It is easier to think about this than about Sonia. I’d thought she was doing well. But we are nearing the time of Judgment, and there will be more of this.
I pass a row of stone niches, alcoves curtained off that anyone can use for caching, and Jane Chemist comes out of the last one, snapping the curtain closed. One glance takes me in, including my hands, which are out of the cloak, crimson stains on the bandages. I tuck them away, keep my shoes covered, and mark the time as we pass each other by. Three-sixteenths past the middle bell. If we had a bell, which we don’t, because the Knowing don’t need them. Our memories keep better time than the water clocks Outside. I pick up speed, through an arched doorway, up a set of stairs that lead out of the Forum, thinking what I’m going to tell Mother—or Father, or the Council, if it comes to that—about what I was up to before Sonia Tutor took her life.
My lies will have to match what they remember.
I’m glad I’m thinking about this, and not what I just saw. The memory of Sonia’s fall is going to come back to me.
I hurry down the corridor, past the learning rooms, where a teacher is reciting the methods of caching, up some stairs and through the Level Three entertaining rooms, where the mind can be stimulated, or occupied, and pleasant memories created—though not too pleasant, or you might prefer your memories to your life. Then into the dimmer residential passages, a left turn, and I am through the door of the Archiva chambers.
The latch clicks, soft. Only two lamps are lit in our receiving room, reflecting in the many mirrors and the backs of silver chairs. And it is silent. Empty. I breathe, and rest my forehead on the door planks. My hands hurt, body aching from my fall, the pain of Sonia and Adam very near the surface. And then the terrace doors open behind me.
“Samara. Good.”
It’s my mother, Lian Archiva, and she sounds pleased. With me. That can’t be right.
She says, “We are having a guest this resting meal.”
I keep my hands beneath the cloak, facing the door like I’m about to walk back through it. As if her words are unimportant.
“Reddix Physicianson has agreed to join us.”
And now I understand Reddix’s comment in the storage room, and why Mother is overlooking my absence. She’s struck a deal. For my future. With Reddix. I have many opinions about this, and I will say none of them. Words become weapons when you cannot forget them, and they go on cutting. But that doesn’t mean I won’t do anything about it. What could Mother have done to Reddix to make him agree to this? I hear the tattoo of long, painted nails tapping against stone.
“Samara.” The pleased tone is gone. “Turn around.”
I spin slowly, holding the cloak together, Nita’s sandals well hidden beneath the hem.
“Where have you been?”
“The upland parks. Swinging on Adam’s rope.” This is the lie I’ve chosen, explaining both my route and the rope burns on my hands. It also has the added benefit of being something I actually do. But I see the tiniest purse of Mother’s brightly painted lips, and I Know I’ve disappointed her. There’s no surprise in it, and yet, I feel the sting. A sting on a pile of stings in a bed of pricking thorns.
“Samara. You are exposing your feelings to the memory of others.”
I put a calm expression back on my face. How does she do it, I wonder. Mother is tall, made taller by an intricate concoction of braids, graying white ends falling against skin that is the smooth tan of the potter’s clay. And she can choose memories and feelings at will, caching away what is inconvenient. Like her grief for Adam. Her love for me.
“You will be in control tonight?” Mother asks. “The Physiciansons do not have difficulty caching.”
I nod. I might be lying.
“And you will be … friendly? As is appropriate?”
I nod again. I am definitely lying.
“You are lucky to get this meeting. Considering the circumstances … ”
Meaning that since the Council closed the Archives, the Archivas no longer have a name or profession to offer a potential partner. Meaning I will have to take my partner’s name and profession. Meaning my decision to train in a small and specialized field like medicine without a partner in place has dangerously limited my options. Which was the point. But Mother is never going to accept my decision on this subject.
“… and his father is Council,” Mother is saying. “And Reddix will be, too, when the time comes. You cannot afford any … embarrassments.”
She has no idea what just happened in the Forum.
“And I don’t need to remind you that this is a year of Judgment. You should consider that a good partnership might very well outweigh other deficiencies.”
I blink one time, and hold the serenity of my face.
“In fact,” Mother says, “I believe that it will. And I think you will find that beginning a partnership without emotional entanglements is preferable. It is easier, Samara.”
Which, strangely, might be the softest thing she’s ever said to me. Mother runs a finger beneath a large silver necklace, the engraved letters “NWSE” winking in the lamplight.
“There can be no forgiveness Underneath,” she says. “But it may be possible to find a compromise. I hope we understand one another.”
We do. I turn and leave the receiving room, calm, like Mother taught me, careful to stay covered with the cloak. As soon as I escape into the corridor, I run. Down the passage and into my bedchamber, where I throw the cloak and then myself onto the silky gold of my bed, a move I see reflected over and over in the mirrored walls.
So Mother thinks the Council wants more of the Knowing, and will overlook my faults if I’m willing to provide a few. With Reddix Physicianson. She could be right. There are empty chambers on every level. But I think it would be cruel to make a child live like this. Too many of us make the choice that Sonia did …
And there is the memory of the falling body, lurking just below the surface of my mind. I close my eyes and cache. But the sadness is still there. Caching emotion, like Mother does, is not one of my skills. When feelings come, they cannot be forgotten. Like love. Love can never fade, or die, or switch to someone else. Even when it should. Love is once and forever, and so is the pain that comes with it.
Mother was right about one thing. Love ruins you. And life is easier without it. Which is exactly what I had planned. To live without it. Until now.
Maybe I should choose Reddix. There’s no danger of loving him. And the Council might need every reason to keep me that they can get.
Then again, regret never dies, either.