We don’t have long until the ceremony begins—maybe two hours, three, tops. Not to mention Gem, Taurance, and I agreed to meet back at the cabin beforehand for what could be our final meal together.
I reach for the sand clock in my dress pocket, only to rememberI’ve misplaced it. “I can swing by, but only for a few minutes. I still need to prepare for tonight.”
My mother’s smile strains as she transfers a basket onto my free arm. “Wonderful!”
We walk in tandem across the open bridge that connects the commerce district with the residential quarters. Violet lights twinkle across the city’s expanse, making up for the lack of stars in the massive cavern ceiling suspended above. A bluish-white beacon sweeps across the shadowy expanse from the top of the watchtower—the tallest of Caligo’s buildings and one of the few powered with electricity. The spotlight glides across the stone bridge, illuminating the deep-set hollows beneath my mother’s eyes before moving past.
“How have things been in Deor?” I ask as we turn left at the split, aiming towards the main stairwell.
Her shoulders perk up. “Deor’s been as wonderful as always. Your father’s taken up pottery. If you’re running low on mugs or bowls, we’ve got plenty.”
“We’re fine, thanks.” I tuck a few curls behind my ears, though it’s a useless gesture since the strands don’t stay put. “What about you? Are you still taking dance lessons?”
She blinks. “Oh, I stopped those ages ago.”
“Why? I thought you said moving your body like that was the most alive you’ve felt since I was little.”
Her pupils go distant as she shrugs. “The newness wore off, I guess. I spend most of my free time in the racket rooms these days. Have you played?”
I sigh. “Not since . . .”
She winces. “Right. Sorry, sweetie. I forgot that silly rule about Tier Threes needing chaperones for certain recreational activities. You could play a couple rounds with me while I’m here. Your father’s gotan extra racket you could borrow.”
“I’m not sure if I’ll have the time.”
“Just one hour. Who knows when we’ll get to visit next? I miss spending time with you.”
Whose fault is that?
I refrain from asking the question aloud. We’re walking on a tight rope enough as it is. The last thing we need is to address how my parents can’t bring themselves to face the discomfort of having a Tier Three daughter. So, I nod and say, “I’ve missed you, too.”
The descent to the lower residential levels takes longer than I remember, or perhaps it’s the tense silence making every second stretch. No insects or moaning neighbors greet us when we pass through the R5 archway. The only similarity to our R1 home is the faint stench of mildew, but that’s inescapable no matter where we go in Caligo. At least R5 has spiced fragrance added to their bioluminescent sconces to somewhat conceal the bitter odor.
“This is us,” my mother says, transferring her load to knock on the first cabin on our right.
Seconds pass with no response.
She clears her throat and leans closer into the polished steel door. “Honey, it’s me. You’ll never guess who I ran into.”
Nothing.
My mother rolls her eyes before setting both baskets on the sparkling granite floor. She digs through them until she finds an ornate black key, then inserts it into the knob. The bolt unlocks, and she scoops up her groceries before ushering me into the entryway of their temporary lodging, which is spacious enough to fit the entirety of my cabin.
“Would you mind taking your shoes off? For some absurd reason, they gave us all-white rugs. Can you believe that? How am I supposedto keep these clean for two whole weeks?”
I slip off my sandals beneath a circular marble table with a metal floral arrangement, eyes catching on the six tiny pearls that sit on the ends of the stamens within the center of the lifeless black lilies. A matte black tag engraved with a cursive B in silver-foiled letters sits beside the mirrored vase.
“Is that how long you plan on staying? Two weeks?” I ask, swallowing past the tightness in my throat while joining my mother, who waits by parted glass doors, dainty silver flats still on her feet.
She nods. “Your father thought that should be plenty of time for the Hunt to conclude.”
The knot in my throat thickens.
Fourteen days. Plenty of time for ten women to be selected and slaughtered, their life’s essence sucked dry by the Sols.
“I hear you talking about me in there,” a deep voice calls from one of the rooms further within the cabin. Despite the years and distance, that rasp still feels like coming home to a soothing hug.
My mother places her baskets on the brown marble counter of their generous kitchen. “Oh, so you can hear when you’re mentioned, but not when your wife is banging on the door with her hands full?”
