Starglass

made my choice—the day I married Silvan, whose father I’d killed. The day my heart withered and died. Because I had no other option.

I crossed the hallway of my brother’s home and reached my spare, undecorated bedroom. Momma’s wedding dress was the only bit of light within those steel walls, but it was a feeble one. After all, I’d mended the old gown myself, looping crooked stitches through the torn silk. I’d never been very good at sewing.

I pulled it over my head. It didn’t fit right, not really—not with the way that my arms and back had grown muscly from work. The fabric bunched and pinched around my armpits. I could hardly lower my arms as I fumbled for the buttons. But what could I do? I hadn’t been able to afford a new dress, and I wasn’t going to go asking Silvan’s family for the gelt.

I was sucking in my stomach and trying to tighten the bodice cords, when a knock sounded at the door below.

Holding the bodice of my dress against my body, my wet hair dripping down my shoulders, I rushed to answer it. When I threw open the door, I found Rachel standing there.

Beneath her heavy winter coat she wore her own wedding gown. There were violets pinned in her black hair. In her arms she held another golden dress. She looked angry, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows.

“Rachel!” was all I could say at first, the syllables falling clumsily from my mouth. She just thrust the dress at me.

“Your brother bought this for you,” she said. “I don’t know why he wanted me to deliver it today, of all days. He must have known that it’s my wedding day too.”

Wordlessly I took the hanger from her hands. The dress was made from silk, like Momma’s dress, but this silk was flawless and new. Nicer, too. The fabric shimmered against my hands.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. But Rachel was already halfway down the path. A sudden pang of desperation went through me.

“Rachel!” I called. “Wait! Please! I’m sorry!”

She stopped but didn’t turn. So I did the only thing I could. I said it again.

“Please, Rachel. I’m so sorry.”

I heard her loose a low, hollow sigh. “When asked for forgiveness, one should forgive with a sincere mind and a willing spirit,” she began, her voice nearly swallowed up by the wind. “Forgiveness is natural to the seed of Israel.”

“Israel?” I asked. I’d heard that word before, in Momma’s book. Even then I hadn’t been sure what it meant. A place, I guessed, maybe. But I had no idea why Rachel would go on about it.

She turned slowly. I could see that she was forcing the tight line of her lips to soften.

“It’s in this book that Koen gave me. I was telling him about the electric candles that Mom lights. And he found me this book in the library about it. It’s called the Torah.”

I frowned, trying to stop my mind from reaching for the natural conclusions: that if Koen had returned to the library, then he’d returned to Van, too.

“It’s an ancient history,” Rachel went on, mistaking my expression for curiosity about the book, “of these people on Earth who live in a desert and stuff. Anyway, it talks a lot about how you’re supposed to act. And it says if someone asks for forgiveness three times, then you’re supposed to forgive them.”

There was a long silence. I looked at Rachel. Though her jaw was tight, she still looked beautiful: long limbed, but not gawky. Strong, but still graceful. My best friend looked like such an adult. I knew in my heart, suddenly, fiercely, that I didn’t want her to walk down that road without me.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, almost shouting the words. The tears flooded my eyes before I had a chance to even anticipate them. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you with Silvan and all of that. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But I did and I’m so, so sorry.”

Rachel cracked a smile. “That’s more than enough, Terra. Three times. The book only said three times.”

I sniffed tears. Rachel let out a laugh.

“Do you need help getting dressed?” she asked. And then, because I could trust her, always, to be honest with me, she added: “Because you’re kind of a mess.”

I gave a mute nod. Still smiling, Rachel followed me into the house.

* * *

Rachel helped me out of my old, ill-fitting dress and into the new one. It must have been made to my measurements. When the stays of the bodice were tightened, it fit my curves like a glove. It had long, narrow sleeves, a low boatneck. It wasn’t flashy like Rachel’s dress—hers had flowers embroidered in the pleats and tiny beads sewn all along the top—but the plain, elegant style suited me. Even I had to admit that I didn’t look half bad in it.

“Ronen picked this?” I asked, turning in front of the mirror.

“Well, he had some help,” Rachel said, winking at me.

She sat me down on the bed, twisting my short hair into a braid. Her hands made quick work. In our silence Pepper padded in and settled on the hem of my dress.

“You’re going to be covered in cat hair,” Rachel said. I shrugged.

“I figure Silvan should get used to it.”

Rachel gave a laugh. “Can’t escape the cat hair,” she said. “It’s an indelible part of ?Terra Fineberg.”

At first I laughed too. But her words swirled around in my mind. Indelible part. After another moment I gave her an uneasy look.

“About Koen . . .”

Rachel looked at me for a long time. “Honestly, I don’t think he could stay away from Van Hofstadter if he tried. But that doesn’t matter. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean he’s my destiny or anything. This wedding is about survival. I’m marrying him because otherwise I’ll have no choice in who I marry at all. Everyone else from our class is already married or intended. And I won’t let the Council choose for me.”

I darted my hand out, grasping her pinkie finger in mine. Her hand stayed limp at first. Then she gave my hand a little squeeze and smiled up at me.

“We’re friends, at least. Koen and I,” Rachel said. “But it’s not like you and Silvan. It never will be. You’re so lucky.”

“Lucky?” I sighed, glancing in the mirror. My reflection was almost startling. With my hair back, I was almost another creature. Not the botanist who spent her days in a muggy greenhouse. And not the assassin who had poisoned a man in a fit of rage.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of, Rachel. To you. To Koen. To Van.” I turned to face her. “To Silvan’s father.”

She drew in a breath. “Mazdin Rafferty?”

It was his name that did it, sending a shock of anger through me even now. I thought of his dark hair, scattered with silver; his eyes, brown and lined and cruel. I thought of his sneering, laughing mouth. I thought of his delicate doctor’s hands—hands that had been used to kill my mother.

“I had to do it,” I said evenly. “You have no idea who he really is.”

“Do what?” she whispered. “Terra, what did you do?”

I didn’t answer, only stared at her with wide, wild eyes. I couldn’t tell her the truth. So I kept my lips tightly shut. At long last Rachel looked away. She touched her hand to Pepper’s back.

“I’m scared, Terra,” she said. Her voice was full of tears. “About what comes next.”

I went to the bed and sat down beside her. Holding my chin high, I made my voice sound firm. I couldn’t let her know that I was just as scared as she was.

“I promise you, no matter what happens to me,” I began, speaking slowly so that she would know that I meant every word, “that nothing bad will happen to you. I won’t let it.”

Rachel threw her arms around me and buried me in a hug.