Asunder

already.

The sky rumbled and the ground shook. Water poured from the clouds, soaking the remainder of the journey to Heart with misery.

The rain pounded on us at all hours, dripping through the autumn foliage and revealing thin spots in our tent that night. The temperature dipped, and by the time we approached Heart the next day, my wool clothes were sodden and smelly, chafing my skin. I entertained vivid fantasies of a hot shower.

At last, the city wall shone white atop the plateau, and beside me, Sam muttered something in relief.

Beneath his hood, his expression melted into what mine must have looked like when we’d left Heart.

But seeing the pristine white tower that soared into the clouds, muscles in my neck and shoulders crawled with tension, and all I could think about were Janan’s words to me: mistake. You are a mistake of no consequence.

I jerked my gaze downward, pulled in a breath, and twisted my hands around in my mitts to distract myself. Even with the sylph, our weeks away had erased the stress I’d barely realized I’d been living with in Heart. And it took only one look to bring it back.

“Are you all right?” Sam’s voice came just over the pounding rain. “Ana?”

I nodded. “Let’s get it over with.”

Geysers steamed fiercely in the cold, making the whole plateau misty and difficult to navigate.

“Stay on the road,” Sam reminded me, though it wasn’t necessary. Some of the ground here was very thin; beneath us, an immense chamber of magma pulsed and boiled, releasing its energy in bursts of steaming water and bubbling mud. Nevertheless, I let him guide me to the Eastern Arch, and waited while he pressed his hand against the soul-scanner. A moment later, it allowed our entrance.

Inside the guard station, we dried ourselves and Shaggy, and sent the pony with the guard on duty so he could be fed. The guard smiled at me. I sort of recognized him from Templedark. Had I warned him against dying? The whole night had been too chaotic for clear memories, and he took Shaggy and left before I could ask.

“Do you want to wait here until it stops raining?” Sam asked when we were alone.

“No, we might as well walk to the other side of the city now. Who knows how long it will be before the storm passes?” I pulled out my SED and sent a message to Sarit to meet us at Sam’s. “But we are going to have a big jar of honey waiting for us. Sarit likes rain, right?”

Sam grinned and hefted four of our bags onto his shoulders, leaving two for me. Just those were more than heavy enough.

We headed outside, into Heart, trudging under the weight of our belongings. East Avenue was dark and quiet, except for the driving rain, so we hurried down the road without interruption. Mills and warehouses of the industrial quarter watched us from the south; evergreen trees blocked the northeastern residential quarter, leaving only the occasional street as proof that people lived there.

As we entered the market field—the wide expanse of cobblestone surrounding the temple and Councilhouse—Sam moved to walk between the temple and me. He didn’t say anything about it, and he knew I didn’t like the temple, but I wasn’t sure it was an entirely conscious move, either.

We turned onto South Avenue. A side road here and there, and finally we came to his walkway, covered with wet leaves and broken twigs. The fruit trees were bare, and at one side of the house, chickens and cavies’ buildings were nearly invisible in the rain.

“Ready to get out of the weather?” Sam asked, hitching his load of bags again.

Yes, definitely, but I wasn’t eager to box myself into one of the identical houses of white stone. Walls shouldn’t have heartbeats. They shouldn’t. And as welcoming as Sam’s house was otherwise—pine-green shutters and doors, rosebushes below the windows, and a generous garden—it was still made from that stone. It had windows and doors in the same places as every other house in Heart. It wasn’t natural.

Still, I didn’t want to stand out in the rain staring. I followed Sam indoors and dropped my bags on the mud rug. Water soaked the wool threads immediately, turning the gray a shade darker.

Sam stripped off his outer clothes and boots, leaving them behind as he moved between all the instruments in the parlor. The sheets covering the piano, harpsichord, cello—all the large instruments on the floor—had been moved away already, probably courtesy of Stef or Sarit.

I unloaded all my wet belongings and clothes, muscles creaking with relief, then hurried up the spiral staircase and into my washroom for a shower.

When I was warmed through, dry, and clothed in a dove-gray sweater and thick black pants, I skipped downstairs to find Sarit and Stef making tea in the kitchen.

“Ana!” Sarit abandoned the kettle and wrapped me in a hug. “You’re back! And just in time. I got a message earlier saying that Lidea went to the rebirthing center this afternoon, and Wend will send a message when we should come. They’d have been so sad if you couldn’t make it.”

“Ugh, the rain, though.” I pulled my damp hair into a quick bun. “Our tent had a leak. I’ve had quite enough of the rain.”

“But you’re going, right?” Sarit narrowed her dark eyes at me. “Because I will put you in one of my tiny bags and carry you if I have to.”

“I’ll go! Anything but the tiny bag.” With Sarit appeased, I shifted and hugged Stef before accepting the hot mug of tea she offered. “Missed you.”

She shook back a length of blond hair and kissed my forehead. “You too.”

We headed into the parlor, where Stef and I sat on the sofa, and Sarit perched on the piano bench.

“Think he’ll notice?” She glanced toward the stairs; Sam was somewhere up there, finishing washing or unpacking. I didn’t even want to think about unpacking, but my bag stared at me from the door, waiting.

“Oh, he’ll notice,” Stef said. “But he won’t mind.”

Sarit grinned and caressed the row of ebony and ivory piano keys. “I call this one ‘Bumble, Bumblebee.’ It’s for you, Ana.”

I laughed and leaned back to listen while she played a silly tune that seemed to involve more picking notes at random than anything. Eventually Sam came down and sat on the arm of the sofa next to me, and everyone caught up with one another.

In all my years of living in Purple Rose Cottage with Li, I’d never imagined this: sitting in Dossam’s elegant parlor, surrounded by glorious instruments I’d only dreamt of seeing, and listening to my friends discuss their days.

I had friends.

It was more than I could have hoped.

Stef was fierce and intimidating, possessing this grace so practiced it was unconscious after all these generations. Sitting next to her always made me feel skinny and awkward. And while Stef looked like sunshine, Sarit looked like nighttime, with dramatic dark hair and eyes. They were both so beautiful it hurt.

But they were my friends. My friends. They liked me for some reason. And Sam —Sam had said he loved me.

I leaned back, scribbling happiness into my notebook and listening to the melody of my friends’ voices.

Sam glanced over and lifted an eyebrow. “Diary?”

With a shrug and a smile, I closed my notebook. I’d show him what was inside when I was ready.

After a half hour of talking and drinking tea, the patter of rain let up, and Sarit checked her SED.

“Looks like Lidea is ready for us. We should go while it’s safe to walk outside without gills.”

We put on coats and grabbed umbrellas, and the four of us went out, Sam and Stef walking together, and Sarit with me. The world smelled of damp grass and leaves, fresh, in spite of the way everything was dying at winter’s approach.

“Long trip away,” she muttered. “Just you and Sam. A romantic gift of a flute. So have you”—she lifted an eyebrow suggestively—“you know?”

Had I what? Had Sam and I done something together? Something that warranted a suggestive eyebrow? She must have thought I’d be embarrassed to talk about it—which meant whatever it was, I hadn’t done it. “No.” I bit my lip.

“Really? The way you two were at the rededication, I’d have thought months ago.”