by Jess Corban
She pushes me to arm’s length, scolding, “Wap kon Jorge! Bringing company without warning? And you bein’ so scrawny, petit! They feed you nothin’ in the city?”
I grin so wide my dry lips crack. “It’s just that no one can make arroz con pollo like you, Marsa. How can you expect me to enjoy that excuse for food they serve at Finca del Mar?”
She clucks at me for fibbing, but as she turns toward her breadboard—piled with smooth rounds of sourdough sprinkled with goat cheese and allspice—I can tell she’s standing a smidge taller.
“We can only stay an hour or two,” I say, getting down to business. “But we’re going to need supplies. Food that can keep awhile. Enough for three.” I don’t need to look at Bri to know she’s already wondering if I’m really hungry or if I’m going to explain myself. I don’t feel a particular need to keep her informed. In fact, I’m rather enjoying holding all the cards. Perhaps we should just make that arrangement permanent.
“If you say so, petit.” Before I can turn toward the house, Marsa adds, “Dom Leda’s in the city, but maybe she’ll be home before you run off again.”
I know I should, but I can’t tell her. I can’t say the words. Not yet. So I try to smile at the thought of Mother returning, as if I have any hope that she will.
I show Bri to Ciela’s room so she can freshen up and rest for a few minutes. My middle sister spends most of her time in Phoenix City, only coming “home” on the weekends she can get away from her work at the Center. The rest of the time she holes up in an apartment I’ve never seen.
“I’ll come get you when it’s time to eat,” I promise, then make a beeline for Jonalyn’s room three doors down the hall.
I find my eldest sister in a rocking chair near a large, open window across from her bed, cradling a tiny bundle of cloth and pink skin. A scruff of fine, baby-soft hair the color of toasted wheat peeks from the light blanket, his impossibly small lips curled in a pout. Jonalyn shifts my direction when I walk in, a smile spreading across her lovely face.
“I thought I heard your voice,” she half whispers, delight warring with her desire to let the baby sleep.
I bypass an unruly lock of her dark hair, which has fallen from the pile pinned on top of her head, to kiss her cheek. Remnant bruising from the attack has all but disappeared, leaving only a slight yellow tinge along the edge of a cheekbone. Despite the unusual paleness of the rest of her, she looks worlds better than during my visit three weeks ago. Marsa’s cooking, and a healthy baby, seem to have done wonders.
“How are you?” I ask, taking a seat on a cushion near her feet.
“Getting stronger every day. I should be able to return to La Fortuna soon.”
“But not the little one.” I give her a meaningful look. The last time I was here, sitting on the end of Jonalyn’s bed, she was honest about what Mother had told her. About the Brutes, about Mother’s involvement. I know Mother shared the rest with her since then, so there’s no point sidestepping the truth now.
“No, not the little one.” She looks down at the baby with a mixture of awe and sadness.
“Jonalyn—” My voice nearly cracks, and I try with everything in me to be stronger. For my sister. “Mother asked me to take him to the Jungle.”
Relief and confusion meld in her response. “I’m so glad you know, Rei. When I heard you outside, I wasn’t sure I could keep it from you. But why you? Mother said she’d be back in a couple of days.”
Tears pool against my lower lids, on the miserable edge between containment and release. Hold it together, Reina.
“Teera discovered us at the Center, and her Alexia . . .” I try again. “Mother—” It’s no use. I lose the battle against composure. Jonalyn blanches.
“What about Mother? What happened?”
I try to tell her, the facts coming out in fits and starts. Somehow I communicate that I don’t think she made it, and then we sit, in silence, for the time it takes to travel through an expanse of darkness, searching for light.
Gentle kitchen hands deposit plates of creamy yogurt, citrus salad, and herbed pastries on Bella’s oversized dining table for the breakfast meal. Bri, Jonalyn, Marsa, and I barely make a dent in the benches’ capacity, designed to fit our family and staff, plus a fluctuating number of young Gentles who live at the finca until their seventh birthdays.
“Is the baby asleep?” I ask my sister.
She nods. “I just fed him.”
