“Mazel tov!” the woman said. “And what’s your name?”
“Terra Fineberg.”
Her trim nails clacked against the keys. “Let’s see . . .,” she began. But then her expression changed. “Your bloodlines have been run already. A match between you and a Mar Maxwell.” She hit a button, and a noisy printer at the end of the desk began spewing pages.
My throat tightened. That must have been my father’s doing. “The match was never made,” I said. “We broke our engagement.”
The woman stared down the desk at the scroll of pages unfurling from the printer. “That’s strange.”
“What is?”
“Our records indicate that someone came to collect the record. An Arran Fineberg.” She walked over and tore the pages off. Then she set them on the counter between us. “Usually if an engagement is broken before the contract is signed, we simply discard the results.”
I gawked down at the printout. “My father,” was all I could manage to say.
“Yes, well.” A furrow had deepened between the woman’s eyebrows. “He must have been quite excited about your match.”
I stared at her bleakly.
“Ah.” The woman forced a breezy tone. “I suppose it’s for the best, if a new love has found you. What’s the name of your intended?”
“Silvan Rafferty.”
His name changed the air in the archives. The silence felt sharp, electric. Or maybe it was just my blood pressure skyrocketing.
“You’re the girl . . .”
“Who is marrying the new captain,” I said carefully.
“Yes,” she said. Hastily she turned to her screen. “Well, Talmid Fineberg, if you come back in one week with your intended, we’ll have the research all done for you. Here’s a reminder card.”
She jotted the date down on a tiny rectangle of paper, then dropped it atop the printout. I scowled down at both.
“Oh,” she said. “I can shred the other report for you if you’d like. . . .”
“No!” I said. My hands darted out. They moved with a frightening hunger, grabbing the card and printout both. I clutched them to my chest. “No, thank you.” I felt myself blush as the woman regarded me.
“Of course,” was all she said.
I started to turn to leave. The woman’s voice reached out.
“Terra?”
When I looked over my shoulder at her, I saw that she’d lifted two fingers to her heart. “Liberty on Earth.”
I wondered how this woman knew. Maybe she was one of the rebellion’s leaders. Maybe she’d been the one who’d decided to push me down this horrible path. I heard myself answer her, but my voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.
“Liberty on Zehava,” I said.
• • •
I sat beside Artemis on her bed, running my hands over the printed text.
“He did this for me,” I said to her. The child watched me with saucer eyes. “Checked my bloodlines to ensure we’d make a match.”
I looked down at the printout. It traced back Koen’s line and mine. The two threads went back and back but didn’t touch, not yet. And they wouldn’t, either. No matter what my father had believed on the day he’d . . .
“He wanted to take care of me,” I told her.
“Sure,” Artemis said. “I bet he loved you lots.”
I turned to her, considering her features. Her aquiline nose was her mother’s, but that was the only thing. Otherwise she was tall and strong-bodied like her father. Artemis was kind, but not particularly bright. So why was I looking to her for answers? Habit, I guess. For years I’d turn to Rachel for help or to Ronen. When I saw Benjamin Jacobi die, I leaned on Koen. Even years ago, when Momma passed away, I’d reached out for my father, expecting him to comfort me. And where had it gotten me?
It was time to look for answers in myself.
“You know, he did love me, in a way,” I said. For the first time I spoke to her like she was the child—and I the adult. “But I don’t think that was the whole story. I was an obligation, too. My father valued nothing more than doing his duty. I was part of that. That’s why he pushed me toward Koen. He couldn’t leave until his duty was fulfilled.” I felt a lingering flash of anger as I said it. Left me. He’d left me. But I pushed that thought away. This was the truth. And my father was gone, and it wouldn’t do any good to be angry with him.
“I’m sorry, Terra,” Artemis offered. I smiled faintly, then looked down at the list of names. Just above my name was Momma’s. Alyana Fineberg. I touched the square letters and felt something go to stone inside me.
But my tone was gentle, for the girl’s sake. “That’s okay, Artemis,” I said. “That’s okay.”
