I freeze, soaked through. “Sorry,” I gasp.
Soraya stares down at me, lips parted in surprise. She’s draped a pale blue scarf over her head in preparation for her morning prayers. She looks like some kind of holy woman, clean pressed and fresh from sleep. I’m all too aware of the dust and dried sweat stiffening my clothes and the sour taste of a night without sleep in my mouth. My face goes hot as I remember how I left. Shouting like a spoiled smallgirl.
I shift the ewer in my arms. “You want me to carry this for you?”
Soraya’s breathes out. “Yes, please.”
I haven’t seen her use it before, but I know the water is so Soraya can wash her hands and face and feet before her morning prayers. I’ve seen the ewer newly emptied by the gray-water sink and sitting by her bedside in the evenings. I carry it to the corner of the common room where Soraya keeps her prayer mat rolled and pour the water into a basin.
“Thank you.” She casts an eye at my wet shirt. “Why don’t you go and change, and then we’ll talk?”
I nod and slink away to the stairs, but something makes me look back as I reach them. The sun tips pink light through the glass doors on the east side of the house. Soraya unfurls her prayer mat and eases herself to her knees. She holds her hands together before her and murmurs into the early morning light. I duck my head and disappear up the stairs. If I were her, I’d want to be left alone to my praying.
I look in on Miyole, fast asleep in the rosy darkness of her room. Her breath comes even and her face is peaceful, free of the little furrow that appears between her brows when she’s been worrying. I change my shirt in the close quiet of my room. I spend a long moment contemplating the bed, but I shake myself awake. I owe a talk to Soraya, and better sooner than later.
By the time I shuffle down, the ewer and basin stand empty at the sink again. Soraya has tea going. She sits by a collection of cups, spoons, and saucers laid across the table, waiting for me. She waves a hand at the chair opposite her. I sit.
Soraya pours a cup of tea for me. “I was worried about you.” She speaks quietly to match the early hour. “Where did you go?”
“Walking.” The word comes out scratchy and raw. I sip my tea and try again. “I went down to the ship.”
“The ship?” Soraya sets her own teacup down, surprised. “Miyole’s mother’s ship? How did you get in?”
“I have the keycode,” I say. “From back when me and Miyole were living there.”
Soraya frowns as if she’d rather not remember where she found us and drops a sugar cube in her cup. “That ship is important to you, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I agree.
Soraya heaves a sigh. “You know how I feel. The Salt isn’t a safe place to go wandering around at night.”
“You don’t need to worry, I was with Rushil the whole time,” I say, and wish at once I’d kept my mouth shut. Stupid, stupid.
“Rushil?” Soraya says.
“Rushil Vaish,” I say. “He owns the lot where we have the ship docked.”
Soraya looks sharp at me. “That young man? The one with the glasses and all the tattoos?”
“Right so.” My voice goes small. “That’s him.”
Silence grows around us. Soraya pours herself another cup of tea. “And what did you two do all night?” There’s another question buried in there. Her eyes shift past me to the antique books behind my head.
“Talk.” I look down. Even if I’m not lying outright, I can’t look at her when I’m not saying the whole truth. “And we went over to his friend’s house.” I don’t want to tell her about the singing, or the electric burn of his lips. I want those memories to myself.
Soraya sighs and pulls the scarf from her hair. It lies in rumpled swaths around her neck. “You know, I can send you back to the doctor, if that’s what you want.” She closes her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose. “There’s a shot they can give to keep you from conceiving.”
I sit straight in my chair. Heat rushes to the tips of my ears. “But I’m not . . . We didn’t!”
Soraya raises her eyebrows at me. Truly?
“We didn’t,” I say again.
Soraya taps her fingernails softly against her teacup and nods to herself. “I believe you.” She fixes me with her big, dark eyes. “But if you ever think you’re going to, promise me you’ll come talk to me first. Promise you’ll take care of yourself.”
I nod, face raging hot.
“Children are so much . . .” She trails off and smiles sadly. “I only want you to be able to be a girl for once. I want you to have that chance.”
“But I’m not a girl,” I say. I haven’t been for turns.
“A young woman, then,” Soraya says. “All I mean is, your life doesn’t have to be so heavy. There’s so much out there for you, so much you can do.”
“I know. I’m sorry, and true. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Soraya sighs. She looks tired, face thin. “I only want to protect you. I know I’m not your mother, Ava, and you’re nearly an adult. But if anything happened to you . . .” She jostles the teacups as she reaches out and clasps my hand. Her fingers are cold, all tendons and bones.
“I don’t think the way my father did, Ava. You aren’t research. You’re my only living blood. If something happened to you, I . . .” She stops, lets out a sharp breath, and composes herself. “You can’t know what it’s like to have a family again after all this time.”
“You’d have Miyole,” I say.
“Yes,” Soraya says. “But I wouldn’t have you.” She leans back in her chair and holds a hand over her eyes. “Please, Ava. You have to stop running.”
She’s crying, I realize. But why? Only the barest thread of blood connects me and Soraya. But all the blood in the world didn’t stop your crewe from plotting to rid themselves of you from the moment your mother died. It didn’t stop them from trying to discard your mother’s soul along with her body. I think on Soraya and Miyole giggling at each other over dinner, Perpétue holding my arm as I took my first knifing steps on the Earth.
I squeeze Soraya’s hand in mine. “I won’t run off again,” I say. “I swear. I’m sorry, Soraya.”
“I am, too,” Soraya says. “If only I’d found you earlier. If only I’d looked harder when I came aboard to bury your mother . . .”
But I can’t regret it. It’s no good wishing to change what was. If Soraya had spirited me away to Earth when I was younger, I might never have suffered the shame I did after what happened with Luck, and I would have grown up well schooled and groomed and mannered. But then I never would have loved Luck, either. I never would have learned to fly a ship or been there to take the controls while Perpétue climbed down to rescue Miyole. I might not have seen the wonder in this world if it hadn’t been hidden from me so long. I’m not glad of the way it happened, but I can’t be sorry either.