Starglass (32 page)

I didn’t answer, but she went on anyway.

“He didn’t want you because you’re just as screwed up as your crazy dad.”

The words sliced into me like a ceremonial knife. I let out a cry, but Rachel didn’t care. As I lifted my hand to my mouth, she threw an arm over Koen’s shoulders and dragged him down the dark, curving streets.

Silvan came to me. He drew me to his chest.

“Just ignore her,” he said. “She’s a bitch.”

That’s when I knew I was a bad person. Because I didn’t defend Rachel, not when Silvan called her that horrible name, not after everything she’d done for me—after nearly a lifetime of friendship. Instead I only cried into his sweater and let him lead me off toward the dome.

•  •  •

In my dreams kisses were simple, uncomplicated. There were no expectations. No promises. No specter of rebellion hanging over my head. There was only affection. Warmth. Desire. Against my body, that three-fingered hand looked as bright as a jewel and nearly as translucent. My own fingers were ghastly pale and unfathomably solid against his.

The boy who visited me in dreams could do things that no other boy could. He’d call to the trees, ask them to throw down their purple leaves for us. The thorny brambles would flee at the sound of his voice.
Silvan couldn’t even stand to hear me talk about my work with Mara. But this boy didn’t only talk
about
the forest that surrounded us—he seemed to talk
to
the forest too.

I tried to find that same sense of wonder when I lay down beside Silvan. I let my body melt into his; I let my lips part and his tongue trespass on mine. When his hands would ease over my hips, tugging my clothes away, I let myself believe that these were the same graceful movements that I found every night in sleep.

There were differences, of course—differences as innumerable as the stars. Silvan’s face was lined with stubble. His irises were dark, but ringed with white. And though he often smelled like flowers, they were the wrong flowers. Jasmine and lilies, and their scent bottled and preserved. In my dreams the smell of pollen was everywhere, and those exotic flowers grew wild, unchecked. But Silvan’s body, hot beside mine, was the closest I’d ever come to that long-promised oblivion. And so when we tumbled together, I ignored everything about him that wasn’t flawless and perfect and true.

Because Silvan was real, not a fantasy. His lips. His fingers. The way my mouth would be raw from stubble after hours spent kissing. His body was the only thing tethering me to the floating ground of the
Asherah
.

On that night, I pushed my guilt away as I clutched Silvan’s hand in my hand and let him drag me toward the forest.

We reached a grove that was all prickly briar bushes and brittle vines. Silvan spread his white coat out on the frozen ground. He eased me down against it, scattering kisses over my face and neck, peeling my clothes off one layer at a time. My own hands bumbled forward, twisting his sweater over his head. His underclothes were made of silk. They were white, of course. Through the shimmering fabric I could see the dark curve of his shoulders and the heat rising off him, fogging the air.

My fingers traced the shape of his hip bones through the white cloth. I tugged at the waistband of his pants, drawing him close.

That’s when he pried his body away.

“No,” he said, even though I could hear how his voice was still gruff with lust. I propped myself up on my elbows, felt the chilly air set in against my bare skin. Silvan was squeezing his eyes down to narrow slits. They looked hazy, unreadable. I reached out and hooked my finger into one of his belt loops, giving him one last halfhearted tug.

“Yes,” I said, trying to force any uncertainty from my voice. I needed him tonight—needed him to wash away any memory of Rachel, of Koen, of dinner, of the poison tucked into the breast pocket of my jacket. But Silvan only swayed a little.

“I can’t,” he said. “It isn’t safe.”

“Safe?”

I clutched his coat around my shoulders. Silvan squatted on the ground in front of me.

“There’s something you should know. I . . . The sons of Council members . . . We never had our bar mitzvah. If we go too far, you could get pregnant.”

Pregnant. I clutched the coat tighter around my chest like it could shield me from the danger. I knew about the natural order of things. How the sheep birthed their babies live in the pastures. How someone’s cat was always going into heat in the district, drawing all the toms out of their quarters. But I’d never thought it was something that could happen to me. We were humans—above such things. Weren’t we?

“No,” I said. I was speaking fast, panic mounting in my voice. “It’s not true. You told me that the bloodlines don’t matter. We make our babies in a lab. . . .”

