Asunder

“Ana did more to mitigate a slaughter during Templedark than anyone. And where were you that night?

Did you turn over and go back to sleep?”

Their argument had begun drawing curious looks. Cris strode toward us as though on a mission. Most others just stared.

“Stop,” I said. “Both of you.” I couldn’t imagine how my voice didn’t shake. I locked my knees to stay upright, but it just made me light-headed.

Deborl smirked.

“Hello, Cris,” I said as he approached behind Deborl. I was so sore and tired. Maybe someone else could keep Sam and Deborl from coming to blows. Then I could curl up on a nice rock and go to sleep for a year.

He nodded in greeting, exchanging a questioning look with Sam. Something heavy passed between them, though I couldn’t decipher the flickers of expression.

“Is this your plan, Sam? Get people to feel sorry for newsouls by parading around a tearful Ana? It won’t work. It’s pathetic.” Deborl sneered. “People will never accept newsouls. Everyone knows you’re blinded by”—he eyed me—“whatever you two do together. Disgusting.”

Sam’s arm tightened around me. “Don’t you have something important to do?” He glared at Deborl.

“Maybe you could find whoever assaulted Ana?”

The Councilor showed teeth when he smiled. “Little Ana missed her progress report the other day, and you haven’t rescheduled. Some Councilors are wondering if she doesn’t really want to be a member of the community.”

The other day?

“I told you, she was sick—” Sam had needed to make an excuse for me?

“You have until the end of this week to report to the Council.” Deborl’s glare didn’t shift away from me. “That’s in two days. Be there no later than tenth hour, or your status as Dossam’s ward will be revoked and you will be exiled from Range.” With that, he marched into the dispersing crowd. A couple people patted him on the back, pleased with the idea that I might be kicked out.

Armande strode up, coffee in hand. He offered the paper cup to me, and I clutched it to my chest, trying to absorb its warmth.

“So.” Cris turned to Sam. “I see you found her.”

“You were looking for me?” He’d known exactly where I was. He’d been ready to go, too. How did I go from being sick to missing? What happened to the original plan of letting everyone assume we were off kissing somewhere?

“You were missing.” Sam’s fingers curled over the small of my back, as though to draw me close again. “We all went out to look for you that night, and the next. Cris and Armande stayed out late with me every night, but we couldn’t find you.”

That night? The next night? Every night? How many had there been? I reached back and touched the rose I’d braided into my hair, but it felt the same as it had when I’d put it there: a little brittle, but certainly not that old.

“We were all worried,” Cris said. “Sarit is a wreck. Someone should call her.”

My head throbbed so hard I could barely think. I just wanted to sleep, but the temple loomed at my back, a thousand times more frightening than it had ever been. Meuric’s words still haunted me. The souls still haunted me.

I licked my lips. “How long was I”—not in there, not with Armande and Cris present—“missing?”

“A week.” Sam’s expression was sober, lines around his mouth and between his eyes. His skin was pallid, his eyes bloodshot and circled with hollowed darkness. “You’ve been missing for a week.”

My cup slipped from my hands and slammed onto the cobblestones. The lid popped off and coffee splashed over shoes and pant hems, but I couldn’t muster the energy to apologize, let alone back away from the liquid flying everywhere.

Coffee seeped through the cracks in stones, like rot dribbling from Meuric’s eyeSam caught me when my knees buckled. “It’s all right now. I’ll take you home.”

18 CRASH

I MADE IT as far as South Avenue before my legs refused to work anymore, so Sam carried me. Safe in his arms, I closed my eyes and listened to the melody of voices.

“Where was she?” Cris asked. “I’d thought you must have found her this morning and you both came to the market field….”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. I couldn’t tell whether he remembered where I’d been. “I wish Deborl had minded his own business.”

Armande snorted. “You know he can’t. Just as I bake, you play music, and Cris gardens, Deborl must interfere in others’ business. It’s the only thing he’s got going for him.”

With my face pressed into Sam’s coat, I managed a smile.

Sam tightened his hold on me. “Someone told Lidea that Ana was missing. She’s been calling every hour, worried Ana had been kidnapped, and they might come after Anid next. She refuses to leave her house, and she had Stef set up all manner of monitoring systems in the baby’s room. Not that it matters, because Lidea sleeps next to his crib to guard him.”

Guilt burrowed in my stomach. A week. It hadn’t felt like a week. My rose…

I drifted in and out, and it seemed like forever before they carried me up the front steps and through the parlor.

A cup was pressed against my mouth, and water trickled in. I swallowed hesitantly at first, but as my throat grew used to the motion, I gulped the water down until my stomach hurt.

Bundled in blankets on the sofa, surely I was safe.

Sam showed the other two to the door, thanking them. It might have been my state or blurry vision, but while Sam seemed easy with Armande, his posture changed when he faced Cris. Slumped shoulders, weight shifted toward the other boy. Cris stood like his mirror.

“You didn’t have to do so much,” Sam said. “But I’m grateful. Thank you.”

“She seems nice.” Cris hesitated. “Well, a bit testy, but I suspect she’s nice underneath all those thorns.”

“When we first met, she had scars all over her hands. It took me a while to figure out how she’d gotten them.” Sam hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Or why they looked familiar.”

Cris held up his hands; I couldn’t see clearly from my place on the sofa, or with the current foggy state of my vision, but I imagined they were both looking at the scars he wore, too. You’d think someone who had been tending roses for hundreds of years might figure out about gloves.

“I saw the roses at the cottage.” Cris lowered his hands. “She did a good job with them. Maybe I’ll bring a few more by to cheer her up.”

“She’d like that.” They spoke a moment more, offers of further assistance, and Cris turned to leave.

“Hey.” Sam shifted his weight and his tone lightened. “I always thought your roses were blue.”

Cool fingers touched my cheek. “Ana?”

“Mmm?” I tilted my head toward the window, where light could burn beyond my eyelids; I didn’t want to wake up in the dark.

“Where did you go?” He sounded broken. Shattered. He sat on the edge of the sofa. “I looked everywhere for you.”

My arms were too heavy to lift all the way to his face, so I settled for his elbows and dragged him downward. “You really don’t remember?”