Anger-clouded eyes met mine, and he’d drawn his mouth into a thin line. I pressed my hand against his elbow until his expression grew easier. “As you wish.”
“I’ll meet you outside.” I gathered my coat from the back of my chair and my notebook from the table, and left without acknowledging anyone else.
11
BLUE
WHEN I CAME out the side door, the market field was still busy with people walking around, chatting, and listening to music on their SEDs, but not as crowded as before. Merton’s group was gone, though the effects of his speech lingered. People eyed me with distaste, and some had gathered into small circles of gossip.
I slumped on a bench and fumbled for my mitts.
“Hey, Ana.” Armande sat next to me and offered a paper cup of coffee.
“Thanks.” I balanced it on my knee and watched a group of children chase one another through the market field. They weren’t really children, though. They were five-thousand-year-old children, burning off the excess energy of their age. Would I know what that felt like, being a kid again but remembering everything I did now? I wanted the chance—ached for it—and acceptance.
“Don’t worry, Ana.” Armande gave me an awkward sideways hug, somehow knowing what I was thinking about. If I was that easy to read, surely my lies in the Council chamber had been, too.
“Did Lidea and Anid get home safely yesterday?” I asked.
He nodded. “Thanks to you. Wend is with her, of course, and Stef waited a few hours to make sure everything was all right. I think she’s rather taken with Anid.” Armande grinned. He was Sam’s father in this life, so the physical similarities between them were striking: dark hair they both wore perfectly shaggy, wide-set eyes, and strong builds. But that was where their likeness ended. Sam was quiet and graceful; Armande was outgoing and…less graceful.
I liked trying to figure out which traits were inherited each generation, and which traits had become habits.
“How’d it go in there?” He jerked his chin toward the Councilhouse.
I sipped my coffee, letting the heat flood through me. “The Council is angry with me.”
“The Council is always angry.”
“Deborl thinks I can control sylph.”
Armande snorted. “That’s like saying you control dragons. Ridiculous.”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t forget the way the sylph had responded to my voice, to physical gestures, and my words when I shouted for them to flee. Maybe they’d have fled simply because I was shouting.
“It’s curious how there were so many, though. Aside from Templedark, we haven’t had an attack that size in centuries.”
It hadn’t even been an attack. Maybe. No one had been hurt—besides my reputation—so did it still count? In hindsight, it seemed like the sylph had just wanted to look at us.
We sat in silence while I waited on Sam, and Armande…made sure no one threw rocks. His stall was close enough to keep an eye on it while he kept an eye on me, too. I hated that, but I really didn’t want the girl across the way to yell at me, or the guy on the Councilhouse steps to call me names, so I said nothing.
“I’m worried about Anid.” I placed my coffee on the bench beside me. “About how he and other newsouls will grow up. The Council isn’t going to do anything.”
I couldn’t help but remember my first conversation with Councilors. Sam and I had just reached Heart, and I wasn’t allowed into the city. They’d insisted the no-Ana law was because they hadn’t been sure the city could support newsouls. Who would feed us and teach us? But there’d only been me.
Now there were two.
Soon there could be more.
“I expect there will be fierce debates from both sides, not just from those afraid of change. Lots of people like you and are looking forward to meeting more newsouls.” Armande patted my shoulder fondly.
“If nothing else, the next few months will give you an idea of whom to avoid.”
I hated knowing this was something I had to do, not only for myself but for other newsouls. “At least when policies are finally made, we’ll know what kind of things to watch out for. Like if they say it’s legal to throw rocks at us. I think I still have a bruise from the last one.”
Armande didn’t laugh.
“Ana!” Cris towered above the crowd, features sharp in the near-winter sunlight as he moved toward us.
I waved.
“I didn’t realize you knew Cris,” Armande said, voice low and tinged with something I couldn’t identify. Memories? The past? Definitely something he didn’t want to tell me.
“We met him at Purple Rose Cottage when he was on his way back here.” I took another sip of my coffee as Cris approached and sat on the other side of me, placing a rose across my knees. Velvety indigo petals shivered in the breeze, and settled as I brushed my fingers up to the tips. It was the same kind of rose I’d tended in Purple Rose Cottage, though the thorns had been clipped off this one. “Where did you get this?”
He cocked his head, shadowing his expression. “I didn’t abandon them all.”
Oh, right. Like I’d accused him of doing. “I’m glad to hear that. I didn’t realize you’d kept growing them.”
“It’s not something someone stops doing just because other people don’t agree about color.”
“Technology didn’t agree either,” said Armande. “They tested whether the color registered more red —like purple—or blue.”
Cris smiled. “What do you think, Ana? Blue or purple?”
I held up my hands, torn between being stunned and pleased someone had asked my opinion. “I’m not getting into this.” My chuckle came out high and shaky. “This is clearly an inflammatory topic, and I think it’s safer not to have an opinion.”
Cris laughed. “Very well. I was more curious whether you’d like to continue gardening. You’ve been taking lessons from everyone, right? Are you still interested in roses?”
I nodded toward the southwestern residential quarter. “I’ve been tending the roses at Sam’s house. It’s not nearly as involved as what you’re used to, I’m sure, but I enjoy it.”
“That’s good to hear.” He motioned toward the rose still on my lap. “Were you interested in learning more about the genetics and how to begin projects like these roses? We’ve actually learned a lot about human genetics by breeding plants to see what traits pass on.”
But since I was interested in the first part—making new kinds of roses and things that required more gardening knowledge—I said, “Sure. I need to check my schedule to see what days are free. Last week I had to learn about automated sewer maintenance. Soon I’ll be accompanying Stef and a few others into a mine to rescue a broken drone. I’m supposed to help fix it.” I made a face. More than likely, I’d be holding a flashlight.
“Gardening won’t be quite as physically exhausting as that.”
“You can’t trick me. I’ve fought weeds before.” I fondled the rose petals, soft against my fingertips peeking out from my mitts. It was just like the roses from the cottage, even the sweet scent. “We usually go to lessons in the afternoon, unless another time is better for you.”
“We? Sam goes too?” He raised an eyebrow.
I frowned. “Is that not okay? The Council makes him report everything.” Plus, it was nice having him around in case we ran across someone like Merton—not that I would admit that out loud.
“It’s fine.” His expression had darkened, though. “I just didn’t realize Sam accompanied you. But please call when you’re ready to schedule.”
