Chapter 1
Chapter One
Dahlia
There is so much blood.
“Take him,” Maple murmurs, her voice a broken whisper, barely loud enough to pierce the cloud of terror enveloping us.
Her hazel eyes lift to me, once vibrant now dull under the shadow of death. “Please. They can’t find him. They can’t have him.”
Fear coils in my stomach.
“No, no, no. You’re going to be fine. You have to be.” I shake my head, panic rising. “I can’t—” I can’t take him… Questions canter through my mind, each one more frightening than the last. Take him where? How do I feed him?
What will I do without you?
“What will I do without you?” I blurt out helplessly. “I’ve been…” My voice falters, trembling to a heavy pause. “I’ve been following you forever.”
“You don’t need to follow me anymore.” Maple tries to smile for me. While her blood seeps into rumpled sheets around her weak body, she tries to soothe me!
My heart shatters.
“You’re unique, Dahlia,” she says. “You’re resilient. Clever. Loyal. You’re not just a… a pet for a man.”
Pet.
The cruel term hangs in the air. That is how Maple refers to us—Lace Girls. She calls us pets. A term that feels derogatory and unfairly simplified.
Suddenly, gunfire and booming voices erupt from outside the abandoned tower. Danger prowls at our doorstep in the form of a Marshal takeover.
“I am not like you, Maple,” I cry. “I don’t want more. I’m content. Don’t leave me. Don’t go?—”
“ Please , Dahlia. They mustn’t find him.” Maple lifts her newborn toward me, laboured gasps escaping her, as if each inhale and exhale is a battle fought and lost.
“There is a boat waiting for me.” She wheezes, and her eyes glaze over. Fading. “ Please , take him.”
“You were going to leave?”
I can’t bear to look at the mewling infant, but scoop it from Maple’s arms, its weight seeming too much for her.
“I don’t understand,” I sob. “You have a boat? To where? Why?” This doesn’t make sense . “The Trade will take care of him, Maple. I can’t.”
She surrenders to the grappling pull of exhaustion, slumping to her back. Her eyes fall to me, grip me… Then close.
No. Swallowing to temper my thickening throat, I drag my gaze across her bloodied dress to the crimson pool between her legs. My teary eyes widen on what I dreaded, what I knew— What I don’t need to see. The baby nearly split Maple in two. It killed my closest friend. My favourite from my Collective.
Extraordinary Maple.
I look back at her ashen face. “Maple?” I reach out and grip her shoulder, shaking lightly. “Maple. Please , why can’t The Trade find him? Where is the boat going?”
Her mouth opens and moves, but no words pass between us.
What?
I lean over her with the infant heavy in my arms, fussing at my chest. “What?”
Her lips touch my ear. “Tomar… Find Tomar. At the docks. Please . Be brave.” A heavy breath escapes her, soft and final.
The sudden crash of a door being kicked in jolts me upright, my gaze snapping toward the exit. But I can’t go yet— I haven’t had time to think this through. Not properly.
“Maple.” Through terror-filled eyes, I stare back at my dying friend, needing her help, needing her.
Don’t leave me alone!
I step backward.
But I am not alone. Shaky and in shock, my eyes drift to the thing in my arms. “What… What do I call it?”
“ Spero .”
The floor seems to tilt when I hear the single word escape her on a long gasp, and I shuffle to keep my footing.
Spero… Spero means hope, and I only know such things because Maple can read in five old-world languages.
My friend dies with hope.
For what?
For what!
We are Lace Girls—we have no identity without a Trade man. Our Purpose revolves entirely around making them happy. To accompany, relieve, and soothe them. We are the first mental health initiative of The Trade, imperative to The Cradle. Our Trade has halved the accounts of depression, and suicides are almost non-existent.
But Maple… She is—was—different. She had ideas of individuality and self-discovery. Spoke about conspiracies that travel the deserts. Communities filled with Common where people exist without Meaningful Purpose… I can barely think the words, they sound so strange and unsafe.
She had a wild imagination, and she shared it with us—her Collective—when we gathered for sewing and conversation. The other Lace Girls and I enjoyed her fantastical mind like children might fairytales. We enjoyed them knowing we were safe, secure, and all meant for Meaningful Purpose.
