“So, like, the clock keeper’s job was a lifelong dream. Or snooze.”
Koen grinned. “You could say that. So what about you?”
I pulled idly at my sock. “Me?”
“Yeah. Why botany?”
“Mmm.”
I rose, feeling Koen watch me as I walked by him. My sketchbook was waiting for me on my bed. I hadn’t given up drawing, not entirely. But now every night before bed I pored over the pages, sketching plants, jotting notes. I did my best to capture everything that Mara taught me. Now every page was covered in names, labels, words in ancient languages. I passed it to Koen. He leafed through, laughing as Pepper rubbed his face against the spine. Meanwhile I braced myself, my hands gone cold. Would he belittle me like Abba always did?
But a smile just lit up his lips. “These are good,” he said, paging through them slowly. “Yeah, really good. You’re talented.”
I felt the corners of my own mouth gently rise. “You really think so?”
“Yeah. I love your use of color here. It really looks like twilight in the dome.” He swept his index finger over the blue I’d drawn against the treetops, and the faint line of gold that traced every skinny pine. I looked at him and felt a swell of pride. Koen was seeing what I’d seen. Koen understood.
“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming. “Before we got our assignments, I thought I might have been an artist. But the Council had other ideas.”
Koen scowled. “You know, it’s such dreck.”
It was like he had abruptly drained all the air out of the room. The atmosphere tasted different, somehow prickly. Koen cavalierly tossed the sketchbook down on top of my unmade bed. The pages splayed out like an open hand.
“What’s dreck?” I asked cautiously.
“That they make you be a botanist when you wanted to be an artist. I mean, I would have chosen my vocation either way. But it’s dreck that they chose it for you.”
“It’s not so bad,” I said, my eyebrows knitting up. A few months ago I would have been right there with Koen, complaining about the injustice of it all. But since Mara had taken me on our walk through the dome, we’d fallen into a sort of tentative peace. I’d begun to look forward to my days in the lab. Sure, botany wasn’t as much fun as drawing, but it wasn’t all bad.
Koen sat straighter. There was something sharp about his expression, challenging. “You didn’t choose it. They took away your choice.”
“But I like my job. It’s not perfect, but I’m learning a lot, and—”
“It’s still not right. That they picked for you. Like they think you’re some sort of child.” Koen’s face was all scrunched up.
“You’re mad at me,” I said, speaking the words very slowly.
“No.” Koen’s response came quickly, but I didn’t believe it.
“You are. It’s something I’ve done. Does this . . . does this have something to do with Mar Jacobi?” Is this why you won’t kiss me? is what I wanted to ask. But I still couldn’t find the words.
Across my dark bedroom, the cat still purring on his lap, Koen pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t speak. I could hear my heart thundering in my chest.
“Come on,” I said—not angrily but with worry. I stepped closer to him, holding out my hand. I don’t know why. He wasn’t Rachel. He wasn’t there to link pinkies or reassure me. But maybe somewhere, in the back of my mind, I still hoped he would. “We’re going to be married. You can tell me what I’ve done wrong.”
“Nothing,” he whispered. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
I dropped my hand against my thigh. I should have just accepted it—believed him, believed that it would all be okay. But I couldn’t. I’d spent my whole childhood trying to tiptoe around my father, afraid to even breathe wrong. I didn’t want to spend my marriage like that too.
“Liberty on Earth,” I whispered, as if the words were an oath—as if they could somehow miraculously make Koen forgive me. I didn’t expect him to answer, but then the strangest thing happened. I heard his voice come whispering back.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I didn’t say anything.”
But his big brown eyes pressed into mine. We both knew the truth. He wrung his broad hands nervously, cracking the knuckles.
“Say it again,” he pressed.
I licked my lips. When I spoke, the words were even softer than before. “Liberty on Earth.”
“Liberty on Zehava,” he said.
For a moment, an interminable moment, Koen didn’t move. There was an animal sharpness about his gaze—his eyes were eager and alert.
“Tomorrow,” he said at last. “Meet me outside the starboard bakery. The one between the delicatessen and the china shop.”
“I know where you mean.” Momma had worked there. I’d spent my baby years sitting in my high chair in the back, watching as she worked her hands into the dough.
The corner of Koen’s mouth ticked up.
“Good,” he said. With that, he stood, dislodging Pepper from his lap. The cat gave a meow of protest, but Koen ignored him. Instead he stepped close to the bed. He bent over and pressed a kiss into the part of my hair. I breathed in the cedar-struck perfume of him.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured.
And then, before I could even open my eyes again, he was gone, leaving only a gap of cold in his absence.
12
The commerce district bustled after a long day’s work. Children spilled over the cobblestones, hefting books in their arms. Across the street a gaggle of laughing women tumbled out from one of the pubs. The air that drifted from the shops was heavy with smells: the salt-preserved odor of fish, the sweet scent of overripe fruit, and the all-too-familiar perfume of freshly baked bread. My stomach gave a rumble. I ran the flat of my hand over my gut, hoping to quiet it. I wasn’t here for food—couldn’t let myself be lulled into thinking this was just another ordinary evening. After all, there was no telling when a member of the captain’s guard might come swaggering down the street.
The shops didn’t have names. But each one had its own insignia. Momma’s bakery bore a blue star above it. Half of the paint had flaked off, revealing the concrete below. But I would have recognized those seven points anywhere.
Koen stood below it, waving his arms at me.
“Terra!” he called. His wide, giddy smile surprised me. So did the way he reached out, grabbing my hand in his.
“Hello, Koen,” I said. I glanced down the street, hoping no one heard the way his voice rose above the crowd. But it was lost among the conversation and laughter. We looked like any other young couple, tending to their errands after a long day’s work.
Without another word Koen turned toward the bakery. He shouldered the door open and dragged me in past the threshold. I’d avoided the flour-scattered place since Momma had passed. I preferred the port bakery. Even if their bread was never as soft, the store held fewer tender memories.
But Koen didn’t give me time to absorb the familiar sight of the workers knotting bread into ropes. He dodged the crowd at the counter, ignoring how they shouted their orders to the counter girl. Instead he ducked inside a doorway at the rear of the shop. As I followed him I felt my hands tremble.
The corridor was dark, lit by a single flickering bulb.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice nothing more than a whisper. I’d put off my thoughts about Mar Jacobi for too long—I wanted to finally discover the secrets behind the words Liberty on Earth. But Koen didn’t seem to notice my excitement. He just held my fingers limply in his calloused hand and pulled me forward.