10 - FINN

CHAPTER TEN

I can't seem to focus after I get in the boat with Jeyk and Mitchell and we start the long float down-city where the canal empties into the lake on the edge of nothing and where a pyre has been built.

It's weird and everything goes a little bit blurry. And I'm a little bit shocked—though I probably shouldn't be—that the entire city has turned up to pray for my father's soul as we burn his body until it is nothing but ash in the wind.

The bells ring the entire time.

Like it was planned this way.

Like the god himself is mourning the death of my father.

I am sitting as the ceremony happens. Elevated now, and alone on the dais meant only for the Extraction Master.

It takes six hours for the body to turn to dust and make all of down-city smell like death. How do they put up with it, that smell? People die every day. Bodies are burned every day and they don't get a private service. They pile all the previous day's bodies up into one boat and every night they all go up in flames together.

Every night there is an orange glow coming from down-city that makes all of us upwind thankful that we are not down here to smell it. How do these down-city people spend their whole lives in the vortex of that stench?

Mitchell comes down this way sometimes to drink and buy whores. But I haven't been down here for a funeral since Clara's father died years back. He got a private service. Not a grand one, like this, but it was nice.

Still, as nice as it can be, no one who lives up-city wants to be down here any longer than they have to.

There is a horn that blows when the Pyre Master decides that the body has been turned to ash and the funeral is over. And then… it's truly over. My father is gone and the grief flooding through my soul feels like the heaviest burden I have ever carried.

But there's something else inside me now too. I felt it the moment the Pyre Master declared my father to be dust.

It's a heat. It's an anger. It's the weight of my duty, but it's more than that. It's more the death, and the sadness, and the tolling bells that refuse to shut up.

I feel evil. Truly evil.

Because only an evil man would take part in these traditions we have.

Jeyk and Mitchell come up beside me as we leave, flanking me as the people part, giving us a path back to my boat. The good thing about being the last to arrive is that we are the first to go.

But it's Clara, waiting for me in her black dress and veil on the deck of the boat, who puts my upside-down world back into some kind of order.

"How did she get here?"

I'm mostly talking to myself when I say this, but Mitchell answers. "I threatened those fucking Matrons. Told them they'd all be kicked out on their asses, freeloading days over for good, if they didn't have her waiting on this boat when you got here."

And despite everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, I smile.

Because Clara Birch is truly the only way I will get through the rest of this day.

I climb up onto the boat and Clara falls into my arms sobbing and apologizing at the same time. "Oh, Finn. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

I hold on to her. Tight. Closing my eyes and letting out a sigh as we stand there, in front of the whole fucking city—letting them get a good long look at our grief—and forget about everything but her.

I just want to stay here like this. Capture this moment and hold it prisoner.

It's my father's funeral, which should be one of the very worst days of my life, but this moment right after is gonna stick with me. Because I know in my heart this is as good as it gets. My happiness peaked yesterday afternoon when I was dragging my fingertips up and down Clara's naked thigh after our tryst and the slipping started the moment she and I parted. We didn't know that the best moments were now behind us. That we had just lived through the good ol' days.

But I understand this now. It's never going to be this easy again. It's never going to be this good again. It's just going to get worse from here and if I don't appreciate every second of every day as the fall from grace happens, then I won't have anything left in the end. Not even the memories.

So I hold on to her. Tight. Keeping my eyes closed as the whole city watches our descent into despair.

She pulls back first, not saying anything. Just takes my hand and pulls me into the shade of the canopy positioned over the couches.

We sit while Mitchell and Jeyk busy themselves with the captain to give us some privacy and then start the journey back up the canal to the Extraction District.

"Thanks for coming."

Clara lays a hand on my face, staring straight into my eyes. "Of course I came."

This is when I notice that she's… displaying . "Clara! Your hands!"

She pulls her hand back from my face and looks at both of them the way one might look at something curious. Her spark was never magnificent. Only her fingertips displayed on her first Choosing night. But over the course of the rest of the Choosings the spark inside her grew and matured. It often happens this way for Little Sisters. And by the time the top ten are Chosen, most, if not all of them, display spark in a new way on Extraction Night itself.

It happened this way for Clara too. Little markings—symbols, kind of—started to appear on her hands. First, her palms. Then the backs of her hands. Then her wrists, and finally, on Imogen's Extraction night, when all nine Spark Maidens were still here with us, the spark inside Clara Birch leaked out as light all the way up to her elbows.

Since then, she's lost most of it. Which is also common, since Maidens-in-Waiting don't have to practice their spark, as they are not meant to go into the tower.

She makes little spark drawings in the air sometimes. Or traces a finger across my skin, leaving a trail of spark behind. But the symbols… it's been years since I've seen the symbols.

Clara snaps out of the trance the spark cast over her and huffs. "Well. Look at that." And then, just as quick as it appeared, the spark fades until it goes out completely.

