.” He took her back into his arms. “I’m yours to command, Mallory.”

She started to laugh, but stopped when she saw that he wasn’t smiling. He stared at her with the sort of intensity that briefly made her want to flee, and then made her want to grab hold of him and never let go.

He stared into her eyes and promised, “I’m yours, Mallory.”

He didn’t add that she was his, but she heard it all the same—and believed it.

CHAPTER 11

WHEN AYA ARRIVED AT the carnival, she took a moment’s pleasure in the crush of bodies and chaos of sound. Ruling-caste girls weren’t to be at the Carnival of Souls unaccompanied, but because of Marchosias’ Competition, no one tried to enforce that rule with her. Belias would’ve, but he was gone. A wave of grief swept through her at that thought. It’s for the best. She hadn’t asked to be in this situation, but she was determined enough that she would force herself to do what she must.

“Witch teeth!” a hawker called out as she passed.

“Grave dirt,” another beckoned.

“I know what you are,” a crow-eyed Watcher murmured into her ear, only to vanish before Aya could catch her.

A prickle of fear made Aya scan the crowd. She doesn’t mean that. I have been careful. No doubt the woman was accusing Aya of caste failure, abhorrent behavior, or any number of missteps. Still, Aya’s gaze darted over the masked and unmasked, seeking but not finding the Watcher. All that she found was the normal carnival fare.

Vendors were selling the absurd, the unbelievable, and the mundane. A buyer could purchase vats of herbs, freshly butchered animals, and delicate shrouds within a few steps. Children of the established families were kept in sight by their minders. Pickpockets twisted through the crowds, risking broken hands or worse if they were caught. Scarlet-masked escorts lounged in opulent stalls catering to any and all tastes, and mind-altering medicinals were hawked by loud voices. A Spousal Emancipation, Exchange, and Dissolution Agency was advertised only by the suit-clad greeter in front of the shuttered booth. All around the carnival, transactions of varying degrees of legality and ethical questionability were happening. The City wasn’t a world that seemed beautiful to everyone, and Aya was able to admit to herself that it had flaws. It was her world though. She felt the peculiar hum of it inside her skin. She wanted to rule in it, to make it better, and then to keep it flourishing.

Without the land the witches had destroyed by creating the feral fecundity of the Untamed Lands, the castes struggled to coexist in an ever-shrinking city. The middle and lowest castes grew resentful of the same restrictions and sharp caste lines the ruling caste embraced. Consequently, Marchosias’ Competition was all the more important to them. For many daimons, it was the one chance to change the future, to survive when logic made clear they should’ve died by now—just as it was for her.

With that morose thought, Aya found a bench at the edge of the carnival and pretended to wait calmly for reports of Nic and Kaleb’s fight. Neither cur was the high-money bet to win, but curs were so unpredictable that she wasn’t looking forward to facing either of them. The upside was that they had both thinned the field considerably.

As Bel had.

No amount of training would replace the discipline of growing up as a cur. Kaleb and Nic had both had to fight to preserve whatever dignity they could.

“Nic is dead,” one of her informers said as he plopped down on the bench.