“And when is it our turn to eat?” Bri whispers sideways at me.
As if on cue, Dom Bakshi strides through the doorway with seven Gentles trailing like a line of ducklings. My old tutor breezes into the room in a colorful sari, back straight, not a hair misplaced from the peppered bouffant topping her head. But when she sees me, she jumps, covering her mouth in surprise. “Oh, Reina!”
We embrace in the kitchen like old friends, such a change from the tutor-student relationship that used to mark our interactions.
A pint-sized Gentle with a mischievous grin breaks ranks and wraps himself around my leg.
“Dom Reina, Dom Reina!” he cheers.
Dom Bakshi pushes him toward his place at the table, but before she succeeds I kneel down beside him.
“Little Boo?” I say, tilting his chin this way and that, inspecting him like a parcel. “Is that you?”
He grins wide, revealing a new gap. “It’s me!”
“Are you sure? I don’t remember you being this tall. And I could have sworn Little Boo had all his teeth.”
This garners a giggle from all seven Gentles, who scamper up the benches, where Dom Bakshi has arranged their places in order of height.
When they’ve regained decorum, she takes her own seat across from them, but not before noticing my Alexia uniform. “Leda told me about the Succession before she left. The old vulture’s a fool not to choose you.”
I can’t help but laugh at her fiery pronouncement, so unlike the proper Ad Artium I know.
Bri chimes in, “You have no idea.”
“Domina Bakshi, Brishalynn Pierce.” The two exchange greetings. “She was a Candidate with me.”
“I see. Well, if the present company will excuse me, I thought you would have made an excellent choice of Apprentice, Reina. I can’t, however, say I’m much surprised by your choice of destiny.” Her smile calls to mind many a conversation in the Bella Terra schoolroom—me voicing doubt and indecision, she gently setting me straight. A teacher who understood the influence and responsibility she held. “I have every confidence you will serve Nedé well.”
Marsa says the blessing in Mother’s absence, and the mouthwatering dishes begin their circuit around the table.
“Eat up,” I whisper to Bri. “We’re going to need it.”
Dom Bakshi addresses Jonalyn hopefully. “We should expect your mother home soon, I’d think.”
A loud clank rattles the lunch party. Jonalyn moves quickly to gather her fork and the mango and citrus chunks scattered across the table and in her lap. She gives me a pleading look.
I glance at Little Boo. I have to be strong. Straightforward. Assured. I can’t let them know I’m crumbling inside.
“Mother isn’t coming home.” Ten sets of eyes snap toward me, and I can’t handle the panic behind them. “For a while,” I quickly add, hedging for the Gentles’ sakes. Come on, Reina. Don’t give them hope that will never walk through that door. But I can’t help it. I can’t bring myself to strip them of their beloved Dom Leda, the one person in Nedé who values them as they should be valued.
No, not the only person. Not anymore.
I lean forward so I can look the little ones in the eyes. “I’m not sure when she’ll be back, but she wants you to know that everything will be okay.” At least, I’m sure that’s what she would want, if she could tell them. “Dom Bakshi and Marsa will take good care of you. I have to go on a trip, but I’ll be back soon to check on you too. And . . .” I turn to the adults at the table. “If she hasn’t returned by then, we’ll figure
out what to do.”
Dom Bakshi inhales deeply and sets down her fork. Marsa looks toward Jonalyn, who stares at her plate. I can tell Leda’s faithful chef—second mother to the children of Bella—senses something is very wrong, but she rallies like the strong woman I know her to be. When one of the older Gentles asks why Dom Leda must stay away so long, she says, “That’s nothin’ to you. Dom Leda’ll come when she’s ready, you hear?”
And that’s the end of it. But when the dishes are cleared and the Gentles have been sent to morning chores, Marsa, Dom Bakshi, Jonalyn, Bri, and I sit around the table once more.
“Now, what happened, petit?” Marsa crosses her arms and leans back, expecting a full explanation.
I give her most of one, telling about the Matriarch’s attack, Dr. Novak, prison, but purposefully omitting the minor detail that my own mother has been rescuing Brute babies and shuttling them to the Jungle.
