“Your man is gone, Eyanna. That will not help him. And being without a man is not good for you, sweetie.”
She looked directly into his eyes through the fire, her hair flickering gold. “I can see you want a woman. But I will never be with you, Denton. Never.”
“Oh. Okay.” Denton took a bite of fruit. It tasted very sour.
The next day, when it was time to stop for the night, he said, “We should make a small fire. I think the big fires may attract the skalkits.”
So they made a fire with a handful of twigs. He tried to gauge it right because he really didn’t want to completely freeze his balls off. When they lay down to sleep, it was just right—cold but not chattering-teeth cold.
He pretended to try to sleep, then sat up, rubbing his arms. “Eyanna, come over here. If we sleep close to each other it will be warmer.”
She hesitated, looking at the pitiful fire as if wishing it would magically grow. But she was cold, too. After a minute she came over. He let her lie closest to the fire and spooned up next to her.
She was stiff, on her guard, but he did nothing further, just lay behind her. After a long time, she slept. He could hear her breathing deepen.
Denton had lain awake for hours the previous night, horny and sullen, and had come up with this plan. But he had only planned this far. He was pleased that he had pulled it off, that she had fallen for the “big fires may attract the skalkits” line. But now that he was lying here, pressed against her in the dark, he realized that he should have thought it through a little more carefully. Had he imagined that just the power of being next to him would change her mind? That she would get all sexy in her sleep and turn around and grab him? It wasn’t happening.
He could set this up as a routine. They could do this every night and maybe, eventually…
But Denton knew it was not going to happen that way. Because it was this night, and Denton was already out of patience. He was patience-free. He was also ripe. He had put up with too much crap in the past few days, needed to win too badly. And her tender bottom was pressed against him and he was right there and it was so selfish of her to deny him. After all, wasn’t he taking care of her? Wasn’t he offering her a life better than the one she’d lived as an outcast in the gorge? Didn’t she owe him? And what, really, did it cost her to be nice to him? The other Sapphians, all those allook saheed groupies, had never given it a second thought. Why was she so freaking stingy?
He lay there awake for a long time, all night in fact, thinking up these and plenty of other excuses. He didn’t really think he would do anything. He was only playing games with himself, making himself miserable. But it was like those days in Zurich when he had debated whether to buy the manuscript. Deep down, in perhaps the only place where Denton was ever really honest with himself, he knew how this night would end, how it was destined to end from the time he’d suggested they make a small fire and she’d agreed.
And so it did. Before dawn he cautiously moved her little skirt aside. Then he rolled on top of her, pinning her down, and he took her.
It felt amazing. It should have felt amazing. But even though he closed his eyes and pretended hard, he was still aware of her struggles. And even though he tried to move in a way that would give her pleasure, even though he’d talked himself into believing she would get into it once he’d started, his movements felt false. She didn’t get into it. And when he finished there was a heavy, polluted feeling accompanying the gratification.
He rolled off her. “Wow. I think… I was dreaming, Eyanna. I had a dream that we… I’m sorry.”
She got up and moved away a few feet down the bank and sat, staring at the water. Her chin trembled.
“I was dreaming,” he said again. “Wow, that was weird.”
Still nothing. He lay back down, looking up at the sky. A fluorescent pink sat at the crack of the horizon, like a box lid being opened on endless treasures. This world was so freaking beautiful that it made him cry sometimes. And right now, he hated it to death.
“Eyanna, I’m sorry. You are so beautiful, and I want you so much. There is only you and I now. We have to help each other.”
She stood up and slipped off into the water to wash, leaving him alone with his conscience.
18.2. Forty-Sixty Calder Farris
Gyde was having a conversation with someone at the top of the stairs outside their office. It was the Bronze from Saradena, the one who’d been talking about the dead Silver case in the cafeteria.
Pol froze, his hand on the rail at the bottom of the stairs. There was a second when he might have spun around and walked the other way, fled the Department of Monitors and Centalia, and never returned. But Gyde saw him and smiled and Pol’s hand went round around the banister and pulled himself upward because it was the most logical thing to do.
“We have an appointment this morning,” Gyde said pleasantly.
“What appointment?”
“A banned book expert. A Gold. He’s a collector.”
“A collector of banned books?”
“He’s a Gold. He can do what he likes.”
“Where did you find him?”
“I have my ways, classmate.” Gyde winked.
They drove across town to one of the great old imperial buildings. The Gold had a luxury suite overlooking Gorenten Square, including a balcony with primo seats for state parades. In the elevator Gyde asked, “Have you ever been in the home of a Gold before? No? It’s quite a lifestyle. But they’re very private, so don’t ask a lot of questions.”
Don’t ask a lot of questions. Pol almost laughed.
It turned out the Gold was an expert in rare books, not banned. And he was not old—perhaps thirty-five. Pol was surprised. All the Golds he’d seen on posters or heard on the radio were old, the councilmen of state, distinguished white-hairs. But of course, there had to be younger Golds as well, didn’t there? They didn’t reproduce much, the Golds. “To set an example for the lower classes” was the official line. “Because there’s only so much room at the top” was no doubt closer to the truth. This Gold’s penthouse was the most subtly lavish display of money Pol had ever seen—carpeting like an elaborate mosaic and furniture that was heavy and weighted and black.
And his wife… The Gold female floated through the room as though her body were made of the same insubstantial stuff as her gown. Her light blue eyes were rimmed with a darker shade that matched her temples, and her white-blond hair was coiled and stiffened into an elaborate headdress. Silver females were trained for combat. This female was different—delicate and soft, rare as an orchid. She appeared briefly to welcome them, then disappeared again like a dream. The book expert himself was not attractive. He had the requisite signs of class—blond hair and rich blue temples—but on a short and fleshy frame. He had bulging eyes.
“How can I serve the state?” Chancellor Tyches asked as they settled down in his library.
Gyde’s face was grave with concern. “Have you heard about the state terrorist who’s been writing messages on public buildings?”
“I’ve heard it mentioned.” Tyches settled back into his chair. He withdrew a Balsala smoke from a box on his desk and offered them each one. The expensive smoke tasted wonderful.
“His last was a pamphlet.” Gyde handed Chancellor Tyches a copy. “There are some curious ideas in it. I was hoping you might recognize his source.”
“Ah!” Chancellor Tyches sank back with an expression of complacent arrogance. He scanned the pages. “Mad.”
Pol leaned forward. “Do you really think so?”