The Sun Dwellers (16 page)

“Good plan,” Roc agrees, smirking.

We find a cozy corner, and while I hold Trevor up, Roc piles up long, brightly colored dresses to use as a bed. We lie him down, rolling up one of the coats—a turquoise one—for a pillow.

“Now what?” Roc says.

“Now we shop.”

We find the girls standing in front of a rack of shoes, just staring. “What are these?” Adele says, picking up a pair of red, ultra-high heels.

“Shoes,” I say.

“No way!” Adele says. “How could anyone walk in these?” She sits down on a nearby bench and starts taking off her boots.

“They can and they do,” Roc says. “Most of the girls here wear them. It seems the heels get higher every year. Being tall is in.”

“But they’re not really tall,” Tawni says.

I chuckle. “True, but that’s not what matters. It’s all about image. Most of what you’ll find in the Sun Realm is artificial—just like the sun.”

“But why do people care?” Adele says, standing up unsteadily, now wearing the red heels. “A shoe’s a shoe,” she adds, trying a cautious step forward.

“Not to these people. They want their clothes to make them stand out,” I explain.

“But they don’t,” Tawni says. “They still all look the same, just different than moon and star dwellers. If they really want to stand out, they should visit the Lower Realms wearing those.” She points to Adele’s heels.

Adele, clutching a rack of shirts as she moves forward another step, says, “I can’t even walk in these, much less run or kick.”

I laugh again. “Sun dweller women don’t do much running or kicking. They mostly just go tanning, go to the salon, go shopping, that sort of thing.”

“But how do they…
live?
” Tawni asks. This is all clearly blowing both girls’ minds.

“Usually they have rich boyfriends or husbands who deal in shipping or own mines in the Lower Realms,” I say. “There’s a lot of old money up here that’s been passed down for generations.”

“So while we’re all working like dogs for our next meal…” Adele starts, taking off the heels.

“The sun dwellers are up here attending parties, killing time, and generally enjoying their lives,” I say coldly. “Can you see now why I left?”

“Not really,” Tawni says. “Wouldn’t that be a good reason
not
to leave?”

Roc surprises me by saying, “Tristan’s got too good of a heart for that. He doesn’t like to see people suffer while others take advantage of them.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“We shall never speak of this compliment again,” Roc says, smirking.

“I’ll remind you every day,” I joke.

“That’s the last time I say something nice about you.”

“We don’t have to wear these—what do you call them?—
high shoes
, to blend in do we?” Adele asks, her face scrunched with concern. “Because I don’t think I can walk more than a few blocks without killing myself.”

I take the shoes from her. “High
heels
,” I correct. “
You
can if you want, but I think we can find something much more sensible, but still fashionable.”

“Sounds good. Where do we start?”

“You and Tawni should pick out some tunics that you like. Pretty much anything in this store is in style right now, so it’s hard to go wrong. Roc and I will get ourselves and Trevor outfitted and then help you with your shoes and accessories.”

“Accessories?” Adele and Tawni say at the same time.

“We’ll show you later,” I promise. “Try and have fun with it.”

“Yeah, girls are supposed to like shopping,” Roc adds.

Adele and Tawni look at each other like we’re completely out of our minds, but then move off into one of the aisles full of the new Beau Gabore line of flaring-bottom tunics.

“This should be interesting,” Roc says.

“Thanks for the compliment,” I say again, trying to keep a straight face.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“I’m not sure I can do that,” I laugh.

* * *

An hour later we’ve made good progress. I’ve torn strips from a dark training tunic to bandage my scraped shoulder. Roc found a chest of ice to apply to his bruised tush. Trevor’s still out, and we had the unfortunate experience of undressing him, pulling a brand new black Rizzo tunic—very stylish and modern—over his head, and getting him into a matching pair of what are known as “chairman’s pants,” high-waisted and straight-cut all the way to the brown Montgomery boots we found in his size. The pants were the trickiest, and required Roc and me to both take a leg, while we cringed, desperately avoiding touching anywhere near anything we wouldn’t want touched ourselves.

