I don’t say anything. I can’t believe it either. After everything that I’ve tried. That Kiran’s tried.
Her cheeks pale, like she’s about to be sick. The thought of someone choosing me disgusts her. It shouldn’t get to me, but it does.
“I would have gone last month if stupid Iris didn’t meet with him after me,” she says, an edge in her tone. “If you were picked, I’d be Promised for certain right now!”
“I didn’t want this,” I say.
“Oh, you’d rather stay here, is that it?” Her green eyes look like they might pop out of their sockets.
“No. I want to go back—”
“—to the mountains. I know.” She throws herself dramatically back onto her cot. “Such a waste, you are.”
“I … I am not,” I counter, wishing I had something smart to come back with. She only glares at me, and behind the anger I can see the misery. I’m reminded of Salma, fighting with my ma about being brought up into the mountains against her will. It was obviously the safest place for her, but Salma didn’t see it that way. And now Daphne doesn’t get it either. All she sees is what she knows. The tiny box of a world. A world that has let her down.
“Who is he, anyway? Some plastics worker, probably. Or, no, a maintenance man.” She grumbles through several more undesirable positions before I interrupt her.
“Amir Ryker,” I say.
She lifts her head.
“Ryker. The mayor?”
“His son,” I say.
“But his son…” She smiles. I can see the laugh building inside of her before it finally breaks free. “His son is a boy. A child.”
“I know that.” I look at the edge of the office, knowing that around the corner is the poisoned stream and Brax’s sewer. And the Driver barn.
Because I’m exhausted, I sit on the other side of the cot.
She quiets as she realizes what this means. “You won’t have to be with him, will you?”
“Not for a few years,” I say. “That’s what his keeper says, anyway.” But I think of Mr. Greer’s threats and double over, elbows on my knees, face in my hands.
“A servant brought him? Not his father?”
When I don’t answer right away, Daphne pinches my arm. Her chain makes a clinking noise as it draws across her lap. “You have to tell me everything, Clover. You owe me that much at least.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say. “It’s not my name.”
She groans. “Tell me.”
I exhale. The air reeks of oil and waste. The incinerator’s been used lately, probably to burn all the excess from the auction preparations.
“The boy came with a man named Greer. He’s got an X on his face.”
Her eyes widen. “He’s Virulent? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Greer is the mayor’s brother,” she says. “He never leaves their house in the city. I overheard my father once say that the mayor was ashamed of him. I never knew he was marked.”
She taps her fingers together like this is prime gossip and waits for me to say more, but I have nothing else to add.
“What is wrong with you?” she asks. “If your paperwork goes through, you’ll have the best placement in the city. You’ll get whatever you want and you won’t even have to share anyone’s bed.”
I don’t tell her Mr. Greer’s plans.
“For now,” I say. “If I’m lucky.”
We’re both looking out now, in opposite directions. Her, towards the Garden. Me, towards the city gates.
“You’re the luckiest person I know,” she says quietly. “You’re so blunt you can’t even see it. Good thing they’ve got you chained in, otherwise you might pull the same stunt as that other girl.”
I can still see Straw Hair stuck to the fence, her dead body dancing, her yellow hair catching fire. The smell, it’s still right there in the back of my throat.
And even now I wonder if she was luckier than all of us.
I feel a growl inside of me, but it doesn’t have the strength to rise up my throat. I can’t stand being near Daphne any longer, so I walk away. Back around the side of the office, behind my sheltering plaster wall. The chain drags behind me, catching on the rocks and grass and weighing down my arm. I stumble as close as I can to the poisoned water and fall to my knees. But I still can’t pray.
Dark thoughts whisper to me. They say I will never go home. Tam and Nina are dead. Salma has abandoned them. I will be sold and bred and sold and bred until I don’t remember that my name is Aya, and I came from the mountains.
At sixteen, I have lived all that I will ever live.