I suddenly have a keen interest in her spark and I want to ask her about it. About those symbols, specifically. But the timing is so wrong. So instead I say, "How is Haryet?—"

But Clara pulls me into a hug before I can finish, whispering into my ear. "Don't think about tonight. Not yet. We only have room for this right now, so don't think about tonight."

Tonight . It's so close.

And we just did this last year and it hasn't even had a chance to feel like a long time ago yet. Not when there's supposed to be an entire decade of time between the tolling bells.

But I take her advice and I don't think about anything. I just sit and hold Clara in my arms as she holds me back, and I push the sight of her spark symbols, as well as the new anger and evil inside me, away as we float back up the canal.

When we arrive at the Extraction Tower, the four of us disembark, but then I turn to Mitchell and Jeyk. I'm gonna put them off and they are going to object because that's their job now—to keep me focused and on task as I fully integrate into my new role as Extraction Master. So I put up a hand to stop their objections before I speak. "I know we have a lot to do, but… give me one hour, OK?"

They both nod with somber faces, but don't try and talk me out of it.

Then I take Clara's hand and lead her to the elevator that will take us up to my new palace.

She leans in to me, once the elevator doors have closed, and discreetly whispers, so the liftman can't hear, "Where are we going?"

I let out a huff of air. Because she doesn't even know yet. She has no idea who I turned into since the last time we saw each other. So I just whisper back, "You'll see."

When we get to the top the liftman opens the doors for us and Clara and I exit. I put my hand in the small of her back, allowing myself to feel just the slightest bit of happiness as I watch her fascinated, wandering gaze as she takes in the luxurious hallway leading to the Extraction Master's office.

We stop in front of the massive, fifteen-foot double doors and finally that astonished gaze of hers finds mine. "What is this?"

I sigh. "My new home." Then I open the doors and she steps in, once again looking around, trying to see everything at once.

She's breathing heavy when she finds my eyes this time. "I don't understand…"

"This"—I pan my arms wide to indicate the whole of the palace—"was my father's office. Apparently. I never knew about it, but nonetheless, it's here. But it's much more than just an office. It's… well, a regular palace, as you can see."

"Oh." Her face crumples into a frown. Then, suddenly, she's crying, covering that beautiful face with her hands.

And I am so stupid. Why would she care about this place? Aldo's body was just burned in a pyre. The bells are still ringing for Haryet. This is the absolute worst day of Clara's life and I'm bragging about my new palace?

What the hell is wrong with me?

I put my arms around her. "Shhhh. It's OK." I want to explain that this is a good moment, she just doesn't realize it yet. But it's not the right time for that conversation. It's not even the right time for that thought.

So instead, I just hold her. Caressing her back with my fingertips. Because this is a terrible, awful day and she won't understand until it's too late that we are at the end of the best of times, so we need to enjoy it. And I don't want to tell her that—not yet. I don't want to kill all her hopes and dreams until I have no choice.

It takes a few minutes, but when she finally calms down, I lead her over to the nearest couch—sans blue sheet, courtesy of Mitch or Jeyk, I presume—and after we sit, I pull her into my arms and we let out that breath. A collective one. The one we've been holding, in our minds, at least, since the bells started ringing last night.

It's not over yet, of course, but we've come to terms with it. And in my experience, that's always half the battle.

We don't talk. We just sit. Not because there's nothing to say—there are millions of things to say—but because we don't know how to say them. The world doesn't make sense yet.

Instead, we kiss. And I am a little taken aback—not to mention slightly ashamed—to find that I am hungry for her.

There is no time for a tryst, there is so much to do before the ceremony tonight, but after, when the bells finally stop, I will bring her here and she will spend the night with me. Fuck that god. Fuck him and his tower too. Fuck the bells, fuck the Extraction, fuck the Matrons, and fuck the consequences.

She's mine and I might just take her prisoner. Keep her forever. Lock her up in some… upper palace room that I don't even know about yet, and never let her leave.

"What are you thinking about?" Clara's low whisper pulls me out of my anger, and shame, and lust and forces me to take a breath.

"You."

She snuggles into my neck, her mouth pressed against my skin just below my ear. I hold her as we lean into each other, trying to get through the moments.

"Where's your mother? I didn't see her at the funeral."

I blink. Squint. Then… I dunno. Get lost for a moment. Because Clara's right. I didn't see her either. And I didn't even notice that she wasn't there.

Clara pulls back a little, trying to see my face. "Finn?"

"Uh…" I have to lie. That's the only way out of this. "She was… sick. She couldn't come." I don't want to look Clara in the eyes as I say this lie, but I force myself to.

She's squinting her eyes in a severe look of confusion. "She didn't…" She can't even finish the sentence. Because it makes no sense.

My mother did not attend my father's funeral ?

And I didn't even notice?

