Starbreak (21 page)

“Here,” he said, mistaking my silence for something else—a sullen protest maybe. He lifted a spindly arm, wrapping it around my shoulder and drawing me close. “I will show you.”

I pressed my head against his unbreathing chest. At first there was nothing, only the gray light all around us, the stars fading overhead, my breath. But then I felt his mind nudge mine open. I felt a jolt of heat, saw a vomitous flash of color. This should have been a perfect moment, as sweet as those high spring afternoons when the scent of clover was all around and Rachel had laced dandelion chains through my hair. It wasn’t. His mind was jumbled, as fractured as broken ice. I could see the fissure at the bottom of it, and it was shaped like a shadow of her—Velsa.

He wanted to tear his skin apart. This urge to join her, to end himself, wasn’t about me. It was a compulsion, like hunger or thirst, only worse. It formed the very core of his being. And if he dug deep enough, he’d finally uncover it.

Lousk.

I wanted to draw away, to fold my body in on itself and hold
myself tight. But I couldn’t bring myself to move. After everything I’d been through, I was going to lose him. Like I’d once lost Momma. Like I’d lost Abba, too.

Abba
. That’s when I realized that Vadix could see my thoughts and memories just as well as I could see his. He could hear the creaking in the rafters, the splintered rope groaning under the weight of my father’s body. He could see the strange, distorted image of his face—like someone had taken out all the pins that held it together, that made my father vital and strong and
real
. If you’d asked Abba, he probably would have told you that he died years before, when his wife lay down with another man, and then was lost to him.

Without Alyana,
he always said, way back in the days when my parents were young and we were happy,
I’m nobody.

In a way Abba had been a
lousk
too.

Vadix fixed a narrow finger beneath my chin, angling my face up to meet his. “This pains you. This loss. Your father.”

“Of course it does,” I said, and sniffled. My face was suddenly covered in inexplicable tears. I hadn’t expected to cry tonight—but then, I hadn’t expected to find myself in his bed either. “Maybe it shouldn’t. He didn’t—he didn’t treat me well. Called me names. I think he was mad at Momma for leaving him and me and my brother. Or maybe he saw her in me, in the way I looked at boys and was always late to everything and always in my head. Maybe. I don’t know. I just know
I needed him to be someone else, someone who could take care of me.”

“Maybe he wasn’t able to be anyone but himself for you,” Vadix said, his words plucked out carefully. I wondered if he was really talking about Abba at all. “Maybe he did try his best.”

“Maybe. It wasn’t enough.”

He set his head back on his pillow, staring up at the sky above. I watched him draw his tongue over his lips to wet them. When he spoke, his words were still tentative. Nervous. “I do feel a connection to you. Just as I once did with Velsa. The wild child, the animal girl of my dreams. I do not lie about this. One cannot deny one’s
zeze
. Now that I have met you, I wouldn’t be able to now even if I tried.”

I didn’t doubt it. Why else would he have welcomed me into his home, his bed—even the dark corners of his mind? But I wasn’t sure what to say, if there were any words that could make the situation between us better.

“I will do my best not to cause you harm,” he said at last, the words thudding resolutely onto the sheets beside us. “I do not wish to hurt you. I will see that your people are safe and well cared for before I—”

He broke off there, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence, not really. We both knew how this ended. I’d seen it before, with Abba—that stupid, hopeful look as he settled his life in his last days, arranging
to have me married off. Abba had meant to see to it that I was safe, too. But safety was never what I wanted, not really.

What could I say? Vadix held me tight against his fragrant body, the strength of his grip undeniable. He’d said it himself. He didn’t want to hurt me. He was trying his best. Wasn’t that enough?

Of course it wasn’t, but it was no good telling him that. I buried my face in his cool flesh and murmured my consent. He drew me close. It wasn’t all of what I wanted; it wasn’t half of it. But in that long night, our first, it would have to do.

D
ay had already begun to blot out the stars, but the silver light of the
Asherah
still burned above. I kept my eye on her as I lay sleepless in his bed, my hands folded over my stomach. Even here I couldn’t escape her shadow. Up there, within her walls, I had killed a man, shaking clouded powder into dark wine. I had seen other deaths, too. Abba, his body a heavy weight that bowed the rafters. Mar Jacobi, his blood spilled out on the engine room floor. And Momma, years and years before. The first loss. Sometimes
I felt as if everything else in my life spiraled out from that.