I pull up my dress sleeve and look at the silver bracelet on my wrist. It doesn’t even shine in this sorry excuse for a sunset. I think about drinking the poisoned water. Wonder if it would kill the pain inside of me. Or if it would just make it worse, add a new sickness, like the one that’s now stealing my hope. I wonder if Straw Hair pondered these same questions.
The sky grows dim, then dark—as dark as it will get here. I hear the bass from the Black Lanes pick up. Auction Day is closing, and the Virulent will make lots of money tonight from any drunken merchants or disguised Magnates who want to gamble or hit the brothels.
I hate them. I hate everyone within these walls. And I hate everyone outside of these walls because they have what I can’t. Freedom.
And then, finally, there is peace.
Out of the sewer comes Brax. He trots up the outside of the Garden, past the office, to join me in the yard. His face nuzzles mine, warm and wet and wild. It’s his low whimper that finally breaks me down.
I cry into Brax’s soft silver neck, and he lets me, panting while my hands fist in his fur. Every so often he licks my face, cleaning the salty tears away, and then I cry some more.
Above my choked-off sobs I can still hear the club music. Boom, boom, boom. Mocking me. I can see the man from the auction who grabbed me in the crowd. See Mr. Greer’s scar. My ma’s scar.
And then I know what I must do.
There is one other way to leave the Garden. Not Promised. Not dead. But marked. With a scar on my cheek. They’ll expect me to make a living in the Black Lanes, but I won’t do that. I can be strong like my ma. I can pass through the city gates and be reunited with my family before the next auction.
I must fail the medical inspection. And I must do so before the mayor’s brother has a chance to lay his hands on me. Maybe it’s not what I wanted, not now anyway, but at least I’ll get to choose who touches me, and when.
Silently, I stand, telling Brax to stay while I creep around the side of the building. Daphne’s sleeping on the bedroll, covering herself with all four of the blankets meant to be shared between us. I can see her chest rise and fall. Inside, the Watcher has laid down to sleep too.
I tiptoe back around the plaster wall, to the hidden place behind the office, and pick a small pebble off the ground. Then, with all my might, I heave it in the direction of the barn. It plunks off one of the paddock fences. A horse snorts and stamps his feet.
And then I sit, and wait for Kiran.
CHAPTER 11
KIRAN TAKES FOREVER.
Or maybe time has just stopped since I made my decision. Either way, I’m pacing behind the Watcher office, as far as my tether will let me, thinking that he’s not going to come at all, and why would he after I screwed up his escape, and sent him away, and told him such stupid, stupid stories … when he finally appears in the back exit of the barn.
His shirt glows pale yellow in the lights from the rec yard fence, and his hair is tousled. There’s something soft about the way he looks from this distance. Something not quite real. The edges of him should be sharp against the dark behind him, but they’re not. They shimmer, as though he’s a mirage. Like the dark can’t touch him, no matter how hard it tries.
Then he starts walking towards me, stride long and purposeful, and I see the way the horses flick their ears and stomp their hooves and that golden, shining feeli
ng inside of me gets eaten up by the worries. He hesitates, like always, just before the stream, and when he’s sure the Watcher’s not watching, he leaps over. From the look on his face, I can tell that there’s something he wants to tell me, and it doesn’t look good.
For the first time, I’m glad he can’t talk.
I stand my ground and tell myself the same thing I’m always telling myself: This is Kiran. There’s nothing to be scared of.
Just before he reaches me he stops short. His mouth falls open in surprise. Very slowly, one hand reaches forward to brush aside my hair, and my neck tingles, because the curls feel foreign to my sensitive skin when he moves them.
His face falls. His hand falls. He’s seen the missing earring and knows what that means.
“The mayor’s son,” I tell him, the shame weighing down my words. “A boy.”
Kiran watches me intently, his gaze clinging to my mouth as I talk. A scowl etches deep lines between his brows. There’s too much knowing in his eyes.
