He already knows, I tell myself. It’s no secret how you feel. And though I know this is true, it feels much more like a secret when it’s whispered between a boy and a girl lying in the grass.
This will be much more public. Everyone will know my desires. I will have no secrets left.
As the shoreline bends to the west, the coast changes. Tree-dotted cliffs transform into bare bluffs of rock. Farther ahead, waterfalls of ice—blue in the bright sunlight—spill into the sea.
The sun is almost directly overhead—our shadows are tucked up tightly beneath us, the shining water seeming to give its own light—when the Manu camp comes into view. The southern point of the bay, an ominous mass of rocks and ice, passes to our right, and we leave the open water behind as we enter the shallows. The oars beat in unison, suddenly so much faster than they’ve beaten all day, or so it seems. My heart quickens, too. Tiny silver fish race by in the sun-heated water just beneath the surface, and I feel their wriggling motion in the pit of my stomach.
People stand at the shore, watching us come. There are only two. We draw closer, and I recognize Kol’s brother Roon and his mother.
Our boat comes into shore first, and Roon hurries to the side of the canoe to offer a hand to Seeri. As he helps her step out, the boat pitches hard from left to right, and I grab the sides. The rower at the front—Evet, an elder of our clan who has known me all my life—jumps into the water and quickly offers his hand. I smile, taking hold of his outstretched arm with both hands as I steady myself and the rocking boat. “You’re fine,” he whispers. His wife, Niki, the rower at the rear, is suddenly beside me, holding the boat still to allow me to step out.
My face flushes with heat. I can usually trust my own legs to hold me up, my own feet to find steady ground beneath me. What is it about this day—this moment—that makes me so unsure?
As I grab my spear and climb up onto shore, my eyes meet the eyes of Kol’s mother, Mala, and I know the answer to my question. The edges of her face soften when her gaze falls on me. She reaches out her hand, and I take it, expecting her to haul me up the steep bank. Instead, she pulls me into an embrace.
My body goes stiff in her arms. When was the last time a woman—not a girl—held me in this way? Was it my own mother? No, it was Ela’s mother, right before she died, too, a year after mine.
“Kol told me about the battle in your camp, and how strong you were,” Mala says against my ear. Her breath is warm, and the tension in my shoulders melts a bit as I slump ever so slightly against her. “He told me how you’d faced injury so bravely, how you’d tried to save Lo.” Goose bumps rise on my arms and at the back of my neck. “I’m proud of you, Mya, and I’m so glad you’re safe.”
A memory shivers across my skin. A memory of my mother’s voice. She is saying, “I’m proud of you,” as she draws me into her arms.
Kol’s mother pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. Her eyes sweep over me, taking in the patterned tunic, the crisp newness of my pants, gliding over my face to linger on the beads in my hair. Her lips soften, smooth into a smile. Her eyes move to mine, and they touch something at my core.
I know she sees right into me, to the meaning of everything on the surface, to the secret in my heart. Not just that I’m here to be betrothed, but that I want to be betrothed. That I want to be betrothed to her son. She looks at me and I am known. More known than I’ve been in so long.
I lean away, just far enough that she loses her grip on my arms, and I drop my eyes. Kol’s mother has seen into me, to a place I’m not ready to show. Not to her. Maybe not even to Kol.
Not yet.
Anger flares up in me like a flame—anger at myself for my selfishness. For my unwillingness to share myself. Kol gave me everything. He wanted me. He gave me the security and confidence of knowing I was wanted.
And I gave so little back.
But I’ve resolved to change that. I told Kol I trust him, and I do. And I want more. I want trust and everything else.
Beyond Kol’s mother’s shoulder, the path that leads to the camp is empty. I hear no shouts of greeting, no feet hurrying down the trail.
“They’re hunting,” Mala says. I notice all at once that my brother and sisters are behind me. Chev has just asked about Arem, Kol’s father. “They left early this morning, and we’re now past midday, so I’m sure they will be returning to join us soon.”
Something inside me lurches sideways at the thought of this disparity—Kol out hunting, running, working with his wits and his weapons, while I stand here, expectant, dressed in these stiff, formal clothes, holding a spear like an ornament instead of a weapon.
I’m broken from my thoughts by the movement of the others up the path. Seeri gives my arm a small squeeze as she passes, and when I look into her face she beams as if a light burns inside her. I need to try to be more like her. Relaxed. Trusting. Willing to let people see that there’s light and heat in me, too.
I told Kol I trusted him the day of Lo’s burial, lying next to him in the grass, his cool hand on my back, his warm lips on mine. That memory never leaves me. If only the trust I felt that day could be just as constant.
We travel in a quick procession up the slope to the center of camp, to the meeting place. The whole clan is out, readying the midday meal, and everyone jumps to their feet, calling to us, offering us each a place to sit and food to eat.
If they notice my clothing, my hair, all the hints to my purpose in coming here, they make nothing of it. The meal is mussels and roasted lupine roots, and the portions—though far from skimpy—are not robust. My mat is far lighter than at any other meal I’ve shared with this clan. My thoughts go to Kol and the hunting party, as I realize the pressure they must feel.
After we eat, Lees helps Roon gather empty mats before the two of them disappear into the kitchen. Good for them, I think, envying the lack of notice they enjoy. Chev seems oblivious to the preference they clearly show each other. Instead, he is caught up in speaking with Mala and other elders—Mala’s sister, Ama, who brought in the shellfish, and a man I believe to be the High Elder’s brother.
As they talk, the clan goes back to their tasks. Two boys sit down with Urar, the Manu healer, to help him sort sharply fragrant herbs. A group of women twist stalks of stinging nettle into twine. Mala talks and smiles, smiles and talks, but her eyes move frequently to the shadows of the huts, measuring their progress along the ground. The wind shifts, from a gentle sea breeze to gusts coming down from the east, and she shivers, even though it is far from cold. Her sister, Ama, moves to sit beside her, leaning close and saying something into her ear.
When the sun is hanging over the tops of the spindly trees that stand out in silhouette across the ridge to the west, my brother finally goes quiet. Mala’s mouth draws down at the corners. Her eyes have darkened.