I nodded, trying to understand. "But that's what the Exalted do; we help people."
"No, they don't," he said, slamming a fist down on the table and making me jump. "The Exalted was why my boy was out there to begin with. Your folks weren't part of them then. They were just concerned friends; people who understood the value of a life. That's what good, decent people do.”
“I don’t understand,” I admitted, stepping towards him. “I thought that was the whole point of the Exalted Family: to help people and lead them. If the children can keep their family safe, then The Seeking proves — ”
“The Seeking doesn’t prove a damn thing! All it does is lead to fewer children, which means more food and resources for the ones that survive it.”
I clamped my mouth shut. Never in my four years of being in the Exalted Family had I ever heard anyone talk like that. I didn’t even know what to say.
He pointed a finger at me. “Your family made the Exalted worth something. You all actually cared and didn’t send anyone out to monitor the Boundary Line. Before your parents came along, the Exalted were crooks. If you couldn't promise a week of free meals, or room and board for one of their brats, then you might be sent to the Boundary Line, too."
He nodded toward the door. "That's why there are so many out there hunting you every Seeking. They want that power. Some of them live for that chance. That's why whatever happens tonight, you and your brothers cannot be caught."
My mouth went dry as I stared at him, and it took me a moment to find the right words. "I thought they just wanted to be the Exalted."
He choked on a laugh. "Of course they do! They want it to get back at their enemies, to force people out on the streets, or to have some poor child be used as an example to the other families."
My wrist tingled, and I rubbed it, trying to dispel the memory of that woman’s grip. What would happen if any of them became the next Exalted? If I was sent to monitor the Boundary Line, how long would I last? Would my brothers be killed as an example, too?
For the first time, Mr. Eddington's support of my family made sense, and I felt like a fool for not talking to him sooner. I wanted to say as much, but the words wouldn't come. The most I could muster was a weak, “I’m sorry.”
He waved a hand indifferently then pushed himself up from his chair. I could hear the cracking in his knees. "Good luck tonight, Dahlia. To you and your family." He turned back to the kitchen and didn't give me a second glance.
I noticed the way he favored his right leg and the defeated set of his shoulders. He walked as though he was disappointed, as though his advice had once again fallen on deaf ears as it always had, though this was the first time he had ever really spoken to me outside of a kind greeting or asking if I wanted any food.
My father was the one who spoke highly of Mr. Eddington, who always mentioned how he put in a good word or supported their decisions during town discussions. I never knew why, though, until now. Why did it take me getting pig blood splashed on me to get me to talk to him?
Laughter from outside the building pulled me back to my senses. It could have been Broskow’s laugh, but I couldn’t tell. Even if it wasn’t, I needed to see Bisa. She always helped me think straight.
I returned to the stairs and climbed the steps two at a time, wishing I had said more to Mr. Eddington, but unsure of what I could have said. All I knew was that my fear for tonight was even worse than before, and my mind was filled with a storm of questions.
As I climbed the next flight of stairs, I kept seeing Broskow's grinning face and hearing the excited cries from his crowd of supporters. I suddenly had not only my life to consider tonight, but many others as well. If we lost the Exalted House, who would take our place? Someone like Broskow? He’d send me straight to the Boundary Line, and probably others with me. Bisa? My little brother, Dameon? My heart leapt into my throat; I couldn’t let that happen.
I shook my head, I couldn't think of everyone, even though I wanted to. I had to focus on myself today. Even Mr. Eddington knew that. He had promised his support for me, so I might be able to take some bread or other food with me later. Any sustenance I could find on The Seeking was a gift.
I reached the top of the stairs. It dead-ended into the attic’s simple wooden door, where Mr. Eddington had been kind enough to let Bisa stay. I caught the scent of pig’s blood still on my tunic as I knocked on the door. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the blood had marked me somehow.
Bisa pulled the door back, and any worries I had were forgotten. She had put her long hair up in a loose bun, highlighting her round cheeks. I loved that hairstyle on her, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she fixed it that way on purpose. She also wore one of her flattering dresses that accented her wide hips, trimmed with spare red fabric around her wrists and along the hem of her skirt. It was definitely on purpose, I decided. Her warm brown eyes lit up with excitement as soon as she saw me.
"Oh, you came!" She went to wrap her arms around me, but I stopped her by stepping out of reach. A frown pulled at the corners of her full lips.
"Broskow got pig’s blood all over me. You really don't want to hug me right now."
Her hurt melted into frustration. "He does know The Seeking doesn't start until tonight, right?"
She wrapped her warm hand in mine and pulled me inside before I could reply. I sighed and felt the remaining tension melt out of me just from being in her presence. She had that effect on me even after more than a year of dating.
Bisa removed my scarf and dropped it into a basket by the door, examining the blood on my shoulder. "It smells awful!"
"He smelled worse," I retorted with a smirk. She laughed and met my eyes as my heart skipped a beat.
"Come on back and I'll draw you a bath." She took my hand again, and I followed.
Most of her small apartment was filled with scraps of fabric, spare wool, baskets of sewing supplies filled with notions, and half-finished garments hanging in each room. We passed by Marcus's room and I frowned. It was empty. I'm so used to seeing the six-year-old playing with his toys on the floor that I was confused.
"Where's Marcus?"
"At school. Already at that age. Dad would be so happy." Bisa didn't mention her mother; she hardly did anymore. I squeezed her hand and she gave me a brief smile.
We slipped through the tiny bathroom doorway and I couldn’t help myself – I reached down to grab her large rear. She squealed and laughed as she moved away.
"Not until you're cleaned up! Keep those exploring hands to yourself."
I obeyed with some reluctance and stripped, my eyes tracking her movements as Bisa not only drew me a hot bath and demanded I climb in, but also took my soiled tunic.
"What are you going to do with that?" I asked, settling down into the tepid water. At least it wasn’t cold. I winced, realizing I’d gotten spoiled by the hot baths at the Exalted House.
"Getting it cleaned for you." She held up a hand when I frowned. "Don't ask me how, I've got my ways. You just relax. Gather yourself. I need you to be ready tonight, sugar." For the first time her genuine smile faltered, and I could see the familiar panic that swam under the surface when The Seeking came around.