I can’t do this.
I have to do this.
It will be quick, I tell myself. Like pulling out my earring. Like taking a punch. Laying down with Kiran will mean nothing. But it already hurts in my soul, stretching my skin too thin, like I’m made of glass and he can see everything, all of it. I don’t want to feel these things. I just want to do this and be done with it.
“Brax, go home,” I say. The wolf’s jaw snaps shut, and he looks up at me. “Home,” I stress, and point to the sewer. Brax whines like a child having a tantrum, then stalks away, boney shoulders rolling beneath his gray fur. He glances back once, and I feel the judgment in his stare, thicker than my own. As soon as he is gone panic spikes in my chest. I lift my chin to Kiran as bravely as I can.
“My thanks for what you did today,” I say to him. “I know what it might have cost you.”
I think of the bodies carried down from the stage by the Watchers just before the auction and shiver. One of them could have been Kiran.
I tell myself I never asked for his help. Not until now.
“There’s another way, you know,” I say, unable to look him straight in the eye.
He’s still watching; I can feel his gaze on me and wish these last moments before I ruin this—whatever it is—would last a little longer.
I take a jerky step forward, noticing how much taller he always seems up close. We’re just inches away now, and the smell of horsehair and leather dusts his skin. I can see each piece of golden hair that’s matted behind his ears. And somewhere deep inside of me I know that I will never again breathe in the scent of leather or see the sun’s bright rays and not think of Kiran.
His body becomes very still, his kiran-stone eyes seeking mine. And suddenly I don’t know. This seemed so easily achievable before. But now it seems wrong. I can’t be Salma. I can’t lie down with some boy on the outskirts of town and then say good-bye, maybe forever. And that would be exactly what would happen. If I lie down with Kiran, I will be marked sometime tomorrow, turned loose by nightfall, and out the city gates before the sunrise.
I will never see him again.
Something begins to twist inside of me, and I knead my stomach absently, trying to force it down. I’m staring at his bare feet and my bare feet, so close they could touch even if I just shifted my balance. I think about the night he touched the scar on my leg. How strange and soft that felt. And I think that maybe it might not be so terrible if he touched me again, just like that.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I don’t need him to be kind, I need this to be over.
With a sudden burst of recklessness, I yank the stretchy dress over my head. It takes forever to come off, getting stuck around my shoulders, and then around my hair and my earring, and then the metal bracelet. But finally I’m free of it, in just my underclothes, with the cold air biting into my skin. Goose bumps race over my body. My belly button feels like it sucks back all the way to my spine. I crumple the dress in front of my chest.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter.
His eyes go round with shock, and his mouth falls open.
He takes a step back, then forward, then looks around the office. Then up at the night sky. He points at me and turns around. I don’t move, because now he’s the one who’s acting like he’s lost his mind.
“Oh,” I say. “Can you not do it or something?” Maybe Drivers are like Pips, missing the right equipment, I don’t know.
He turns sharply. There’s a glint in his eye that makes my mouth go dry, and I swallow. For a moment we just look at each other, trying to figure out what the other is thinking. Trying to figure out how to begin. I never figured there’d be so much thinking involved. Then he reaches forward and snatches the dress, stretching it taut as one sleeve is still hooked around the chain.
I guess he has the right parts after all.
But he only shakes his head, and attempts to hold the dress in front of me like a curtain.
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s doing.
“I won’t tell on you,” I assure him, pulling the fabric down. His stare drops to my chest and lingers before he blocks it again with the dress.
I snort. “They only gave me a four for these,” I say, pulling back my shoulders.
When he doesn’t move, I step to the side, forcing him to look at me.
“Kiran, come on already, I won’t tell. You have my word.” I make sure he sees my eyes as I pretend to stich my lips shut.
He holds his hands out, then points at his chest. His meaning is clear.
“Why me?”
