She doesn’t say anything, but I can see her frowning in the dark.
“Sam, I swear I didn’t know. I would’ve never … We wouldn’t have … Your stories were right. We really are the enemy. Your people were right to hide from us, and you ought to be afraid. We lie and we destroy what we touch … ”
“Do you think I am your enemy?”
I feel my brows come down. “No.”
“But I am one of the Knowing, and the Knowing are arrogant and cruel.” Samara’s hand snakes up my neck until it rests on one cheek. “Are you from Earth?”
I breathe out, “Yes.”
She slides the glasses off my face. “Then I don’t think being from Earth makes you my enemy.”
This time her kiss is slow and curious, her lips feeling my jaw and my chin, an ear and both my eyes, and I know she is making a memory. I stroke her back and her neck, the scars on her arms, brushing her cheeks with the tips of my fingers. Until the bells start to ring Outside.
She jumps, and then she leaves me, unwinding the string, handing me the glasses before she opens the shaft.
“Hurry,” she says. “I’ll be back at resting.” I can hear her breathing hard. Nervous to stay, upset to leave me, or still remembering our kiss, I don’t know which. Maybe all of them. I crawl into the shaft.
“Beck!”
I look over my shoulder.
“Yuàn dé yī rén xīn, bái shǒu bù xiāng lí,” she says in perfect Chinese.
“ài,” I say.
And she shuts the door.
The creation of a perfect society, of a people worthy of rule, is not an easy task. The judge must prune here, and trim there, often lopping off what is beautiful, but always for the good of the whole …
FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF JANIS ATAN
I move slowly down the mirrored corridors. I want to run, but it’s too late for that. I stayed too long with Beckett. I couldn’t help it, and now the early risers are out and moving. I try to look as if I have purpose. Serene, as if I have just left seclusion, and every braided head I pass Knows the location of my chambers, the location of the seclusion cells, and that my current path is not between them. This cannot get back to Thorne. If he thinks my escapades are public, then my parents will not be saved. And with a jolt in the pit of my stomach I wonder if we found all the cameras. If somehow, he already Knows.
I climb the stairs to Level Three. I don’t Know what a camera looks like, but I can guess where it must be in my room. I want to find it, rip it down. But if I do, they’ll Know where I’ve been. I’ll have to be in my bedchamber, Knowing they are watching. As if I needed another reason to go back Outside to Beckett.
I wonder if my father will be surprised—or even glad, maybe—to see me. If it was hard when my parents thought I was dead. Not as hard as Adam, but maybe … a little hard. Whatever their feelings, they are Knowing, and I will have to guess at them. I don’t even Know what they think happened to me. If Thorne told them I was dead. Maybe he told them he murdered me. Like my brother. The rage inside me smokes, glows.
I need to use this day well. I want a bath, a real one, and my mind is so heavy it’s an effort not to drag my feet. I need to cache. I need to start reading the books in my head. I need to think about what Beckett said about Earth, though it’s the threat of the Council that seems more real to me right now. I’ll have to play my part well tonight in the Forum, be normal, maybe even friendly, talk about the benefits of seclusion. Be worthy of the Knowing before I run off again.
I unlatch the door to the Archiva family chambers as quietly as I can, the same way I let myself in on the day Nita died. I don’t want them to see me come in. It seems like less explanation might be required that way. I turn to shut the door behind me, without noise, and then I hear the doors to the terrace open, the sharp click of my mother’s shoes on stone. It’s a good thing I didn’t try to climb the cavern.
“Samara,” Mother says. “Darling. It’s good to have you home.”
I put my back to the carved wood, wary. I was hoping for … something, I’m not even sure what. But I Know this is not my mother’s real voice. She is smiling.
“We’ve missed you. Haven’t we?”
My father is stepping in behind Mother, his dark eyes hooded. He doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t look at me, and I feel the sting. And then I feel it again. I’d thought maybe when he lit the lamps that it meant something. Maybe he’s not looking at me so I won’t see. Mother crosses the room, a long dress the color of coming dark shimmering red-black as she walks, the material draped to show the patterns of wellness scars extending across her back. She sits, elegant in her silver chair, the Archiva family tree stretching from wall to wall above her head. She lifts a hand.
“Sit, darling.”
I go to the chair opposite and sit on it. This is strange, and I wonder if believing the last Archiva was dead has made my mother a little crazy. It’s happened before.
“I’m so glad you were able to arrive before our guests. They’ll be coming any moment now. Could I get you anything to drink?”
“What guests?”
“Have you forgotten the Changing of the Seasons?” She laughs, light and airy.
“We celebrate the Changing of the Seasons after middle bell, Mother. In the Forum.”
“Not this time, darling. We are celebrating now. See, one of our guests has already come.”
Thorne Councilman steps off the terrace, and I’m not even trying to hide how much I hate him. He nods at me once, unsmiling. It’s the first time I’ve put physical eyes on him since Knowing that he and his Council killed my brother for Forgetting. The sight of his black robes and neatly trimmed beard scorches my insides.
“Samara, please,” my mother chides. “Arrange your face.”
My father has turned to the wall, like he’s in a memory, or caching, but I see that he’s really looking into one of the mirrors, one that gives him a view of my mother. The table beside him has glasses set out, eleven of them, and a pitcher of what looks like amrita.
The beat in my chest speeds, races, and somewhere, deep in my memory, I am listening to Adam scream. This is wrong. Something is wrong.
“Mother,” I say. “I’m not dressed for guests. I’ll just go and—”
“Stay where you are,” she says, a little sharp before she softens. “You look well.”