Starglass (36 page)

I turned to him, but my own hair veiled his face. All I could see was a shadow of black—his eyes endless, pupil-less. When I reached up to cradle his face in my palms, it was blindly. I felt skin, the impression of a mouth.

You’re my
bashert,
aren’t you?
I asked him. In my dream my chest was tight with the promise of tears.
I never believed in them before, Silvan.

He laughed. Both our bodies shook with the force of it.
Who is Silvan?

Silvan. We’re to be married. And I’m supposed to—

But he cut me off before I could say it. It was as if he weren’t listening—like he was lost in his own troubled thoughts.

There are always two
, he said.
But after a loss? No, there’s never another.

I didn’t know what to say. I tucked my face in against his chest. His skin was ice cold. He hardly seemed to breathe.

Who are you?
he said again. His voice faded.
You weren’t supposed to be here. Who
are
you?

There was a sound like a million bones breaking—a crackling, a snap, a shudder. We looked up. The dome was dissolving into scattered darkness. When I looked down, turning to see him again, he was gone.

There was only the scuffed wall beside my bed.

Even after I startled myself awake, I heard a groan move through
the ceiling rafters. There was a great shudder, the sound of metal lurching. I reached out and touched the walls, sure that I had imagined it. But I could feel the cold steel moving beneath my palms.

The thrusters. I’d almost forgotten. Somewhere on the ship Captain Wolff must have turned them on, slowing the ship to a stop. I told myself that this was normal. I told myself to stay calm. But the noise went on, and I could feel the vibration down into my bones. In the distance Alyana woke and began to bawl. This wasn’t just
my
nightmare.

In the spare bedroom of my brother’s home, I turned over on the narrow mattress. My eyes adjusted to the dark, but my mind couldn’t accept the sensation of my body moving beneath the sheets. Or the sight of Momma’s wedding dress hanging, wrinkled, at the far end of the room.

In the morning we’d be frozen in Zehava’s orbit. In the morning I’d be wed.

•  •  •

It seemed to take ages for the noise to stop. In truth, only an hour passed, maybe two. But by the time silence came again, I’d become so accustomed to the terrible sound of the thrusters that its absence startled me. Down the hall there was a hiccup of quiet, then Alyana started wailing again. When I didn’t hear Ronen’s footsteps in the hallway, I sighed and flicked on the light.

I got up and plodded down the hallway to Alyana’s room. Pepper
darted after me, circling my ankles again and again in a panic. I guess he didn’t really understand stuff like “thrusters.” The baby didn’t either. When I reached the pitch black of her bedroom, she paused for only a second before she started screaming again.

I lifted her into my arms. Her wailing faded but didn’t die. I carried her down the stairs into the galley to fix her a bottle.

The three of us waited for the water to heat. Pepper sat on the table, flicking his tail. By then Alyana’s cries had steadied. Still, she windmilled her tiny fists against my body. I lowered my arms, looking at her for a long moment. Red-faced and bald, she looked more like my father than she did either of her parents.

“There, there,” I whispered. As I spoke, I bounced her gently. “There’s no need to be sad. Don’t you know what today is? Today’s the day we go home. To Zehava. Just wait until you see it. The snowcapped mountains. The frozen oceans. It’s all blue and white and beautiful, and someday, when you’re bigger, you’ll go outside and look up at the dark sky and see a million stars sparkling. And then you’ll realize that some of the stars are really snow, little pieces of the night that have broken off. And you’ll stick your tongue out and catch them in your mouth. And then your momma will call you inside, and she’ll wrap you in a blanket, and you’ll be warm and safe.”

I heard movement behind me. Ronen stood on the stairs dressed in his striped pajamas and my father’s ratty bathrobe. I wondered when he’d
gone to take it from our old quarters. In a way, I felt relieved to see it as he sloped across the galley floor, yawning, and went to turn off the stove. Deep down I was happy to see bits of Abba in my brother, in the way he carried himself as he prepared the bottle.

Maybe that’s what I hadn’t realized before, in the years after Momma died. How life moves on whether you want it to or not. How we carry the dead with us. How death is an ending only for the person who died.

Ronen came over and took Alyana from me, offering her the bottle. As she suckled, I rose from the table, hefting my cat under my arm.

