Starglass

he wanted. It didn’t change the rest of us. We were broken, damaged beyond repair.

But I didn’t have much time to think about that. Because Koen leaned into me again, a gentle smile playing across his lips.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he said. “If life works out like it should, she won’t even remember this ship.”

The baby’s tiny hands curved into helpless fists. “It seems like a heavy burden for her to carry,” I said at last. “All that hope poured into one tiny girl.”

That’s when Koen reached a hand out and drew me close, so that my shoulder was pressed to the warmth of his body. Close enough to smell him now. He was cedar and clean hair and the cool wind in the dome and something else, something I couldn’t quite name.

“That’s all right,” he said softly. “She doesn’t have to carry it alone.”

* * *

As I made my way through the streets that night, I watched the merchants pull down their shutters with gloved hands. Behind them store lights flickered off one by one. The sky went dim over the tops of the town houses, then black. Save for the streetlamps, the whole world was going dark.

Rachel’s shop was on the last street in the commerce district. From this side of the glass, it looked warm and bright, with a whole line of colorfully dressed mannequins posing in the windows. I stepped through the door into the carpeted interior. A bell jangled overhead.

“We’re closed,” came a familiar voice from back near the dressing rooms. I stuffed my hands down into the pockets of my mud-stained work pants, moving forward between racks. It seemed almost wrong to be here looking like I did—so rumpled amid all this clean new linen.

“Are you now?” I called. There was a pause. Rachel’s slender face and wild smile appeared from behind a row of jewel-toned frocks.

“Terra!” She let out a squeal, pushing through the rows of silk in her rush to greet me. The fabric rustled like leaves. “You came to visit!”

I leaned into her embrace, taking a long breath of the soapy, floral scent of her. Of course, these days the perfume of iron-rich soil followed me like a cloud. But she didn’t seem to care what I smelled like. Rachel raked her long fingernails along my shoulder blades, then gave my arms a squeeze.

“What does that botanist have you do all day?” she asked, the space between her eyes crinkling. “You’re all . . . muscle!”

I pulled away, shrugging. I’d noticed how my limbs had grown leaner, how my pants fit me looser even as my body had stretched, outgrowing them, but I’d been too tired to pay much attention to it.

“Digging around in the dirt,” I said.

“I can tell,” she said. Then she took my hand and pulled me across the store. We passed racks of wedding dresses in every conceivable shade of gold. They reminded me of the season that was fading just beyond the shop door. She led me to the ring of chairs that sat outside the dressing room. We both sat—she leaning forward in her seat, looking eager, and me on the chair’s edge, precariously perched.

“So,” I began. It had been so long since we’d last spoken that it felt difficult to find our old rhythm. “Ronen’s child was hatched today.”

“Oh, mazel tov! They had their girl first, didn’t they?”

“They did.”

Rachel gestured toward the rear of the store, where clothing for children hung from miniature hangers.

“Have Hannah come by, won’t you? I’d love to help her pick out a few rompers.”

I studied Rachel’s face for a moment. She looked so happy, bright cheeked at the very thought of selecting a few items of baby clothes for my sister-in-law.

“You love your job, don’t you?” I asked. She let out a laugh of agreement.

“It’s so much fun to help people look their best. And I’m good at it. Sales are up more than forty percent from last year.” She hesitated, biting down on her bottom lip. “I’m not supposed to let anyone know, but I’ve done so well that they’ve started to give me a commission. Less than what I’ll be making when I turn sixteen, but some pocket gelt is nice, at least. Of course, a lot of it goes right back to the store.”

I could tell. She was dressed richly—in a long dress the color of violets. It was sewn from thin cotton, with buttons up the long sleeves and a plunging neckline that showed the dark skin over her collarbone. It was all very stylish.

“You look great, Raych,” I said, and meant it. “I’m sure Silvan just adores it.”

“Oh,” she said. “Him.” She waved her hand at me, as if Silvan Rafferty were little more than a trifle. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s still gorgeous. And I’m still planning on, you know, asking for his hand. But we’ve just been so busy lately.”

“Well,” I began. My lips edged up into a cunning smile. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time after you declare your intentions.”

“Of course!” she said, blushing. “Only a few more weeks!”

My only response was a muffled groan. I’d almost forgotten our impending birthday. At sixteen we’d be eligible to marry, able to declare our intentions to any adult man, to consent if one asked us for our hand. Rachel always said that our real lives would finally start when we turned sixteen. . . . I wasn’t entirely sure what she thought we’d been doing up till then. Not living, I guess.

“Terra!” Rachel chided. “You don’t want to be an old unmatched biddy, do you? And to have the Council pick your partner?”

“No, of course not,” I said, “but we do have two years. It’s not as if we need to declare our intentions right away.”

Rachel regarded me sternly. It was clear that she thought me half crazy. “Whatever you say. I can’t wait until my life with my bashert begins.”

The word stuck in my throat like a lump that kept me from swallowing. I couldn’t move past it. Bashert, bashert.

“You really think you’re fated to marry Silvan?”

“Oh . . .” Rachel looked down, away from me. “Maybe not fated. But my mother says that she and Daddy learned to be each other’s true souls over time. I don’t know. I know you think it’s silly.”

It was an old argument between us. Rachel believed in all of that destiny stuff; I never had. Not before, at least.

But I found myself lowering my voice. The memory of a smooth, printless hand ran through my mind. “No,” I said gravely. “It’s not silly. I—I sometimes hope . . .”

I clutched the sleeve of my coat with both hands, worrying the fabric. I didn’t want to tell Rachel about my dreams. For one thing, they were almost too embarrassing to contemplate. I felt so naked in them. Like I was being split open, skinned alive.

For another, for so many years my dreams had been about Silvan. Silvan, who belonged to Rachel.

But, to my relief, she just put a soothing hand on top of mine.

“We all want to find someone special, Terra. You don’t have to be embarrassed by it.”

Of course, she didn’t know that both of us dreamed about the same boy. I flattened my lips, forced a wistful smile. “No. I guess I don’t. It just feels so strange to even hope.”

“These hopes,” Rachel began, “are they about any particular boy? Do you have someone in mind?”

“Well,” I said, drawing out the syllable. I couldn’t tell her the truth. So I talked about the next-best thing. Koen. Koen was easier to contemplate. “There is a boy, actually. Maybe. I think.”

She looked almost hungry at the news. “Who?”

“My father’s talmid,” I said, feeling my face redden again. Rachel scrunched up her nose.

“Koen Maxwell? He’s kind of awkward, don’t you think?”

I thought about it—how Koen was always letting out loose bursts of laughter at exactly the wrong moment or how he pawed at his neck when my father asked him questions over the dinner table. But, to be honest, that was part of what I liked about him. He had a kind of nervous energy that was always spilling out, like he couldn’t quite contain it.