Born for Silk (The Cradled Common)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Aster

Silk Girl Vows:

For The Cradle, I will be proud of every pregnancy no less than I am my own.

“Rome,” I whisper as I come to, the warmth of his gaze still a tangible memory. He makes me feel as though I can be myself. A Silk Girl and Aster. A flower and a person with my own little differences. I adore what he is, and I adore what I am when he looks at me.

Like he’s going to choose me.

I blink my eyes open to the back of the veil. I slide it down to my neck and look around the dim room. Orange light spills from the ornamental fire— a first-light indicator. Yellow is crown-light. Red is last-light. It’s how I know what time of day it is in this room. The sun’s brilliance is filtered heavily with the haze, it is only direct enough at crown-light for us to truly mark the time of day.

In the Silk House, we also had the colour codes. I’ve become conditioned to them without knowing.

He didn’t come last night.

That’s fine.

Pouting my disappointment, I sit up and instantly see something strange floating on the closed door. At first, my breath catches, and I think it’s a person. Then I realise it’s a black dress hanging on the silvery hook.

Sliding the golden sheet to the side, I rub my eyes until they focus. I walk to the dress and run my fingers down the line of black lace buttons sewn vertically down the centre.

It’s for me to wear today. Growing up in the Silk Aviary meant waking to many dresses hung on the backs of doors.

I ready myself, wash and dress in the mournful black outfit, and walk from my room into The Circle.

Instantly, I’m stilled by the sight of the five Watchers, standing in a line with their hands clasped together, their expressions sombre and serious, and their pleated trousers and neat shirts also black.

The other Silk Girls stand quietly opposite their Watcher, so I head to Paisley and stop in front of her.

“What’s going on?” I ask, peering down the line.

“We were just waiting for you,” Ana’s Watcher says.

“We have some terrible news to share,” Paisley offers, sadness curling her lips down.

“And such awful timing for you,” Blossom’s Watcher adds sweetly, shaking her head in slow sorrowful waves.

Iris’s Watcher, the tallest of all of us, the broadest, too, steps forward from the others. “I am afraid that Lord Darwin of the Half-tower has passed. He has returned to The Crust. He is at peace. Today we mourn for him in black like our ancestors have done for thousands of years.”

Ana covers her gasp.

“I know.” Iris’s Watcher takes a big breath in. “I want you all to rest assured that even though this is a tragedy we do not wish to take away from the living and what they experience.”

The blood in the banquet hall.

“What you girls are doing for The Cradle will remain our priority and yours,” she goes on. “So, please remember how important you are. Especially now when you have them inside you. You are expected to eat all your breakfast, even though, I know grief can affect hunger, you will need extra nutrients after last night. Please focus on your bodies and help them bloom.”

Wait. What did she say?

I feel the blood drain from my cheeks. I whip my eyes up to Paisley, and she looks evasively at the floor between us, avoiding my stare of pure scrutiny and dread.

“Paisley?” I whisper, too quiet for the others to hear.

Daisy’s Watcher starts talking. “During breakfast, each girl will be taken to Master Cairo for inspection. Your first night with a lord can leave pain and discomfort and any tenderness needs to be treated immediately.

“After your visit with Master Cairo, we will organise a mineral bath and massage for you should your body ache. Anything we can do to help for tonight.”

As my stomach sinks with the weight of envy, the nasty unseemly monster, it hits me— I presumed that he chose me. That last night was his way of showing me that he had chosen me to be his Silk Girl, but it was an apology and nothing more.

No. No. It can’t be. What about: ‘I’m going to keep you.’ ‘You will be safe.’ ‘You’re mine.’

Blossom’s Watcher nods, her voice is smooth like honey, but the words sting me like a bee. “The second and third nights are often the most painful, and we will do anything and everything to make sure you’re comfortable so you can take your lord successfully.”

“Paisley,” I mutter again.

She doesn’t look up. She knows. My vows hammer my chest and heart to pulp: his indifference toward me would be my greatest failure.

“You must relax. That is very important.”

“Your lord needs your natural lubricants.”

I try to fight the nausea that rises in my throat. I don’t know who is speaking anymore. My mind is now a rolling drum, and questions pour out, one after the other.

Why didn’t he come?

Did everyone else get visited?

Did I make a mistake?

Is it because I admitted that I am Fur.

The questions clap between my ears, the warmth of his memory and touch turning to ice in my veins.

Did he visit someone else?

After he was with me?

As if to answer me, three young Trade girls, barely ten years old, step into The Circle from inside Blossom, Daisy, and Iris’s bedrooms. They carry blood-stained sheets. I peer sideways at Iris, but she is already staring at me, her smirk mocks me.

I lock my jaw.

“In case you have forgotten or have breeding-brain, your lord will visit you every night for the next four, and then it will depend on their schedules as to what happens until your next heat.”

My legs get weak.

Wobble.

Give out.

Who am I now?

Filthy Fur Girl.

As the questions and uncertainty assail me, the betrayal in them nests into places deep and visceral.

My body grows weak. In my mind, images rush like a torrent—the Silk Girl from my drawing now bears Iris’s face and Rome is thrusting into her.

The floor suddenly seems to draw nearer, and before I can stop myself, I collide with it.

“Aster!”

Girls huddle around me.

But my mind goes blank.