We are no longer safe. Now, the tower is breaking in two. The Xin De—the genetically engineered humans—are turning on us. And Common humans are poisoning their kind in retaliation. The Marshals are breaking down our doors to end the chaos and make arrests, and— They will seize the infant.
Run.
Swallowing tears, I force myself away from her bedside and rush to my large beibao bag. Can’t dwell. Can’t pause. I grit my teeth and ram my grief down. Can’t allow myself to feel.
With one frantic hand, I cram the bag with random items, clothes, Trade stamps, a toothbrush, ingredients for my tea, and a small saw Maple uses to prune leaves.
The thing in my arms mewls, spurring me on—I need to hide it. Quick.
I wrap him in a small shirt and zip my jacket over him, the hazy sun is hot through the window to my side, the infant—Spero—might get too warm in my jacket, but the wind outside is a far worse fate, so I keep moving.
I sling the beibao bag onto my back and feel the weight of my decision to run from all that I know as a physical thing.
If I don’t do this… What happens to me if I stay? What happens to him ? I regard the pink-faced thing in my jacket. I don't want this, but I don’t have time to consider it. My Ward is dead, our home ransacked by men in black shrouds. Run.
A gun rattles from somewhere close by, echoing like a knell through the corridors and halls.
I bolt, taking the hundreds of steps down the deserted building, grabbing the Redwind-mask from its hook by the exit and pushing through the steel, air-lock door into the wind.
The sand slashes at me as I slide the mask on. The salty air whirls my red hair around my shoulders and face, making it hard to see, but I know how to get to the docks. I lower my head and walk, urgency propelling me toward the tower square.
The streets are eerie. Empty. Quiet but for the rattle of the occasional gun and the growl of a tank somewhere in the near distance.
As I cross the road, the wind circles me like a spoon around a porcelain cup. The sound is too familiar. Too sad. It’s the sound of a Lace Girl going to sleep at night after a cup of Lace Girl Tea. Safe.
Hiding against a wall, I head toward the sound, toward the docks, shadowed by looming buildings. They are overgrown, reaching into the sky, way beyond the haze, blocking the wind as they were designed to do hundreds of years ago.
Sweat gathers on my neck.
I’m searching for a cut between buildings, a way outside the tower fort to the water when I see a pink mist ahead.
Right, that must be it.
The dockyards. It’s not forbidden for a Lace Girl to visit the docks. It’s just not done, because on the other side of these buildings is a gale, thick with sand and stone and salt that will carve my skin to ribbons. Common humans can’t withstand the pummelling air like the Xin De can. But I have my mask, my boots, and my jacket, and the baby is covered.
Maple insulated my clothes, and I often wondered why. I’ve never been anywhere, and unlike her, I have no desire to. So, when she illegally traded La Mu Root to our Modistes Girl, Isle, to have my leather jacket and boots treated with armour, it seemed strange.
Was she planning on escaping, even back then? And taking me with her?
The day after I received my new coat, a Xin De man who often harassed Isle was found poisoned, and I knew what had happened to him. It was horrific. Isle appeared to be the model of her Trade. Loyal and committed to her Meaningful Purpose. When beneath the surface, she was different. She took a life with the La Mu that gained me these protective clothes.
It makes me wonder how many people are unhappy. Or are so many wearing veils of perceived obedience, waiting for a moment or reason to tear the fabric down the centre.
The Half-tower rumbles around me with unrest. Without further thinking, I cross into the light and head down the crumbling passage.
I can see the air at the end; a whirlpool of pink and grey— the Redwind, collecting desert sand and debris. Once, I thought it beautiful, a dark pink hue like the salt lakes I’ve seen in picture books.
Today… Today the colour resembles white sheets stained with my favourite person’s blood.
As I approach the predatory Redwind, its roar intensifies, but it is the voice that cuts through the noise that sends a wave of fear through my body.
“She’s a Lace Girl.”
I freeze.
“She’ll have Opi.”
The deep voice grabs my spine while the word, Opi, twists it into a tightrope.
Slowly, I inch around to see two Xin De men approaching. They are dressed in the ominous thick navy Marshal Blue armour, clutching rifles. Officers. They followed me down the passage.
The baby… Oh.
Please be quiet.
Please be quiet.
My heart gallops as they advance, and I press my back to the building, uncertain what to say or do.
Run.
They share a glance, heavy with meaning, and then both sets of eyes lock on me.
