Page 69 of The Darkening (The Darkening)

“One day, I’m going to own my own little bakery in the fifth. Maybe the fourth. I’ll have things like these, but even better. Cleverer ones. Sugar birds that fly or flowers where each petal’s a different flavor. Little, beautiful things, that’s all.” He takes a bite. “I’ll beg a mancer to do some ikonwork for me.”

What a small, sweet dream. I rest my head against the wall, imagining Izamal dashing around a cozy little bakery, arms loaded up with trays of the most delicate pastries. He’ll throw a cheeky little smile in for free with every one; I’d wager that folks would come for him as much as for the treats he sells. “You must really love to bake.”

Izamal smiles at the pastry in his hand. “I wouldn’t know. Never had a chance to learn.”

I laugh. “What if you hate it?”

“I won’t.” The cat swipes the last bite of pastry from his hand, and he watches it scamper off.

I take in his bloodshot eyes, the tenseness in his shoulders, his hand clenching and unclenching on his thigh. “I’d like to see that,” I say. “Izamal, is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong.” He fixes his golden gaze on me. “Your turn. Tell me, Vesper. What does your ‘one day’ look like?”

My world’s shrunk to hours. I don’t have what it takes to imagine a distant future. “I’ll think about it when I get there.”

We’re quiet for a moment. I look over, and Izamal’s lips part, but no words come out, like he wants to tell me something but something is holding him back.

“Iz, are you sure you’re all right?”

He gets to his feet, brushing crumbs from his lap. “I’m not. I’m frustrated. I’ve reached only a handful of people—and the rest are too tired and scared to do anything. I can’t make them want more. I don’t know what to do.”

He glares down at the Wardana.

“Maybe it only takes a handful of people,” I say.

He softens as he looks down at me. “Maybe. And once we have your father leading them, things will change. I know it.”

Guilt turns my stomach sour. “Yes,” I say, because he needs to hear it. I hope I’m wrong about Pa. It’s possible that being locked away has changed his perspective. Maybe hewillwant to fight.

Izamal offers me a hand, and I let him pull me up. “You don’t have to come with me,” I say, “if that’s—”

“You think you can handle it all by yourself? A little cocky, aren’t we? You’ve been an apprentice for, what, two days?” he says with a grin.

“What help are you anyway?” I tease him back. “What good are big muscles and a pretty face against ikons?”

He looks delighted. “You think my face is pretty?”

I roll my eyes.

“We’re doing it together.” Izamal smiles, but there’s something in his red-rimmed eyes.

“I admire you, you know.” I keep my gaze fixed on the courtyard below. “I’m selfish. I’m just here to save my father. You’re dreaming of a lot more than that.”

His smile wavers. He shakes his head as if he can’t speak, then shrugs.

I pull him into a hug. He stands like a statue, but after a long moment, he exhales and gently pushes me away.

We scamper off the roof, back into the Ven’s hallways. Iz walkswith his shoulders hunched, carrying a weight only he knows. My heart aches for him, and I want to tell him that he does have a choice. But he just told me that if that were true, he wouldn’t be a Wardana or working in secret for fifth-ringers. If he had a choice, he’d be a baker.

We reach my door. “Good night.”

He pauses at the threshold, a faint light from the hallway outlining him in pale blue. “May your dreams be sweet.”

He leaves.

I put a chair under the doorknob before curling up in bed with Pa’s notebook. I enlarge it quickly and draw out the shape of the garden from memory. I work late into the night, using Pa’s notebook for reference, until I’m sure I know how to complete the garden’s ikon, until I know I won’t fail. I find and memorize four promising unlocking ikons, and one that turns things to dust.

I shrink the notebook and tuck it into Ma’s locket, stifling a yawn.