The Stone Sky (The Broken Earth #3)(78)

You nod, hesitate, then reach for his hand. He’s not particularly affectionate, you’ve been relieved to discover, but he does need little gestures sometimes. A reminder that he is not alone, and that all is not hopeless. To this end you say, “If I succeed in shutting down the Rifting, you may not need to keep the node maintainers.” You’re not sure that’s true, but you hope it is.

He clasps your hand lightly. It’s been fascinating to realize that he never initiates contact between you. He waits for you to offer, and then he meets your gestures with as much or as little intensity as you’ve brought to the effort. Respecting your boundaries, which are sharp-edged and hair-triggered. You never knew he was so observant, all these years – but then, you should’ve guessed. He figured out you were an orogene just by watching you, years ago. Innon would’ve liked him, you decide.

As if he has heard your thoughts, Lerna then looks over at you, and his gaze is troubled.

“I’ve been thinking about not telling you something,” he says. “Or rather, not pointing out something you’ve probably chosen not to notice.”



“What an opening.”



He smiles a little, then sighs and looks down at your clasped hands, the smile fading. The moment attenuates; the tension grows in you, because this is so unlike him. Finally, though, he sighs. “How long has it been since you last menstruated?”



“How —” You stop talking.

Shit.

Shit.

In your silence, Lerna sighs and leans his head back against the wall.

You try to make excuses in your own head. Starvation. Extraordinary physical effort. You’re forty-four years old – you think. Can’t remember what month it is. The chances are slimmer than Castrima’s were of surviving the desert. But… your menses have run strong and regular for your entire life, stopping only on three prior occasions. Three significant occasions. That’s why the Fulcrum decided to breed you. Half-decent orogeny, and good Midlatter hips.

You knew. Lerna’s right. On some level, you noticed. And then chose not to notice, because —



Lerna has been silent beside you for some while, watching the comm unwind, his hand limp in yours. Very softly he says, “Am I correct in understanding that you need to finish your business at Corepoint within a time frame?”



His tone is too formal. You sigh, shutting your eyes. “Yes.”



“Soon?”



Hoa has told you that perigee – when the Moon is closest – will be in a few days. After that, it will pass the Earth and pick up velocity, slingshotting back into the distant stars or wherever it’s been all this time. If you don’t catch it now, you won’t.

“Yes,” you say. You’re tired. You… hurt. “Very soon.”



It is a thing you haven’t discussed, and probably should have for the sake of your relationship. It is a thing you never needed to discuss, because there was nothing to be said. Lerna says, “Using all the obelisks once did that to your arm.”



You glance at the stump unnecessarily. “Yes.” You know where he’s going with the conversation, so you decide to skip to the end. “You’re the one who asked what I was going to do about the Season.”



He sighs. “I was angry.”



“But not wrong.”



His hand twitches a little on your own. “What if I asked you not to do it?”



You don’t laugh. If you did, it would be bitter, and he doesn’t deserve that. Instead, you sigh and shift to lie down, pushing him until he does the same thing. He’s a little shorter than you, so you’re the big spoon. This of course puts your face in his gray hair, but he’s availed himself of the shower, too, so you don’t mind. He smells good. Healthy.

“You wouldn’t ask,” you say against his scalp.

“But what if I did?” It’s weary and heatless. He doesn’t mean it.

You kiss the back of his neck. “I’d say, ‘Okay,’ and then there would be three of us, and we’d all stay together until we die of ash lung.”



He takes your hand again. You didn’t initiate it this time, but it doesn’t bother you. “Promise,” he says.

He doesn’t wait for your answer before falling asleep.

***

Four days later, you reach Rennanis.

The good news is that you’re no longer plagued by ashfall. The Rifting’s too close, and the Wall is busy carrying the lighter particulates upward; you’ll never have to worry about that again. What you have instead are periodic gusts laden with incendiary material – lapilli, tiny bits of volcanic material that are too big to inhale easily but are still burning as they come down. Danel says the Rennies called it sparkfall, and that it’s mostly harmless, though you should keep spare canteens of water situated at strategic points throughout the caravan in case any of the sparks should catch and smolder.

More dramatic than the sparkfall, however, is the way lightning dances over the city’s skyline, this close to the Wall. The Innovators are excited about this. Tonkee says there are all sorts of uses for reliable lightning. (This would have made you stare at her, if it hadn’t come from Tonkee.) None of it strikes the ground, though – only the taller buildings, which have all been fitted with lightning rods by the city’s previous denizens. It’s harmless. You’ll just have to get used to it.