by Jodi Meadows
“There’s no reason you can’t.” He motioned me around a statue-guarded corner. “After you’ve completed your training, we can go anywhere you want.”
I liked that he said we. I couldn’t imagine exploring by myself. While I’d seen maps of Range, I didn’t even know where oceans were. I didn’t know anything about what was beyond, except that it was dangerous. People had been exploring for thousands of years; sometimes they died, but they could tell everyone about it when they were reborn.
“Have you been everywhere?”
He shook his head and stopped in front of wide double doors with intricate carvings — maps of Heart, it looked like. “The Council is in here,” he said, voice low. He reached as though to touch my face, but hesitated. “You’ve got a strand of hair.” His hand dropped to his side without doing anything.
Cheeks hot, I gathered my hair into a ponytail — out of my face — and combed a tangle out. “How’s that?” I smoothed my dress.
“Beautiful.”
Not “better” or “needs more work” like I’d expected. Before I could summon a response, he pulled open one of the doors and ushered me inside a tall chamber as big as the first floor of his house. Statues stood against the walls like guards — and some like guardians — and fraying tapestries hung behind them. Fading images of animals and geothermal features surrounded us.
All ten Councilors were present. They sat on one side of a long table carved of a dozen kinds of wood, with precious metals inlaid in elaborate, flowing patterns. In addition to the Councilors, a man at a desk sat in one corner of the room, tapping on something that might have been a bigger version of an SED.
Meuric rose from the center of the line of Councilors and said, “Dossam. Ana. Welcome.” The others nodded their greetings, and Sine smiled warmly at me. “Please sit, both of you.”
Sam pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit first. I kept my hands in my lap where the Councilors couldn’t see me fidget. They appeared to be of various ages, but they all had that air about them, the same depth in their eyes that Sam had no matter how eighteen he looked.
“We’re here to discuss the terms of Ana’s stay in Heart, and the requirements she must fulfill in order to remain Dossam’s student and guest. In the event neither Dossam nor Ana wish to comply with the Council’s requests, other suitable arrangements will be made.” Something in the way Meuric said that made me think the arrangements wouldn’t be suitable to me. “This is a closed session for now, but the records will be public within the month.”
The announcement hung on the air like a warning. The terms of my stay. Other arrangements. Ugh. I liked Meuric least of all the Councilors, but he was the Speaker. The leader. If he didn’t like me, the others might not either.
From what Sam had explained, Councilors queued up to serve when there was an opening — which only happened when one died — and served the rest of that life. Meuric signed up every lifetime. His constant association with the Council probably made him the most powerful person in Heart.
Sam had also said Meuric believed in Janan. Why would anyone believe in something so fiercely, without any proof?
“So, Ana.” Meuric’s tone shifted. Kinder, maybe, but I still didn’t trust him, or anyone on the Council. They’d voted to keep me out of Heart. “What do you think of Heart so far?”
“It’s lovely.” My throat itched from nerves, and I wished we’d brought water. But then I’d probably drink it all at once and have to pee for the rest of the meeting. “Very big.”
Sam took the chair beside me and nudged my leg. I couldn’t interpret what he wanted, so I ignored it. He probably didn’t want me to mention the thing with the walls and temple. Not that I’d been about to.
“We haven’t had much time to look around yet,” Sam said, leaning toward the table, “but we’re already planning piano lessons, and Stef has offered her services as well.”
Oh, right. I tried to appear pleasant, like he’d suggested. “This morning we made appointments with a bunch of people. Armande is going to teach me how to bake next week.”
“That’s wonderful. You should come visit me, too. If you’re studying music with Sam, you might enjoy poetry also.” Sine spread her hands on the table. Wrinkles crisscrossed her flesh and veins; she looked so old and fragile.
My eyes were liars. In truth, Sine and Sam were the same age.
That thought made my head hurt, but I managed to nod when Sam tapped my foot with his. “Sounds great,” I gasped. “Thank you.”
I couldn’t imagine Sam any way other than how he was now, no matter how hard I tried. None of the books I’d seen had sketches or photos of him, and the video I’d seen had mostly been his back. And blurry, besides. Would I recognize him if I saw a clear photograph?
Stef’s description of the dedication ceremony made me shiver again. How could anyone continue like that, risking not recognizing the person they loved? How could they look in the mirror and recognize themselves? I looked like me. Sam looked like Sam.
I was wearing a dress Sam had worn in another life. And his sweater.
Someone across the table leaned over and muttered to her neighbor. Both eyed me like they thought I might vomit.
“Ana, are you okay?” Sam touched my shoulder.
I blinked. Nodded. He was counting on me. “Sorry.”
“This has been a big transition for her,” he explained to the Council. “We’ve been here less than a day and already people are gossiping about her. This is a huge transition for her.”
“Of course.” Sine smiled, like she had any clue what I was going through, but the other Councilors all looked at me queerly.
One by one, they introduced themselves; I’d heard of most of them before, and remembered Antha and Frase from yesterday. Deborl’s name was familiar, but I didn’t know much about him. Like Meuric, he looked younger than me.