“Hey, Terra.”

Ronen called for me as I made my way toward the stairs. When I turned, I saw a thin, tired smile playing across his mouth.

“That was crazy, wasn’t it? The thrusters.”

“Yeah,” I said. I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, knuckling one of Pepper’s silken ears.

“I can’t . . .,” Ronen began. His expression was pained as he nursed his daughter. “I can’t believe Dad missed it.”

I frowned. “Yeah,” I agreed, but then added: “His loss, though, isn’t it?”

To my surprise, Ronen didn’t argue with that. He only grinned. “Yeah,” he replied. “Seriously.”

I gave my brother a weary smile and trudged up the narrow steps.

•  •  •

There was no one to help me dress for my wedding.

Tradition was that a girl’s mother dressed her in gold silk. Her aunt and sister-in-law would lace flowers through her hair. But my father’s sister hadn’t spoken to any of us since years before he died. And Hannah was down on the surface of the planet, gathering data. Even my brother begged off helping. He’d see me later, he said as he fixed Alyana’s sling to his back. Later, he said, at the wedding. Right now he had work to do. But I knew that in the dome, celebrations raged. Zehava was dawning overhead. No one was working. Not today.

I went to the shower and slathered myself in the ceremonial honey and salt wash I’d purchased the night before. The water was lukewarm and briny, as always. Still, I did my best to scrub myself clean. The pungent scent made me wrinkle my nose, but I had to go through all the motions of tradition. After all, today was the day I made my choice—the day I married Silvan, whose father I’d killed. The day my heart withered and died. Because I had no other option.

I crossed the hallway of my brother’s home and reached my spare, undecorated bedroom. Momma’s wedding dress was the only bit of light within those steel walls, but it was a feeble one. After all, I’d mended the old gown myself, looping crooked stitches through the torn silk. I’d never been very good at sewing.

I pulled it over my head. It didn’t fit right, not really—not with
the way that my arms and back had grown muscly from work. The fabric bunched and pinched around my armpits. I could hardly lower my arms as I fumbled for the buttons. But what could I do? I hadn’t been able to afford a new dress, and I wasn’t going to go asking Silvan’s family for the gelt.

I was sucking in my stomach and trying to tighten the bodice cords, when a knock sounded at the door below.

Holding the bodice of my dress against my body, my wet hair dripping down my shoulders, I rushed to answer it. When I threw open the door, I found Rachel standing there.

Beneath her heavy winter coat she wore her own wedding gown. There were violets pinned in her black hair. In her arms she held another golden dress. She looked angry, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows.

“Rachel!” was all I could say at first, the syllables falling clumsily from my mouth. She just thrust the dress at me.

“Your brother bought this for you,” she said. “I don’t know
why
he wanted me to deliver it
today
, of all days. He must have known that it’s my wedding day too.”

Wordlessly I took the hanger from her hands. The dress was made from silk, like Momma’s dress, but
this
silk was flawless and new. Nicer, too. The fabric shimmered against my hands.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. But Rachel was already halfway down the
path. A sudden pang of desperation went through me.

“Rachel!” I called. “Wait! Please! I’m sorry!”

She stopped but didn’t turn. So I did the only thing I could. I said it again.

“Please, Rachel. I’m so sorry.”

I heard her loose a low, hollow sigh. “When asked for forgiveness, one should forgive with a sincere mind and a willing spirit,” she began, her voice nearly swallowed up by the wind. “Forgiveness is natural to the seed of Israel.”

“Israel?” I asked. I’d heard that word before, in Momma’s book. Even then I hadn’t been sure what it meant. A place, I guessed, maybe. But I had no idea why Rachel would go on about it.

She turned slowly. I could see that she was forcing the tight line of her lips to soften.

“It’s in this book that Koen gave me. I was telling him about the electric candles that Mom lights. And he found me this book in the library about it. It’s called the Torah.”

I frowned, trying to stop my mind from reaching for the natural conclusions: that if Koen had returned to the library, then he’d returned to Van, too.

“It’s an ancient history,” Rachel went on, mistaking my expression for curiosity about the book, “of these people on Earth who live in a desert and stuff. Anyway, it talks a lot about how you’re supposed to act.
And it says if someone asks for forgiveness three times, then you’re supposed to forgive them.”

