Chapter 3 #2
Friday is the day of their weekly family dinner. Isre gives him a clumsy salute, and Theren and Zuza make their way out of the noodle shop and into the market.
The Grasslands District market is a chaotic place, and a beautiful one.
The ceiling’s ductwork and pipes are shrouded by huge swaths of yellow fabric, which gives everything beneath a warm glow.
The space itself is a maze of restaurants and shops.
The signs are in every language of Cedre—-hundreds of them, though their number dwindles by the year—-and every shade of neon.
The smell of spices washes over Theren; a woman nearby flips a savory pancake.
He dodges a rack of plush toys shaped like extinct animals and then they’re outside of the market, walking into the quiet beyond it.
He doesn’t live far from here. They wander down the starboard hallway, taking their time.
They pass a case of emergency oxygen masks—-break seal in case of sudden oxygen loss—-and a row of launch seats tucked into the wall.
He realizes the “On This Day in History” display is just ahead of them, and he tries to tug Zuza down a side path. She tugs right back.
“No, I love this display, come on—-” She drags him toward the pavilion. In the center of it there’s a holographic projection hovering over a large sheet of obsidian, older Cedrae technology that doesn’t use elixir.
The projection is a spaceship. Theren recognizes it, and his mouth goes dry. Text scrolls across the top of the hologram.
On this day in history . . . twenty years ago, a ship called the Hoatzin entered Cedre Station’s airspace carrying twenty Talusar self--exiles who fled their homes after several of them spoke out against the Talusar government.
They claimed to be seeking safe harbor in Cedre.
A month of tension ensued as the Sword of Cedre, fearing that the exiles had been sent to contaminate Cedre Station with the Fever, contemplated eliminating the Hoatzin for the good of all.
Ultimately, though, the exiles’ story of political persecution was confirmed, and they were able to come to terms with the Sword of Cedre.
“Oh, my parents were just talking about this the other day,” Zuza says. “They said everyone basically camped out in their news pavilions for weeks. I don’t remember how the crisis ended.”
“The exiles promised their firstborn children in service to Cedre,” Theren replies. “They had to become Knights or their citizenship would be revoked and they would all be deported back to Talusar country.”
He speaks without thinking about how it will sound. He can feel Zuza staring at him, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He tugs her away from the pavilion, toward his apartment, and she goes without argument.
His apartment is in a column of sixteen single--resident dwellings, arranged around a small central courtyard. There’s a garden in the courtyard tended by all the column’s residents, where they’ve managed to grow radishes, peas, and lettuce.
He brushes a finger over one of the radish leaves on his way to the stairs. And then he stops, so abruptly that Zuza runs right into him.
He can see through the grate floor that there are two people standing outside his apartment. One of them is his mother. And the other has the seal of Cedre on their jacket.
This can’t be good.
His mother, Kesia Forint, is Theren’s height—-almost 183 centimeters, by his last measurement—-and wiry, with a square jaw she didn’t pass along to him, and a stern brow she did. She isn’t beautiful, but wherever she goes, people flow around her, like she’s a rock in a stream.
The man with her is shorter, but broader, with black hair and a tic in his jaw that suggests irritation. His name is Fenn Kovek, and he’s a Knight.
“Mom,” Theren says, in greeting, when he reaches the top of the stairs. “Fenn. What’s going on?”
“Fucking finally,” Fenn says irritably. “If you had elixir like an adult, I could have sent you a message instead of waiting here for an entire hour.” He looks at Zuza. “Tell your girlfriend to go home, Forint.”
Theren’s too busy taking in his mother’s troubled expression to respond. She just shakes her head a little.
“Your name is ‘Forint’?” Zuza says.
The reason he never gave her his surname is that he wanted to avoid precisely this moment, when she realizes who he is and how he knows so much about the Talusar exiles on the Hoatzin:
Because his mother was one of them.
Theren releases her hand. “I’m sorry. I have to deal with this.”
She’s frowning at him; not like she’s unhappy, but like she’s sorting through what she knows about him in her mind. He’s fluent in Talusar, despite being a humble library custodian. He refused to give her his last name. He doesn’t have elixir. He knew too much about the Hoatzin.
He’s the son of a Talusar exile.
“Yeah, all right,” she says. She’s stiff, like clay drying in the sun.
