Read Online Deep Roots by Beth Cato - Free Book Online Page A

very opposite of science and progress. It seemed idiotic that ­people couldn’t appreciate magic and science together.
    But then, maybe there’d be more ­people like Mr. Cody, too.
    â€œHow long have you lived in Tamarania?”
    Tatiana continued to stare out the window, and for a minute, Rivka wondered if she had heard her. “A few years now. When Mother started to get sick, that’s how she tried to hide it from me. She acted like it was all for my education, of course.”
    â€œIt’ll be nice for her to be here. For you to be together.”
    Tatiana grimaced. Rivka wondered if Tatiana’s help with the gremlins was a sort of last hurrah before her freedom was greatly curtailed. Rivka could understand that, in a way. Tatiana had known years with no parents present, a life of wealth with a household of undoubtedly indulgent servants.
    â€œIt sounds like your mother was very sick. She could have died without Miss Leander’s intervention.” Rivka leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Trust me. Don’t take her for granted. I was very close to my mama. After Papa died in the war, all we had was each other.” Papa, who wasn’t really her father. Her mind could never stop wrestling with that. “I was out delivering bread and making machinery repairs when our building caught fire. Mama was on the ninth floor. I watched from a neighboring tower as our tenement collapsed.”
    Tatiana’s eyes were wide. “There were no firemen?”
    â€œThis was Mercia. The firemen came, eventually. The neighboring buildings paid to be sprayed down with water. My home . . . was mostly gone by then.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œIt’ll be a change for you to have your mother here. I know. My grandmother makes me feel like a bug beneath a boot sometimes, but I don’t take her for granted. I can’t.”
    Tatiana nodded and withdrew closer to the wall, her hands clenched on her lap.
    Rivka sat back. It was strange to speak of what happened. She’d only told the full tale to Grandmother, and that had been especially hard, because of her son’s role. Rivka wouldn’t talk to Tatiana about that . Tatiana lived a different sort of life. She would never understand.
    The tram squealed to a stop. Tatiana stood, and Rivka followed her to the door. Two young women in broad hats whispered to each other as they passed by.
    â€œShe looks Frengian with that light brown skin . . . sounds Caskentian.”
    â€œThat lip . . . should wear a mask. Travesty here . . .”
    That old, festering rage welled in Rivka’s throat, and she ducked her chin, self-­conscious. Soon enough, she’d have money saved up to have her lip fixed. She wouldn’t need to try to hide her face anymore, or deal with these stage whispers.
    She pounded out her frustration on each metal step going down, and by the time they reached street level, she was breathless yet felt better. Brick buildings around them looked old and eroded but in good shape, with windows intact and doorsteps swept. Residents reflected the same shabby tidiness, as mothers with out-­of-­fashion hats pushed prams loaded with babies and groceries. Older-­model steam cabriolets cluttered the streets, as did numerous bicycles.
    The smell struck Rivka as strange. It took her a block to realize why—­there was almost no horse manure in the street, even in a poorer neighborhood such as this. The few horses they encountered were in good health, too, quite a contrast to the bony nags that dragged wagons throughout Mercia.
    Rivka spied a parasol jutting out of a rubbish bun. The stick was wooden and curved. The cloth of the parasol was stained yet mostly intact, barring a few tears near the edge. She pushed the canopy open, causing Tatiana to glance back in surprise.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œPicking up a weapon just in case. Back in Mercia, I used to carry one