Page 3 of The Never List (Never List #1)

Rylee

“I know, I know, I’m late!” Layce’s voice fills the room as she bursts through Ivy’s door, fumbling with three large silk sacks.

I’ve just dried off from a quick bath. After washing the dust from working in the quarry this morning off my shoulders, I’d lingered in the lukewarm water for a few minutes longer than necessary, mentally preparing for tonight.

“You would not believe the crowds on the main crossings between the cities today! I had to take four different shortcuts just to get here.” She heaves the colorful bags onto Ivy’s small bed tucked in a corner across the room, then spins to face us. “What’d I miss?”

Ivy flashes me a conspiratorial look. “Just listening to Rylee talk about what she’ll do to the Legends of Chaos if they choose her,” she says, miming a vulgar gesture with her mouth that sends us all laughing.

Layce’s eyes sparkle as she grips her side. “If they choose you, will you promote us?” she asks, catching her breath. “I can be your royal bodyguard.” She snaps her fingers so blue-and-white lightning dances on the tips momentarily before she makes a fist to snuff it out. Then she points at Ivy. “And she can be your royal gardener.”

Ivy gapes in mock shock, still giggling. “Better than the job I have now.”

“It’s a deal,” I say. “All I have to do is have the Legends choose me—an Ashlander at their prestigious event illegally —and not arrest me; sleep with each of them; learn the functions and politics of their cities for months; and survive the Athanry, becoming immortal.” I list each task on my fingers. “Oh wait,” I say, and they both roll their eyes. “I’ll also have to enjoy them enough to choose an eternity with them and risk death to get it.” I tap my finger on my chin. “Remind me how many times that’s happened, again?”

“You’re a brat,” Ivy teases.

“None.” I answer my own question, ignoring her. “The Legends have tried for a mate for the past six years and are still mateless. I wouldn’t start packing your bags just yet.” If the Legends weren’t wealthy pricks who delighted in chaos, I might feel bad for them.

“Way to suck the fun out of the night,” Layce chides. “Jokes aside, getting a pin is a treat. And it’ll be your first one!”

“Wait, what?” I ask, looking from Layce to Ivy. “I’m not taking a pin.” I’d assumed we would use our invitations to gain entry but not exchange them for a numbered pin to participate in the actual Choosing. After all, you’re not required to.

“We always take pins.” Layce glances at Ivy in confusion.

“Jewelers pay top dollar for them because the gems are the highest quality,” Ivy adds.

That notion is tempting. “But the risk…” I bite my bottom lip, contemplating. “Haven’t you two ever been afraid of getting chosen?”

“Not even a little bit,” Layce says on a laugh.

Ivy shakes her head. “We always clock the Legends first thing and then subtly stay away from them the entire night.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding. “That makes sense.” But still, the risk…

“Since when have you ever taken the safe route?” Layce asks.

I snort. She’s not wrong.

Ivy flashes me a supportive smile. “It’s your choice. We’d never force you to take one.”

“Of course not,” Layce adds.

“We just want you to know the perks,” Ivy continues. “You could do a lot with the money from selling one.”

“And a woman from the high nobility is always chosen anyway,” Layce says with a shrug. “We’ll keep a low profile.”

“But no pressure,” Ivy says.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, truly meaning it. I have the best friends in the world, and I honestly don’t know if I would’ve survived this year without them.

“Okay, come here.” Layce waves me over excitedly as she turns back toward Ivy’s bed and the pile of silk atop it. “Now, it took me six months and a ton of careful planning to sneak each of these out of Mistress Mardone’s shop, so if you don’t like the colors, keep it to yourselves.”

Layce is an Ari, too, residing in Cedar and Silk, but even our combined income would never be able to buy three dresses of this caliber. Her position at Mistress Mardone’s shop gave her an opportunity she couldn’t pass up, and I’m beyond grateful for her willingness to swipe me a gown. And with the way Mardone gouges her prices for the middle and lower classes, I don’t feel bad about it.

Ivy squeals as Layce carefully slides the dresses out of the bags.

“This one is for you,” she says, handing Ivy a forest green gown. “And this one,” she says, handing me a pile of black silk and lace and leather, “is for you.”

My lips part as I fumble with all the fabric in my arms.

“Go,” she says, motioning toward the wooden screen in the corner of Ivy’s room. “Masks will come after makeup and hair.”

I stand there for a moment, unable to express my gratitude at all they’ve done for me, all the risks they’ve taken to ensure I get my shot at finding my sister.