Tears stream down Marsa’s round cheeks before I’m through. Dom Bakshi stares stoically into her coffee. Bri drums her fingers against the table. This is news to her, too.
I ramble to a conclusion. “As far as I can tell, Teera doesn’t know Mother—” I can’t say the word. “I want to keep it that way. Alexia may show up here this afternoon. Tell them you haven’t heard from Leda. If anyone else asks, she’s still at the Center.” That may be true, anyway. I don’t know what Dr. Novak would do with her body. “I promised I would do something for her, and when I come back, we can figure out what to do here at Bella.”
The two older women nod in resigned agreement. I give Bri a questioning glance.
“If that look means you want to know if I’ve changed my mind, I haven’t,” she says.
“Alright. Bri’s going with me.”
“I’m going too.” Jonalyn’s voice is quiet but strong.
“Jo? No. You’re not . . . You don’t have to—”
She cuts me off, suddenly forceful. “I’m going.”
“What about the baby?” Dom Bakshi presses.
“I’ll take him along. It’s about time I return to my finca; I’ll go with Reina on my way home.”
She makes it sound as simple as planning to stop by the farrier on the way to market. Granted, her accompaniment will eliminate the question of why I’d leave Bella with Jonalyn’s child, but still, I wonder if she’s thought this through.
Dom Bakshi concedes, not having any reason, or authority, to counter her wishes. And there’s nothing I can say in present company to make a case against her plan either.
I sigh. “Make that food for five, Marsa.”
“Five, petit?”
“Five.” There are only three mouths to feed, but I have no idea how long it will take me to find Tree Camp, and I don’t want to run out of supplies in the likely event I lead us in circles. Besides, at the rate people are joining this merry parade into the forbidden wilds, I might as well pack safe.
With the basics settled, Jonalyn, Bri, and I take our leave. My old bed is calling my name, but there’s no time for sleep. Adoni will likely discover my empty cell soon, if she hasn’t already. When Teera gets wind of my escape, she’d be a fool not to search Bella Terra.
I find Neechi in the stable breezeway, rifling through a pile of saddle blankets.
“Hi, Neechi.”
“Dom Reina.”
“I need you to prepare a horse for one more rider, as soon as possible.”
He gives a polite nod of assent, all Finca manners.
The dark Lexander Bri stole from the Arena occupies Estrella’s vacant stall. With a pang of guilt, I wonder where my mother’s horse is now. A freshly oiled bridle and reins hang on a hook next to her door. I expect Neechi went through four sets to find the perfect fit for the shiny, smoky-black mare.
“Where’s Callisto?”
“Grazing. I’ll turn this one out as soon as I figure the right saddle.”
I notice another set of tack, freshly dressed and hanging outside the next empty stall.
“Callisto doesn’t need tack. You know that.”
“Yes, I know.”
I stare at him, waiting for more explanation, but he seems suddenly very enamored with a thick woven blanket.
“And . . . ?” I prod.
He doesn’t look at me, and his words sound as much like an apology as a statement when he says, “They’re for me.”
I roll my eyes and laugh out loud. “Who’s next—Diablo?” At this rate, I wouldn’t be half surprised if Ciela’s rooster did strut in here and demand to join us too. “Neechi, you don’t even know where I’m going.”
Wait . . . It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a Gentle knew more about my life than I did.
“Do you?” I ask suspiciously.
He shakes his head. “I just know it’d be important, if you’re leaving the Alexia, leaving your home. And I’ve been thinking a lot since your friend died.” He glances at me sideways, tentatively, probably trying to read my expression at his mention of Tre. “He wanted his life to count for something. I never knew a Gentle could care that much. We never had hope enough to care. But . . . if he could make his life matter, maybe I can too. That’s why I want to go—wherever you’re going.”
Unbelievable. He has no idea what he’s asking. Yet I probably have no idea the courage he mustered to ask it. Or how deep he had to dig to find such conviction. Who am I to deny him the chance to make his life count? How could I dishonor Tre’s memory like that?