“Most citizens make their babies in a lab. Even my parents. But we—we’ll be
different
.”

“You were sent away that year just like all the other boys. I remember. You weren’t in school.”

Silvan sighed. He fell against the hard ground. “Right. No one could know. So me, and Doron Smithson, and Edan Finkus all just went and hung out for a week. We went fishing. Or played cards in Edan’s quarters. That kind of thing. We did our best to keep out of sight.”

“Why?” I demanded, but I knew the answer even before the words were out of my mouth. “Why wouldn’t the sons of the
Council members be sterilized? We need to control the population on the ship. If girls start having babies—”

Silvan shrugged. “On the ship, sure. But we’ll be leaving the ship soon. Population control is fine for commoners. But we’re going to be the leaders of our society. Our children will inherit Zehava, wear the gold cord, grow up to be Council members. It’s up to our generation to ensure that there will be enough strong, high-ranking babies to survive.”

I could hardly hear Silvan’s words. My mind had gotten stuck on one of them:
commoners
. Momma had been a baker. Abba’s father, a metalsmith. I didn’t know what fluke had brought Abba up to the rank of specialist, but I knew my people. And we were common to the bone.

“Silvan,
I’m
a commoner!”

“No,” Silvan said. He gave his head a fierce shake. “You’re a specialist. And soon you’ll be a Council member. You’ll get your cord on the day we’re married. And then we’ll land and we can get to work making new citizens.”

Was this what our midnight trysts were all about? I remembered what Mara had said about the dangers of giving birth. I had a terrifying vision of my body broken by childbirth.

“Silvan,” I began. He put a finger to his lips.

“Shh.” He leaned forward, cupping his hand against my face. “I
know this is a lot for you, Terra. But I know you’ll make a wonderful wife, too. With you by my side we can ensure that the Council rules Zehava for years and years and years. Abba says it’s the best way.”

Waves of nausea rolled over me. But Silvan didn’t notice. He only drew close, the heat of his body trespassing on mine. He smiled wickedly.

“Now,” he said. His tone was playful, coy. Didn’t he see how I couldn’t bring myself to look at him? Couldn’t he tell that I didn’t want him anymore? “We may not be able to rut in the grass like the other
talmids
, but there are things we
can
do.”

In his white underclothes his body seemed to glow. He knew what he was doing as he laid me down against the cold ground, as he kissed a line down my throat.

I let him do it. I let his mouth meet my belly, my hips. But all the while, as I felt the warmth of his mouth against my skin, my mind was frantic with unhappy thoughts. Though the poison waited for me in my pocket, I’d sometimes been tempted to just go ahead and
marry
him, to steal a little slice of happiness for myself. I’d wanted to see my dreams come to fruition, rebellion be damned. But now that I knew what waited for me, I could see no other path out. I cast my head against the ground and felt my heart turn to stone in my chest.

I
woke in the crook of Silvan’s brawny arm, wrapped in his woolen coat, my body sticky with sweat and dew and aching at the points where it had touched against the cold ground. The light in this early hour was blue and gold overhead, the sky shadowed with crows. The clock tower bells rang out. Seven in the morning. I winced at the sound—the tolling bells a reminder of the boy who pulled their ropes. I’d spilled his secret, betrayed him.

I peeled myself from Silvan’s hold. Then I went to fetch my outer
layers. The fabric of my sweater felt cold against my rubbed-raw skin. All of me felt raw. Even my eyeballs hurt as I blinked away sleep.

“Going somewhere?”

I turned. Silvan was sitting up on his elbows, gazing at me. A sultry smile played on his lips.

“
Some
of us have work to do,” I said. I couldn’t really help it—I sounded jealous, and was. I knew that he slept in most days, tucked inside his down comforter. But Silvan didn’t mind. He only shrugged, still smiling.

“Tell the botanist I said hello,” was his only reply.

I stumbled away from him through the brambles. The day was crisp and bright, and the air held a sharpness that you find only in winter. On the lift up to the main level of the ship, a bunch of school children shoved one another and cracked jokes, but went silent at the sight of me. I couldn’t really blame them. I’m sure my eyes were shadowed, and my hair a nest of snarls.

