Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
I pat her back in a stiff hug, then gently nudge her away from the food bank’s narrow doorway as two teen boys come barging through. “What are you doing here?”
Although my mother’s arms are full with her three baskets, she manages to free a hand enough to tidy up my errant curls.
“Your father and I decided to come visit for the Hunt. We swung by your cozy little cabin, but no one answered, so I thought I’d stock up on the usual fixings to hold us over during our stay. ”
I ignore the look she casts at my paltry provisions and nod like that makes perfect sense, although my parents haven’t attended a single Hunt since I’ve been eligible. “Oh. Uh, well, you’re welcome to swing by again before the selection.”
“Nonsense! Come back with me. I know your father would love to see you, and I could use a hand, anyway.”
We don’t have long until the ceremony begins—maybe two hours, three, tops. Not to mention Gem, Taurance, and I agreed to meet back at the cabin beforehand for what could be our final meal together.
I reach for the sand clock in my dress pocket, only to remember I’ve misplaced it. “I can swing by, but only for a few minutes. I still need to prepare for tonight.”
My mother’s smile strains as she transfers a basket onto my free arm. “Wonderful!”
We walk in tandem across the open bridge that connects the commerce district with the residential quarters.
Violet lights twinkle across the city’s expanse, making up for the lack of stars in the massive cavern ceiling suspended above.
A bluish-white beacon sweeps across the shadowy expanse from the top of the watchtower—the tallest of Caligo’s buildings and one of the few powered with electricity.
The spotlight glides across the stone bridge, illuminating the deep-set hollows beneath my mother’s eyes before moving past.
“How have things been in Deor?” I ask as we turn left at the split, aiming towards the main stairwell.
Her shoulders perk up. “Deor’s been as wonderful as always. Your father’s taken up pottery. If you’re running low on mugs or bowls, we’ve got plenty.”
“We’re fine, thanks.” I tuck a few curls behind my ears, though it’s a useless gesture since the strands don’t stay put. “What about you? Are you still taking dance lessons?”
She blinks. “Oh, I stopped those ages ago.”
“Why? I thought you said moving your body like that was the most alive you’ve felt since I was little.”
Her pupils go distant as she shrugs. “The newness wore off, I guess. I spend most of my free time in the racket rooms these days. Have you played?”
I sigh. “Not since . . .”
She winces. “Right. Sorry, sweetie. I forgot that silly rule about Tier Threes needing chaperones for certain recreational activities. You could play a couple rounds with me while I’m here. Your father’s got an extra racket you could borrow.”
“I’m not sure if I’ll have the time.”
“Just one hour. Who knows when we’ll get to visit next? I miss spending time with you.”
Whose fault is that?
I refrain from asking the question aloud. We’re walking on a tight rope enough as it is. The last thing we need is to address how my parents can’t bring themselves to face the discomfort of having a Tier Three daughter. So, I nod and say, “I’ve missed you, too.”
The descent to the lower residential levels takes longer than I remember, or perhaps it’s the tense silence making every second stretch.
No insects or moaning neighbors greet us when we pass through the R5 archway.
The only similarity to our R1 home is the faint stench of mildew, but that’s inescapable no matter where we go in Caligo.
At least R5 has spiced fragrance added to their bioluminescent sconces to somewhat conceal the bitter odor.
“This is us,” my mother says, transferring her load to knock on the first cabin on our right.
Seconds pass with no response.
She clears her throat and leans closer into the polished steel door. “Honey, it’s me. You’ll never guess who I ran into.”
Nothing.
My mother rolls her eyes before setting both baskets on the sparkling granite floor.
She digs through them until she finds an ornate black key, then inserts it into the knob.
The bolt unlocks, and she scoops up her groceries before ushering me into the entryway of their temporary lodging, which is spacious enough to fit the entirety of my cabin.
“Would you mind taking your shoes off? For some absurd reason, they gave us all-white rugs. Can you believe that? How am I supposed to keep these clean for two whole weeks?”
I slip off my sandals beneath a circular marble table with a metal floral arrangement, eyes catching on the six tiny pearls that sit on the ends of the stamens within the center of the lifeless black lilies.
A matte black tag engraved with a cursive B in silver-foiled letters sits beside the mirrored vase.
