Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“He said nothing else before he left?”
After I woke, Taurance recounted what happened after the stranger made it to our cabin with Gem, who was as white as a corpse. He laid her out on the cot while Taur fetched some supplies from the retired midwife two doors down the hall.
“You mean after he raided my drawers and stole my clothes,” Gem huffs as she maneuvers into a sitting position on the cot beside mine.
Taur tuts her tongue against the back of her teeth, then rises to fetch the tea tree oil from the kitchen table. “It’s the least we could offer him for saving both your asses.”
Not only did this man give me a hand with the boulder and with Gem, he also acted as a stand-in body on my cot when a guard came knocking on our cabin door for the head count.
I meet Gem’s gaze and give a “she has a point” tilt of my chin.
Her green irises roll. “But why did he need my clothes? What was he doing sneaking around the tunnels half-naked in the middle of the day? For all we know, he could’ve been the prisoner they were transferring in that train.”
In other words, what have I gotten us into?
No one speaks. Even if we allow ourselves to consider the questions we’d rather avoid, we don’t have the answers, and I’m not so sure I want them.
There’s a strong chance the man we welcomed into our home is a criminal.
What other reason would someone have to traverse the tunnels—with few clothes and zero belongings—during daylight hours, if not to avoid notice?
Perhaps he was caught having an affair. It’s not unimaginable that a man of his physique might attract the forbidden attention of a married woman, or a man, for that matter.
A ridiculous image comes to mind of the stern-faced stranger scrambling to tug his linen pants back on after getting caught in an indecent entanglement.
That must be it. Or maybe I’m indulging myself because it’s more palatable to think we harbored a red-handed lover instead of someone truly nefarious.
The sound of running water from the other side of the partition curtains fills the notable silence as Taur drenches a fresh cloth using the midwife’s recommended mixture of tea tree oil, magnesium sulfate, and chilled water.
She’s back a moment later, tossing her braid behind her shoulder and peeling away the soiled cloth wrapped around the crown of Gem’s head.
“Sutures are holding up okay,” Taur comments before dabbing at the few blots of crimson surrounding the wound before covering the sutures with a dry compression cloth.
Gem winces. “It’s only been a few hours, T. Fairly sure stitches are meant to last at least a week or two.”
Taur swats Gem’s leg with the dirty cloth. “I’ve assisted the midwives with postpartum tears, but this is my first time using sutures on a scalp. It’s a bit different from a perineum or vagi—”
“Okay, okay, we get it,” Gem says, splotches of pink bringing color back to her wan cheeks. “Can you stop hovering now? Go bother Orelle. She got hurt, too.”
“My ass is as good as new,” I quip, hoping the twins will leave it at that.
But of course, they don’t.
Taurance arches her brows. “And your hand?”
My pulse trips on itself.
“Fine,” I practically chirp as I swing my legs off the cot, thankful that the nap was enough of a reprieve to ease the pounding in my brain and stomach, if not the aching in my calves.
Ignoring the prickle of eyes on my wrapped arm, I amble over to the table, where our belongings from the satchels are neatly organized in rows.
The bags themselves are hanging from the curtain rod.
Taur must’ve cleared everything out to give them a good scrubbing.
Gone are the bloodstains and dirt, and I can easily patch the tears with my . . .
The sight of my black makeshift cast dashes any ideas I have about sewing up our battered bags.
I haven’t felt the warm tingle of energy since waking from my nap, but the thought of unraveling the wool fabric to check on how far the mutation has spread makes my skin crawl.
So, I return my focus to the table, ready to assess the damage to our belongings.
My mother’s recipe journal lies warped at the table’s center.
I pick it up and try to peel apart the first two pages.
The paper rips, its fibers brittle thanks to my dunk in the reservoir.
At least the sand clock should be safe. I set the leather journal down and search for the other heirloom.
My brows pinch together when I don’t spot it among the orderly piles.
I’m about to ask Taurance if she tucked it away, when I spot the leftover sourdough.
It’s mashed on one side, but by some highest of miracles, the bread isn’t soggy.
My stomach groans, reminding me I’ve skipped at least two meals.
“Are you seriously ignoring me right now?” Taurance snatches the loaf out of my grip. “Let me take a look at it.”
“The bread?” I ask, intentionally obtuse. I know she means my hand, but I’m not ready to have that conversation yet. Can’t we have just one more hour of them treating me like a chosen sister instead of a monster in the making?
