Starglass (28 page)

“Years ago I found a flower in the atrium. Buried beneath a hedge. I thought, ‘That’s odd. What’s that doing there?’ I knew that I hadn’t planted it.
Digitalis purpurea.
Foxglove. It shouldn’t have been there. I certainly hadn’t gone spreading it through the dome. Far too dangerous. And I’m the only one who has access to the herbarium. But the doctors, now,
they
have several of the plants.

“I realized—” Mara paused a moment to take an echoing breath, then began again: “I realized that a member of our senior medical staff must have planted it. A foxglove plant that wouldn’t be missed if he chose to utilize any of its parts. And I remembered something. A recent death. A very unusual death.”

I could feel the beat of my heart in my throat and against my tongue. I swallowed it.

“Four years ago,” she said. “This was four years ago.”

“That’s when Momma died.” My voice was suddenly childish and soft.

“Terra, most cancers were eradicated by the middle of the twenty-first century. A few remained on Earth—genetic strains, unavoidable, I
suppose. But our ancestors were carefully screened for that before they were ever allowed to board. And it was effective. Oh, there have been early deaths now and then. The flu pandemic of my grandparents’ generation killed one-sixth of the
Asherah
’s adult population. But in five hundred years in space? Your mother was the very first cancer victim.”

I couldn’t look at her anymore. Instead I studied the pattern of scuff marks on the floor.

“I realized that it had to be a doctor who did it. A powerful doctor. Slipping bits of
Digitalis purpurea
into the pills your mother took every day. And there’s only one doctor who oversees those pills. Mazdin Rafferty. Head doctor and member of the High Council.”

I closed my eyes then, squeezing them hard. But Mara went on.

“I thought about that poor baker. The one who had come to me years before. A rebel, a member of the Children of Abel. And I thought I’d been right to turn away from them then. Who knows? Perhaps I was. Perhaps Mazdin Rafferty might have poisoned
me
if I’d joined her cause.”

“But, Mara,” I said, “I’m like you. I’m not a joiner. I . . .” Mara watched me closely. There was no escaping her gaze.

Mara let out a grunt. “If we don’t act, people will
die
. Innocent people. You might be my
talmid
, but you’re your mother’s daughter, too. It’s time you acted like it.”

She threw something at me. Something small and
shining—something that she’d had ready, hidden in her coat pocket. I caught it. It was a bottle, made of old amber-colored glass.

“What is it?” I asked. Even through the foggy glass I could see that it was filled with white powder. There was no label on it—no skull and crossbones warning me away. But still the sight made me uneasy. Mara grimaced.

“I told you.
Digitalis purpurea.
Purple foxglove. Can you imagine? Your mother ate pills made out of it every day and never had any idea.”

Clutching the bottle in my hand, I remembered. She was always forgetting her pills. Abba was the one to remind her, passing her the case filled with her rations. Standing over the sink, she’d swallow them down with a handful of mud-colored water, grimacing. And then she’d wink at me, urging me to do the same.

“You want sweet dreams tonight, don’t you, Terra?” she’d asked. I’d gone to the sink and swallowed my pills too. I didn’t want to upset her.

Little did I know that they were killing her.

“Okay,” I said. I still grasped the bottle in my sweaty hand. “I’m in.”

The corner of Mara’s mouth lifted. “Good,” she said. “Tell those rebels they can poison every member of the Council for all I care. Mara Stone isn’t going to just stand by and watch idly as they kill their own citizens.”

I could hardly hear her voice. I looked down at the thing I held in my hand, at the way the light reflected off the amber surface. I felt
the sudden urge to say something, to make my commitment clear.

“Liberty on Earth,” I said. The words didn’t fit my lips quite as comfortably as they once had. Still, a bemused smile crossed the botanist’s mouth.

“Liberty on Zehava,” she concluded.

•  •  •

In the dim afternoon the library seemed to gleam like a bright tower. I shouldered the iron doors open, revealing a dark space mottled by filtered light. Van stood behind the counter, chatting with a guard member. As I drew near, I saw the severe line of her profile, the sharp, hawkish features.

Aleksandra Wolff.

I hung back, hesitating as she and Van completed their conversation in low tones. Each glowered at the other. Meanwhile my heart seemed to have leaped up into my throat. I eyed the knife that she wore even now, tethered to her slim hips with a knot of leather.