I tried to focus while Sam outlined our arrangements with teachers, but I felt as though walls inside me were crumbling. Confined to Purple Rose Cottage and the surrounding forest my whole life, it had been easy to know that Heart was filled with people so old I couldn’t comprehend. But I’d never been faced with the evidence so clearly until now. Their lives and histories were so much bigger than me.
Before meeting Sam, when he was a name in a book, I’d thought it wouldn’t matter what he — she? — looked like, that I’d feel the same way no matter what. And maybe I would. But also, there was so much that was physical about him — hands, hair, eyes, voice, scent — that made him attractive. I’d felt something before, perhaps merely a reaction to his music or the way he wrote about it, and that was still inside me. But I craved his physical presence. This Sam. These hands, hair, eyes, voice, and scent. Another incarnation of Sam wouldn’t be the same.
That was probably the point of the souls ceremony. Maybe the physical shouldn’t matter.
I wished I could stop thinking about having seen the grave of Sam’s first body. There was probably nothing in there by now. It was probably dust.
I shuddered out of my thoughts as the subject changed.
“I’d like to discuss Ana’s library privileges.” Sam rested his hands on the table. He didn’t look ancient or decayed. When his shoe bumped mine, he felt real and alive. “If she’s to have a complete education, she needs unrestricted access to the library.”
“There are books someone so young shouldn’t have access to,” said Meuric. “I’m sure Ana is very responsible, but knowing how to build a catapult isn’t a necessary skill for her.”
“Learning how to build weapons isn’t one of my goals.”
“What is your goal, then?” Deborl asked.
I glanced at Sam, who gave a minute shrug. “I was hoping to find out where I came from.” And whether I would be reborn, but I didn’t want these strangers to know my secret fear. “I realize wiser minds have most likely already looked, and I doubt I’ll discover anything new, but actively searching for an answer would bring a lot of comfort.”<
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Sine nodded. “I imagine it’s very lonely being the only newsoul in the entire world.”
Especially when she put it like that. “It is.” I pretended not to notice Sam’s foot against mine. “I’d like to know what happened, to see if there’s a chance it could happen again.” Maybe the existence of another newsoul would make me feel less like a mistake, less alone.
Antha crossed her arms and leaned back. “The last time, we lost Ciana. I can’t say I’m eager for it to happen again.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lose anyone, either.”
“As long as it doesn’t take away from her studies,” Frase said, “I don’t see how looking into her origins could hurt. However, I do think someone should be there to supervise her time in the library. Dossam, or someone else we can all agree on. As Meuric said, there’s simply too much in the library that could be dangerous, not just to Ana, but to everyone if she isn’t careful.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I’ll accompany her as often as possible,” Sam said. “She’s my student.”
Sine raised a hand. “When Sam can’t, I will join Ana. After all, Sam has other work.”
“Orrin and Whit spend half their lives in the library,” said another Councilor, whose name I’d forgotten. “I think it’s safe to assume there will always be someone to supervise Ana’s studies.”
“Does this sound reasonable to everyone?” Meuric checked everyone’s faces, then gave a quick nod. “Very well. We’ll also assign an SED to Ana so she can call someone if one of her appointed companions isn’t there. Ana, I trust we can count on you to do that.”
“Of course.” Probably. I trusted exactly one person not to rat on me if I did something the Council wouldn’t like: myself. As wonderful as Sam had been, with everything he’d done for me, he was still one of them. He’d known them for almost a hundred lifetimes, and me less than a month. I couldn’t expect his loyalties to shift that quickly.
“All right.” Meuric shuffled a stack of papers. “Next on the list is a curfew.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Twenty-first hour, every night, you’re expected to be at Sam’s. You’ll be subject to random checks. If you’re not there, or late, you’ll have to face the consequences.”
“Which will be?” Now they were interested in making sure I was safe inside at night? Now, after I’d been eighteen years with Li, who didn’t care if I slept in the forest and got eaten by wolves?
“The severity of your punishment will reflect the severity of your crime.”
Being late to bed was a crime? I opened my mouth to ask, but Sam interrupted.
“Surely exceptions will be made for lessons that require Ana to be available at nighttime.” Sam gave Meuric a pointed look. “Such as astronomy or observing nocturnal animals.”
“Neither of those were on your list.” Meuric scowled at his papers. “But yes, if the need arises, exceptions can be made. Make sure to put in a request first. I’d hate for Ana to get in trouble needlessly.”
“Monthly progress reports.” Frase slid a sheet of paper across the table to Sam. “We’ve made a list of skills Ana should learn, in addition to those you’ve already scheduled. Don’t feel the need to plow through everything immediately, but keep in mind we will be requiring an examination of her progress this time next year. We’ve also included a list of potential tutors for these subjects.”
Sam glanced at the list; his arm blocked my view. “She already knows how to read.”
“I figured it out several years ago,” I added.
Frase made a face that might have been a smile, but all I saw was teeth. “Then she won’t have a problem in this area. The Council still requires study and examination.”
“Half the people on this list have been vocal about their”—Sam eyed me—“distaste for the idea of newsouls. It’s unfair to make Ana study under them.”
