“That will be all for now, girls.” The Silk Wardeness looks between us expectantly. “Go back to your independent studies. I will see you tonight.”

I keep my composure, nod stiffly, and walk to the study hall, not looking up or around until I’m certain that I’m away from Iris and her groupies.

An entire night with Iris.

Oh joy.

I push open the heavy wooden door and am greeted by empty desks, a quiet room, and a single girl, Cherry, kneeling at the platform, probably asking The Cradle for two sons and one daughter in her future.

Ahead of me, high and proud, the magnificent portrait of our king hangs, framed by stained-glass windows.

Ambient light from outside filters through the glass, casting the mural in colours, bringing the images to life. His eagle, a black and orange figure like an umbrella over the portrait. The tides of The Strait below, navy and black waves, and white foam. The Redwind, depicted in red and orange fragments, creates a fishbowl effect around the piece.

I tilt my head as I study it, feeling warmth pool low inside me, taking in the regal sight and artistry before me. It doesn’t do him justice. Not now that I have seen him in the flesh. Felt his hands on me.

Swallowing the reverie, I move toward one of the desks. The Silk Wardeness’ outing sits in the front of my mind.

A team exercise, maybe?

Some kind of bonding?

It doesn’t matter.

Whatever she has to show us won’t change Iris. And I need to win by excelling. In ballet. In poise and manners. In being a Silk Girl. So I can leave this glass container and see more of…

Anything.

I open my desk and retrieve the text, Anatomy of a Silk Girl. I flip to chapter seventeen, Perineal Tears, and start reading.

At the end of the day, after studying and ballet, I wash the sweat from dancing off my skin with scolding water.

It’s always extra hot.

The wooden shower mat beneath my feet is warm, too, almost too warm. Floating around in the puddles are fresh petals, the scent of which mingles with the tree leaves, cedar, and tar used to heat the room year-round. Heat in the showers aids to cleanse us.

Cleanliness is a virtue.

Especially for a Silk Girl.

I wash, thinking about what I read, about the Xin De Maternal Deaths and why my Trade is so important to The Cradle. And… why being Fur Born means I’m at risk.

Am I strong enough to carry a baby with Xin De genes? When they grow so large, so strong, so quick.

I was assured years ago that my mother was Silk Born. That she was kidnapped by an outlawed Common man and that is why I was first marked as Fur. My blood is Silk, though. The story goes that The Guard found my mother dead in a pile of ash and bodies. I was found later.

That is the story I was told.

I am not really a Fur Girl.

I turn off the shower.

I’m wandering from the stall absentmindedly, my thoughts reeling and rolling over, when I bump into someone.

And it all happens so fast.

Iris shoves me against the wall, knocking breath from my lips. “You say nothing tonight, got it!”

I quickly search behind her to check for her followers, but she’s alone, which seems strange. I frown. “I have nothing to say. You tried to hurt me, tear me, but you failed.”

“They’ll know you’re Fur.” She sneers. “See scratches all over your skin. It’s important to live a delicate life. It says so in the books. Peaceful. Stress and trauma get into the cells and infect the babies. I have the Xin De DNA. I have the strength. I am perfectly at peace!”

“Yeah, you’re the picture of tranquillity right now.”

Red builds beneath her cheeks. “My seal will be a perfect shield and Sire will choose me because of it. Not you. He can’t. He won’t choose you!”

Gosh. She is jealous of me…

Power slides across my lips, resting into a smile. “You’re really jealous of me, aren’t you? You’re not disgusted because I was Fur Born. It has nothing to do with me. You’re jealous.”

“Filthy little Fur Girl!” She lifts her hand to slap me, but I catch her wrist. It vibrates with her rage.

“No.” I shake my head, glaring at her. “I’m not scared of you. Jealousy is not a virtue, Iris. You’re imperfect, too.”

“I’ll ruin your face next.”

She is losing it. I lean closer. “Do you know how to swim, Iris? I do. I jump in the pond and swim all around to catch birds. If you touch me again, I’m going to drag you into the deep and hold your head under until your lungs fill with water, and don’t worry, I won’t be punished. A creature lives near that pond, and he likes to eat birds. Pretty red birds like you. They won’t find your body. He’ll pluck you to bones, red feather by red feather.”

A moment of hesitation flitters through her angry stare before she tugs her wrist from my hand. She backs away slowly, grasping at a cruel smile. “The creature isn’t real, Aster. Your only friend is make-believe. You still have an imaginary friend. It’s pathetic.”

I blink at her.

“I’ve heard you talking to it,” she goes on. “It doesn’t talk back. It isn’t real. They’ll see that you’re not fit to be a Silk Girl. They’ll see that you’re odd and not want your genes tainting their legacy.”

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Chapter Four

Aster

The van comes to a stop.

We exit the vehicle under the cloak of night. I cannot see much through the face mask, but follow the lamp held ahead by the Wardeness. Whistles from the gale dance around me until we are declining steep steps away from the fingers of the night and into a dimly lit concrete underground space.

My heart races knowing this is an unusual practice; sneaking away at night, just the three of us—the Silk Wardeness, Iris, and I—accompanied by two Guard: one ahead of us and one behind.

My body vibrates with nerves and something else entirely. Something strange and as lovely as it is alarming—excitement. I like the idea of sneaking around, like the idea of secrets and journeys.

I shouldn’t want such things.

Curiosity isn’t a virtue.

I look at Iris as she clings to the Wardeness’s cloak—granted, the company could be better down here…

When the tunnel creates a sanctuary from the wind and sand, I pull my mask down and sling back my hood, which bunches at my shoulders.

I look around but see only steep concrete bathed in a low white hue from flickering tracks of lighting hugging the cracked grey ceiling.

“Will you note the lighting issue for when you come back tomorrow for your deliveries?” The Wardeness asks the Guard ahead. “There must be a windmill down.”

“Noted, Ma’am.”

The grey walls seem to disappear into the dead straight distance and my imagination takes over as the mundane trek continues for many minutes.

I picture the land above this tunnel. An unknown city or plane or farm. No glass walls of isolation. The aviary is all I know—I have only ever visited the Lower-tower a handful of times for special occasions, and even so, we are rushed from shop to shop, hidden and surrounded by Guards.

A few minutes pass, and I almost miss the steel door that the Wardeness stops beside.

She knocks twice and steps backward. The gasp of air escaping the door gives homage to its age and tight seal.

“Mother Rose and her sister are awake,” another Wardeness says through the door. “Bring the girls inside but don’t touch a single surface. You’ve not been tested or checked for ailments.”