Finally she spun on her boot heels and stalked off.

“Is everything all right?” I asked Van when I reached the desk’s edge. I kept my voice at a whisper. I don’t think I could have spoken any louder than that if I’d tried.

“Yes,” he said peevishly. “Why?”

“Because Aleksandra is the
captain’s daughter
!” I said, turning to watch as the guard slipped past the library’s heavy doors.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “She’s one of us.”

He might as well have slapped me across the face. I stood there with my mouth open, not quite believing it. Captain Wolff’s own daughter, a Child of Abel.

“But she was there the night Mar Jacobi was—”

Van’s hand cut through the air, intercepting my words.

“A double agent learns to keep their mouth shut even at the worst times,” he said. “And you know, there’s a reason why we don’t publicize our rosters.” His words were meant as a warning. I pressed my lips closed.

“Yes, yes,” I said. “Of course. I won’t tell anyone.”

Van stared at me. “What do you want, Terra?”

I reached down into my pocket, feeling the cylinder of glass deep inside. Then I pulled it out and slammed it down on the counter in front of me.

“What is that?”  Van asked. A smirk curled my lips.

“Digitalis purpurea,”
I said. “Common foxglove.”

Van stared at the bottle, green eyes gone wide. “You did it?”

I nudged it toward him. “I did.”

Reaching out a hand, Van set his fingers against the glass. But then, to my surprise, he merely pushed it toward me.

“You hold on to it,” he said. My fingers hesitated.

“What? Why?”

As if afraid he’d find someone there, Van looked over his shoulder. “Our leaders were hoping that you would be the one to carry out the task.”

“Me?” I whispered.

“You have nothing to lose, Terra. No family. No intended, not yet. And there have been rumors that our target is . . . fond of you.”

I stared at Van. My hand was still poised against the amber glass. It felt ice cold beneath my fingertips. “Fond?” I said. My mind raced. I ran through the options: The rebels wouldn’t have me kill Koen, nor Mara. And certainly not Rachel. Who else ever gave a single glance in my direction?

“Silvan Rafferty,” I said, my gaze dropping down. I thought of the way that he’d smiled at me when he’d found me in the dome, and the way that he’d grinned when he’d asked if I had my mind on anyone. And then I thought of the kiss, long past—a secret shared only between the two of us, never whispered to another soul.

I thought of my dreams.

“I don’t understand. He’s not even captain yet. What good would it do—”

“We need to get him out of the way,” Van said, licking his lips. He looked hungry for it. “Without Silvan to take up her mantle, Wolff will be vulnerable against our plan.”

“And what’s your plan?”

He didn’t answer at first. His hands were flat on the wooden desk, still—like he was waiting for something. “To incite the people to riot. Once we’ve pushed them toward it, they’ll be easy to sway. In the chaos, we strike down Wolff. Then we install our leaders in her place.”

I didn’t want to look at Van’s face. But out of the corner of my eye, I could see how his mouth was set in a grim line.

“I would think that you’d be eager for an opportunity to help us, Terra. After all, he’s Mazdin Rafferty’s son. And we all know what the doctor did to your mother.”

“You know about that?”

“Of course. Your mother was one of us. The loss of her was a grave setback for the Children of Abel.”

My throat felt dry, tight. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help at all. “And how am I supposed to get to Silvan, anyway? We’re not even friends.”

“Mmm,” Van replied. “Aleksandra has heard him speak of you several times in complimentary tones. And since that merchant girl was turned down by him, the others have stayed away. He has no suitors. It would be easy for you to insinuate yourself into his life. You’ll ask for his hand. He’s sure to say yes.”

“You want me to marry Silvan. Then poison him?” It felt ridiculous to say it. But Van’s expression remained cool.

“Whether you marry him or not, we need you to get close enough to do it before we settle on Zehava. We need our people in place before the Council forces us to stay here”—his eyes searched the dusty rafters, reaching for the dome ceiling beyond—“in this prison.”

I didn’t know what to say. My fingers still rested on the cool glass. I
couldn’t
do it—couldn’t do what they were asking of me.

Couldn’t kill Silvan.

