That’s what she tells me. No more. Not yet. She don’t say the words agin. Pregnant. Miscarried. She don’t ask me no questions.
I don’t speak.
I don’t cry.
I’m white.
I’m bones.
Stripped bare.
I wake. It’s dark. There’s a fire in the hearth. The room’s lit by rushlight. DeMalo sits by the window in his chair. He stares at the starfall night. A glass of blood dark wine in his hand.
I can hear the howl of a wolfdog. Tracker, not far off.
Star season, he says. Superstitious fools. They think this tumult is all down to you. The Angel of Death. He don’t turn his head. He must of heard me move. That wolfdog’s been howling for hours, he says.
I sit up an push off the blanket. I’m wearin a long shift. It’s thick an soft. He’s come to my bedside. He offers his hand. I look at it. Then I take it. I’m shaky as he helps me to a settle seat by the fire.
Covered dishes keep warm on the hearth. He sets one on a low table. Hands me a fork. Eat, he says. You must be hungry.
It’s scrambled egg. I take a small bite. He props hisself in the corner of the settle. One knee up, one foot on the floor. He’s poured me some wine. He watches me sip it.
You’re too thin, he says. Too pale. Our wedding day will be the first great event in the history of New Eden. I need you to look in bloom. I’ll speak to the woman, to Mercy. She’s bound to know a trick or two. He holds his glass to the firelight. Stares at its blood red richness. I scour New Eden for the most skilled midwife, he says, and where do they find her? In a slave gang. It beggars belief. With the babyhouses full to bursting all the time, we need every midwife we can get.
The babyhouse I seen was half full.
While you’ve been resting, I’ve been busy, he says. A wedding likes this takes much planning, preparation. It’s going to be extraordinary. Magnificent. It will bind us all together. One family, serving, healing the earth. This will be the true beginning of New Eden. The story will be told for generations to come.
He takes my hand in his. He looks tired. But beautiful. By the fire an lantern light, he’s burnished gold. Like Tommo in the sunlight that day.
I’ve waited for you. Now I have you, he says. Say my name.
Seth, I says.
He pulls me to him. Gathers me close. No, he says. Like you said it then.
Then. When I gave myself to him. I look in his blackwater eyes. An I whisper his name like he wants me to.
He goes to kiss me. I turn my head, slightly. With one finger to my chin, he brings me back to him. An I know the dark country of his mouth once more. The drug touch of his hands. The heat of his body. He leaves me cold. He stops. So ungenerous, Saba, he says. I’ll forgive you. This time.
He shifts back to the corner of the settle. I stare straight ahead as he looks at me. You’ll grow your hair long, he says. I want to see it against your skin. Now eat. I won’t have wasted food.
I lift my fork. Make myself eat another bite. He drinks his wine an watches me.
My men rounded up your rebel crew, he says. What was left of them. Three people in a junkyard. One’s the crazy old junk woman, I’m told. The Steward couple were easily found. Dealt with on the spot. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. Small wonder you were ready to surrender. And, before you ask, no, you can’t see them. They’re somewhere secure until after the wedding. Don’t worry, I intend to keep my word. I have no wish for a resentful wife. What is it they say? A little kindness goes a long way.
He toasts me.
So … how do I rate your performance? he says. In this little endgame of ours. You were always going to lose, no matter what you did. Was it unfair advantage that I set your brother against you? You must know that I always have a safety net. I’m sorry to say … you rate low. I expected much more. I give you a week and the best you can do is free a few children from their intolerable life of three meals a day, a warm bed and a meaningful future. They’re all back at Edenhome in any case. And as for that sentimental trick of returning infants to their parents, I don’t suppose they’ll be thanking you now. He stares at me a long moment. There’s the tiniest of frowns between his eyes. Disappointing, Saba, he says. And perplexing. You’ve caused me some … inconvenience, that’s all. And rained your own blood upon your head. Your lover, the traitor, is the only one not accounted for. If he drowned, he’ll wash up downstream. If not, he’ll be found and dealt with.
He pulls somethin from his pocket. Shows it to me. It’s my little leather bag with the barkscroll messages. He says, Nero as go-between, I presume. That’s more like it. He tosses the bag on the fire.
Safe passage fer Jack too, I says. You promised.
What? he says. You’d have your brother die for nothing?
A single tear shames me. Tracks down my cheek.
He watches me as he drinks. What is this? he says. Self-pity? Guilt? Or is it grief?
It’s somethin in the way he asks. Not to taunt me. He wants to know. An at last I git it. His unreadable eyes. His smooth, blank face. Not blank becuz he’s hidin how he feels. Blank becuz he don’t feel nuthin. Kindness. Guilt. Grief. Self-pity. They’re jest words to him. He’s learned to say them at the right time.
We marry in two nights and one day, he says. Cry until then if you must, but no more. He empties his glass. I’ll have no red-eyed bride, he says. We’re not made of common dust like the rest. We have a destiny, you and I. Together. There’s much to be done. I have plans.
He kisses me agin. A hard kiss, like he owns me. Next time, we’ll know who the father is, he says.
He gits to his feet. Goes to the door. It opens an closes. He locks it behind him. He’s gone.
I sit. I stare in the fire. A sudden rattle at the window makes me jump. The gleam of black feathers in the lamplight, through the glass. My heart quickens.
Nero, I says.
He’s lifted the latch, like Mercy taught him. Silently, carefully—they mustn’t know he’s here—I open the window an bring him in. I can hear Tracker still howlin nearby. I lean out into the night. There ain’t nobody around. I whistle softly. Once. Twice. I wait. I wait. Then I see him by the light of the moon. A silver-grey streak, racin through the field towards the house. He flings hisself at the wall below me. Stretches on his hind legs to his full height. Hopin to try an reach me. But three bone-breaker floors stand between us.
All I can do is look down an whisper to him. I’m okay, it’s okay, I’m here. I tell him what a fine fellow he is. He whimpers, but knows not to bark. Then I tell him to go. He mustn’t be found near the house. DeMalo would never hurt him. He’s kindness itself to any creature not human. But the Tonton cain’t be trusted not to harm him.
I close the window an take Nero in my arms. Bring him to my fireside chair. I cradle his warmth to me. Breathe his smell to me. He rubs his beak on my neck. It’s jest you an me now, I tell him. They’re gone. Jest you an me.
I say the words. I still don’t feel what they mean.
We sit fer some time. An I begin to think.
The two Tonton we left in the road. They must of led the way to Starlight Lanes. Three at the junkyard. Peg an Tommo an Webb. DeMalo said, the Steward couple, dealt with on the spot. The Tonton must of tracked down Manuel. His woman, Bo, would be judged guilty with him. But only those two from Jack’s rebel gang. That means they didn’t talk before they died. Before they died. That leaves Molly an Auriel at Nass Camp. Slim an Ash an Creed still somewhere in New Eden. Jack, who hates me, on the run. Maybe they all hate me.