And just like that, he realizes this is the last time he’ll ever see her.
It doesn’t matter that he’s lived in Cedre his whole life, that he’s not infected with the Fever, that he’s never even set foot in Talusar country.
He’s enough like Cedre’s enemies to have scared her.
And Theren’s not interested in pursuing someone who’s afraid of him.
Zuza descends the stairs again. Heavy with disappointment, Theren unlocks his apartment door, and holds it open for his mother and Fenn.
Space is a precious commodity on Cedre Station, so his apartment is only large enough for one person.
It’s a single room with a bed built into one wall like a shelf and a kitchen on the other.
The bathroom is down the hall, shared among the four people who live on this floor.
There’s a kitchen table with attached stools that folds down from the wall, and he unfolds it for them.
Kesia lingers by the door, looking at the practice sword he keeps there, leaning up against the shelves. She takes it in hand.
“Have you been practicing?” she says to him, in careful English.
She doesn’t speak to him in Talusar when anyone else is around, especially not the son of another exile, like Fenn.
She has to maintain the appearance of total compliance with Cedrae culture and customs. The only thing she’s ever publicly insisted on was Theren not getting Imbued yet—-and even that was enough to raise a few eyebrows.
“Of course,” Theren replies. “I promised you I would.”
She smiles at him. Theren can feel Fenn’s eyes on him.
“You taught him the sword?” Fenn asks her.
“I did,” Kesia says. “Is that not allowed?”
“No, it’s just . . .” Fenn trails off, then clears his throat. “I’m given to understand the Sword of Cedre doesn’t care if her Knights are trained or not.”
“Because she’s content for you to be human shields but doesn’t want you to be competent fighters,” Kesia supplies. “In case you decide to turn on her. Is that right?”
Fenn shifts in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. It’s as much of a “yes” as he’ll give.
Kesia leans the sword against the wall again. She sits on the stool opposite Fenn, but Theren’s too antsy to sit. He leans against the kitchen counter, instead.
“Tell him what you came here for,” Kesia says to Fenn.
“The Sword sent me,” Fenn says. “It seems your oath is required sooner rather than later.”
Theren feels even heavier.
This was the bargain the Sword struck with the Talusar exiles on the Hoatzin: at twenty--one years old, their firstborn children would become Knights of Cedre, oathsworn to protect the Sword with their lives.
In exchange, they could be Cedrae citizens.
If any of them refused, they and their family would be deported.
It was a good bargain, he reminds himself.
He’s a Cedre citizen. If his mother had stayed with the Talusar, he would have to be infected with Fever with a fifty--fifty chance of survival; he would likely have to join the army; he would have to live under the emperor’s tyranny.
To remain here, safe and uninfected, all he has to do is act as one of five “human shields”—-as his mother calls them—-for the Sword and her heir.
He’ll get paid for his time. He can still get married, if he wants, or have children.
And because the Sword and her firstborn live here, he’ll even spend most of his time on Cedre Station, not far from his friends and family.
This is the life his mother bought for him, and he’s grateful for it, even if it doesn’t offer him any choices.
I’m grateful for it, he reminds himself.
“How soon?” he asks Fenn.
“Why?” Kesia demands, at the same time.
Fenn looks them both over, as if deciding who to answer first. He folds his hands on the table—-perpetually tacky, no matter what Theren does—-and looks at Kesia.
“What I tell you must remain here for the time being,” Fenn says. “Yesterday the Sword and her secondborn, Elegy Rosyk, went to see the augurs at the Cenobium. So did Rava Vidar.”
At the mention of the augurs, Kesia’s hand twitches, and he knows why. She usually makes the sign of the Fever—-three circles—-over her mouth every time the augurs are mentioned. But not in front of Fenn.
The most religious Talusar worship the Fever like a god.
His mother is among them. That’s why she insisted he not get Imbued yet—-because those who worship the Fever despise what it despises, she once told him, and the Fever burns elixir from a person’s blood.
That’s why most Cedrae technology requires elixir—-so that the Talusar can’t use it.
“The Sword’s youngest daughter is the focal point of a prophecy that predicts Cedre’s triumph,” Fenn goes on. “It’s not a guaranteed outcome—-it could very well apply to Rava and the Talusar, instead.”
“Cedre’s triumph,” Kesia repeats. “What does that mean?”