“Think she’s high on the latex?” one asks, as if I can’t hear him.
He means Opi Latex. It’s common for a Lace Girl to become addicted when we consume it in our tea, but I’m not.
“Talk, girl,” the other commands, grabbing my Redwind-mask and pulling it below my chin. “Are you alright? Whatcha doin down here alone without your Ward? Don’t you realise the Half-tower is under heavy restrictions now?”
“Are you a mute?” The one on the right presses his hand to the wall beside my head, leaning toward me. He smells gamey, kind of like blood. Has he been hunting in his blue leathers?
Hunting what? We are a fishing tower… Oh , it’s Common blood.
I swallow as both hover over me, nearly seven-foot-tall dual pillars of authority. They are huge, like all evolved ones are. And arrogant, I’m sure. As is the mindset of a species physically far superior to Common humans like me.
Mute…
I quickly nod my head.
“Mute?” The one on the left has green eyes like the leaf of the La Mu plant. They might be pleasant were they not leering.
“I heard The Trade does that sometimes. Take out the tongue of the smart-mouthed girls,” the gamey one whispers. “Or if the voice is annoying or too high pitched.”
Green Eyes stares at me. “But you understand us… You’re not dumb, are you?”
Not usually.
I shake my head.
“We are in the middle of a civil war. You know what that means?” He palms the rifle in front of him, clanking the metal for effect. “ You shot in the pretty head. And then The Trade being pissed at us for taking down its property.” He touches a rogue tendril of my scarlet hair. “So, pretty little girl, you need to come with us so we can get you back inside where you’re safe.”
No. Think.
What should I do? What would Maple do? My heart starts to beat so hard I fear they will hear it.
Then it happens—the baby wriggles and whimpers at my chest, over my fretful heart, probably feeling my anxiety vibrate against it.
Both Marshal Blues look at the mound under my leathers. Green Eyes frowns, and the other grins, excited, which seems so much worse. “What do you have tucked down there?”
“You want Opi?”
A deep voice comes from behind us, which can only be from another Xin De male—like them. Their voices are otherworldly deep. Maple used to speculate that when they first engineered the Xin De genus, they made everything bigger and thicker to withstand the harsh environmental changes. Their muscles got bigger. Skin thicker. And they lengthened their vocal cords to the point males would sound more like beasts than a Common man. I don’t know if any of that is true.
I follow the sound of the voice as the Marshal Blues turn toward the stranger, clutching their rifles. Ready. “What did you just say to us?” Green Eyes grunts.
But it’s too late.
I was too busy staring at the Marshals. They were too busy studying me. We didn’t see the second stranger, a huge form, come up the passage from the Redwind.
So, while the officers turn to face the man who spoke, the second stranger thrusts his massive fists into the backs of their necks. Their chins snap upward from the impact, a crack dissects the air, and both officers collapse to a mass on the path. No man should be so strong. No physique so powerful. It’s monstrous.
“Maple?” The first stranger speaks.
I sink further into the brick behind me, flattening myself to the wall. Wishing to disappear into the clay and stone.
I stare at the lifeless bodies of The Trade’s public law enforcement. They aren’t always nice, but they do keep us safe. Safe from…
I look up.
Your kind…
“Maple?” he repeats, and I wince. He thinks I’m Maple. Has he never seen her? My stomach flips. What have you gotten me into, Maple?
The crunch of rocks below a shoe draws my attention to a boot. A huge boot. The boot of the second stranger… I just saw this man kill two officers with the ease of snapping a branch.
My breath catches.
The large figure steps closer and a metallic tang hits my tongue. His height draws my gaze up from his combat-style boots along dark denim.
He is enormous.
At his thighs, tattooed fists pump, red and calloused across each knuckle, telling tales of violence. His arms are weights beside him, bulked with muscles that form each thick limb.
A long, black hide coat hangs open, the bottom seam skating his thighs. I gaze up to his broad chest stretching a black shirt with a large loose hood bunched at his angular, thick shoulders.
Up to his face. A dark-blonde beard borders his snarl. The same-coloured hair is tied back in a messy knot, revealing something metal on one side of his skull… It’s a silver plate that mimics bone just above the curve of his ear.
And his eyes … Onyx, almost black. Cruel. Strange. Magnetic.
And beautiful.
