Author: Jodi Meadows

“When you were born, the Council passed a law forbidding anyone to do you harm. Because you might die.”

Suddenly, I remembered the first meeting with the Council in the guard station, and Sam saying there was a law about my death. I shivered, trying not to wonder what other laws the Council had made about me.

“The rest of us, we’d come back, but there’s no way to tell about you. The Council wouldn’t allow anyone to steal your life.”

For a moment, I felt bad about the assumptions I’d made about the Councilors, but Sam pressed the knife handle against my palm and held it there until I relented. It fit my hand perfectly.

“Just because there’s a law doesn’t mean everyone’s going to obey. It’s unlikely that anything will ever happen, but there’s no harm in your carrying a knife, even if it simply makes you feel better when walking home.” He hazarded a smile. “I’ll never let you get hurt if I can help it, but you don’t want me following you around everywhere, do you?”

Maybe. Yes. “Absolutely not. The masquerade is coming up, and I don’t care if everyone else cheats. No one is supposed to know who you are, right? I won’t let you see what I’m wearing, and I don’t want to know how you’re dressing up.”

“I know. But you’ll be carrying that.” He nodded toward the knife still in my hand.

It wasn’t heavy. The rosewood handle was smooth but not slick, and smelled sweet, while the delicate blade had been recently cleaned. No doubt it was sharp, but I didn’t touch it to see. Other than prettiness and whether I could carry it, I had no idea what to look for in a weapon, but I imagined this was a good one. Sam didn’t keep things he didn’t feel were worthwhile.

“Do you promise to keep the knife with you?” He looked earnest, and I really didn’t want to rely on him.

Carrying a weapon seemed extreme when someone had only been following me, especially if there was a law protecting me. But, as he’d said, not everyone observed laws. I wouldn’t care about curfew if the punishment wasn’t Li or banishment. What was the punishment for trying to kill me?

Again, I thought of what Menehem had been working on before he’d left Heart.

I slipped the sheath over the blade and set the knife on a nearby table. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

“Excellent.” He smiled, but a shadow lingered behind his eyes. He wasn’t telling me something, but I hadn’t told him everything, either. Not about Li in the market.

I let it go; my heart couldn’t take any more today.

“How about some music before bed?” he asked.

“My fingers are all played out.”

“I was going to play for you. If you wanted, that is.” His smile was genuine when I nodded. “I thought about starting you on another instrument sometime. Is there anything that interests you?”

“Everything.” For the moment, I didn’t care how eager I sounded. He understood what music meant to me.

He laughed, taking three long strides to the stack of instrument cases. A long one waited on top, and he chose that. “Sometimes I think you sound like I must. We make quite the pair, Ana. Now”—he turned, holding a slender silver instrument—“how do you feel about the flute?”

When he played, I melted.

Chapter 20

Silk

STEF HAD CANCELED dance practice the morning of the masquerade because I’d warned her how late I’d have to stay up to finish my costume. She’d looked absolutely gleeful and said something to Sam about having to fight to get a turn dancing with me.

I hadn’t slept as late as I’d anticipated, which was probably the only reason I overheard Sam on his SED. His voice was low, like he didn’t want to wake me. Or didn’t want me to hear.

“So you’ll meet me at the gazebo on North Avenue?”

Grit stung my eyes as I sat up in bed, glanced out the window. The false dawn of the walled city bathed the backyard in cobalt and shadows; the city wall made sunrise even later than usual, though it was well after midwinter.

“I think she’s in danger, and tonight is the best opportunity for something to go wrong.”

What? I peered at the silk walls, though of course I couldn’t see him through the shelves and all the instruments and books he kept in the rooms between ours.

“She’s my best guess. I can’t think of anyone else with better reason to hurt—” He paused. “I don’t think she’s working alone, either. I haven’t been able to find anything useful.”

Too many feminine pronouns. Was he talking about me?

“Thanks, Stef. Will you call Whit, Sarit, and Orrin too?” He chuckled, but the fact that someone was clearly in trouble—maybe me—kept it from sounding genuine. “Yeah, only took five thousand years to find a use for them.”

Even though he was joking about his friends, I shivered, glad he hadn’t said that about me.

“Of course I still need your help. Don’t be ridiculous. No one could replace you.” He sounded—irritated? Insulted? It was hard to tell. “Okay. I’ll see you in an hour.”

While he moved around the house, his footsteps quiet down the stairs, I washed my face and dressed. Just simple trousers and a sweater for now. It was chilly; hopefully it’d warm up before this evening.

The scent of coffee lured me downstairs, along with the hiss of something in a frying pan. A mug waited for me on the table, probably because Sam had heard me getting out of bed, but he was standing over the stove, frowning at eggs.

I took a gulp of coffee for courage and leaned on the counter near him. He acknowledged me with a half smile. “Sleep okay?” His voice was rough, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

One more long drink of coffee. I didn’t want him mad at me, especially not today. “I overheard part of your conversation with Stef. What’s going on?”

