Born for Silk (The Cradled Common)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Rome

Vows of a king:

To be a king is to suffer alone under the burden of decisions and the weight of necessary evils and truths.

To enter The Estate, we travel the length of The Neck, a windy, thin stretch of land flanked by cliffs and lapped by rough seas.

It is the only way in and out. For this reason, The Estate is the safest place in The Cradle.

The tank roars forward between soaring limestone walls. Hundreds of Common and Xin De are on the streets today to mark my arrival, but more likely to celebrate my sister. It is not just my reveal as the heir—my little sister is taking her place as the future Queen of The Cradle.

Trade residents crowd the entrance. Large Martials monitor the gathering; Common men and women from other Trades dress in their most elegant clothes, eager to shake Tuscany’s hand; small boys blush at her beauty; tiny girls raise flowers in offering to their queen; men enjoy a day off from their Purpose; women smile.

I grow bored of looking at them, too many to take in, so I slump back into the tank as we stop at the foot of the stairwell to the piazza.

I climb out, overdue for a moment of sanctuary and truth, alone with my sister. I smile when I see her.

Tuscany is standing on the stone steps in a white gown. Stunning. Skin like mine, tanned, but unlike mine, hers is flawless and smooth. And her hair, only a few shades darker than her skin, falls over her chest and to the dip at her back.

She looks like a goddess.

In this moment, I understand. Understand why the Common and Xin De alike will fall in love with her. The idea of her is a conditioned response. Someone to worship. She is their future mother. The mother of The Cradle. Pure. Elegant. Feminine. It’s a spectacle they willingly soak in.

I frown and turn to watch the Guards, the Xin De men, and the crowds of Common also staring. My muscles twitch. I don’t care for the kind of attention she has—she is only ten.

They look at her as though they— The Cradle and all its people—own her. All of her.

All the parts inside and out.

Trying to hide the darkness stirring in my stomach, I walk to my sister and see her face light up as it always does whenever she notices me.

Her smile helps…

“Rome!” She darts down the steps to greet me, her hair is a pretty golden-brown river trailing behind her. She is sheer sunlight in this hazy land.

We knew we were related before they told us. Tuscany bothered me all through my childhood. Only a sister could be that annoying and adorable at once. And, of course, the eagles like her as much as I do, although everyone likes Tuscany.

The product of a Common Silk Girl, my half-sister is tiny and sweet to behold. I suspect she was chosen from my other siblings to be queen due to her relatable physique—so the Common will find comfort in her.

Fear in me.

Comfort in her.

The king and queen.

“It’s only been a week,” I dismiss, while every part of me softens to not cut her purity to pieces. Even at this age, I feel hard and sharp, like a well-carved blade. Not gentle, not kind, like her.

“And you have been with Turin. I knew you were my brother. I knew it all along.” She wraps her arms around my middle, and we walk half-embraced up the steps. “Will you tell me everything you saw? The Red Decline. The dessert. The mill farms. Oh, how I dream of seeing the endless forest of sky-scraping windmills.”

I nod curtly.

I am not ready to lie.

I feel Turin and the Guards close behind me. Cairo, too. Their presence is a torch at my back, the heat forcing my arms to tighten around my sister for reasons I can’t explain.

In the piazza, we are welcomed by Turin’s Collective and their Common. Women flock to see Tuscany, praising her beauty and offering her sacred heirlooms—gifts, flowers, and fine jewellery.

Children cuddle her legs.

I step aside and watch her bathe in the fuss and adoration. She deserved it. I want it for her. She vows to love The Cradle, to lay with no man and to bear no children so no individual is ever favoured by her. For this, she deserves the adoration for the life-long sacrifice she will make for her Meaningful Purpose.

I watch on as a woman gifts her a ghastly diamond ring. But Tuscany wears a face of pure appreciation and takes it, sliding it on her finger as if she cannot wait to display it. “Thank you. Yes, I will wear it for you.”

I laugh, and she flicks me a playful frown that warms my cruel heart. I am smiling at her. I only smile for her; she is the only person I love.

She seems to have fun.

What young girl wouldn’t have?

I try to relax, but a haunting presence stirs around me.

On the far side of the piazza, eating from the banquet table, are six of the fourteen born from Turin’s Collective in the same decade as me; boys who want to be the heir, and the girls who dream of being queen.

Only now do they know who they bow to. The Cradle will be mine one day. And I will choose my Collective, the lords who govern The Trade lands, from them.

I already know who I will choose: Bled, Darwin, Medan, and my half-brother Turin Two. The rest will be given Meaningful Purpose as lords and ladies in minor towers across The Mainland if they are deemed worthy. Or sent to warden other Trades, if they are not. If they irritate me.

But Tuscany, she will be queen soon.

She is a mere ten years old but Turin’s sister—the late queen—died this past summer. Everyone has been waiting for a new goddess to worship.

And worship her they will.

“She’ll need you,” Kong says, joining my side and standing to watch the exuberant scene as I am. I don’t know what he means. She will always have me.

His words unsettle me.

I turn from my sister, but he is walking away, past a Common girl with her face painted in all gold, disappearing between double doors toward his wing.

As we move through the night, the Missing Moon surely perched high, my sister grows lethargic from canapes—sweets with every kind of chocolate imaginable.

I grow bored of all but her.

Yet, I let her have her moment.