25
I told myself that Silvan knew only my body—that he didn’t know my true self, not really. I told myself that if he had, he would have known how I’d been transformed, how every part of me that had once been soft and gentle was going to concrete. I watched him press kisses into my collarbone, drawing his soft hands over me. He took my laughter and my goose bumps to mean something deep and loving and true. I told myself that the only emotion that ran beneath my pleasured skin was anger. Anger at him and the Council.
No matter how warm and urgent his fingers, I reminded myself of how he’d reaped the harvest of my mother’s death. Power, and lots of it. Silvan was complicit—wasn’t he?
Sometimes I’d gaze into his black eyes, find myself reflected back, and think: You’re so stupid. You have no idea. But deep down I knew that wasn’t fair. I’d always had secrets, and not just the poison I carried with me wherever I went. There were dreams, too, wine dark. They still came every night. When Silvan kissed me, I thought of snow and the wild perfume of summer flowers. I was always naming them in my head, even as I sprawled out by his side in his wide, luxurious bed—even as I let him whisper sweet words into my ear. I couldn’t hear them. All I heard was Magnolia virginiana, Syringa vulgaris, and the names of a thousand different species of rose.
I was never really with Silvan, never really fully myself.
So how could I blame him for his honey-sweet kisses, the way he spoke to me—syrupy, empty words? I was a creature of artifice, like the jewel-toned sundew plants that caught insects in the dome. When he tangled his big hand through my hair, cupped the crown of my head in his palm, and said to me, “My parents want you to come to supper tomorrow night. Captain Wolff will be there,” I gave a gentle smile and said, “Of course. I’d love to do that.”
Even as a white spark of fear traveled down my spine.
• • •
Supper turned my stomach. We ate lamb and potatoes and shallots all cooked in a red, tangy sauce. I wasn’t used to so much butter or fat, but I think it was the memory of my family’s own meager meals that did it. After Momma died, we no longer had her half-stale bread from the bakery to supplement our rations. Meat—always lean and tough with sinews—was a rare pleasure. But at Silvan’s house each serving was the size of what my entire family might share on a harvest day. Luckily, no one noticed how green I’d gone as I cut into my chops. They guzzled wine, sweeter than the vintages my father had once drunk. Silvan’s father drank especially deep. That was something our families had in common.
“He cares about his wine more than me,” Silvan had once told me with a sulk. And now I saw that it was true, as the doctor who’d killed my mother uncorked one bottle after another, careful, even in his drunkenness, not to spill a single drop. They were all jolly as they drank, flashing smiles, cracking jokes. But sitting at the table across from Silvan’s father and Captain Wolff, all I could think was, You killed Momma. If it hadn’t been for you, she’d still be here—and Mar Jacobi and Abba, too. I kept playing with my food, stirring it around on the plate.
“Well, Terra?”
I dropped my fork against the china with a clatter. Across the table Silvan’s mother’s mouth twisted, though I couldn’t quite be sure if it was with amusement or disapproval.
“W-what’s that?” I stuttered. Captain Wolff’s off-kilter smile was stiff. She took a long draw of wine, swallowed, then asked again.
“Do you enjoy your work with our botanist?”
“Sure,” I said. “She’s great.”
Doctor Rafferty gave a coarse laugh. Captain Wolff glowered at him.
“The woman is her teacher, Mazdin. It’s natural that she feels some fondness for her. No matter how troublesome she’s been for us.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “She doesn’t know any better.”
Anger flashed up in me. I stuffed it down. Nobody noticed. The doctor just looked down at his glass, swirling the wine at the bottom.
“Stone’s always done her job well. I’ll give you that. It’s not her work that’s ever been an issue.”
“Yes, yes,” Silvan’s mother said. “Stone is a true Asherati. She’s always been a dedicated worker. But she’s a wild card, still. Terra, you will tell us if she ever seems ready to stir up trouble, won’t you?”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked. The words sounded harder than I’d intended. But Uvri Rafferty’s smile was serene. Unperturbed.