Taurance’s face twists into that look—the one I’ve seen my mother wear dozens of times. The one making it clear we both know that’s a lie.
“It barely hurts.” I fold my arms tight across my chest, tucking my cast beneath my good arm. “And it’s not like there’s anything you can do.”
“If it barely hurts, why do you need to keep that on?” Eyes narrowing, she nudges her chin at the shawl.
Shadows swallow me. Looks like I’m not getting that extra hour.
Metal scrapes against stone as I tug a chair out from the table and spin it around. Taurance clutches the sourdough for emotional support as she too takes a seat.
Gem scoots to the edge of her cot. “You’re not about to tell us you’re pregnant, too. Are you?”
“Gem,” Taurance chides, tossing the loaf of bread at her twin. But her aim is off, and the sourdough lands on the floor instead, joining the dust bunnies beneath Gem’s bed. “You can’t make jokes about that.”
“Sorry for trying to lighten the mood,” Gem says while using her feet to slide the loaf back out and punt it at Taur, who huffs.
“Since when is mocking infertility a mood lightener?”
Gem’s jade eyes meet mine, and she shrinks into herself.
I offer her a smile before hunching over to scoop up the misshapen loaf covered in a layer of grime. “Don’t worry about it. What you two should both be sorry about is ruining my sourdough.”
I’ve had a decade to come to terms with my infertility.
Sure, the echoes of my loss of choice sting every once in a while, especially when I catch glimpses of the tiny humans who share the midnight blue eyes of the man whose surname I still bear.
But I’ve made peace with knowing there are other ways to indulge my nurturing instincts—instincts I may no longer have once the mutation spreads.
“My bad.” Gem brushes a hand through her close-cropped hair, flinching when her fingers ruffle the edge of the compression cloth.
Taurance’s crossed knees twitch, and I know she’s fighting the urge to check on Gem’s bandage again. Sensing my attention, Taurance turns back to me, her furrowed brows relaxing as her bouncing legs go still.
“Sorry. You were saying?”
I fidget with the black wool wrapped around my right arm, slowly loosening it.
“You know how that man showed up to help me out of the trench?” They both nod, and I continue, “A few minutes before that, right after the ground stopped shaking, I tried to lift myself up to get to Gem. But there was this bright light. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
So I felt around the ledge, but something . . . hot touched my hand.”
Chest heaving, I begin to unravel the wrap.
“What do you mean, something hot?” Gem rises from her cot to stand at my side, her knuckles turning white like she’s itching to bury them into the stranger’s face. “Was it that guy? Did he try to hurt you?”
I shake my head, but the single tear trailing down my face does nothing to ease their concerns, so I reiterate, “No. He did nothing but help.”
Taur leans forward to rest a palm on my shoulder. “Was there someone else there, then?”
“No,” I repeat. “Part of the ceiling split open during the quake.”
Taurance’s grip on my shoulder tightens, and I know she’s catching on.
My voice falters. “And my hand—”
“Orelle.” Gem’s spine straightens. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”
I can’t. The words are too big to make it through my constricted throat. So, I give a final tug on the wool, letting the evidence speak for me.
The whites of Gem’s eyes briefly widen before constricting to a grimace.
She grabs at my wrist before I can warn her to not touch me.
Logically, I know the sun mutation isn’t contagious, but I can’t bear to see the condemning glow of my veins against her skin, or the hurt on her face once she realizes I’m endangering them both by being here.
So I flinch, twisting my head away like a coward.
Gem grunts as she tosses my hand aside. “And T thinks my jokes are bad. Why would you mess with us like that? You genuinely had me convinced you’d been exposed.”
“I—I was,” I say, twisting back around and splaying open my fingers.
But my olive skin is as dull and lifeless as usual, revealing nothing abnormal lurking beneath it. Gone is the unnatural golden light that illuminated my veins.
As soon as they allow the sun to mark their veins, they lose their humanity. Forever.
My mother made it clear there’s no going back for a human who’s been marked by the sun. Their loss of humanity is inevitable.
So why does my hand look and feel normal again?
“I swear my hand was glowing a few hours ago.” I rotate my wrist and blink forcefully, sure I’m not seeing correctly. Either the mutation has gone dormant, or there are more nuances to sun exposure than we’ve been led to believe.
Taurance grabs my cheeks, rotating my neck from side to side.