She appears at my side, a smear of brown on her lip and a half-eaten truffle waving in her hand. My sister is high on sugar. “When I am queen,” she laughs, “I am going to travel to every Common community in The Cradle and give them all chocolates. I hear they don’t get to eat chocolate.”

She is endlessly sweet.

Na?ve. Innocent. Trusting…

I lift my hand and wipe the truffle from her lip, half smiling, faking bemusement. “You will never visit a Common community when I am king, Tuscany. They are far too wild and savage for you, sweet sister. Besides, I think chocolate is the last thing on their minds.”

She looks at the treat in her hand. “That’s so sad.”

Dammit, I am a bastard.

“You will do great things. You will have your Meaningful Purpose and mother The Cradle like no queen ever has. I am sure,” I offer.

She brightens. “Will you walk me to my room, dear brother?” She spins and dances toward her chamber. I slowly follow. “I am so full now, and it’s nearly time for my rite. My last night as just me. I think I take vows or something. I hope whatever it is involves rubbing my feet while I have a huge sugar crash and fall asleep like a big, overfed house cat.” She giggles, glancing over her shoulder at me.

I can’t quell my smile.

We reach her door. “I’m going in now. Do you think something weird will happen? Like chanting and candles. I hope I don’t laugh and give myself away.”

I tap her nose. “I hope you do.”

The large oak door opens at her back. I survey the plush room, finding candles glowing on the sills and a marble table with ointments and towels. There are two women in white and coral colours—Trade Nurses. And?—

I frown, my fists curling in tight at my sides, when Cairo appears from the corner of the room, his fingers making a pyramid at his waist.

My pulse thrashes.

He smiles at Tuscany. “I do hope you enjoyed yourself tonight,” he says. “You must be elated. You’re so close to Meaningful Purpose, my princess.”

“What is this?” I ask, nodding at the room, the candles, the ointment, the women. And you!

Why are you in my sister’s room?

“Rome.” He offers me his attention. “I was checking to ensure everything is prepared for her and up to my standards. I will take my leave now. You both need to sleep.”

He strides toward me, but I refuse to budge, forcing him to fit through the space between my shoulder and the door frame. He does and says nothing.

It feels very wrong.

I glare at Cairo’s back, scorching him, wanting answers to my suspicious mind. My guts twist and turn as he walks down the hall.

Tuscany’s finger touches my frown, smoothing the crease. “Go to bed, Rome. I think you need rest as much as I.” I return my gaze to her, a place it likes to be. “Come to me in the first-light. Early? As soon as the fire turns orange. I will tell you about the chanting and foot massages, and you can tell me about The Cradle. Deal?”

I sigh. “Deal.”

Doing a little dance in place, she closes the door. I hover outside for a moment, feet not wanting to move.

Noise from Turin’s Collective and guests still whistles through the hallway. Their gathering, the drinking and feasting, continues.

Staring at the door, I shake the discomfort away. Tension pours through my veins as I turn to leave, the weight of my first campaign stacking rocks on my shoulders.

What would have happened if Tuscany saw the outskirts of The Cradle today? The babies being taken and the dead woman with the Silk Girl tattoo? What if she smelt the cooked flesh in the old abbey and felt the phantom of carnage still crawling along the walls after the raid?

I can’t allow her to see the truth.

I storm into my room, reeling over the message. The lesson from Turin. To be the king means keeping secrets from the one person I love. To keep her pure and innocent means my emotional isolation.

And that is Turin’s first lesson.

I lie down and look at the ceiling. Glare.

I spend the night memorising it, unable to sleep and less able to relax. Eighteen, and I feel the weight of a hundred tonight.

I toss and turn.

My body suffers, open and raw, like holding the truth inside is akin to capturing a wild animal within me. It shreds at its enclosure.

It burns and rips.

I don’t know when it happens, but first-light crawls along the floor and up the walls. It is barely time to rise, and my eyes have had no rest, but I stand, pull my pants on, throw a robe around my shoulders, and wander down the dim hallway.

Paranoia twists inside me.

At the end of the long passage, I see my sister’s door is open. The artificial light from inside shines, making shapes on the dark hallway wall opposite. Suddenly, a shadow blocks the light. Turin leaves the room with a glass vase in his hand, and I- I-

I stop in my tracks. My muscles refuse to move, not an inch, too tight like a coiled band.

Then they snap.

I take off down the hall.

Something is wrong.

I need to get to her.

Two Guards attempt to slow me, stepping in my path. “My prince, wai?—"

I throw them both into the walls, crack the age-old brick under the force, and knock them both out cold.

Dead, maybe.

I don’t care.

I round her bedroom door and enter her room. The light hits me in harsh brilliance.

I scan the space as though possessed; the bed is empty, sheets bunched; a woman in the corner stuffs bloody rags into a purple canvas bag; the washroom is illuminated by a glowing gap bordering the door.

What have they done?

Letting my rage burn through me, I stride toward the door against the tension of shuddering limbs. I reach for the handle and pull it open.

Then I see her.

My sweet sister is naked, being helped by two women into her claw-footed bathtub. Her slim legs tremble to hold her weight, her skin is pale and clammy, a blood-filled drain skewers her stomach, and crimson fluid seeps through a white adhesive bandage at her lower abdomen.

She gazes up at me, all sunshine gone from her eyes. “They took it all.” Her voice breaks. “All the parts I won’t need now that I am to be Queen of The Cradle.”