“We don’t always get to work with our friends,” Antha said. “Perhaps getting to know Ana will change people’s minds about newsouls.”
That seemed unlikely.
“It’s all right, Sam.” I fought to keep my voice steady. “I’ll make it work.”
His jaw muscles jumped, but he nodded. “Very well.”
“I think that should cover everything for now.” Meuric turned to me. “Do you agree to these terms?”
Afraid to ask what happened if I didn’t, I nodded.
“Then we’re finished.” He stood and offered me his hand to shake. When everyone had a turn — some more gentle than others with my still-healing skin — Sam and I started to leave the Council chamber.
“A word, Sam,” Meuric called.
Sam nodded for me to wait outside. As soon as the door shut behind me, people began speaking in low, angry voices. The heavy wood muffled their words, but every so often Sam’s deep voice came through, and he wasn’t happy.
I leaned against the wall and dreaded finding out what they were talking about.
After fifteen minutes, I couldn’t take listening to them anymore. I pushed off the wall and headed back the way we’d come in. Just as I was about to turn the corner, the door clicked open.
Sam scanned the hallway, and his glare stopped on me. His jaw was set, and his shoulders were tense. The line was more a crevice between his eyes as he strode toward me and loomed over my face. “Try not to wander off.”
I resisted the urge to step back. “I was going to look for the library.”
“You could have waited five minutes.”
“It was more like fifteen, and you’d have known where I went.”
“That’s not the point.” He started to walk around me, but I didn’t move. “Come on.”
“Why are you mad?”
He faced me, looking at me like I was the stupidest person in the world. “Were you in the same meeting I was?”
“Yes.” I crossed my arms.
“No,” he growled, “you weren’t. You completely left us for a while. People said your name five times before you finally joined us again, and even then, you were barely there. What were you thinking? You knew how important it was to make a good impression. Next time you want to doze off, do it somewhere the Council isn’t deciding whether or not you can stay in Heart.”
I staggered back, and my spine hit the wall as I stared up. His face was flushed with anger and disappointment, and I couldn’t think of a good defense, aside from the truth.
“You don’t know what it’s like.” Anything louder than a whisper and my voice would shake. “You have no idea what it’s like to be surrounded by people more than two hundred times your age, all judging and deciding whether or not you’re worthy enough to live in the city they just found lying around one day. None of you can understand. I’m alone, Sam.”
His anger cracked; pity showed through, and I almost stomped off, but he said, “You really will be alone if you’re not careful, Ana.” In spite of the harsh words, his tone was gentle. I wondered which was the lie.
“Threatening to give up on me already? I didn’t ask you to take me in.” My eyes hurt, swollen with memory of this morning, and anger and betrayal now. “I didn’t ask you to do anything for me.”
His throat jumped when he swallowed. “They threatened to take you away. From me.”
The wall at my back blocked further retreat. “They can’t.”
“Li has returned to Heart.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“It’s common knowledge that she doesn’t want you, so the Council won’t do anything yet. But if I can’t control you — Meuric’s words — they will take you away from me. If you’re lucky, you’ll go back with Li and continue the training we had planned. We wouldn’t be allowed to see each other.”
I felt faint. “And if I’m not lucky?”
“You’ll be exiled, not just from Heart, but from Range.” He took a long, shaking breath. “This isn’t going to be easy. I never said it would. All the same, you need to try harder. I don’t wan
t to lose you.”
If the wall hadn’t been holding me up, I might have fallen. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“No one does.” He closed his eyes, and the line deepened. “I don’t want you to feel alone, either. I know there isn’t much I can do. I know I’m one of everyone else—”
“It’s okay.” I wanted to hug him, or apologize for yelling. Something. It wouldn’t help, though, and after realizing he had more in common with Sine than me, I just— I couldn’t right now. I hugged myself.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered again.
And I didn’t want to be lost, or put back with Li, or exiled where sylph and other creatures roamed. “I’ll try harder.”
Chapter 14
Recognition
THE LIBRARY HAD its own wing of the Councilhouse. If not for the conversation with Sam, I’d have been giddy when he heaved open the mahogany doors and we entered the enormous chamber.
The walls were bookcases, and every shelf was full.
There were no separate rooms for different sections, like I’d imagined, but high bookcases gave the illusion of privacy in corners or on balconies over the main floor. Solid mahogany tables dotted the empty spaces, along with delicate lamps with stained-glass shades. Tiny sparrows and squirrels glowed.
Soft rugs covered the aisles; hardwood floors peeked from beneath the edges. I stepped over diamonds and snowflakes, inhaling the scent of leather and ink and dust.
“Maybe,” I said, turning to find Sam watching me explore, “we could just move in here.” The heavy air blanketed my words, even though the chamber was a dozen stories tall. “We could move the bookcases in the middle of the floor for the piano.”
He made a noise that was not quite a laugh and let the door close behind him. “The acoustics are terrible, though. And where would we sleep?”
I swept my hands through the air, toward the giant cushiony chairs and sofas, blankets draped across their arms and backs. Subdued, velvety colors matched the wood all around. Everything was so cozy and sleepy; I couldn’t imagine why people weren’t fighting to stay here forever.