The Cage(53)

“It is a difficult adjustment.” Cassian studied his cards methodically. “It is never easy for any of the human wards. In time, they will learn that we are not to be feared.”

“I want to know why this enclosure is different. Why you dress them in human clothes and give them strange food to eat.”

“It is the Warden, trying something new.” He added a card to the pile. “We will not harm them, of course.”

A darkness wormed its way into the pit of Mali’s stomach. Like most of the Kindred, Cassian often talked about his kind in the plural form. She did trust him; he had saved her life, even at risk to his own. But she didn’t trust them. Not the Kindred. Not as a whole. Certainly not any of her previous owners, and not the Warden, either. Mali had heard rumors about the Warden, but had never known his name—Fian—or met him until Cassian had taken her from the menagerie where she lived and told her she had the chance of a lifetime, to join the grand new enclosure. Fian had insisted on inspecting her first; examining her teeth and ears and hands, then asking Cassian if he was confident that any human males would find such a damaged ward appealing.

There was one thing she had learned, living caught between the human and the Kindred world. It didn’t matter what race you came from: there were good and bad among every species.

“Go fish.” She put a card in the pile.

“The stock algorithm has predicted that Boy Two will be the group’s leader. He will welcome you into the group, but these things take time.”

She set down a card. “Lucky is more interested in escape than in being a leader. He is more interested in Cora.”

It was Cassian’s turn to go fish, but the cards stayed in his hand, untouched. “There is a history between them.”

There was a strange tone in his voice Mali had only heard a few times before. She slid the sunglasses on top of her head and reached into the pocket of Rolf’s military jacket. She held out the lock of Cora’s hair.

“I acquire this for you. A present. For bringing me here.”

Cassian stared at the lock but made no move to take it. “You know I do not share the same primitive beliefs as the Gatherers and the Mosca. A lock of hair means nothing to me.”

Mali gave him a hard look. “It does if it is hers.”

Mali had been transferred to enough private owners and menageries to know that as disciplined as the Kindred considered themselves, they weren’t perfect. Among themselves, relationships between males and females were noncommittal; sex was for physical release, not for procreation or love. But sometimes deeper emotions did surface. Fondness, the Kindred called it. Sometimes for another Kindred, but sometimes—though very rarely and always forbidden—for a human.

Mali offered him the hair again. She did not care what Cassian’s predilections were; she just wanted to repay the kindness he had shown her. In fact, she liked the glimpse of weakness. It made him seem almost human.

He folded her fingers around the hair, pushing it away from him a little hard. He picked up the cards and shuffled them roughly. The waves crashed on the beach as the light changed one degree lower. Mali wished, not for the first time, that Cassian could show her his true eyes as easily as she could slide up the sunglasses.

“The others notice that you treat her different.” Mali slowly replaced the lock of hair in her pocket. “They do not like it. There is an altercation this morning over breakfast. Everyone’s food is missing except for hers. It is dangerous. Food is a basic need. I do not understand why the Warden manipulates them—”

“The Warden did not interfere with their food. If so, I would know. It must have been one of the wards.”

Mali gave him a hard look. He had rarely lied to her before—why was he lying now? “Is the Warden changing things because of the rumors. Because he thinks that humans are showing signs of percept—”

“No.” He cut her off hard. “And you should not speak thusly. You know what the Council did to Anya when she started saying such things.”

Mali could feel sweat running down the sides of her face. She could still remember Anya’s big round eyes, her blond hair the same color as Cora’s, only it had been stick straight. They had shared a private owner, a high-ranking Kindred official, who had cut off two of Anya’s fingers to give to a Mosca he’d lost a bet to. He had tried to cut off Mali’s too, only she’d fought back. Cassian had found them ten rotations later. She’d never forget seeing him for the first time; the door sliding open, fear making her stomach knot, expecting the official’s squash-nosed, broad face. But it wasn’t the official. It was a young enforcer, a strikingly handsome one, who had taken one look at their tiny cages and smashed the locks open with the hilt of his communicator.