“Maple?” The first stranger steps forward, blocking the other from view. “Are you in shock?” He dips to my level, so I look at him. He is painfully pretty for such a big man, with dark hair cut nearly to the scalp, high cheekbones and concerned blue eyes. “I’m Tomar,” he says. “Come with us, Maple. The boat is not far.”
Tomar…
Find Tomar.
I hear my voice, distant but true. “You found us here. How did you find me?”
“A miracle, I guess,” he says, but there is something in his tone that lies. “Come. Is the child well? Are you bleeding from the labour?”
I lift the mask to cover my face again, liking the perceived privacy as his questions weigh heavily on my heart.
Bleeding…
Yes, lots of bleeding.
Too much.
I shake my head instead of answering, shaking the image of my friend and the hazy recall of her last gasping words.
I focus on the immediate situation, on Tomar and the other man. Can I trust these Xin De men? Tomar has designer genetics, perhaps a few generations worth, judging by his luminous blue eyes. But he isn’t without humanity like so many Xin De appear to be at first glance.
The second stranger, though—the scary one… He definitely comes from a long line of engineered genes, evident in his black gaze, monstrous size, and the velvety appearance of his tanned skin.
“The baby is fine,” I force out, my voice annoyingly fragile. “In my jacket.”
“Okay.” Tomar offers a wary, tight smile. “Come. You’re safe now.” He gestures down the passage between tall encroaching buildings. Long vines like wiry fingers dangling from scaffolding and ledges overhead. “I can see you’re scared, but we need to move unless we want more paralysed Blues littering the streets of the Half-tower.”
“This is a mistake.” The scary one speaks, and I swallow. His voice is a bass tone so thunderous and powerful it seems capable of rattling bones.
Tomar frowns at him. “No, it’s not a mistake. Would you have the child found instead? Dammit, Lagos, you of all men know what that would mean for it, what they would put it through?—”
“We should kill it,” he grunts.
We should… Kill. It. Two words like icy bullets puncture my chest, leaving me breathless and trembling. “ No ,” I whisper.
No. Please, no.
“I can’t do that.” Tomar steps behind me and urges me forward without touching me. “Walk, Maple. Let’s get you to the boat.”
I amble ahead. As soon as we’re safe, I must find a place to be alone with my thoughts and just… breathe. I’m like a fish joining an unknown school, heading downstream, hoping there is a sanctuary at the end and not a hook.
They keep a close pace behind me, causing my spine to stiffen. I’ve got to pretend I’m Maple, at least for a while. She made this arrangement with them, one that surely involves an exchange of some kind… Oh , I hope it’s stamps or La Mu or Opi; I can do that.
I have to go with them.
Within a second, I’ve considered my only other option; I return home and secure the flat. Wait out the unrest, wait until the tower is under control—I will be given to another Ward to complete my Meaningful Purpose. The baby will be taken. I don’t know where they will take it or what they will do with it, but it is the property of The Trade. It… I mean him . I should do that. I was raised in a Trade nursery; they are perfectly pleasant and safe.
That is the rational course.
That is what I should do.
Yet… I inhale hard. Maple’s words, ‘They cannot find him,’ spur me forward. ‘Find Tomar.’
I halt at the end of the passage, at a howling wall, inches from stepping into a vortex of wind—a dusty, red barrier.
The infant in my cloak doesn’t have a mask on… The slightest wind could fill his lungs with sand like an hourglass. But before I can hesitate further, I am wrapped in a coat from behind and guided over the threshold.
My senses run wild.
Practically blind, I blink at dark fabric, but the wind is loud and circling, and my fear is a heavy thud in my neck. Yet, it is the warmth of the hard body I am pressed to and the scent of a Xin De man that seems to overwhelm me most of all with its metallic but soothing tones. As if safety and strength is an odour, like the word impenetrable can be smelt.
And it makes me feel strange.
I’ve never been touched by a man besides my Ward, and the only time I remember being pressed to his chest, I was falling into the Deep Sleep.
I walk when the man behind me does. One step. Two steps. Without sight, I can only trust him.
After no more than a few minutes, an arm scoops around my middle and lifts me from the ground, but before I can panic, my shoes hit a solid surface.
Something is different. The air around me is suddenly still and the roaring wind is muted. Are we inside? No—the floor waves beneath my feet… We are on the boat! I made it.
We made it.