Persona (26 page)

But Martine was looking right at her, and the archness in her face was gone. “Because from now on, you don't know what's poisoned. You've been smart. Don't die before nightfall, if you can help it.”

Long after the door had closed behind them, Suyana sat and stared at the pair of cakes.

Martine was right. Not about these—though Martine was a courier of dubious merit, she wasn't a poisoner.

But Margot wasn't going to stop at one chance, and she wouldn't risk making Suyana a martyr again. When the next turn came, it would be something that looked like an accident.

Still, there was a flicker of joy inside her, looking at them, the violet and the blue bird side by side.

The feeling lasted until she remembered the photographers outside; they'd be outside today, and tomorrow, and if she was lucky, she would continue to be important enough to be documented.

It would be nearly impossible to move under the radar, as she had before.

Now she'd have to work to create a Suyana Sapaki for the IA and the public who wouldn't think of such a thing, a Suyana Sapaki so separated from the idea of revolution in the minds of the IA that not even a breath of Lachesis would ever reach them.

“Suyana?” Magnus was kneeling beside her, his face a mask of worry. “You look ill.”

“We need to call a stylist,” she said.

×  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×

Oona was one of the general-purpose IA stylists, assigned to the lesser countries for the rare times they were called on to make an appearance and say something they were supposed to say.

“So,” she said, scrolling through her tablet. “There's a press conference? I can get you animal print, if you want, or if you want to go somber we could find something black with some embroidered—”

“I need something turquoise,” she said. “Fitted, to the knee. High neck, no sleeves.”

From his chair, Magnus said, “But your injury—”

“Do you have something like that?”

Oona blinked. “I guess we can find one, if you're sure.”

“Very sure. Thank you.”

When Oona had gone, Magnus frowned at her. “What are you playing at?”

“Don't complain,” she said. “Ethan might love it.”

×  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×

When the Americans showed an hour later, she and Magnus were already in the lobby of the hotel, and Ethan walked toward them amid so many clattering flashbulbs he looked like a marionette more than a man.

“Suyana,” he said, the vowels slightly flattened as if by the sheer force of his presence.

She saw his open arms. He was going to embrace her.

She thought about the amount of information that crossed his desk; she thought about how easy it would be to get whatever she needed, if she was only willing to give up a little.

“Ethan,” she said with a smile that felt almost real. She moved to meet him, so that when her arms went around him she'd be pressed against his chest.

The flashbulbs were a cacophony behind him. They could be kissing, she thought. From here, the cameras can't tell. (She thought, Should I kiss him? Does it matter, if no one sees?)

His shoulder scraped her wound.

After a moment, she steeled herself. Then she brushed her lips against his jaw, just under his mouth, like she'd gotten too shy at the last moment to really kiss him. She figured he liked them a little shy.

(Second kiss, she thought.)

He took in a breath, held it a moment too long.

“You almost died,” he said, pulling back a little and frowning down at her.

She blinked. Either he was a mastermind, or he was in earnest. “So they say.”

“If there's anything I can do, let me know.” He looked solemnly at her for a moment before a smile crept across his face. “I'm still very interested in coming to an agreement.”

“For their sake or for yours?”

Stupid question, she thought. Poor diplomacy. She regretted it the second it was out of her mouth. She should know better.

He did her the courtesy of not looking behind him in faux surprise at the trio of handlers lingering near the check-in desk. “I hear it could be to everyone's benefit,” he said finally.

That was a diplomat's answer. And she was a diplomat; it had to be answer enough.

“You should walk me to my car, then,” she said, slipping her arm in his. “And tell me where I'm meeting you for dinner.”

“Oh, of course! What food do you like?”

Somewhere out of sight of Montmartre, she thought. “Surprise me.”

He grinned down at her and covered her hand with his hand until the camera flashes blinded her, but her smile was armor, and it held.

×  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×

In the greenroom, Oona zipped Suyana into her dress, and Suyana picked a pair of black pumps out of a lineup because the heels looked slightly like fangs, and by the time Magnus joined her, Oona was smoothing pomade over Suyana's loose hair.

“You don't want flyaways on TV,” she said. “It's like having something in your teeth—that's all people will see. Trust me.”

Suyana didn't doubt it.

“What will you do with it?” Magnus asked, taking a seat behind her. She watched him in the mirror as he took out his tablet and started work.

“Leave it,” she said.

Oona took in a skeptical breath, which Suyana ignored, and Magnus looked up, which Suyana acknowledged by raising her eyebrows.

“They want a serious but innocent young woman making a comeback of character after an ordeal. You think a French roll is going to do that?”

Magnus looked at her a moment too long before he dropped his head back to his work. “We should talk about your speech.”

“I know what I'm going to say.”

He made a dubious noise, but his tablet chirped, and the noise turned into a circumspect hum. “The Americans have time to meet tomorrow,” he said, grinning at the tablet. “How about that.”

“We could meet for lunch in the dining room of the George V,” Suyana suggested. “Since Ethan and I have nothing to hide, now.”

Oona put something behind her ears that smelled like potpourri. Suyana let it go.

“We'll see,” said Magnus. “I'm not sure you should be so anxious to be in public until you can look at him like you like him. The hotel was fine, but even Ethan's bound to catch on if you keep that smile glued on for hours.”

Oona was pulling something out of a drawer and holding it up. “Just this, and you're done!”

“Is that a church bell?”

Oona sighed. “It's a statement piece.”

The bracelet was a cuff of hammered brass so big it looked like a gauntlet as Oona clicked it shut around her wrist.

“No, thank you,” said Suyana.

“It's very Native-Heritage,” argued Oona.

“Not mine,” said Suyana.

“It reminds them of your captivity,” Magnus pointed out. “It's a strong statement.”

