“For so long,” I start, my voice carefully measured, “I couldn’t forgive the Manu. I blamed them for our mother’s death. I hated them. But then I met Kol and all that changed. My feelings for Kol softened my feelings for the Manu. I forgave them. I even decided I could become one of them. I could join their clan to be with Kol.”
I watch Seeri stiffen at these words. We’ve talked this over many times in our hut back home—the way our betrothals will separate us. If I marry Kol, I will join his clan, since he will be the next High Elder of the Manu. But if I leave the Olen, then Seeri will be next in line to be High Elder, after our brother Chev. So if she marries Pek, he will have to join the Olen.
Seeri and I will separate, and so will Pek and Kol.
“But now I’m terrified. I was happy to become betrothed to Kol. I knew that one day he would be High Elder of the Manu. One day, but not now.” I drop my head, and I feel the ivory beads in my hair shift. The beads Ela braided into my hair for my betrothal. “I know I’m ready to be betrothed to Kol,” I say, “but I don’t know if I’m ready to be betrothed to the Manu’s High Elder. It’s all happening so soon. I thought I would have lots of time before I had to be the spouse—the partner—of the leader of the clan that took our mother’s life.”
Someone shuffles by the door of the hut, and I worry that I can be heard outside. I feel like a traitor. For the longest time, I thought my feelings for Kol made me a traitor to the memory of my mother. Now I feel like a traitor to Kol. No matter where I place my loyalty, someone is betrayed.
I tip my head back, turning my face up to the vent overhead. The room feels small and airless.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Seeri says. “I’m sure I would feel the same way in your place. Pek probably feels the same about joining the Olen.”
“I know, but . . . This is so hard for me to say.”
“What is it?” Seeri’s words are clipped. A dread has crept into her voice. “What is it you can’t say? Have you changed your mind? Have you decided to refuse Kol?”
The door pulls back just a bit. A boy outside clears his throat. I jump up, hoping to see Kol, but it’s Pek.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to disturb you—”
“Is Kol with you?” I ask.
“He’s across the bay. He went to the Bosha this morning. To give them the news and bring Kesh home.”
Pek takes a step into the room, and my attention catches on the ways he’s changed since yesterday. The hollows under his eyes and the sag in his shoulders. Seeri, too, even with Pek right beside her, seems dimmed by grief today. All but her eyes, which are burning with the fear that I’ve changed my mind about Kol.
“My mother asked me to call you to the meal,” Pek says. “She won’t start without you.”
This courtesy of Mala’s weighs on me like a heavy obligation. I’d love to stay in this hut—take my mat alone as I did the first night I visited the Manu—but that would be unacceptable. I mean something to the Manu now; I have a place in their clan, though that place is rough and unformed, like the blade of a new knife only half-carved from a piece of obsidian.
Once in the meeting place, Roon greets me with a mat of fish and arrow grass. The rich, oily scent of the fish reminds me how empty my stomach is. I haven’t eaten since we arrived yesterday.
Chev, Lees, and Morsk—Chev’s closest friend, who served as one of our party’s rowers—are seated with Kol’s mother and several other elders of his clan. When she sees me, Mala waves for me to come and sit beside her.
“I want to thank you for bringing in the game,” she says as I take my place. “Ama was full of praise for you when she brought the birds to the kitchen.” She reaches out her hand and places it on mine in a simple gesture of affection, but I snatch my hand away. Heat rushes up my neck. I instantly regret my reaction—it was thoughtless at best, an insult at worst—but Mala lets it go. She pats me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my hand was so cold.”
“It’s not. I—I was startled,” I stammer. I know I should take her hand, return her gesture of friendship to make it right, but I can’t. I can’t let anyone mother me, not even Kol’s mother.
Not yet.
As soon as the meal is over, Mala announces a meeting of the clans—all three clans—Manu, Olen, and Bosha. It’s clear she’s discussed this already with Chev. He’s not surprised.
“Some clan business,” Mala says, “that should be taken care of before the burial.” I look at the sky. The sun is more than halfway up—the meeting must start soon. But then I hear voices coming from the shore. Boats have landed—Kol has returned. All at once I realize why Mala wants the clans to meet.
She wants to betroth her sons before she buries her husband.
I want to linger in the meeting place for Kol. I want to see him—I almost need to see him—to see that he’s walking without a limp and know that his wounds are healing. But Seeri won’t let me wait. The moment the mats are cleared, she’s rushing me into our hut to primp.
“This meeting is not something you go to with your hair arranged by the sea breeze,” Seeri says. “Sit. I’ll fix it the best I can.” I drop down onto my bed and she pulls out an ivory comb. She untangles a strand that hangs down my back and leans over to whisper in my ear.
“You haven’t changed your mind about this betrothal, have you?” she asks.
“My feelings for Kol have not changed.”
“Good,” she murmurs. “Now hold still.”
I hold my head upright, letting her redo a braid she’s dissatisfied with. A shaft of sun pours in through the vent, and I watch motes of dust rise and fall with the small shifts in air caused by Seeri’s quick fingers. It’s peaceful, and my pounding heart begins to calm.
The motes of dust scatter as the hide that forms the door is swept aside and Chev strides in. For a moment, he stands in the doorway, studying me. Lees slides in so close behind him, she’s in before the door can fall closed. “It’s time,” Chev says. There is something bubbling under his skin—a forcefulness he is struggling to keep in check. I’d like to think it’s a sort of joy at the betrothal of his sisters that’s stirring him up, but I can’t help imagining that it’s something else—a sense of what is about to happen—a sense of the expansion of the reach of his clan and his own power.
Maybe it’s a bit of both.
“Bring your spear,” he says, grabbing one of his own from where it leans against a wide beam carved from the thighbone of a mammoth. “We’ll be convening on the beach.” He turns to look at Lees. “For privacy,” he adds.
But Lees has always been stubborn. As Chev moves to the door, Lees tries to follow. “This is a private gathering of clan leaders,” my brother says. “You are not invited.”
“But if my sisters are to become betrothed—”