Starglass

I stood, waiting, my hands on my hips.

Mara lifted one of the slides toward the light. I watched as she squinted through the glass, searching for something. “I suppose you expect me to pay you now?”

I didn’t answer her. After a moment she let out a heavy sigh. “I guess it can’t be helped,” she said, cracking a faint smile. “Now, come on. We have work to do.”

* * *

After work that night I made supper: a hearty stew with carrots and turnips and the oxidized ends of what was left of our meat. My father was upstairs, hiding out in his bedroom, leaving me and Pepper to tend the stove. I bent over to place a slice of fatty meat in the cat’s chipped porcelain bowl. And that’s when I heard a knock at the door.

I turned in surprise. On nights without Koen we never had visitors, not this late. As I reached out to open the door, I heard Abba’s footsteps sound eagerly on the stairwell.

“Is he here?” he shouted over the banister.

“Is who here?” I replied. But before my father could answer, I opened the door—and found Rachel.

Beneath her coat she wore a rose-red dress, just the color to bring out the golden undertones in her skin. But, despite her fine clothes, she was a mess. Tears streamed down her face, trailing over her jaw like a river. Snot sheened over her lips. Her ruby lipstick was smeared to her chin.

“T-T-Terra!” She hiccuped my name. I reached out for her hand, fixing my pinkie finger around hers. And then I pulled her inside and closed the door behind us.

“Abba?” I said, doing my best not to gawk at Rachel. We were sixteen now. We weren’t supposed to go around sobbing like babies. “It’s Rachel. Can you get her a handkerchief?”

Disappointment twisted my father’s face. He nodded wordlessly and made his way up the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, pulling out one of our dining chairs. She sat, teetering on the edge.

My father returned then, and he handed her one of Momma’s cloth hankies. Despite the way they’d conspired together on my Birthing Day gift, Abba had never really gotten along with Rachel. Thanks to everything I told her, she was afraid of him. She eyed my father. For once, he seemed to understand. He went and hovered over the bubbling stew, chattering at Pepper, doing his best to give us some illusion of privacy. Satisfied, Rachel finally dabbed at her eyes and began her story.

“I went to the Raffertys’ quarters today after work.”

Silvan. My stomach sank into my gut.

“I . . . I brought flowers. His favorite kind. White lilies. They cost me a fortune. The Raffertys were all sitting there at the supper table—his mother, his father. And Captain Wolff, of all people. I can’t believe I humiliated myself in front of her. I should have . . . I shouldn’t have done it!” I saw Rachel’s lower lip curl, revealing her teeth. Before she could start bawling again, I reached out and grabbed her hand in mine. Her fingers were hot.

“I got down on one knee and I told Silvan that I would be honored to be his wife. That if he’d consent, then I was declaring my intent to marry. You know. All of that. They all just . . . just stared at me!”

I squeezed her fingers, which felt as clammy as dead flesh. She didn’t squeeze back.

“Did Silvan say anything?” I asked. Rachel didn’t answer, not right away.

“What did he say?” I prodded.

“He looked at his family. Like he didn’t want them to hear. Then he took me outside. And he told me that . . . that I’m beneath him. Because of my job. Because of his! He said that once it might have been okay for him to court a merchant girl like me. But that now that he’s to be captain, we have to be serious. I was serious, Terra!”

With that, my friend broke down again.

“Oh, Rachel,” I said. Stormy emotions flooded my rib cage. Mostly guilt. I’d failed her. I should have seen the whole thing coming. I should have been there to protect her. But I’d been distracted.

I pulled my chair close to hers, drawing her in for a hug. Bowing her head against my neck, she collapsed into my arms. I didn’t speak, didn’t offer advice or even apologies. I just held her, the way I’d want to be held if I were in her position.

When we finally drew away from the embrace, I saw that my father had set a trio of glasses down on the table. They were filled with cloudy, bloodred liquid.

“Wine,” Rachel said, giving one final sniffle. “Mar Fineberg, you shouldn’t . . .”

My father held up one hand as he took his glass in the other. “You girls are sixteen now. Old enough to drown your sorrows in a bottle or a cask, assuming you have the gelt or the rations. And we do. I’ve been saving this for tonight. I thought we’d have some after supper to celebrate, but it seems you need it now.” He lifted the glass. We hadn’t even taken ours from the table yet, but my father gave a grim smile and toasted the air.

“To adulthood,” my father said. But the words sounded darker than he’d intended, especially after Rachel let out a wheezing breath. Still, he added the traditional toast: “To life, and to Zehava. L’chaim! ”

“L’chaim,” Rachel parroted. I heard myself echo the words too, and we both lifted our glasses from the table, touched their edges, and drank.

The wine was old. That was just like my father, to share the stuff that had gone to vinegar. As I forced it down, wincing, another knock sounded at our door. This time it was a quick succession of knuckles against metal.

My father’s head snapped up.

“I think you should get it, Terra,” he said. No one else made a move. Even Pepper seemed to watch me closely, crouching low against the counter. I put down my glass, rose. My new boots suddenly felt like they were made of lead. Dragging the heavy soles, I went to the door and opened it.

It was Koen. Under the shadow of his unruly hair, his face was scrunched up against the cold. Pink mottled his cheeks and ears, though whether from embarrassment or the harsh wind, I couldn’t be sure. His lips lifted, showing the crooked edge of his teeth.

“Can I come in?” he asked. His breath fogged the air. Behind me, Rachel was staring down at her hands, examining her fingernails like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

That’s when I realized what was happening. That’s when I felt my blood drain from my head, when I heard the first labored thud of my heart in my ears.

“Um,” I murmured, “sure.” He stepped inside, flashing his gaze to my father and to Rachel, appraising the situation. Then he turned to me.

“Terra, if you’ll have me . . .”

I knew those words. Tradition dictated that you couldn’t hear or speak them until you turned sixteen. But I hadn’t let myself think about it, not since I’d been a little girl. I was too gawky, too weird. This was something that happened to other girls. To Rachel. Not to me.

But Koen’s eyes were open wide. In the galley light they picked up flecks of amber. “If you’ll have me, then I would be honored if you’d consent to marry me.”

I opened my mouth, drawing in a deep breath. Wasn’t this what I’d wanted, what I’d told Silvan I wanted? I heard myself give my consent, but it was like someone else was speaking.

Behind Koen, in the shadows, I saw my father’s head move up and down. He approved. Of course he did. He looked happy. So why did my own smile falter?

But then Koen stepped close, and my fears began to drain away. I could smell the cold night air rise off his body, fresh and sharp. He bent down and pressed his lips to mine. They were cool, chapped, and as dry as winter. I leaned in a little, entirely too aware of how we were being watched.

Maybe that’s why Koen’s lips didn’t open to mine. Maybe he felt awkward too. His hands stayed frozen at his sides. My stomach twisted. This is wrong, I heard my body say. This is all wrong.

As if in response Koen pulled away. A small, tight smile played over his mouth. Then he stumbled out the open door and was gone.

I lifted the back of my hand to my lips. They throbbed like a bruise. Slowly I turned to face the galley table and the people sitting there. Rachel forced down a second mouthful of wine, tears welling up again. And my father