Turning to leave, an odd sense of relief loosens my muscles, but then he says,
“Sire. She asked a lot of questions about the woman who birthed her. She is curious. It’s quite dangerous for one so young to be so inquisitive in these matters. I would punish her with a firm hand if she were mine.”
“But she is not,” I state, curt. “So, the pregnant Silk Girl? She is Darwin’s, then? What becomes of her?”
“Lantana. Yes. She will join another Trade after the birth. If she has a girl, they will become an excellent Silk Girl, I am sure,” he continues, dutifully laying the procedure out for me. “If she has a boy, we will wait to see what kind of babe he is and what Trade he fits.”
I leave. Shutting the door, I stride away. He could be in the Half-tower for months, reappointing lords and settling the unrest.
I grin at that.
After I shower and dress, I head outside with my rifle. First-light mist touches my shoulder from the east; it filters the sun, creating an eery glow.
Fortunately, I know the woods surrounding The Estate. Know the edges that cut along the windmill farm and the greenhouses, know the valley where the Aquilla cats stow away chickens stolen from our hutches.
And I have Odio.
Stalking across the gardens to the tree-line, I hear a branch snap in each ear. I scan the area, finding Bled and Turin Two at my left shoulder and Medan and Kong at my right.
Ready to hunt—we share this message in our stance, our weapons braced in front of us.
Behind them, Trade Hunters.
We hunt for leisure.
They hunt for Purpose.
With a nod, we stalk forward, weaving between the trees, woody limbs and leaves becoming mesh walls that filter the sand-burdened winds. As even the foliage in The Cradle has adapted to the gale.
The forest is dense.
Fielding off from me, my Collective disappear from view. The forest reaches all the way to the ocean, the bottom of the world.
We hunt in isolation, the only camaraderie shared is silent approval as short rounds echo, sending birds to the skies, wrenching howls and hisses from the surrounding cats.
Over the following hours, Odio guides me, hovering over warrens, and the forest reverberates with tormented squeals and cries.
The island’s native cat was once fucking extinct and now a damn pest.
It is crown-light, the brightest time of day, when I stroll into the forest clearing with three dead beasts hung around my neck, legs dangling down my chest.
Ahead, Turin Two, Medan, Kong, and The Trade Hunters are already regrouping, one by one, with their kill.
“How many did you see?” I ask Turin Two.
He is on his haunches on the grass, stabbing his knife into the thick coat of the cat, carving a seam down the stomach, and opening it up. He is wrist-deep in the guts while he says, “I saw at least a dozen make a break for it before I got this one and the other two in the sack. I shot down another two, but they dropped off the cliff into the ocean.”
“Kong?” I ask, looking over at him as he wraps a bite wound on his forearm with a piece of cloth.
“Ten, maybe fourteen,” he replies. “They breed as fast as the fucking chickens in summer.”
“Good.” Bled approaches from the east, dead cats stacked on his shoulders like logs. “I like the taste of cat. Better than chicken, and you know I’m not partial to ocean game.”
“Shark is beautiful,” Medan says.
Bled lays his beasts on the pile with the others. “Beg to differ. It’s the texture for me.”
Sitting on a hacked tree trunk, I lean forward, my elbows meeting my knees. I look between them. “Speaking of sharks, we may have a low supply for The Cradle until the Half-tower is settled. Cairo left this first-light. I’m certain, he will have it suitably organised within a few months. Man has a way with fucking words.”
“I leave tomorrow as well,” Medan states.
“And I,” Bled adds. “Back to my Hall.”
Turin Two laughs. “Orgies. We know.”
“As much as I enjoy dipping my fingers into a bit of vanilla cake,” Bled says, “it’s the tart that really does it for me.”
“The Common House Girl.” Turin laughs.
“If I remember correctly.” Bled raises a brow. “You quite enjoyed my group activities the last time you visited the Lower-tower.”
“I enjoy a great many things,” Turin Two muses, emptying the cat’s innards onto the grass. His arms are painted with guts as he rubs the bloody organs with poison, kneading the scentless flakes into the meat. He will leave the corpse in the clearing and kill a few more that turn cannibalistic.
Bled looks past me across the open grass. “They like it when you join them. It motivates them.”
I gaze over my shoulder to see The Trade Hunters, fifty feet away or so, in a circle, comparing their kills—they’ll hit the markets in first-light, fresh steaks for The Estate’s residents.
I nod at one; he bows.
Turning back, I stand, adjust the cats on my shoulders, fleshy stomachs warming my neck, and walk away, calling out, “If I don’t see you in the first-light, I will welcome you back next month. Congratulations on securing your legacy, my lords.”
Medan says, “And you, Sire.”
Chapter Sixteen
Aster
I rub my upper arm; my vitamin shot this first-light seems to ache while between my legs, my pussy throbs. I am swollen there, but it is proof of everything we shared last night.
The pain is sweet.
Smiling, I regard the perfect temperature in the courtyard as a gift while my black hair tickles my neck and sways around my back.
With a book each to enjoy, we sit on the lush grass. Tiny white flowers wiggle up between the blades. Our circle has a bite in the loop where Ana would have been sitting if she were well today. She is nauseated; we are told that resting in bed is best for the pregnancy.
I’m sure that is true.
She is not actually mourning.
This isn’t about Lord Darwin.
My heart hurts for her.
“The shot changes. The dose, the ingredients, it can sometimes ache,” Daisy offers, her eyes following my hand as I massage my shoulder.
I look to the right, seeing she has put her book down on her lap. “Not just vitamins?” I ask.
“Anything that will support our Meaningful Purpose,” Iris states, eyes glaring at me over the butterflied novel covering her face, measuring me up and down as though she can sense the discomfort between my thighs.
I stare back, deadpan. My eyes scream the fiery words: ‘I will be birthing an heir. Your worst nightmare has come to fruition— a Fur-born girl with no Xin Den genes is the king’s chosen Silk Girl.’
I smile, sigh the words from my mind, and decide to ignore her scrutiny.
So, for the hundredth time today, my gaze veers across the grassed yard to the marble stone building where Paisley converses with the other Watchers. She has not offered me so much as a greeting since I woke.
Blossom leans close to me. “She is afraid of Sire.”
“He wouldn’t hurt her,” I say, still looking across the lush courtyard to where she stands.