Once finished with Trevor, we split up and decked ourselves out. Roc found a whiter-than-white ribbed tank-tunic that contrasts nicely with his brown skin, thick bright orange marching pants (sun dwellers tend to like parades), and fake leather white moccasins, which are all the rage right now. I was able to complement my light blue nylon tunic with a navy blue leather jacket, complete with turquoise buttons and arm studs. My pants are blue camouflage, which has just come back after a decade of being out of style. Due to my well-known appearance, I decide to continue wearing a hat, but replace the woman’s hat Adele nicked for me with a silver fedora with blue trim that casts a decent shadow across the upper part of my face when worn sufficiently low over my eyes. Unwilling to stoop to the level of moccasins, I find a pair of rugged brown boots that are only in fashion because they have a decent-sized heel that I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. But they definitely beat the thin-soled slippers that Roc’s wearing.

Finished with the men’s section, we leave Trevor to his comfy pile of dresses—“Sleep well, Sleeping Beauty,” Roc says before we go, drawing a strange look from me. “You know, like the story your mother told us when we were little?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You’re hopeless. She must have told it to us a dozen times. It was about a princess who is cursed and falls asleep for eternity or until her one true love kisses her.”

“Are you going to be the one to kiss him and wake him up?” I say, smirking.

Roc ignores me and heads for the women’s department to find the girls.

We find them in the changing rooms behind thinly curtained cubicles. A pile of discarded clothes is growing in the center of the waiting area.

“This stuff is crazy,” Adele says, hidden save for a dark shadow of her profile.

“I kind of like some of it,” Tawni admits.

“Any luck?” I say.

“I think I’m all set,” Tawni says, pushing her curtain aside with a flourish.

“Oh. My…” Roc says.

“Is it okay? I had no clue with the makeup and hairstyle, so I just tried to copy some of the sun dweller models from the fashion magazines they had lying around.”

Tawni’s got on a long, no-sleeved silvery blue dress that rises all the way to her neck. It’s tight at the top and hugs her hips, leaving nothing of her figure to imagination, before flaring out at the bottom. Blue and silver crystals sparkle wildly even in the dim security lighting. Her long, white hair is up in a bun on the top of her head, held together by blue and silver butterfly pins. Several turquoise-inlaid rings adorn her slender white fingers, while dark blue heels add an extra three inches to her already above-average height. Her face shimmers with some kind of luminescent makeup, accenting her ultra-feminine features.

Roc’s making weird gasping noises next to me.

“I think he likes it,” I say. “But is it practical? Can you even walk in it?”

“She can walk in it,” Roc says hopefully. “Can’t you?”

“I’ve been practicing,” Tawni says. “It’s not so hard once you get the hang of it. I just take small steps and place every foot carefully.”

“Yeah, it’s easy,” Adele says sarcastically from the change rooms. “I’d break my neck in those things.”

“What if we have to run?” I say.

“I’ll just kick them off,” Tawni says matter-of-factly.

I hate to delay longer to find something else for her to wear, plus she seems perfectly happy in her new outfit…

“Okay. We’ll go with it.”

“Yay!” Tawni says, looking genuinely happy. It’s almost like she’s forgotten that we’re here on a mission to kill the President. But if that helps her feel comfortable, it’s fine by me. We’ll all need to blend in for the next day or so.

Tawni walks carefully over to Roc, rubs a hand gently on the shoulder of his new shirt. “My, my, aren’t you gentlemen dashing.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks,” Roc says, his face turning a darker shade of brown.

“Almost done in there, Adele?” I ask.

“Umm…”

“Do you need any help?” I say, grinning.

“You wish,” she retorts. “I think I’ve got it. There. Finished.” There’s a zip, and then a deep breath. “Yeah. I think these will work just fine.”

