Nightingale (The Sensitives) Part 6

I wrinkle my nose at the sweet smelling liquid. "What is it?"

"Sweet honey chai." She walks to my closet and begins leafing through the gown section. "Have you decided what to wear this evening?"

"No." I'm careful to not look nervous as I finish off the chai and join Annalise at the closet, where she continues to sort through my clothes.

When she turns toward me, deep creases line her brow and her blue eyes move from the top of my head, down to my toes, scanning me.

I prepare myself for what's coming next.

"You should wear something...like these." She holds up two dresses. The first is silk and has cranes scattered across the cream, kimono-like bodice and peplum. Dramatic green ribbon crisscrosses the chest and merges at the shoulders with a flowing green cape. The skirt is long and narrow. It looks like something Mother would wear.

The second dress is, for lack of a better description, made entirely of gray feathers. It has short sleeves, a high neck and a wide, asymmetrical skirt that cuts above the knee in the front and brushes the ground in the back.

If I wear it, I will look like a bird.

"I don't know," I say. "Neither appeal to me. What about that one." I point to a strapless, citrus orange dress with delicate pleating and folds.

Annalise turns it front to back. "It's bright. I thought you preferred to blend into the scenery."

Even though her words sound neutral, I can't help but feel like she's mocking me. I take the dress from her. "I think I'll wear this."

"Suit yourself."

I glance at my wristlet. Where is Kyra? Surely it doesn't take this long to find a pair of shoes? She needs to come save me from Annalise and her horrible fas.h.i.+on sense.

A strange combination of relief and dread fills me as I quickly change into my dress. I turn before the mirror, adjusting the folds so they hang just right.

"I have something for you." Annalise reaches into her pocket. "The other dresses would have matched better." A green wristlet sits in her upturned hand. "Malin wanted you to have this."

My heart sinks. This isn't how I expected to be made a member of the State. In my fantasy, my beaming mother presents me the green wristlet before a small group of friends. There would be a small celebration.

This feels more like an afterthought.

Annalise slips my blue wristlet off and replaces it with the green one. "Congratulations, you're officially a States woman."

Banners of each of the five great societies flutter overhead and lanterns cast a soft, warm glow across the dance floor, illuminating the hundreds of twirling couples below.

I haven't been to a banquet this extravagant since Callum and Annalise were bound nearly three years ago. And that didn't exactly work out well.

A waiter stops before me, and I lift a gla.s.s of champagne from his tray and finish it in two gulps. It's my third-no fourth-gla.s.s of the night.

Kyra thinks I'm trying to drown my sorrows. Maybe she's right. It's not like I have much to be happy about. Not even my new green wristlet.

I lean against the wall, taking care to not slouch, and watch Maz lead Kyra across the dance floor. He's all arms and legs, not at all elegant, and it's amazing he hasn't tripped over the billowing hem of Kyra's gown.

"Bored?"

I lazily roll my head to the side. Ryker Newbold grins at me. His s.h.i.+rt hangs out of the bottom of his dinner jacket and a dark flop of hair drapes over one of his almond-shaped eyes. Next to him, I look as refined as Mother.

"Ryker! How are you?" Beck, Maz, and Ryker were once inseparable. So much so, that Kyra referred to them as a 'three-headed monster.' And unlike with Maz, Ryker and I have always gotten along.

He holds up a bottle of champagne. "Better since I found this."

"Nice." I raise my gla.s.s and pretend to toast him as Kyra and Maz whirl past, lost in each other. "They look good together, don't they?"

Ryker snickers. "You're generous. Maz looks like an octopus next to Kyra."

"He's never been graceful, has he?"

"Again, you're being too kind." Ryker takes long sip from the bottle. When he's done, he tops off my gla.s.s. "How are you? Kyra said you were out of it for a few days."

"I heard the same thing." My memories of my first days here are hazy at best.

"You don't know?"

"Not really. But the healers say that it's normal for someone who's been through what I have to lose track of time."

Someone calls my name and I whip my head in their direction, only to have the room sway around me. I stagger into Ryker and he catches me by the elbow. My bare skin burns where his clothed arm touches me.

"Careful, Lark," he says in a gravelly voice. "You don't want everyone to think you're drunk."

I rest a hand against the wall to steady myself. "I am drunk."

He squints at me. "How much have you had?"

"A few gla.s.ses." I point to his bottle. "And whatever you've poured me."

"Fantastic." He glances over my shoulder and his face contorts.

"What?" I ask, following his eyes. My brother, Callum, stands on the other side of a long table laden with desserts. He's glaring at us. No. He's glaring at me. I try my best not to look intoxicated, because really, all I need is Callum running off to tattle on me. If Mother finds out, she'll probably confine me to my room again and slap the restraint back on.

Ryker and I reposition ourselves so that we're standing side-by-side, not touching. I keep my eyes on the dance floor and pretend my brother isn't shooting withering looks at me.

A white light strobes off to my left and I instinctively s.h.i.+eld my eyes.

"Lark! Who's your escort?" a voice booms from a camera floating over my head.

"d.a.m.n it," I whisper. Of course, the newscasters waited until I was in an awkward situation to zero in on me.

"I'm sorry. Should have seen that." Ryker maneuvers me so my back is to the room and I'm facing the wall. He keeps his hand around my waist, holding me up. It's not exactly proper, but it's better than me stumbling forward when my movements are being broadcasted live.

