Administrator Erskine stood with her hands behind her back, waiting patiently.
“I do not consent to Counseling,” said Zada. “This is my formal rejection.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Administrator Erskine said gently. There was not a trace of surprise on her face. “But tell me, Zada, what would make you happy?”
Zada stared up at her, uncomprehending. “What?”
“It’s a simple question. What would make you happy?”
“Um.” Zada’s head was starting to spin unpleasantly. As if watching herself from a great distance, it occurred to her that Administrator Erskine could have taken some sort of antidote before drinking the water. “Do you mean right now, or in general?” The words flowed out of her like honey, slow and inevitable. She had not decided to speak.
“Let’s start with in general,” said Administrator Erskine. She reached for a bracelet and activated the SmartGem embedded in it, bringing up a screen and a holographic keyboard that bobbed in front of her.
She tilted her head slightly to the side, as if waiting, which was odd because Zada was sure she had already explained that she would not be saying anything. Zada was almost positive that she had said this out loud. She had to keep her head clear. She had to remember what she had decided. She had to remember why that was important. There had been something, something she’d been trying to hold on to. There had been something. Something had mattered—
Chapter TwentyRapture
Tears flowed down Zada’s face. She couldn’t help it. She was just so happy.
“Uh, do you want any help?” asked Augusta. In her outstretched hands was Zada’s wedding dress.
Wedding dress. What a musical array of sounds. Zada had been crying since Counseling yesterday, but she didn’t bother to wipe away her tears. She wanted everyone to know how overjoyed she was. What a perfect way to mark the beginning of her real life, the start of her marriage with Buford: a wedding dress fitting with her mother and her dearest friends—her only friends—Augusta and Flora.
“She’s fine,” her mother told Augusta, and Zada beamed wetly at her. Her mother understood.
Flora and Augusta were exchanging a look of some kind, their beloved faces briefly marred by wrinkles of concern, but Zada barely registered it. The important thing was that soon she would join hands with Buford, uniting their souls forever, and they would mark their eyes for all to see the miraculous bond they shared. The important thing was that she was about to become a true contributing member of New Ionia, a dutiful wife, and a caring mother.
Something twinged in Zada’s mind for a moment, a resonance with the source sound missing. Nothing but an empty echo. For some reason, it made her cry harder.
Happy. She was so happy.
Zada took the dress, a positive confection of frills and ruffles. She slipped behind the modesty screen, eager to catch a first glimpse of herself as Buford Arnoth’s bride. It was all a glorious play, and for one day, Zada would be the beautiful shining star.
“I’m glad you changed your mind,” Mx. Beauchamp called over the screen. “This one suits you so much better.”
Zada nodded, so overcome with gratitude that she was unable to speak. Her face hurt from smiling so much, the best kind of pain.
“Hey,” said Flora quietly from the other side of the screen. “Zada, if you need a moment—”
“I don’t,” Zada managed at last. “I don’t need anything but Buford.”
“And perhaps a few other things,” came Augusta’s voice. “Your friends and your books and your triple cello.”
“Of course,” said Zada pleasantly. Augusta didn’t understand. She’d been separated from her own true love for too long to remember that ultimately there was nothing more important than a pair of souls joining forever in perfect wedded bliss. It wasn’t Augusta’s fault, Zada reminded herself. Zada had once let her mind grow cluttered with all kinds of trivialities. She had once cared such an awful lot about so many things. Now they were all swept away, with perfect clarity, her mind clean and pure as her beautiful dress.
Zada peeled off her dull, ordinary jacket and let it crumpleto the ground.
That was odd. Someone had taken the time to make a very deliberate-looking smudge on Zada’s arm. She wasn’t certain how she hadn’t noticed it when dressing this morning; too delirious with joy, perhaps. Now, she couldn’t ignore it. How embarrassing—it wouldn’t go at all with the white of her gown. Zada went to rub it off and realized with another twinge that the marks exactly matched the dimensions of her own fingertips. Five parallel lines, with seven little dots marching up and down. They were rendered in some dark gray substance, with just a slight bit of glitter to it. Very odd.
Her friends and her mother were waiting for her to put on her gown, and take one thrilling step closer to her marriage with Buford and their life of flawless harmony together. There was no space in that picture for whatever she had, for some mystifying reason, done to her own arm. Done quickly, and yet with a strange sort of precision. Almost as if it were some sort of code.
Another twinge.
Zada stared at the five lines and the climbing dots. She knew there was no time for this, but the marks didn’t fit.
Music, she realized belatedly. It was a melody, consisting of seven notes. That was nice. Maybe she’d written something for Buford. That would make sense, she thought. It was the best possible use of her silly little hobby, to express some piece of how she felt about her husband-to-be. She hoped he would like it.
Why had she smeared the tune on her arm under her jacket, like a secret?
