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Chapter 4
In the hour after Pa leaves, between sweeping fallen soil into little piles and scrubbing the floor clean, my guilt metamorphoses into fury.
I scrub the worn-smooth wood with a single-minded focus, ignoring all other thoughts rattling in my head. If I can scrub the last of the dirt out of the floor, I can erase the last trace of Dalca and his Wardana lackeys.
I wring the rag out and pretend it’s Dalca’s neck. He’s the target for all my fury. He gave the orders. He put a price on Pa’s head. It’s their fault that the stormbeast got through in the first place.
I hate that he knelt and put on the guise of someone kind, someone who wanted to help fix the problem. I hate that he thought it was fixable.
I pull one little sapling from the crack between two floorboards, its fragile neck broken and roots mangled. How would he fix this?
I grit my teeth and scrub the ikons from the inner lining of the boxes. There’s so little to be salvaged from the fallen saplings and the shalaj that we’d better take that golden coin to the market soon.
Amma’s gentle footsteps sound on the stairs, punctuated by the thuds of her cane. She only uses it when she has to, when her bones achetoo much to do without. She stops beside me, pressing a steaming cup of sundust tea into my hands. “That’s good enough, child. Drink up, get the Storm out of you.”
“I’ll have to get more seeds. Thatstupid,arrogant—” I stop and take a breath. “I don’t know if the new sprouts are going to survive. They probably won’t, but I’ll try. I’ll have to watch them for a few days.”
As the words fall from my lips, I realize that I won’t be here in a few days. In a few hours, I’ll leave Amma’s for good. Raising the cup, I take a long drink of the golden tea, letting the spices warm me up from inside. Who knows if it really does anything against the Storm—Amma and all the folks who wear pouches of sundust believe it wards off the Storm’s curses—but the earthy, nutty flavor soothes me.
“I’ll teach someone. Jem, maybe.” I say. “It’s not that hard, really. Anyone could do it.”
“You’ve decided to go, then.” Amma’s dark eyes are soft, and a sad smile pulls at the lines of her face.
Drawing my legs in, I sit cross-legged at her feet, close enough to breathe in the scent of cardamom that always clings to her. “You heard Pa. We can’t stay.”
Amma peers down at me with furrowed brows. “Your father has decided he needs to go. Have you decided to follow him?”
Seeing her from this angle reminds me of being a child, of being small enough to hide in her skirts. I spent a good year hiding in her skirts, when Pa and I first came to her. I used to think Amma was as tall as a mountain. When did I start seeing her as small and frail? When did I last go to hide in her skirts, only to find that Amma came to my shoulders?
“I... Pa thinks I should go. Do you think... I could stay?” I ask,feeling it out, watching her expression. I haven’t thought it through. How’s she going to take care of everyone alone? Without me, she’d lose more than a pair of helping hands—she’d lose a food ration, an entire bag of mancer-made food a week. How would she feed everyone then?
“You’re your own woman, Vesper. I don’t see how it matters what I think.”
“I want to know what you think.” I squeeze her hands. “I care what you think.”
“Love, as I see it, you have two possible futures. You go with your father and let him keep you safe. Or, you don’t have to go with him...” Amma’s raspy voice trails off. “You’ve got a home here, with me, for as long as I’m around. You could stay. There are other ways to learn ikonomancy. Don’t tell me I’ve imagined the way you watch the Wardana fly.”
A strange feeling comes over me, like a bird fluttering in the cage of my ribs. “The Wardana just about never take anyone from the fifth. And they’ll know that he’s my father.”
“How?” she presses. “The only people who know are in this house.”
“But Pa’s only got me left.”
“Blood isn’t a leash, love. Your choice is yours.”
Pa doesn’t need me. Would he even want me along? What would it be like on the run with him, with no Amma as buffer against his disappointment in me?
“He can take care of himself,” Amma says. She doesn’t say,The stormtouched can’t.I look at her hands, folded upon her cane. She doesn’t say,I need you.
“He said it might be dangerous, if we stayed. Dangerous for you.”
Amma smiles the danger away. “I’ve already said what I’m gonna say. You’ll always have a place here, till the day I die. Whatever danger may come.”
I jump to my feet and wrap Amma in my arms. I love her surprised laugh and her familiar, motherly scent, like cardamom and soap. She’s so tiny, her bones as thin as a bird’s.
“I don’t want to go,” I say into her silver hair. “But what’s Pa going to say?”
Her voice is a low murmur, like she’s telling me a secret. “Darlin’, there comes a time in every woman’s life where she has to decide things for herself. It’s your choice, and yours alone. But remember this: you are more than just your father’s daughter.”