“I’m not really sure what I mean,” she said. She forced a cascade of laughter. And then she turned to her husband and inquired about the last clutch of newborns.
I slumped low in my seat.
• • •
The adults were content to make small talk long after the dessert plates had been cleared. I was crawling out of my skin, of course. But Silvan didn’t notice. He sat with his elbows propped against the polished galley table, watching the captain, waiting for his moment to jump in.
“I see you, Silvan,” the captain said, pouring herself more wine. All the adults laughed, but the corner of Silvan’s mouth ticked up in annoyance. Still, Captain Wolff waited.
“Go ahead,” she finally said.
“Well, if you insist,” he began. Though his tone was smooth, his complexion had darkened. He was blushing. I’d seen him nearly naked, but I’d never seen him blush before. “I know that you and Abba have been eager for me to come up with some ideas for the colony.”
“And finally pull your weight,” Doctor Rafferty grunted. I had no idea what kind of training Silvan had done with the captain. It couldn’t have had the intensity of my training with Mara—he spent too much time wandering around the dome for that.
“I want to pull my weight, Abba. That’s the point!” He paused just long enough to suck down a mouthful of wine. “I was thinking about how we go about selecting the guard. I know the Council picks guards only from the high-ranking families, but—”
“This ensures that we can trust them. I know my daughter won’t betray me—nor will the children of the other Council members,” Wolff cut in. I felt a shiver at her words. The Children of Abel kept their secrets well.
“Y-yes, well,” Silvan stammered, “that’s fine. But once we reach the surface, we’ll need more guards, won’t we? To protect our colony?”
I gaped at Silvan. Didn’t he know of the Council’s plans to keep us captive in the dome? How much protection could we possibly need if we were still trapped inside the Asherah?
“I thought we could institute a general draft,” he went on. “Raise an army. And I could lead it.”
Silvan’s father snorted on his wine. His mother giggled too. Even Captain Wolff’s eyes held laughter.
“You do aim high, talmid,” she said. “However, there’s a problem with your little plan. A general draft would mean inviting the general populace into the guard.”
Silvan slammed his glass down. “So? What’s wrong with commoners? If they trained under me, you can bet they’d know better than to commit treason. They’d be loyal!”
Doctor Rafferty was the one who answered. He spoke to Silvan as if he were much younger than sixteen. “Son, it’s not a matter of loyalty. The common Asherati is too temperamental to be trusted with weapons.”
The anger that had been simmering inside me flamed brightly. I gripped the stem of my wineglass, resisting the urge to throw it at Doctor Rafferty. I clutched it so tight that my knuckles went white. No one noticed.
Captain Wolff shook her head. When she spoke, it was in a patronizing tone—like she didn’t quite expect Silvan to understand. “No, don’t give him the wrong idea, Mazdin. Oh, there are dependable people among the lower classes. But we must protect them from the dangers that await us on the surface. Their safety is too precious to put in jeopardy like that. That’s why the Council rules for them, with the captain’s guard standing watch. It’s in their best interest.”
“But, Abba,” Silvan said, “if we got them early, maybe we could get them on our side. Then we wouldn’t risk losing them to the Children of Abel.”
“Silvan!” Captain Wolff snapped, a stern warning in her voice. She slid her gaze sideways, to me.
“What?” Silvan said. “We’re getting married. She’ll have to find out eventually.” He turned to me. When he spoke, his tone was a perfect echo of Captain Wolff’s. Paternalistic. Condescending. “The Children of Abel are this stupid group of commoners. They think they can bring down the Council.”
“Oh,” I said, doing my best to sound bored. “I see.”
“Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so down on my idea, Abba. I’m going to be captain, after all. You’ll have to get used to the idea of listening to me someday!”
“Enough, Silvan.” I heard the danger that lurked beneath Mazdin’s words. It was the same sort of warning my father would issue—the same sort of warning that I always mistook for a challenge. Apparently, Silvan did too.
“But, Abba—”
“I said enough!” And with that roar Mazdin Rafferty pounded his fist against the table.
