Give the Dark My Love(30)

“We’re not completely ignorant, Father,” I said. I’d heard Salis and Tomus talking. Salis had always been a history nut, but she was taking her studies of Bennum Wellebourne to new heights, recasting his rebellion as something heroic, not horrific. Treason was treason, even if it was dressed up as righteous rebellion. “Tomus said—”

Father grunted in approval. “I like that Tomus boy.”

“You should bring him with you during winter holiday,” Mother added.

“But I don’t care what he thinks. What do you think?” Father demanded. There was an eager light in his eyes, a hunger I didn’t recognize. The meeting at the governor’s inauguration had been a test; this was an offer.

“Do you really believe we’re on the brink of revolution? Lunar Island is not ‘suffering under the chains of oppression,’” I said, rolling my eyes as I repeated Tomus’s argument.

“Taxes have increased exponentially—” Father started.

“Good,” I snapped back. “Maybe they could go toward helping alleviate the overcrowded quarantine hospital. Or,” I added, my eyes narrowing, “the taxes could buy some soap, as you so eloquently put it.”

“They can buy their own damn soap!” Father said, slamming the jam jar on the table so hard that the chicken quivered.

“Oh, what does it matter?” I shot back, my own voice rising. Mother groaned, but I ignored her. “What will it take for you to realize there are more important things than politics?”

Without another word, Father pushed away from the table and left the room. He ignored Mother’s pleas to stay.

“Well, this is simply wonderful,” Mother said sarcastically, throwing her napkin on the table. Her shoulders hunched in defeat.

No one deserves such aggressive indifference, I thought. I stood and wrapped my arms around my mother’s shoulders. She leaned into me, her body relaxing. Then she patted my hand. “Go on,” she said. “Go back to school.”

I didn’t look back as I left the house where I had been raised. It had never been my home anyway.





FIFTEEN


    Nedra



Ernesta had sent me several quick notes throughout the semester. They were little things, dashed off in her barely legible scrawl, the ink smudged as if she wrote them only moments before giving them to the postmaster. Mama burned all the bread because she couldn’t quit reading—I see where you get it from, she’d write, or, Papa just got back and brought me jelly candies. I ate them all and left you none; that’s what you get for leaving me. She followed the last one with a quick doodle of herself, cheeks stuffed with sweets, and me, clutching my stomach as if I were starving.

But the letter I’d received for Burial Day was thick, pages and pages not just from her, but from Mama and Papa as well.

Reading their words made me homesick. This would be my first holiday without them. I had never wanted to spend my entire life in my little village beyond the carmellina gate, but I also wished I could slip my family into my pocket and take them with me. I folded the pages and placed them back in the envelope, then tucked it safely into my hip bag. That would have to do.

Grey was already waiting for me, sitting on a bench outside the dormitories. His head was bent, his hands clasped over his knees, almost like he was praying, but there was a hollow expression in his eyes belying that idea. When he looked up at me, his smile cracked across every dark thought that had been etched on his face.

I wove my arm through his and led him to the gate. “How was breakfast with your parents?” I asked.

Grey groaned.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “They can’t be that bad.”

“They really can.”

My fingers clenched in the crook of his arm.

“Sorry,” he said, looking down at me. “I know you miss your parents.”

I offered him a grateful smile, touched that he noticed what had remained unspoken.

“So, what does a village celebration of Burial Day entail?” Grey asked.

“You’ll see,” I chirped. “I asked around at the hospital—this city isn’t completely devoid of celebrations.”

We veered downhill, following the same street that I had traveled when I first arrived in Northface Harbor. We heard the revelry before we saw it. The street was overrun with people. Everyone who could play an instrument did, the sound of joy made audible. The warm scent of honey bread wove through the streets. It didn’t take us long to find a cart selling buns for a copper. Grey bought us each one, then went back and bought five more.

“Told you they were good,” I said, smirking.

“How have I never had this before?” Crumbs flew from his mouth, his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk’s.

I laughed, drawing him deeper into the festivities. We passed a mob of dancers and had to weave our arms through theirs, kicking our legs up high in the traditional skeleton dance as we moved through the crowd, winding past a group of children who tried to encircle us, chanting the nursery rhyme “Crows and Bones.” Their faces were painted in black feathers and silvery skulls. I knew to break their hands and duck out of the circle before they finished singing, but Grey was trapped and had to pay the children a toll of another copper before they let him go.

“This is so much fun!” Grey shouted above the cacophony.