My shoulders slump. My insides tie into knots. His eyes are still boring into me, and I can feel the shame heating my cheeks. I’m reminded of all the times I made Salma help me clean rabbits. She always said the same thing, “Why me?” Great. Being with me is as detestable to Kiran as slicing up a dead rabbit is to Salma.
“My legs scored seven and a half stars,” I tell him. I look down at the slender muscles of my thighs, and he shakes the dress impatiently in front of me.
I take it, half wishing that knife he’d thrown had hit the mark.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll find another way.” I make it sound mean, but I’m a little relieved.
His mouth is pinched at the corners in anger when he draws an X over his cheek with his first finger, then points at me.
“I know,” I tell him. “They’ll mark me. But it’s the only way, don’t you see? I’ll never get out of here otherwise.”
He points at his chest, and then slices his hands in his no gesture.
“I hear you,” I tell him slowly, the words sharp. “I get it. I’m not stupid, you know.”
He turns away. I stuff myself back into the dress, half livid, half panicked.
“Kiran!” I whisper as he turns. But it’s too late. He’s already over the stream, stalking towards the barn. He slaps a hand against the side paneling just as he passes through, and even though he can’t talk, it sure feels like he’s had the last word.
The chestnut mare I recognize from town, and a few other horses, spook at the sound and gallop out into their paddocks, kicking and whinnying. A few moments later the Watcher is outside, staring at me blankly. Then Daphne shows up, peering around the corner of the office wall as though she’s about to witness something terrifying.
“What happened?” she asks when the Watcher leaves to go back inside.
“Nothing,” I say flatly.
“Did you fall?”
“Go back to sleep,” I say. She huffs and stomps away.
I slide back against the wall, but I don’t sleep. I shred tufts of grass in my fists and sniffle as the air becomes sharply chilled. I keep thinking about Mr. Greer and the Governess. About the mayor’s house, protected in the Magnate district. About how Kiran won’t help me even to save my life.
* * *
I DON’T MOVE ONCE during the night. I stay there through the morning, thinking, wishing, looking for something I’ve missed, something
I haven’t tried. I bite my nails down to nothing. I screw my thumbs into my temples. The Watcher brings me meal pills in another aluminum bowl, but I don’t touch them. All my ideas are coming up blank.
Sometime in the afternoon Daphne comes back around the corner. Her hair has gotten wavy out here in the moist air and sticks out on one side. From the tearstains down her freckle-free, coal-smeared cheek, I can tell she’s had about enough of the solitary pen.
“They’re here for you,” she says.
I don’t stand until the Pips make me.
Within the office my bracelet is removed, then I’m led through the door with the key code and down the long, windowless hallway with the flickering lights. My footsteps are heavy, slower than the pattering of the Pips’ padded shoes. The dread turns my guts to water. It feels like I’m climbing back onto that stage again, only this time not for the auction, but for the hangings.
We enter the foyer and pass the entertainment parlor but don’t continue down the hall to the Governess’s office.
“Where are we going?” I ask the Pip in front, somehow both relieved and even more wary than before. If we aren’t going to the Governess’s office, maybe the paperwork didn’t go through.
The Pip whispers something to the one standing beside him.
“Hey,” I say. “I asked you something.”
“Pip.” He snorts. “So rude.” One of the keepers behind me smacks me on the back with his beater, and I siphon in a sharp breath through my teeth. It feels like a fire on my skin. My fists clench at my sides.
They turn and lead me down a white corridor, one I’ve been down before, and the dread returns in one hard punch.
The medical wing.
My knees wobble, and for a moment I consider letting them give out. Laying on the floor. Making them carry me. But I don’t, because no one carries me.
The Pips must sense the change in me because they tighten their ranks. They try to push me forward, but I don’t move. The reality of my situation has come crashing down over my head.
It’s happened: I’ve been sold. And now a doctor’s here to do the purity test.
“Come on,” says the leader. “Don’t be difficult. It’s not painful.”