The dishes rattled like bells. Silvan’s mother reached out and gripped her glass, silencing it. But Silvan sprang to his feet.
“Come on, Terra,” he said. I watched in confusion as he went to the door, wrestling our coats from the hooks. The adults sat in mortified silence. I couldn’t bring myself to look any of them in the eye.
“Thank you for the lovely dinner,” I said stiffly. Neither of Silvan’s parents even dared to look at me. But Captain Wolff gazed up.
“You’re welcome, Terra,” she returned, the scar tissue on the bridge of her nose crinkling. I was surprised by her tone—kind, sympathetic. But there was no time to contemplate that. I scrambled to my feet and followed Silvan out the door.
He thrust my coat at me, then hustled down the road. He held his own wool jacket in his fist, letting the sleeves drag over the cobblestones. He didn’t need it. The heat of his body seemed to broil the air straight through his sweater.
“I can’t believe them. Treating me like that. When Wolff kicks the bucket, they’ll see.”
I buttoned my coat. “But, Silvan,” I said, picking each word very deliberately, “your parents are Council members. The captain is subject to the Council’s whims. You’ll always have to listen to them, won’t you?”
He stalked ahead.
“Hey!” I called. I ran down the cobblestone street. When I reached him, I matched his strides, slipping my arm into the crook of his. But I could tell that he was closed to me. His strong body was hard, tense against mine.
“Hey,” I said, pulling him to face me. For a moment Silvan refused to look me in the eye. So I touched my hand to his chin. His skin was dark against my hands, almost the color of mud.
And then his gaze softened. I saw, for a passing second, the proud little boy inside him. He was just a kid, really, a kid who had gotten his way about a lot of things, but nothing that counted.
He isn’t so different from me at all, is he? I thought, though my stomach clenched with guilt at the notion. The sympathy I felt for Silvan—this small, confusing affection—was wrong, all wrong. I needed to be hard to him. I needed to hurt him.
I needed to look away. But before I could, he caught my face in his hands, leaned down, and kissed me deeply. Soon I was leaning into i
t, our bodies drawn so close together that there wasn’t any space between them at all.
It was a voice that drew me out of the kiss. A familiar voice. Rachel’s voice.
“Terra?”
Even in the tight crush of Silvan’s arms, shock rang through me. Rachel stood in the golden circle cast down from a streetlamp. Koen stood beside her. His posture was slumped, uncomfortable. Like he was trying to make himself small. Though Rachel was almost a full head shorter than he was, she took up so much more space.
“Rachel!” I called, and without a second thought I broke away from Silvan’s arms. But she hustled off in the other direction.
“Rachel, wait!” I reached out for her, touching her hand. But she tore it away. I matched her pace, but she refused to look at me.
“Terra Fineberg,” she muttered in a low tone, “you are the worst. You’re a lying, boy-stealing—”
“I’m not stealing him!” I said. I wanted to let it all spill out—the Children of Abel, their plot. But when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that Silvan and Koen were trailing behind us. And both were still within earshot.
“What do you call what you’re doing with him, then? I heard rumors about the two of you. You know how people talk. But I defended you. I told them that my friend would never do such a thing. Oy, I can’t believe I helped you. Giving you a haircut. Telling you you’re pretty. Well, you know what? Koen has just asked me to marry him. Our wedding’s in two weeks. The day we arrive in orbit around Zehava. So how’s it feel?”
I felt a lump rise in my throat. Rachel was still marching forward, taking wide, wild strides. I grabbed her by the arm, turning her to face me.
“Rachel!” I said. “Don’t you know? Don’t you know why I didn’t want to marry him?” I could see it then—the flash of Koen’s hands against Van’s waist. Skin meeting skin. My gut clenched at the thought.
“Why?” Rachel’s question cut me open.
“He’ll never love you,” I said. “He’s a faygeleh.” I’d wanted to defend myself, to show her that I had been the one to turn down Koen. But it was selfish, telling her the truth. I regretted my words instantly.
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