price of a bottle of mint tea. The bottle is old, ringed with marks of past teas around the bottom, and the man has the same dark-red-earth skin of the People.
He is asking for too much money, for a thief’s amount really, but I nod and start to hand over my coins. He looks at me, then reaches out and tugs my hair, grinning as I start to move away.
Only the People know that a woman should not show her hair in public, much less let a stranger touch it. A girl from Keran Berj’s world would let her hair show and so I make myself smile at him.
He smiles back.
“Two coins, Hill girl,” he says, lowering his price by more than half, and I stare at him, frozen, for this man knows who I am, that I am not from the City or any part of Keran Berj’s world.
“It’s safe,” he says, pointing at the bottle, but I know he means something else. “I drink this tea all the time. Very refreshing for a long trip. Cold.”
I hand over the coins.
“Blessings,” he says, and presses the bottle into my hands. “May the Saints guide you well on your journey.”
“And you on yours,” I say, the proper response, and Jerusha pulls me back inside so fast my head bumps against the window. My vision spots yellow-red, pain, and when I can see again the man is gone, vanished into the crowd, and Jerusha is holding the tea.
“You know him?” Jerusha says, and I shake my head, reaching for the bottle.
“No, but he knew I am—was—”
“Stop,” Jerusha says, and eyes the people getting on, shoving the tea onto the floor, under the empty seat in front of me.
When I reach for it, he puts a hand on my arm, whispers, “Don’t.”
There is so much urgency in his voice that I still. Stop.
There are two people getting on the train, one an older man with a pinched face, an official clearly on a tour of places no one wants to see, most likely as a punishment. The other passenger is a woman who is finely dressed, no desert dust clinging to her clothes at all. Her hair is a little longer and a little lighter than Chris made mine, and I think about the dye once again. About how I am not who the papers I carry say I am. About what will happen when Jerusha speaks of me.
“Get up,” Jerusha says, low-voiced, and then shoves me when I don’t, yanking me up. My eyes burn but I will not cry. I will not.
A soldier comes up from the end of the car and says, “What are you doing?”
I freeze.
CHAPTER 28
I am frozen, terrified, but Jerusha’s face shifts before my eyes, becomes weary.
“My sister, she snores,” he says with a sigh, pointing at me. “And after two days—well, I must sleep before we reach the border and deal with bringing my other sister back to Keran Berj.”
He nudges me aside and says to the soldier, “I brought her to help out, but she just sleeps and now I can’t, and she simply doesn’t understand that I must rest. I know I will be forced to argue with those—” He gestures off into the distance, toward where the train is slowly moving. “And so I must be ready for them.”
The soldier nods, takes my elbow and pulls me into the aisle. “I have a sister myself, and as for what you’re facing—well, Keran Berj is right that we should not trust others, isn’t he? They just try to take away everything, like those People with their . . . ways.” He spits three times, and it mists over my face, lands on my melting shoes.
“Truth, indeed,” Jerusha says. “My poor sister is trapped, wanting to come home, but is she believed? No.” He lowers his voice. “We even have a letter from Keran Berj himself about her, for her husband is . . . well. You understand, surely.” He pulls a piece of paper with a heavy wax seal out of his pocket.
The soldier’s mouth drops open. “I’ve never seen one of those before.”
“Me either,” Jerusha says. “I’ve been afraid to touch it, for it was in Keran Berj’s hands, and his hands—”
“Touch God,” the soldier says, wonder in his voice. “Well, you
He is asking for too much money, for a thief’s amount really, but I nod and start to hand over my coins. He looks at me, then reaches out and tugs my hair, grinning as I start to move away.
Only the People know that a woman should not show her hair in public, much less let a stranger touch it. A girl from Keran Berj’s world would let her hair show and so I make myself smile at him.
He smiles back.
“Two coins, Hill girl,” he says, lowering his price by more than half, and I stare at him, frozen, for this man knows who I am, that I am not from the City or any part of Keran Berj’s world.
“It’s safe,” he says, pointing at the bottle, but I know he means something else. “I drink this tea all the time. Very refreshing for a long trip. Cold.”
I hand over the coins.
“Blessings,” he says, and presses the bottle into my hands. “May the Saints guide you well on your journey.”
“And you on yours,” I say, the proper response, and Jerusha pulls me back inside so fast my head bumps against the window. My vision spots yellow-red, pain, and when I can see again the man is gone, vanished into the crowd, and Jerusha is holding the tea.
“You know him?” Jerusha says, and I shake my head, reaching for the bottle.
“No, but he knew I am—was—”
“Stop,” Jerusha says, and eyes the people getting on, shoving the tea onto the floor, under the empty seat in front of me.
When I reach for it, he puts a hand on my arm, whispers, “Don’t.”
There is so much urgency in his voice that I still. Stop.
There are two people getting on the train, one an older man with a pinched face, an official clearly on a tour of places no one wants to see, most likely as a punishment. The other passenger is a woman who is finely dressed, no desert dust clinging to her clothes at all. Her hair is a little longer and a little lighter than Chris made mine, and I think about the dye once again. About how I am not who the papers I carry say I am. About what will happen when Jerusha speaks of me.
“Get up,” Jerusha says, low-voiced, and then shoves me when I don’t, yanking me up. My eyes burn but I will not cry. I will not.
A soldier comes up from the end of the car and says, “What are you doing?”
I freeze.
CHAPTER 28
I am frozen, terrified, but Jerusha’s face shifts before my eyes, becomes weary.
“My sister, she snores,” he says with a sigh, pointing at me. “And after two days—well, I must sleep before we reach the border and deal with bringing my other sister back to Keran Berj.”
He nudges me aside and says to the soldier, “I brought her to help out, but she just sleeps and now I can’t, and she simply doesn’t understand that I must rest. I know I will be forced to argue with those—” He gestures off into the distance, toward where the train is slowly moving. “And so I must be ready for them.”
The soldier nods, takes my elbow and pulls me into the aisle. “I have a sister myself, and as for what you’re facing—well, Keran Berj is right that we should not trust others, isn’t he? They just try to take away everything, like those People with their . . . ways.” He spits three times, and it mists over my face, lands on my melting shoes.
“Truth, indeed,” Jerusha says. “My poor sister is trapped, wanting to come home, but is she believed? No.” He lowers his voice. “We even have a letter from Keran Berj himself about her, for her husband is . . . well. You understand, surely.” He pulls a piece of paper with a heavy wax seal out of his pocket.
The soldier’s mouth drops open. “I’ve never seen one of those before.”
“Me either,” Jerusha says. “I’ve been afraid to touch it, for it was in Keran Berj’s hands, and his hands—”
“Touch God,” the soldier says, wonder in his voice. “Well, you
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