Unlike Tawni’s, her curtain moves slowly across the top, revealing the new Adele inch by inch. I don’t gasp like Roc, but I do stare, my mouth falling open slightly. I think my tongue even hangs out, like a happy dog.

“It’s
awful
, isn’t it? I knew I should have had Tawni do the makeup,” Adele says, placing a hand on the curtain as if she wants to thrust it back over herself.

“No—no, that’s definitely not the word for it,” I sputter, still shocked at the transformation. “I was thinking more like
amazing
, or
incredible
. Adele, you look…”

“Hot!” Roc exclaims, earning him a slap on the arm from Tawni. “I mean, you look very nice, Adele,” he corrects.

Adele’s face reddens. “I look what?” she asks me, one hand on her hip.

I drink her in with my eyes. She’s wearing tight, black pants that, when combined with her form-fitting emerald-green leather silver-studded tunic, show off her gorgeous, hour-glass figure in a tough, rugged kind of way. The pants are tucked into high, black boots with a wide, modest heel that even I could walk on. She has on a half-dozen gleaming steel rings that match the studs on her shirt. Her long black hair is braided down the back and wrapped with silver, shimmering ties. Although she doesn’t need it, her eyelashes are lengthened and thickened with dark mascara, giving her green eyes a definite feline look. Her lips have just a touch of pink, leaving them glossy and intoxicating.

She tucks her emerald pendant into her tunic, and I realize the outfit is an outward expression of the jewel that hangs from her necklace. A memory of her father.

“Hellooo,” Adele says. “Am I that hideous that you don’t even have a word to describe it?”

“N—no,” I stutter, trying to gain my composure. “Roc got it right the first time. You look
hot
,” I say, nodding vehemently.

A flush heats up Adele’s face once more. “I look ridiculous,” she says, looking down at her getup.

“Again, not the word I would choose,” I say. Changing the angle of the subject, I ask, “Can you move okay? I mean, if you had to fight or run or whatever, could you?”

Before I know it’s coming, her shiny boot flashes upward, stopping less than an inch from my face, making me flinch. She holds the kick for a second, and then returns her foot to the floor, a half-step in front of her other one. Her arms are in a boxer’s stance, her fists knotted.

“I guess you can fight,” I say breathlessly.

“I guess so,” she smirks.

Adele

I
’m happy with my new clothes. Although they’re not really me—too tight and revealing—at least I can fight in them. And hopefully they’ll help me fit into this crazy world.

Honestly, at first I was somewhat mesmerized by the artificial sun, the beautiful people, the interesting clothing, but now I’m just sickened by it. Not necessarily because it’s not cool, or fun, but because they don’t share it. While the star dwellers live in squalor and filth and
darkness
, and the moon dwellers are impoverished, hungry, and hopeless, the sun dwellers enjoy the high life, basking in their beautiful sunlight, surrounded by elegant buildings, pristine city streets, and everything money can buy. I always knew the Sun Realm was privileged, but I never knew how much.

As we pass one last time through the racks of vibrant and well-made clothes, I wonder whether people are just born a certain way and that’s it, or whether they can be changed. The sun dwellers are born in this place where clothes are used for
fashion
, rather than utility. It’s all they’ve ever known, it’s all they’ve ever seen. So is that it? Is it really their fault that they don’t see the reality of the inequality at play in the world? Are they a product of their inherent natures, or their environment? Or is it a mixture of both?

I think of myself. Although I’ve never been mean-spirited, I’m clearly a result of my parents’ upbringing, but I’ve also been changed significantly from my experiences. I guess it all comes down to how one reacts to the things they see, the things that happen to them. Like I can take everything I’ve been through—my father’s and Cole’s death, my sister’s maiming, mine and my parents’ imprisonment, the people I’ve killed—and wallow in self-pity, hate myself for not being strong enough, give up on everything…
or
I can rise above it, seek the good in the Tri-Realms, fight for those I’ve lost and those I still have. I can be better. It’s up to me. It’s a choice that only I can make.