In my dreams kisses were simple, uncomplicated. There were no expectations. No promises. No specter of rebellion hanging over my head. There was only affection. Warmth. Desire. Against my body, that three-fingered hand looked as bright as a jewel and nearly as translucent. My own fingers were ghastly pale and unfathomably solid against his.
The boy who visited me in dreams could do things that no other boy could. He’d call to the trees, ask them to throw down their purple leaves for us. The thorny brambles would flee at the sound of his voice. Silvan couldn’t even stand to hear me talk about my work with Mara. But this boy didn’t only talk about the forest that surrounded us—he seemed to talk to the forest too.
I tried to find that same sense of wonder when I lay down beside Silvan. I let my body melt into his; I let my lips part and his tongue trespass on mine. When his hands would ease over my hips, tugging my clothes away, I let myself believe that these were the same graceful movements that I found every night in sleep.
There were differences, of course—differences as innumerable as the stars. Silvan’s face was lined with stubble. His irises were dark, but ringed with white. And though he often smelled like flowers, they were the wrong flowers. Jasmine and lilies, and their scent bottled and preserved. In my dreams the smell of pollen was everywhere, and those exotic flowers grew wild, unchecked. But Silvan’s body, hot beside mine, was the closest I’d ever come to that long-promised oblivion. And so when we tumbled together, I ignored everything about him that wasn’t flawless and perfect and true.
Because Silvan was real, not a fantasy. His lips. His fingers. The way my mouth would be raw from stubble after hours spent kissing. His body was the only thing tethering me to the floating ground of the Asherah.
On that night, I pushed my guilt away as I clutched Silvan’s hand in my hand and let him drag me toward the forest.
We reached a grove that was all prickly briar bushes and brittle vines. Silvan spread his white coat out on the frozen ground. He eased me down against it, scattering kisses over my face and neck, peeling my clothes off one layer at a time. My own hands bumbled forward, twisting his sweater over his head. His underclothes were made of silk. They were white, of course. Through the shimmering fabric I could see the dark curve of his shoulders and the heat rising off him, fogging the air.
My fingers traced the shape of his hip bones through the white cloth. I tugged at the waistband of his pants, drawing him close.
That’s when he pried his body away.
“No,” he said, even though I could hear how his voice was still gruff with lust. I propped myself up on my elbows, felt the chilly air set in against my bare skin. Silvan was squeezing his eyes down to narrow slits. They looked hazy, unreadable. I reached out and hooked my finger into one of his belt loops, giving him one last halfhearted tug.
“Yes,” I said, trying to force any uncertainty from my voice. I needed him tonight—needed him to wash away any memory of Rachel, of Koen, of dinner, of the poison tucked into the breast pocket of my jacket. But Silvan only swayed a little.
“I can’t,” he said. “It isn’t safe.”
“Safe?”
I clutched his coat around my shoulders. Silvan squatted on the ground in front of me.
“There’s something you should know. I . . . The sons of Council members . . . We never had our bar mitzvah. If we go too far, you could get pregnant.”
Pregnant. I clutched the coat tighter around my chest like it could shield me from the danger. I knew about the natural order of things. How the sheep birthed their babies live in the pastures. How someone’s cat was always going into heat in the district, drawing all the toms out of their quarters. But I’d never thought it was something that could happen to me. We were humans—above such things. Weren’t we?
“No,” I said. I was speaking fast, panic mounting in my voice. “It’s not true. You told me that the bloodlines don’t matter. We make our babies in a lab. . . .”
“Most citizens make their babies in a lab. Even my parents. But we—we’ll be different.”
“You were sent away that year just like all the other boys. I remember. You weren’t in school.”
Silvan sighed. He fell against the hard ground. “Right. No one could know. So me, and Doron Smithson, and Edan Finkus all just went and hung out for a week. We went fishing. Or played cards in Edan’s quarters. That kind of thing. We did our best to keep out of sight.”
“Why?” I demanded, but I knew the answer even before the words were out of my mouth. “Why wouldn’t the sons of the Council members be sterilized? We need to control the population on the ship. If girls start having babies—”
Silvan shrugged. “On the ship, sure. But we’ll be leaving the ship soon. Population control is fine for commoners. But we’re going to be the leaders of our society. Our children will inherit Zehava, wear the gold cord, grow up to be Council members. It’s up to our generation to ensure that there will be enough strong, high-ranking babies to survive.”
I could hardly hear Silvan’s words. My mind had gotten stuck on one of them: commoners. Momma had been a baker. Abba’s father, a metalsmith. I didn’t know what fluke had brought Abba up to the rank of specialist, but I knew my people. And we were common to the bone.
“Silvan, I’m a commoner!”
“No,” Silvan said. He gave his head a fierce shake. “You’re a specialist. And soon you’ll be a Council member. You’ll get your cord on the day we’re married. And then we’ll land and we can get to work making new citizens.”
Was this what our midnight trysts were all about? I remembered what Mara had said about the dangers of giving birth. I had a terrifying vision of my body broken by childbirth.
“Silvan,” I began. He put a finger to his lips.
“Shh.” He leaned forward, cupping his hand against my face. “I know this is a lot for you, Terra. But I know you’ll make a wonderful wife, too. With you by my side we can ensure that the Council rules Zehava for years and years and years. Abba says it’s the best way.”
Waves of nausea rolled over me. But Silvan didn’t notice. He only drew close, the heat of his body trespassing on mine. He smiled wickedly.
“Now,” he said. His tone was playful, coy. Didn’t he see how I couldn’t bring myself to look at him? Couldn’t he tell that I didn’t want him anymore? “We may not be able to rut in the grass like the other talmids, but there are things we can do.”
In his white underclothes his body seemed to glow. He knew what he was doing as he laid me down against the cold ground, as he kissed a line down my throat.
I let him do it. I let his mouth meet my belly, my hips. But all the while, as I felt the warmth of his mouth against my skin, my mind was frantic with unhappy thoughts. Though the poison waited for me in my pocket, I’d sometimes been tempted to just go ahead and marry him, to steal a little slice of happiness for myself. I’d wanted to see my dreams come to fruition, rebellion be damned. But now that I knew what waited for me, I could see no other path out. I cast my head against the ground and felt my heart turn to stone in my chest.
26
I woke in the crook of Silvan’s brawny arm, wrapped in his woolen coat, my body sticky with sweat and dew and aching at the points where it had touched against the cold ground. The light in this early hour was blue and gold overhead, the sky shadowed with crows. The clock tower bells rang out. Seven in the morning. I winced at the sound—the tolling bells a reminder of the boy who pulled their ropes. I’d spilled his secret, betrayed him.