I still had two hours before work. Not long enough to sneak in real sleep, but just enough time to slip into Mara’s little shower stall and let the hot water wash the night away. As I made my way through the districts toward her quarters, I couldn’t help but walk a little more briskly at the thought of it and the thought of wrapping myself in the warm, clean clothes that would shield me from the
morning. But then I saw a figure on Mara’s doorstep, tucked against the entryway, asleep in a heavy coat and scarf.

“Ronen?” I stood at the bottom of the stairwell, staring up at him.

“Terra.” My brother blinked the sleep from his eyes. Beneath the line of his wool cap, a frown creased his brow. “What time is it?”

“After seven. What are you doing here?”

Ronen gripped the jamb with his gloved hand, pulling himself onto unsteady feet. He answered my question with a question. “Where
were
you all night? Oy. Our father was right. Running around without any supervision. I should have known that Mara Stone is unfit as a guardian—”

“I was with Silvan,” I cut in, my voice stern. I didn’t want to hear what my father was right about or what Ronen thought of Mara. “Silvan Rafferty. We’re intended, if you didn’t know.”

My brother stuffed his hand down into his pocket, as if that would hide his surprise. “Silvan Rafferty. The captain’s
talmid
? I heard rumors, but I didn’t really think—You’re marrying the next captain?”

I shrugged. Meanwhile my brother let out whooping howls of laughter, laughter that soon turned into a raspy cough in the cold air.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“It’s just funny—you, the captain’s wife!” When I didn’t crack a smile or laugh back, Ronen gave a wince, concluding, at last, “Mazel tov.”

“What are you here for, Ronen?”

He staggered down the stairs, coming to stand before me. There was a time when he’d seemed insanely tall, like a skinnier clone of my father. An adult. Now he couldn’t have been more than half a head taller than I was.

“They’re sending Hannah away,” he said. “She’s to join the shuttle crew for Zehava tonight.”

“No,” I replied. “Her father’s a Council member. He wouldn’t make her join the crew. . . .”

My words died out. Of course Hannah’s father would give her up. There was no end to the Council’s villainy. Ronen frowned. “What are you talking about? She’s a cartographer. They need her. What does her father have to do with this?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Never mind. Go on.”

Ronan’s tone was sharp—reproachful. “I was going to ask you to come home with me. I need someone to help me care for Alyana.”

“I can’t, Ronen. I have my own job.”

My brother’s hand darted out. He gripped my forearm, squeezing it through my coat. There was something almost menacing in his gesture. It reminded me of my father. But his tone was sad, pleading. “Please. Just until we land. Until Hannah returns.”

Then his voice shifted, changed. Broke. For the first time in a long time, he seemed
present
. Not only that—for once he looked nothing
like my father. His lips, furred with a hint of a mustache, were trembling. They were asking me for something. They were asking me for
help
.

“Okay, Ronen,” I said. The words came out coarse, choked with tears. I think we both knew that this was a death sentence. His wife might never return. But I told myself I wouldn’t cry. When had Ronen ever cried for me? “I’ll get my stuff.”

•  •  •

At first I moved quietly, mindful of the girl who slept in the narrow bed as I gathered my things. Into my basket I piled Pepper’s catnip mice, my work uniforms, and my pencils. I fished my sketchbook out from under Artemis’s bed. But just as I was about to turn to leave, hefting the basket in both hands, I realized something was missing.

Momma’s journal. I dropped to the floor, my legs sprawled out as I rifled through my belongings. In my head I kept a silent tally: catnip mice, dirty lab coats, a dozen pencils with the erasers chewed down, sketchbook. But I’d been right the first time. The journal was gone.

I spun around as quick as a cat, gripping Artemis by both shoulders. She let out a cry at the way my fingers dug into her arms through her nightgown.

“Mommy!” she whined. Then she opened her eyes. “Terra?”

“Give it to me!” I hissed. Artemis drew away. I couldn’t blame her. Even I was surprised by the heat in my voice. “Give me back my mother’s book!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

I knew the book had to be around here somewhere—pressed under her mattress, tucked into her underwear drawer. I dropped her down against her pillow, went to her dresser, and threw the top drawer open.