"Stupid gossip feeds," I mutter. "Why do people like them so much?"

"Because their lives are boring?" Ryker leans closer to me. The heat of his breath strikes the side of my cheek and I inhale sharply. "Maybe if you pretend to be lost in conversation with me, no one will notice how drunk you are."

I groan. He's right. My only option is to pretend to be enthralled by Ryker. Which means we'll be all over Kyra's gossip feeds tomorrow. But at least it will look like I've moved on from Beck, and Mother can't find fault with that.

The music turns more upbeat. Ryker glances over my shoulder again.

"What?" I say, pivoting. Kyra races across the room, her face flushed from champagne and dancing. Before she reaches us, Ryker leans into me, his chin just grazing my shoulder. His breath fans against the side of my face and sends s.h.i.+vers down my spine.

"Beck's alive," Ryker whispers. "And he's okay."

His words slide through my foggy, drunk brain and land in my heart. It whirls wildly, humming to life. Beck is alive. And unharmed.

He's alive. Alive.

Tears of joy well in my eyes. "How do y-"

Kyra skids to a stop before me and grabs my arm. "Let's dance. Show the world that you're okay." She sounds hopeful, as if I can dance away my troubles, but I shake my head, knowing any kind of movement like that will be disastrous for me. Drunk Lark can't dance.

Ryker swigs from his bottle before pa.s.sing it to Maz. It's as if he hadn't said anything earth-shattering to me.

"Do you remember that time we snuck out of the house and when we got home, Bethina was waiting? I swear I thought I was going to pee my pants when I saw her," Ryker says, taking back the bottle.

Maz nods. "And Beck..." All three of my friends' heads swivel toward me as if the mere mention of his name will cause me to breakdown or something. Kyra s.h.i.+fts uncomfortably and fidgets with her wristlet.

After a pause, Ryker finishes, "Got caught trying to scale the side of the house. How did you not wake up, Lark? He always said you slept through everything, but how could you sleep through Bethina screaming at us?"

I shrug. "I always slept well when Beck was around."

Ryker presses the bottle into my hand and I take a small sip. Then a larger one. Heat rushes down my throat and into my gut.

Suddenly, nothing else matters except getting Ryker alone. I need to find out what he was talking about. Has he been in contact with Beck? I lean into him and link my arm through his. Kyra's eyebrows shoot up and she grins.

"I have an idea," I say. "Why don't we get out of here?"

8.

How could I be so ridiculously stupid?

The stars above me blink and twirl like the fireflies at Summer Hill.

Oh. Right. I'm drunk. And determined to get Ryker alone.

Which is why my friends and I are out here, in the dark and cold, trying to figure out what to do next.

"If we get caught..." Kyra says. "Lark, are you sure? You're not supposed to go out at night. Especially with only one guard."

Mother's brightly lit home sits only a few hundred meters away. Close enough that anyone walking in or out of the party can see us. My friends and I snuck out the rear kitchen door and down the side yard that separates Mother's property from the one next to it.

Ryker tilts his head slightly and raises his eyebrows. Like he's daring me to change my mind.

I won't. Not when he has a secret I want.

The world spins around me and I hold out my arms for balance. "I'm not with any guards tonight. I'm only with friends."

"Not funny." There's a hint of irritation in Kyra's voice. I can tell she's struggling between doing what she wants and doing what she knows she should.

"C'mon, Kyra. If Lark's willing to break the rules, you know it's worth it." Ryker nudges her with his arm.

"Besides, it was your idea," I point out.

"Fine." She pushes out her bottom lip. "What's the plan?"

Fueled by champagne and nerves, I recall Kyra's earlier suggestion. "Maybe a trip to the Haight? Didn't you say there was a fabo band playing?"

My friends stare at me in shock. The Haight is a notoriously rough neighborhood filled with lower-cla.s.s clubs. It's full of Singletons and common workers, and not a place our kind go.

"Did I just hear Lark Greene suggest we go, not only to the Haight, but also to a club?" Maz gapes at me. "What happened to Little Miss Rules?"

I purse my lips.

"Leave her alone, Maz." Mischief glints in Ryker's eyes. "Lark wants to try something new. Don't make her feel bad for it."

I tighten a tissue-thin wrap over my shoulders and admire how my new green wristlet stands out against my fitted elbow-length navy gloves.

Groan.

Everyone will know who I am.

And worse. As soon as Mother realizes I'm gone, she'll have us tracked via our wristlets.

Why didn't I think of that before? Oh, right. Because I'm drunk and this is a completely stupid idea.

I point to my wristlet. "They can track us."

Maz and Ryker exchange glances. But Kyra smiles at me. "Not if they can't find us."

"How is that possible?" I ask. The State knows everything. If not from our wristlets, then from the cameras scattered throughout the city. It's unlikely we'll get within a hundred yards of the Haight before Mother sends someone to retrieve us.

"You'll see." She links arms with me. "Do you think you can transport? Annalise said you did fine this morning after a few tries."

"It only took two tries," I say defensively.

Kyra waves her hand before me and the frigid night air disappears.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Warming spell. Comes in handy when you're running around the snowy city in a strapless gown." She c.o.c.ks her head. "So, can you do it?"