He glared. “Private discussion.”

“The walls are silk. Next time you talk with her, I’ll just go deaf, okay?” I carried my mug back to the table. “And you’re burning the eggs.”

Swearing, he used a spatula to prod at the pan, and a few minutes later we had runny-in-the-middle-crispy-on-the-outside fried eggs. He was usually a better cook than this, and though I considered skipping what he referred to as “breakfast” and I considered “gross,” I didn’t want to insult him further. I ate the parts that looked like eggs should, and cut the rest into bits. With luck, he wouldn’t be able to tell how much I hadn’t eaten.

“I need to go out for a few hours.” He sat back. His plate looked like mine.

“All right.” I scraped my eggs into the compost bin. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Some things can be private.”

He sighed and pushed off his chair. “Ana . . .”

I put my plate in the sink and faced him. “Look, you asked me to live here. Your walls are not exactly soundproof. I’m going to overhear things. I don’t snoop around or bother your belongings, but if you’re talking in the house, I’m probably going to hear it.” I dragged in a heavy breath. “I don’t want to go, but if you don’t want me to live here anymore, all you have to do is say.”

Sam crossed the kitchen in four long strides and stood as close as we had the day he hadn’t kissed me. His mouth opened and shut, whatever he’d been about to say trapped inside. “Don’t leave.”

There were a thousand things I could have said, mostly rude, but he actually looked worried—as well as a dozen other emotions flickering across his face too quickly to read. Too complex. “Then I won’t leave.” I kept his gaze. “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

He closed his eyes and again, I wasn’t fast enough to comprehend his expressions. “I promise I’ll tell you, just not right now. I really have to go.”

“If you’re not telling me so I’ll still have fun tonight, you’re stupid. Now I’m going to worry about everything.” I balled my fists in my sleeves. “I mean, you gave me a knife. How am I supposed to feel after that?”

“I’m sorry, Ana. There’s just too much to explain right now.”

“When you get back, then.” I didn’t lower my gaze, even though he towered over me and my neck pinched from holding my head at this angle. “If it involves me, I have a right to know.”

“Very well. As soon as I return.” His smile was forced. “Please don’t leave.”

“You’d have to be a lot meaner than ruining breakfast to drive me away. After all, it took me eighteen years to leave Li, and you know how awful she was.” My equally forced smile dropped when we both realized how those last words could have sounded, like I could really compare Sam to Li. My tone hollowed. “I’ll be here.”

He nodded, brushed hair off my face, and headed from the kitchen. “I hate being a teenager.”

“Why?”

“Hormones.” With a sad half smile, he left.

Since he was out for the morning and I had no engagements—the library was closed for masquerade preparation, and no lessons had been scheduled for today—I took the opportunity to try on my costume to make sure I liked the way everything fit. It made me look like not-me, and took ages to put on right, but I was satisfied with the results.

Carefully, I removed everything and returned it to its hiding spot.

I went outside to take care of chores. Animals didn’t feed themselves. Just as I finished everything, I heard Sam and Stef over the murmur of cavies and clucking of chickens. I dropped the old work gloves on a shelf and started around the house to tell them I was outside and could hear their very private discussion.

“It explains a lot about Ana, doesn’t it?” Stef asked.

I stopped by the walkway. They were just beyond the trees by the street, close enough that their voices carried clearly. With the rustle of pine boughs, they might not know I was here. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, since I’d just told Sam I didn’t sneak, but if their private discussion was about me, it wasn’t fair that I was excluded.

Sam said, “When we were warming up by the lake, she kept waiting for me to toss her back into the cold. I think she was afraid I’d take her food, too.” His tone was all disbelief. How ridiculous I must have been. “She was convinced that everything I did was somehow a joke against her.”

“She doesn’t act like that now.” Stef’s voice came from the same place as before. They weren’t moving. Probably so they wouldn’t carry their conversation into the house where I could hear.

“She doesn’t, but it’s taken a lot of convincing, and I’m not sure her first reaction isn’t still defensiveness. Eighteen years of Li doesn’t seem like a long time to us, but that’s her whole life.”

Stef hmmed. “It’s a shame our first newsoul had to grow up like that.” In the pause, I imagined her pushing back her long hair, or doing something else thoughtlessly graceful. “Do you think what Li said about Ciana could be true? It’s been, what, at least twenty-three years since she died. She isn’t coming back.”

I didn’t want to hear this. Not about Ciana. But my feet were too heavy to lift, as if the hot sunshine had melted them to the grass.

“I don’t know,” Sam said, and I couldn’t breathe. “Ana had nothing to do with it, just as we have nothing to do with being reincarnated.” At those words, I started breathing again. “For a while, I thought there was a finite number of times we could be reborn, but you’ve died a lot more times than Ciana.”

“Weaving isn’t usually explosive.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “Ciana and I became close after you cleverly crushed yourself in the compactor—”