Asunder

decide together what we do.”

His voice was rough. “And if I do care?”

“Then I suppose nothing will ever change.” Or everything would. “I don’t want to be sixty and still unenlightened about these matters.”

“I’m sure by then—”

“It will be appropriate?” My head buzzed with exhaustion and sadness. “When does that happen?

When do I magically become old enough for you? There will always be five thousand years between us.”

“I don’t know.” He dropped his gaze. “I just don’t. I’m sorry.”

Ugh. I saw his dilemma, but that didn’t change the fact that we weren’t going anywhere until he made a choice. It was our relationship, so what other people thought shouldn’t matter. “I’m going to bed.”

He nodded.

Why couldn’t he just be whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted? Why did things Stef said have to matter so much? Why couldn’t Sam truly be eighteen—almost nineteen—like me so we didn’t have to deal with any of his issues from being so old and my being so new? I didn’t care. Usually. He shouldn’t care either.

I almost asked him to reconsider my offer. Instead, I just said, “Good night,” and turned away. My courage was as thin as silk, but I held it around me like armor and urged myself up the stairs, dragging the remains of my dignity.

22 ABSENCE

WHEN I GOT up a few hours later, I started coffee and took care of all the chores. I hadn’t slept wellor at all—and even during a crisis, chickens and cavies needed to be fed.

Then, at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, I closed my eyes and inhaled steam, absorbing the silence of no explosions and no fighting with Sam.

The scrape of ceramic on stone yanked me out of my peace. Sam poured coffee at the counter, his face lined with exhaustion. Just seeing him from the corner of my eye, he might have been a stranger. Even his clothes were rumpled.

I settled into a comfortable glower when he faced me.

“Do you want to see if we can talk to the survivors in the hospital?” His voice was hoarse with no sleep. “See if they saw anyone?”

“I was already going to do that.” I gulped down the rest of my coffee and stood. “Are you ready to go?”

“I guess.” He combed his fingers through his hair—it didn’t make much of a difference—and finished his coffee.

When we were dressed for the chilly weather, we headed toward the Councilhouse. He didn’t try to make excuses for earlier this morning, which was good. He didn’t even talk to me. Just as well. It left me time to focus on not paying attention to the ashy reek, or the rubble strewn around Geral’s property.

Charred bits of something littered the road. Sam picked them up. To carry to a recycling bin, I supposed. I couldn’t let him feel morally superior, so I grabbed some, too.

We dropped everything in the appropriate bins when we reached South Avenue, then turned north, and I couldn’t help but see the temple. White on gray sky, though it wasn’t just smoke up there now. Clouds thickened, threatening snow or sleet.

I shivered and eased my strides closer to Sam. He was nice enough to pretend not to notice.

“Tonight,” I said, so he’d think my walking closer to him was about secrecy rather than comfort, “I’m going to work on translating the books. Cris said he meant to bring over the paper I gave him before, so I want to get that, too.” I had the notes I’d gotten from Meuric safe in my pocket.

“Okay.” Sam kept walking.

We wandered through the hospital wing of the Councilhouse until one of the medics told us where Geral and the other two survivors were being treated. I wrinkled my nose at the scent of rubbing alcohol and burned flesh—a reek too familiar to me. My hands were folded up and tucked beneath my chin before I realized.

Sam touched my back. “This way.”

I flinched, but followed through double doors that led into a reception area the size of Sam’s parlor, with walls of white synthetic silk sheets, pinned in place by steel shelves; the walls seemed to glow in all the light. People at the desk glanced up at our entrance, then back to their work.

“Sam. Ana.” Sine approached, her gray hair pulled into a tight bun. She wore a medic’s smock and gloves, and a deep frown. “Is something wrong?”

“We came to see Geral and the others,” Sam said. “Do you know anything about who caused the explosions?”

“I think you mean what caused them.” She glanced around the room; a lanky teenage girl watched us, while another man—Merton?—muttered into his SED as he vanished behind a partition. Sine spoke at a normal volume. “It was only gas leaks and corroded wires. Walk with me over here.”

Sam’s face was stone as he nodded, and we headed into a hallway off the main chamber. Several curtained rooms waited on one side. Recovery rooms.

We went all the way to the end of the hall and took the last room. It was unoccupied, as were the five before it. Sine must have wanted a lot of privacy.

She motioned at the chairs around the bed. “Sit close so I don’t have to yell.”

Sam and I scooted our chairs toward hers.

“For now, the Council is giving the gas story.” Her voice was so quiet I strained to hear. “But I assume you two have already figured out what really happened.”

“Someone hates newsouls.” I wanted to be sick.

“Yes.” She leveled her gaze on me. “I can stop you from investigating this, but I won’t. I know this is something you’re passionate about, Ana. I want to caution you, though, before you do anything reckless.”

Because someone had told her about the meeting last night? Or she just knew?

She went on. “Whoever planted those explosives is already willing to risk Council repercussions, not to mention several lifetimes of people exacting revenge. Hurting—or killing—either of you isn’t going to be a problem.”

“But the law about killing me—” She shook her head. “They don’t care, Ana. Any of those unborn could have been newsouls. The law protects them, too, but…”

“There should be better laws.” I crossed my arms, and neither Sam nor Sine disagreed. “What about Lidea and Anid?”

“Wend took everything they needed to my house. Whoever is doing this won’t suspect Lidea and Anid are with me, at least for a few more days. Hopefully we’ll have answers by then.”

“I suppose you’ve already questioned the survivors?” Sam asked.

She nodded. “As much as we could. Some were badly burned, and their medication is making them, ah, interesting to talk to. But Geral was asking about you, Ana. And you’ll be relieved to know that, while the shock did send her into labor, she gave birth this morning. They’re both fine.”

“She did? They are?” I twisted in my chair like I’d be able to see through the layers of silk walls.

“When can I see her?”

“Now, if you’d like. She’s in the first room in this hall.”

I was up and at the curtain before I realized they weren’t with me. “You aren’t coming?”

“We have a couple of things left to discuss,” said Sam. “I’ll join you shortly.” He sat straight with his hands on his knees. How had they both known to stay? How had one communicated to the other there was something they wanted to talk about without me? There must have been some signal I’d missed.