As I pulled myself from his bed, the cool morning air met my naked body. I tugged free the sheet, draping it over my shoulders. The fabric was soft, more luxurious than any I’d ever known on the ship. The smooth weave reminded me of his skin. I gazed wistfully at him, curled into a ball at the center of the mattress, his long body surprisingly small in the nest of blankets. Because I was awake, his dreams were long and black. Peaceful. So I let him sleep.

The night before, we’d hurried toward the bed in a fevered rush. I hadn’t had time to explore his home. Now I went from room to room feeling like an interloper in the small, private life he’d made. His accommodations were sparse. There was no art on the walls; the floors were bare, either white stone or white sand that had been packed flat and then smoothed down. But in truth the house needed no decoration. The light of the dawn poured through the decorative glass, dappling everything red and blue and green. Each room was curved—sloping walls, rounded counters, bubbled ceilings that showed daylight and trees and the city’s veil far beyond. I found what appeared to be a bathroom, a narrow slip of space at the center of the home covered in dark mosaic tiles. There was a waist-high bench with a narrow hole in the top that seemed untouched. Some sort of toilet or waste receptacle, I supposed. Meant for the original inhabitants, not a Xollu who subsisted on “sunbeams and
vapors.” But I wasn’t like them; I hopped onto it, did my business.

Then I wandered out and toward the kitchen. It was a bright space, even in this early hour, with a glass ceiling overhead and a counter that shone with opalescent tile. But the plants that sat all around—in hanging baskets from the ceiling, in long planters along the floor—raised few complaints. They only turned over their leaves, exposing themselves to the sun. There was no icebox, no stove. But there was a shower stall in the corner, behind a door of frosted glass. I opened it, considering. A long spigot hung down with a green copper chain beside it. It had been days since I’d washed. Too many. I dropped the sheet down at the center of the floor and stepped inside, pulling the frosted glass door closed behind me.

I gave the chain a tentative pull. On the ship, pipes rattled and clanged, so caked with generations of lime that the pressure was never more than a splutter. But here the water was instant, the force strong. It didn’t taste mossy or stale like the ship’s water. In fact, it tasted like nothing at all as it rained down my face in rivers. I watched the dirt roll off me in sludgy streams and tried to count how long it had been since I’d last bathed. Five days, or six? I remembered scrubbing my skin with a honey wash on my wedding night, but it felt like a lifetime ago already, not the better portion of a single week.

As I scrubbed my hair, the scent of fire that had been trapped in my unwashed tresses blossomed, and then faded. When the water at
long last washed clear, I stepped from the shower stall. Through the cloud of steam I ambled—until my hand bumped the counter, and found a pile of fresh cloth folded there. It was a bolt of silver fabric—one of Vadix’s robes, and a pair of matching trousers, too. I put them on. They were too big, billowing around my curves. But they were comfortable and clean, a world apart from the dirty cotton I’d left littering his bedroom floor.

You are awake.

Vadix’s voice in my mind startled me. I turned, glimpsing him in the doorway. He’d pulled on those loose green pants again. But as he strolled into the kitchen, I found myself frowning. Perhaps it was just the light—sparkling, gold and strong—but the skin over his flat belly looked different. It was darker now than it had been, nearly the color of the inside of a pomegranate. I watched him closely as he went to one of the two counter spigots and filled up a round glass bowl. No, it wasn’t the light. His arms and face were still the same mellow blue, but his belly and chest were now dark, an almost ruby red.

“What happened?” I asked. When he only stared back, I pointed at his midsection. He glanced down. His lips parted. He clicked laughter too.

“You happened,” he said. “I am no longer fallow.”

“Oh!” I replied. I felt my cheeks burn, suddenly furiously hot. He put down his cup and came to stand beside me.

“What’s this?” he asked, angling my face up to his. “Are you fertile now too?”

It was all so ridiculous. This conversation, this morning. I wrinkled my nose at him.