Layce waves at me impatiently. “We don’t have much time,” she says. “Hurry up.”

I blink out of the moment and rush behind the separator, grateful for the time to collect myself. I don’t think I could ever find the right words to thank them, anyway. By the time I have the dress on and buttoned, Layce has placed a pair of black boots at the edge of the screen. The spike of the heel is bloodred.

I step out, and Ivy pauses, one slipper on and one in her hand as she gapes at me.

“I knew you needed the black!” Layce exclaims. “No one ever wears black to the Choosing.”

My eyes go wide. “What? Then why—”

“Because black looks amazing on you.” She shushes me, moving me into the chair in front of Ivy’s vanity. “Relax, Rylee. Your mask is gorgeous, too. You’ll look exactly like you belong there, but no one will have a clue who you are.”

I try to relax my face as she gets to work on my makeup. She uses all manner of brushes and tints on me. She spends a long time on my eyes, considering I’m about to put a mask over them, but I don’t complain. How can I? Makeup is another luxury I can’t afford, one not even worth stealing. It’s not like I can wear it in the Ashlands without having the kings’ enforcers down my throat, asking where I got it. I’m so far outside my comfort zone tonight. How am I ever going to pull this off?

Funny how a set of invisible lines between cities can change so much. My friends have never gone hungry or almost been arrested for wearing lipstick. Neither of them knows what it’s like to not eat, to not know where your next meal is coming from. And it’s not their fault, either, just a privilege of being born in the right spot on the map with the right familial titles, too. Just like it’s not my fault Erin and I were born in the wrong one.

It’s the kings’ fault.

The way they hoard their wealth, the way they tax the Ashlanders to the point of starvation and then expect us to bow and kiss their feet whenever they appear, all under the pretense that their protection is worth the cost. Protection from realms across the sea, threats that haven’t set foot here in two decades. As if they were the ones who created the magical wards around our continent and not the goddesses whose sacrifice keeps our land safe. A sharp gust of wind picks up in the room, and Ivy’s plants tremble.

“Hey,” Layce says, drawing my attention as she slides the mask over my face. “You’re not alone in this.”

I blow out a breath, leashing my power. “Thank you,” I say to both of them as I slide out of the chair and turn toward them. “You two look stunning.”

Ivy’s rich brown skin looks luminescent beneath the green gown that hangs off one shoulder, tightening around her waist and draping elegantly over her long legs. A deep slit climbs up her thigh, and the straps of her shoes wind their way up her calves in thin black crisscrosses. The mask hiding the top half of her face is made of dozens of gold and hunter green ivy leaves, her full lips on display beneath it.

Layce’s crimson dress hugs her body and stops just above her knees, the color making her skin look rosy. Her mask is a slash of red feathers that flares out on the left side of her face.

“Turn around,” Layce demands with a smile.

I turn, finally looking at myself in the full-length mirror, and an aching lump forms in my throat. I’m not sure if it’s shock or gratitude or appreciation or a combination of all three. Because Layce is right—no one will ever recognize me in these clothes. I’ve never had anything as expensive touch my skin, and I’m suddenly sure I never want to wear anything else.

Lace sleeves hang off my shoulders, exposing my collarbones, while black leather clings to my upper torso, lifting my breasts and cinching tight around my stomach. Layers of silk and lace fan out from my waist, draping to the floor in elegant tiers that hiss when I move. The dark-red stain on my lips stands out against my pale skin, and my blue eyes are almost searing behind the dark mask that covers half my face.

I step closer to the mirror, touching the delicate mask comprised of hundreds of miniature fabric butterflies.

“Are you ready?” Ivy asks from behind me, a makeup brush in hand.

I nod, gathering my long blond hair over one shoulder, off my neck. Ivy quickly dabs the brush against the spot at the base of my skull, covering the light, silvery mark that showed up when I was ten. The one that looks like a tiny cloud.

The mark of a demi blessed by the goddess Neph.

Ivy moves to my wrist, silently covering up the light-purple bruises Turner left. My chest squeezes.

When she’s finished, Ivy passes the brush to Layce, who hurries to cover the mark on the inside of her wrist—a cloud matching mine. Ivy hikes up her left leg, shifting her gown higher to expose her inner thigh.

“Who wants the honors?” she asks.

I grab a different brush and dip it into her compact. I lean down and stroke the bristles over her mark—a light-green spot in the shape of a leaf. We’ve done this so many times now, we could probably hide one another’s marks in our sleep.

I take a step back to double-check my work. “Nothing stopping us now,” I say.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Ivy asks.