Page 133 of Carousel

Reluctantly, Riss steps over to her. They watch each other the whole time they swap books.

“Where are the rest of Cosmer’s things?” Riss asks. “His flask?”

“I’ll hold onto them, for now.” Meg smiles, thin-lipped. Taps a satchel at her side. “See, Riss? It’s all in hand. Go and practice The Accords with Drake, or something, until dinner. I’ll take Ara to bed. And we’ll see you tomorrow. Or not.”

Riss stares at me, then Meg, her mouth slightly parted.

Her face. It’s sort of funny.

“But, you’re not… Ara is my…”

What’s she going to say?

I’m her charge?

Her friend?

She doesn’t finish her sentence, so I’ll never know.

Meg cuts in. “Want to join Cosmer in the brig, Riss? Since you seem to be causing an OTI.”

Her face crumples. “Fine. Take her. I don’t care. I’m just trying to do my job and get my family fed, like ninety percent of us.” She rounds on Drake. “You. Come with me.”

I’m aware Drake is looking back at me.

But he’s so blurry I can’t focus on him. I look at the lights in the walls instead. How bright they are. How unnatural. They’re wonderful.

When Riss and Drake are out of sight and earshot, Meg slams into me, pushing me against the wall. She places the cool end of a gun at my neck.

And I suddenly feel very sober.

“You ever try to use blood magic on me again, and I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”

I swallow, my eyes on the weapon. There seem to be two of it.

“Why didn’t it work on you?” I risk asking.

“No one’s going to magic me,” she says, confident, releasing me and holstering the gun. “Dezeeves knew full well what happened in there, and he saved your skin. Any ideas why?”

I shake my head.

“I’m going to find out.” She motions with her head, which makes her long hair sway. “You can stay in my cabin. There’s no way I’m going down to yours, if you and Cosmer have been having sex in there.”

“We haven’t…” And then I trail off, because I suppose, in a way, we did.

The thought makes me blush. Giggle.

And then I cry.

“Good,” Meg says, grabbing me by the hair to steer me away. “Keep crying. That means it’s wearing off.”

Meg’s cabin, on the protected Deck 7, is beautiful. She has a large porthole, and a four-poster bed large enough to sleep two, maybe even three people. A proper dresser and small wardrobe, a full-length mirror, and her own washbowl. The room smells like her – faintly floral. Violets, maybe.

“I’ll bring up your uniform from your cabin later. Do you want to borrow a nightdress, for tonight?”

“Yes, please,” I say.

She goes over to the wardrobe and opens it. It’s brimming with dresses in different colours and textures. I recognise the sheer fabric of the midnight blue dress I’d worn at the Captain’s Dinner.