There was a long silence. I looked at Rachel. Though her jaw was tight, she still looked beautiful: long limbed, but not gawky. Strong, but still graceful. My best friend looked like such an
adult
. I knew in my heart, suddenly, fiercely, that I didn’t want her to walk down that road without me.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, almost shouting the words. The tears flooded my eyes before I had a chance to even anticipate them. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you with Silvan and all of that. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But I did and I’m so, so sorry.”

Rachel cracked a smile. “That’s more than enough, Terra. Three times. The book only said
three
times.”

I sniffed tears. Rachel let out a laugh.

“Do you need help getting dressed?” she asked. And then, because I could trust her, always, to be honest with me, she added: “Because you’re kind of a mess.”

I gave a mute nod. Still smiling, Rachel followed me into the house.

•  •  •

Rachel helped me out of my old, ill-fitting dress and into the new one. It must have been made to my measurements. When the stays of the bodice were tightened, it fit my curves like a glove. It had long, narrow sleeves, a low boatneck. It wasn’t flashy like Rachel’s
dress—hers had flowers embroidered in the pleats and tiny beads sewn all along the top—but the plain, elegant style suited me. Even I had to admit that I didn’t look half bad in it.

“Ronen picked this?” I asked, turning in front of the mirror.

“Well, he had
some
help,” Rachel said, winking at me.

She sat me down on the bed, twisting my short hair into a braid. Her hands made quick work. In our silence Pepper padded in and settled on the hem of my dress.

“You’re going to be covered in cat hair,” Rachel said. I shrugged.

“I figure Silvan should get used to it.”

Rachel gave a laugh. “Can’t escape the cat hair,” she said. “It’s an indelible part of  Terra Fineberg.”

At first I laughed too. But her words swirled around in my mind.
Indelible part.
After another moment I gave her an uneasy look.

“About Koen . . .”

Rachel looked at me for a long time. “Honestly, I don’t think he could stay away from Van Hofstadter if he tried. But that doesn’t matter. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean he’s my destiny or anything. This wedding is about survival. I’m marrying him because otherwise I’ll have no choice in who I marry at all. Everyone else from our class is already married or intended. And I
won’t
let the Council choose for me.”

I darted my hand out, grasping her pinkie finger in mine. Her
hand stayed limp at first. Then she gave my hand a little squeeze and smiled up at me.

“We’re friends, at least. Koen and I,” Rachel said. “But it’s not like you and Silvan. It never will be. You’re so lucky.”

“Lucky?” I sighed, glancing in the mirror. My reflection was almost startling. With my hair back, I was almost another creature. Not the botanist who spent her days in a muggy greenhouse. And not the assassin who had poisoned a man in a fit of rage.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of, Rachel. To you. To Koen. To Van.” I turned to face her. “To Silvan’s father.”

She drew in a breath. “Mazdin Rafferty?”

It was his name that did it, sending a shock of anger through me even now. I thought of his dark hair, scattered with silver; his eyes, brown and lined and cruel. I thought of his sneering, laughing mouth. I thought of his delicate doctor’s hands—hands that had been used to kill my mother.

“I had to do it,” I said evenly. “You have no idea who he really is.”

“Do what?” she whispered. “Terra, what did you
do
?”

I didn’t answer, only stared at her with wide, wild eyes. I couldn’t tell her the truth. So I kept my lips tightly shut. At long last Rachel looked away. She touched her hand to Pepper’s back.

“I’m scared, Terra,” she said. Her voice was full of tears. “About what comes next.”

I went to the bed and sat down beside her. Holding my chin high, I made my voice sound firm. I couldn’t let her know that I was just as scared as she was.

“I promise you, no matter what happens to me,” I began, speaking slowly so that she would know that I meant every word, “that nothing bad will happen to you. I won’t let it.”

Rachel threw her arms around me and buried me in a hug.

I
n our gold wedding dresses we walked through the dome together. The fields were crowded with drunken teenagers who had all filched their families’ wine rations. But I don’t think anyone cared. Everybody was joyful, exuberant. The air was busy with wild energy.