Port’iz shoots him a warning look. “I think that’s enough.”
“I will decide what is enough,” I say. “Who spoke to him? We are forbidden from that. Yes, I saw the canoes out there when Callie and I returned. Someone picked the time when I wasn’t here to paddle out there. Who was it?”
No one answers, but I guess from the way their eyes move that it was Mek’tor.
“I am chief of the forge,” I continue. “I have fought for this tribe. I have bled for it. I will not hear whispers about my mate.”
Port’iz nods. “No one questions your loyalty. But after Sprub’ex?—”
“Good,” I snap. “Then stop doubting the Deep. It works in ways we can’t understand. I also don’t understand this. But I trust that the Deep does.”
The men exchange glances. Mek’tor looks troubled rather than defiant.
“She is kind,” he says slowly. “She helps. She teaches. She learns from us, from boys too. That is why the questions grow. If she knows how women live, perhaps she knows how they come to be.”
I shake my head. “She knows her own people. On her planet. Which is very far away.”
“Are you sure?” someone asks.
I meet his eyes. “I am sure.”
The words taste solid, despite not being true.
Port’iz steps between us. “This talk ends here for now. The Deep has not spoken finally. Until it does, we hold to what we have.”
The men drift away, some reluctantly. Old Gren’ix lingers.
“Crat'ax,” he says quietly. “You guard her closely.”
“She needs guarding,” I reply. “As we have seen. Some tribesmen might lose their minds. Sprub’ex is not the only one who’s been looking at her with fire in their eyes.”
“We all come out of Lifegivers,” he says, not unkindly. “And we are a tribe.” He leaves.
I stand alone in the Circle and listen to the sea. I do not look toward the lone platform. I feel its presence all the same.
Callie finds me later near the huts. She carries a coil of rope over one shoulder.
“There you are,” she says. “The boys think the boat will hold a sail after all.”
“That is good news.”
She tilts her head. “You look like you argued with the Dry and lost.”
“Only with men,” I say. “And I’m not sure who lost.”
“About what?”
I hesitate. “They are curious about you.”
She laughs. “That’s not new.”
“They wonder if others like you exist.”
Her laughter fades. “Oh.”
“They ask questions,” I continue. “I told them most of what I know.”
“Such as?” she asks.