“Terra,” Van said, his voice dropping low. At last he reached out, touching his fingertips to mine. “Your mother wanted you to live a better life. She wanted you to be free on Zehava. You can help us ensure that she didn’t die in vain.”

I thought of Momma. I thought of her death, how long it had taken her to gasp out her last breath.

Then I snatched the glass bottle back, dropping it down into my pocket. I gave three rapid nods.

“Fine,” I said, spitting the word. “Fine. But I’m not doing this for you. I want you to know that.”

And I wasn’t. Once, I had thought I’d be able to become one of the rebels, to fit among them easily, blending in at their library meetings, joining them in their treasonous words. Now I knew better. There was only one person who owned my loyalty.

“I’m doing this for my mother,” I said. Van’s eyes glinted.

“We don’t care who you’re doing it for, girl.” His fisted hands were as still as stone against the counter. “Just as long as you do it.”

•  •  •

Hours later I paced across the tiny room I shared with Artemis. She was stooped over her schoolbooks at the center of her threadbare rug. Every time I passed, I had to step over her. From the girl’s bed Pepper watched me, befuddled. But I hardly paid him any mind. My thoughts were on the bottle of powder that I’d tucked into the bottom of my basket of things.

As I reached her desk once again, I paused. Most of Artemis’s room was stark, clean except for her little metal desk—that’s why she had to work on the floor. Amid the clutter of papers and pens there, I spotted a mirror, no bigger than my palm. I picked it up, ignoring her protests.

“Hey! My granma gave me that!”

I angled it to my face. Pale eyes gazed at me, but the circle of glass was too small, really, to let me see the rest of myself. I dropped my hand to my side and gazed at Artemis.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” I asked. Artemis lifted her shoulders and then let them fall again.

“Sure.”

“No,” I growled. “I mean
really
pretty. Like, do you think that a
really
good-looking guy would marry me?”

She began to smile. But it wasn’t a confident smile—the edges were all wobbly as she forced them up. “Sure?” she said again, and this time she sounded less certain.

I dropped her mirror down onto her desk. The circle of glass tipped and spun. Artemis watched closely, waiting for the spinning to stop. She was afraid the mirror would break. Without another word I ducked out of her room.

•  •  •

“Make me pretty.”

I stood in the center of Rachel’s shop as the night’s blue light spilled across the old carpet. It was quiet there. All the customers and the other shop workers had long since gone home. But Rachel, of course, was working late.

She’d let me in with only a small frown at my unexpected visit. It had been ages since we’d seen each other. But she was the same old Rachel.

“Pretty?” Her sweet voice was soft. “I’ve told you before. You
are
pretty.”

“No,” I said. “I might be passable. But I’m not like you. We both know that.” Something behind her eyes flickered. She agreed with me, even if she didn’t want to say it.

“Is this about Koen?” she asked, a gentle smile lifting her lips. But I scowled at her, and her smile fell.

“No. Didn’t you hear? I told Koen I don’t want to marry him. It’s not about Koen.”

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. It was an unfamiliar expression; Rachel was usually so sure. Her uncertainty made her look odd. Older. “Someone else, then?”

“Yes, someone else.” Even I could hear the rough edge to my voice. I forced my lips to soften. I tucked my hair behind my ear and let out a small, unhappy laugh.

“I need to find someone else. Someone who will really care for me. I don’t think that will happen unless I start, you know, dressing nice and stuff. But I’m terrible at that. You know I am. I have gelt, if it’s that. I can pay you. Please?”

“Oh, no.” Rachel reached out and took my wind-cold hands in hers. Her pinkie fished for mine. I hadn’t expected the small, familiar gesture. It had been so long. Guilt peaked within me. “I can’t take your money. Of course I’ll help you. We’re
friends
. I’m glad you came to me. Only . . .”

She hesitated, looking at me sidelong. I couldn’t help but frown as she examined me. “What?”

She reached out with both hands, pulling a handful of my long, sallow hair from either side of my shoulders. The frizzy waves nearly reached my waist. She played with them, tugging the soft locks straight. Her expression was thoughtful. “I think we should start with
a haircut. When’s the last time you cut your hair, anyway?”

I tightened my lips as I thought back to it. I’d been almost twelve. Momma had trimmed my then shoulder-length locks in our galley, as she always had. The split ends of my hair now were the same strands that her hands had touched.