“Is that how long you plan on staying? Two weeks?” I ask, swallowing past the tightness in my throat while joining my mother, who waits by parted glass doors, dainty silver flats still on her feet.
She nods. “Your father thought that should be plenty of time for the Hunt to conclude.”
The knot in my throat thickens.
Fourteen days. Plenty of time for ten women to be selected and slaughtered, their life’s essence sucked dry by the Sols.
“I hear you talking about me in there,” a deep voice calls from one of the rooms further within the cabin. Despite the years and distance, that rasp still feels like coming home to a soothing hug.
My mother places her baskets on the brown marble counter of their generous kitchen. “Oh, so you can hear when you’re mentioned, but not when your wife is banging on the door with her hands full?”
“How’d you knock if your hands were full?” My father strolls into the kitchen, his smirk turning into a full grin when he sees me. Wrinkled hands leave the pockets of his tailored gray trousers as he lifts his arms. “Come here, kiddo.”
I set down my own groceries before falling into my father’s warm arms.
“What happened to your hair? I don’t remember it being this frizzy.” He pulls back while patting my mussed curls away from his mouth.
I rub the top of his fully bald head. “What happened to yours?”
He leans in to whisper, “Your mother shaved it off in my sleep.”
“I did not.” My mother crosses her arms against her chest. “You asked me to shave it, remember?”
He tugs her close to his side. “You’re right. Thank you for putting up with my jokes.”
“Forever and always.” Her amber irises glitter as he rubs at the marriage brand on the back of her left hand—two overlapping crescent moons.
I glance down at my bare feet as I ask, “So, why’d you two decide to visit?”
“I told you, sweetie. We came to watch—”
“The Hunt. Yes, I know.” I lift my head, our matching eyes locking. “But why now? Is it because it’s my tenth year of eligibility? Are you here to say goodbye?”
A whimper escapes my mother’s taut lips, so my father answers for her.
“We missed you and thought you could use some company.” He clamps a palm on my shoulder. “But this isn’t goodbye. You’re not gonna be selected. Bren wouldn’t do that to us.”
Bren.
As kids, my father and Chancellor Bren were inseparable.
That friendship carried into their adult years.
So, when my mother gave birth to her first and only baby girl months after Bren’s first wife birthed a son, it was only natural that they’d come to an agreement about their children’s future nuptials.
I wasn’t the only one blindsided by the divorce, hence my parents’ abrupt move to Deor. As far as I’m aware, their friendship hasn’t been the same since, though it must be on the mend if the gifted floral arrangement is any indicator.
I shake my head. “Why would he make an exception for me? I’m not his daughter-in-law anymore. He owes me nothing.”
My father’s permanent smile lines pull downward, as does his hand on my shoulder. “He wouldn’t have those six grandsons if you hadn’t graciously agreed to the divorce. The least he could do is spare you from getting drafted.”
“‘Agreed’ is a generous description, considering I didn’t have a choice.” I exhale, running my fingers through my curls. “Look, I’m glad you came, but you have to know that we can’t count on an old, fractured friendship to save me from my fate. I’ve accepted that. You should, too.”
His nostrils flare. “You’re talking like it’s set in stone.”
“Something I learned quickly as a Tier Three is that it’s better to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised than have your hopes ripped from you.” I shrug, then turn to pick up my groceries from the marble counter.
“You’re leaving?” my mother asks, stepping towards me.
“I promised Gem and Taur I’d be back by now. We’ve gotta eat and change.”
With a nod, she haphazardly dumps one of her baskets into mine.
“I can’t take these,” I say, reaching to remove the head of fresh lettuce from the top of the pile.
She swats my hand away. “Yes, you can. It’s a gift from your mother. I can’t send you home to starve.”
“I’m not starving. We have enough to get us by.”
“Well, now you’ll have more than enough,” she says, lifting her chin in a way that makes it clear she won’t accept any arguments.
I sigh, rearranging the items so my broccoli florets and apples sit above the gifted groceries—to avoid any accusations of taking Tier One goods from the food bank—before wrapping an arm around her. “Thank you.”
She squeezes me back. “I understand you’ve accepted a grim reality for yourself, but you can’t talk me out of clinging to hope on your behalf.”
My father rests a palm along my mother’s spine in solidarity. “Let’s plan on having an early dinner together after the ceremony. You can come back to our cabin once you’re released.”