“No, no,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m only blushing. Thank you for the clothes.”

I pulled away, doing a quick spin across his kitchen floor. Silver fabric rippled after me. He watched, smiling.

“You look less like an animal than before.”

“Is that meant to be a compliment?”

“It’s meant to be—”

A high-pitched chirrup interrupted Vadix’s words. He tilted his head to the side, glimpsing a panel set into the far wall that had just gone light.

“Excusing me,” he said, holding up one long finger. As he strolled across the floor, I leaned my weight against the countertop. His hands made quick work across the screen. Meanwhile I picked up his bowl. It didn’t look like ordinary water. The bottom was slicked with oil, shining greasy golden.

“Taot?”
he demanded. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the face of an Ahadizhi woman. She let out a loose stream of words.

“Zeza dhosoou zozax aum dhesedi deosoaz. Zhieserak dosoe! Dosoe terix zhieserak, zozax thosouu—”

“Arum azax aum dasa dhosoou rausiz zeza?”

As they spoke, their voices hit strange, passionate heights. I leaned against the counter, peering past Vadix’s naked shoulders and toward the screen. A pair of Xollu could be seen in the background, stern-eyed and serious. I wondered what had happened that had so offended them. Maybe it was because of me and my flight through the city after Vadix. In my rashness I could have spread disease or discord through Raza Ait. We were meant to stay safe and secure in our quarantine camp, instead of rushing out to mingle with the city’s inhabitants. I swallowed hard, gazing down into the bowl. My throat was suddenly dry, tight. I pointed one pinkie finger and dipped it into the bowl, then plunged it into my mouth. Whatever it was that Vadix had been drinking, it was terribly sour, with a sweetness that I couldn’t taste until after I swallowed.

“Terra!”

Before I knew it, the screen was off and Vadix stood beside me again. Stern-eyed, he plucked the bowl from out my hands and placed it on the counter.

“How do you know this sweetwater will not poison you?” he asked. He sounded angry—honest to goodness angry. I gave my shoulders a shrug.

“I don’t know. I thought—”

Vadix closed his eyes, pressing long fingers to his forehead. I
saw him standing there, his reddened belly stormy, his expression pinched.

“Something’s wrong,” I said, watching as his earslits fluttered. That old fear, familiar from my years of living with Abba, was back again. I’d done something terrible, and now the hammer would fall. He was going to yell at me, call me names—but he didn’t. He only dropped his hand and let his head hang down.

“The Ahadizhi have called for humanity’s expulsion from Zehava.”

“What?”
I demanded. I couldn’t return to that dank, dark ship, live out my days with no hope ahead. I needed to be here. With him. My stomach clenched with fear. “Is it my fault? My outburst in the senate antechamber. I didn’t mean to harm negotiations. I thought—”

He took my shaking hands in his long, smooth hands. I felt his mind nudge mine, cool and calm.

No,
he said, speaking the words without speaking.
It is not your fault. I promise.

My breathing once again returned to normal. But in the wake of my fear and worry, I still felt a tenderness inside. I would have to leave him, sooner than I’d thought. I drew close to him, pressing my face against his bare chest.

“What happened?” I asked as he slid his arms around me, holding me tight.

“The quarantine camp,” he said. “That woman. That Aleksandra.
After her attack on me, I ordered more guards to watch over them, to gather their weapons away. But she was ready this time. She attacked them. Your people broke through the walls with spears and stones. Two Xollu pairs were lost to the fields—may the god and goddess honor them with many seedlings.”

“Oy
gevalt
,” I said, pulling away from him. I don’t know if he understood the meaning of my words, but from the way that he thinned his lips, I think he caught my drift.

“I am to bring you to the senate chamber, where the terms of your expulsion will be discussed.”

He held my hands in his, gently rubbing his smooth finger pads over my knuckles. I held on tight. In truth I wanted nothing more than to turn away from this room, so full with the light of day, and bury myself in his covers again. In his bedroom we could kiss and touch and ignore the world beyond. No one would be able to reach us. We would be strong together, hidden.

But I knew it was just a stupid, childish dream. I had to face the future—the blinding morning, and the darkness overhead.