She looked at his reflection in the mirror and snapped, “Then I shouldn't still be wearing a shackle, should I.”

She and Magnus stared at each other in the mirror. (Something about the set of his face looked a little startled. Was today the first time he had ever believed her when she stood up for something?)

He must think it such a funny thing to take a stand over. Some bracelet.

But if she didn't have this fight with him now, it would just delay something that had to happen sooner or later, if Suyana stood a chance of doing this without losing her mind. They might as well get it out of the way.

Oona looked back and forth, waiting for orders, until a PA knocked on the door and broke the silence.

“We're ready for you,” he said.

Suyana looked at Magnus and raised her arm, shaking the cuff once. It was a test. Her, or them.

Magnus raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Right, Suyana thought. Of course. For a moment she'd thought otherwise, but it was best to know before she took the stage how much she really was standing alone.

“I'm ready,” she said.

She slid off the chair and moved for the door without looking behind her, heading for the stage as fast as she could. Halfway down the hall, Magnus caught up, and they walked in a tense silence all the way to the wings.

Suyana's speech was pressing on her, the sound of the crowd was pressing on her, and the idea that Magnus would still treat her like a liability felt like the flat of the knife on her back.

I could keep playing kind for a year, she thought. If I wanted to, I could lie to him with every look. By then either he or I will be gone—dead, or vanished, or back home—and this will all be over.

But something cold and ruthless turned inside her, and she thought: No.

Before she knew what she was doing, she'd turned to face him and advanced. He retreated before her, bemused, until he stumbled the last foot into the wall. She pinned him with her outstretched hand, her fingers curled in against the front of his jacket.

For the first time, she saw what he looked like when he feared her. (She'd killed a man. He shouldn't forget that. She couldn't.)

“A good man died to make way for you,” she said. “If you want to pretend you're my ally then do as you please, and if you lie to me well enough that I buy it that's my fault, but don't think for a second I'm the person I was. I remember the list of enemies that I made as soon as that gun went off.”

She leaned in an inch, drew back her lips to bare her teeth. “Don't be my enemy.”

For three long breaths, he looked more nervous than she'd ever seen him. (Good, she thought.)

Then his eyes dropped to her arm—the crow's-feet going taut as he saw her wound—up to her mouth. His expression was strange; soft but sharpened, as if he had been listening to music and had finally recognized the song. He was shaking.

Suyana's fingertips went cold.

There was applause from the assembly, and Suyana stepped away, drew back her arm.

He was looking at her so strangely, for a moment, as if he was trying to decide what to apologize for. Then he pushed away from the wall with the graceful flat of his hand, and they took the last few steps to the edge of the curtain.

He was under control again, thanking the PA graciously, the tablet back in his hand as though he'd plucked it from the air, his expression as smooth and cool as ever.

Suyana kept her eyes on the stage, tried to put this in its place and not let it follow her now.

Magnus was a good handler; he didn't have to be a good man for that. If he feared her a little, it was in her favor. If they could keep away from open war, they were good enough at lying to look a little like allies.

He'll never be your ally, came the thought, thin and unwelcome and clouded as smoke, but some things couldn't be helped.

Margot stepped back from the mic, and Suyana realized she'd been announced, that this was it, that she was on.

“Suyana,” Magnus said, so softly she hardly heard him. “I'm not your enemy.”

She set her jaw. “Prove it,” she said.

His expression shifted. Around her, he always found ways to look like a stranger.

She pulled off the bracelet, handed it to him without looking, and took the stage.

It was a long stage, and she took slow, even strides toward the podium, the black spikes of her shoes ringing like hammers.

A murmur rose from the crowd as they caught sight of the gunshot wound on her arm. Suyana measured her steps so the photos could capture it in all its sickly purple glory, the stretch marks a stark white web against her skin.

Walking across the stage, she was facing the Central Committee head-on. They were sitting calmly, trying not to look like the same people who'd agreed to cast her out.

All except Margot, who was looking at her the way a falcon looks at a snake, trying to decide if the fight is worth it.

Try me, Suyana thought. I'm listening to everything. See if you can catch me before I strike. Her shoulders were burning; she'd never been so ready for a fight.

For an instant, just before the stage lights hit her, Suyana could have sworn Margot was smiling.

When she reached the narrow podium she turned to face the crowd, cheated her right leg so the cameras could get the wound.

The photo pit was packed, and the chambers were standing room only. It looked like every country in the IA had turned out to see if what she had to say was up to scratch.

She let out a breath and took in the room. She marked Kipa, whose gaze was on her lap; she glanced down at Grace and Martine. Grace was giving Suyana a smile too small for anyone to catch; Martine wasn't looking at her at all.

Ethan was at the American's place; when she looked at him he smiled and nodded once, as if she'd been waiting for his encouragement.

When Suyana looked up at the mezzanine, she took only a moment to scan the audience. She didn't let herself linger on the shadows on the right where she thought she'd seen a familiar face. (Even from half a glance, she could tell that Daniel was concerned. He was welcome to be. She couldn't risk it.)

Her concern was how high she could stand tomorrow on the tower that she built tonight.

She cast one sidelong look at Magnus, who was still in the wings, watching her with a expression she couldn't quite meet. Then she leaned an inch into the mike.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the International Assembly,” she said. “My name is Suyana Sapaki. I stand before you as the Face of my country, the United Amazonian Rainforest Confederation. I stand before you despite someone who would have killed me, rather than let me serve my homeland and her people.”

There was a ripple of response in the gallery; she glanced up at them just long enough for the volume of sympathetic outrage to rise.

“I stand before you,” she said, one degree louder, keeping her tone even, “as someone who was a captive and now is free, someone condemned who is grateful for her life.”