My first day at Finca del Mar, I asked Neechi what his name meant. Friend, he had said. I didn’t know how much I’d need one. Maybe I still don’t. With Tre gone, Mother gone, the Brutes to find, and a snarky Bri tagging along to boot, perhaps I need his friendship more than I realize. Or maybe this is for him. At my request, he walked away from everything he knew to come to a finca now devoid of its benevolent caretaker. I have no idea what waits for me in the Jungle, but leaving him here won’t guarantee his safety either. Finding Finca del Mar’s stablehand here would raise questions, at best. At worst, who knows what Teera would do to him to find me.
“Alright, you can come. If you’re sure you’re willing to go anywhere—even if it’s dangerous.”
“Anywhere, Dom Reina.”
“Then pack a bag for the Jungle, friend.”
Part Two
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHILE NEECHI PREPARES THE HORSES and Marsa oversees our provisions, I head to my room to change. As I slip out of my vest, something rattles to the wood-planked floor.
Mother’s tree pendant.
I quickly snatch it up, mortified at forgetting about it. My negligence feels like betrayal—as though I’ve somehow forgotten about her.
My thumb rubs absently around the edge. For the first time, I notice the intricacy of the carving, the deep red-brown of the wood, the miniature branches reaching outward like a sunburst.
Mother said to take this to Torvus, with the baby. Why would she want him to have the charm? Is it connected to him? Some sort of message?
I consider the design again. The wood grain and color give away the material: mahogany wood.
From a mahogany tree.
Seemingly random bits of information fuse in a rare moment of clarity. Suddenly I know what song Mother meant would lead me to the Brutes. The only song I’ve ever heard that mentions a mahogany tree. The song I’ve strangely only ever heard my mother sing.
I hum the tune double time, silently running through the verses, scanning them for clues:
You take one, and I’ll take three,
And I’ll meet you there, at the mahogany tree,
Where the fire don’t burn, and the dark water’s deep,
We’ll save them there, at the mahogany tree.
You follow the mare, and I’ll follow a stream,
And we’ll leave them there, at the mahogany tree . . .
I can’t connect every reference, but the words have to be hints. The tree is obvious enough, the rest muddy. Am I supposed to ride a horse? That would ce
rtainly make things easier. And I guess I’ll need to find a stream. There was a river near enough the camp—Jase and Rohan forced me to raft down it, through a dark, terrifying cave. The memory coaxes a smile: Jase’s goofy laugh when Rohan pushed me from the bank on what I suspected might be a floating coffin . . . watching the two Brutes jump from the cliffs into the swift green water . . . feeling Rohan’s body pressed against my back, protecting me from a flurry of bats.
Focus, Reina.
The song. What’s the rest of the song?
If there comes a day when you can’t find me,
Lay my flowers there, by the mahogany tree,
I’ll be buried there, by the mahogany tree.
I lost my love, at the mahogany tree.
At the thought of not being able to find my mother, I lose my will to decipher the remaining lines and go back to the first half of the song. Why did she say we? Poetic license, or are there others taking babies? Or maybe she intended to enlist others someday. She sang the song often around my sisters and me. Did she hope to eventually tell us the truth? Did she somehow know we’d join her quest?
I press my thumb and forefinger against my temples. If I return to where I followed the raiders into the Jungle, I might be able to find some sort of trail. But I don’t know what route Rohan and Jase took from the clearing where Dáin attacked me. They drugged me, and I woke up in a tree hut. Not promising. The only other option is to go to where Jase brought me out of the Jungle, near the intersection of Highway Volcán and Camino del Oeste. It would make sense for Jase to take the most direct route to Nedé when escorting me home, wouldn’t it?
Well, it’s a start. And with three—make that three and a half—people counting on me, at least we’ll have direction for today.
I shake the dust from my filthy Alexia uniform out the window and fold it into an old rucksack, just in case. Looking official has come in handy before. But for today’s journey, I slip into an old set of riding pants and a loose shirt, less conspicuous for the open road, though I opt to stick with my custom boots from Dom Tourmaline. They’re supremely comfortable.