"I'll… check in on her. Don't worry." I drag my fingertips gently across Clara's cheek, forcing a smile. "She needs time."

Clara looks me in the eyes, the same way that Jeyk looks me in the eyes, and takes a moment to make herself believe the lie. Because why would she not believe me? She offers a small smile and then places her hand flat against my cheek. "Are you OK, Finn? I know that's a very stupid question, considering the circumstances, but you don't look OK."

I am not OK. There's something evil growing inside me, I can feel it . "I'm fine." This lie is too much. Even I know it. "I mean, I will be fine. Once this day is over."

She wants to question me. She wants to know more about my mother's absence, and this office that looks like a palace, and the bells—which are still ringing—and she probably wants to talk about how she's next.

But in the very next moment, there is a knock at the door, and I am saved from telling all the lies that would be necessary to explain away her unease because Mitch appears, telling us that there are things to do and places to be.

I rise up, standing in front of Clara, then offer her my hand. She hesitates, staring up into my eyes for a moment. Like she might ask all those questions in her head regardless of Mitchell's presence.

Her gaze is steady, her resolve firm. But then she sighs, looks away, and takes my hand. Allowing me to end the conversation and pull her to her feet.

But then I also pull her close and place my hands on her cheeks, forcing her to focus on me. It takes a moment for her eyes to meet mine again. But she does. They are blue. Almost the same blue of the canals, and I've been comparing those eyes of hers to the canals down below for so many years now, it's almost impossible to think about water without picturing Clara's face.

"I'll see you tonight, OK?"

She nods her head, but she looks like she wants to cry. About Haryet, obviously. But for herself, too. And even Gemna. They thought they'd be safe. But when the Extraction climbs its way all the way up to Maiden number nine, it becomes pretty clear, pretty quick, that the god has every intention of taking each and every one of them.

Clara opens her mouth to say something and I know—I feel it in my gut—that it's going to be a question she won't like the answer to. So I place a fingertip on her lips and shake my head. "Tonight, Clara. We'll talk tonight."

Then Mitch is there, offering Clara his arm. She looks at him, then me, and gives in, taking his arm and letting him lead her out of my palace.

I wait until Mitchell comes back, then I ask, "Was my mother at the funeral?"

Mitch shakes his head, but doesn't say anything.

"I need to see her." I expect an objection, but he doesn't say anything to this, either. So I just walk past him, get in the elevator, take it down to the ground level, then travel the walkway that leads around and behind the Extraction Tower.

Behind every tower in Tau City there is a neighborhood that houses all the families who live in the districts. The homes are all attached, and built into the rocky hillside, with a canal view. There are dozens of canals in Tau City. Some are very small—just tiny streams with foot bridges that span only a few feet. But our family home is on a secondary canal that is big enough to have a bit of beach and I have many fond memories of swimming in that bright blue water as a kid. The sun tanning my skin brown as I spent hours and hours jumping off the boulders that line the banks and splashing around on hot days.

There are many levels to each neighborhood as well, since all the homes are built into the side of a cliff. It's beautiful, and serene, and when it's lit up with lampposts at night, it's even a little bit magical.

Our family quarters are located just a few minutes' walk from the tower for convenience and when I arrive, I find a guard standing on the porch outside our front door. He salutes me when I approach.

"What's going on here?" I ask.

"Sir… I… I was posted here."

"I can see that. Why are you posted here?" Of course, I can guess. My father was murdered. It's a logical thing to conclude that my mother might require protection. But that doesn't explain why she wasn't at the funeral.

"I don't know, sir." The guard shrugs. "I was told to report and someone will replace me in two hours."

I don't bother asking any more questions. He's telling the truth. So I wave him aside, open the door, step in, and close it behind me.

I immediately find myself looking straight into the eyes of four Matrons. They are blocking the stairs that lead up to my parents' bedroom.

"What is going on? Why are you here? Where is my mother?"

The oldest Matron in the group, the one in the middle, takes a single step forward. Her face is nothing but a topography of wrinkles. She's not wearing the customary garb of blue tunic and cream scapular apron like the two Matrons on either side of her, but a long cape the color of the night sky. It's open in the front, trimmed in shimmering gold, and held together with a large gold brooch. Underneath the cape she's wearing a long dress the color of sand and embroidered with gold stars.

On her head is a crown of sorts. A tiara, but not a dainty one like the Little Sisters occasionally wear to balls during the Choosing. It's thick, and dull—made of iron, perhaps. It doesn't look precious, it looks… old. Ancient, like the woman wearing it. And out of place when contrasted with the dazzling gold brooch at her throat.

The outfit is over the top and far outside the parameters of tradition. Hell, just the fact that they are here, in my family home, implies a level of audacity I've never witnessed before from a Matron and the fact that they are blocking my way upstairs to check on my mother is a whole next level of insubordination.

"Answer me," I demand, looking the old one directly in the eyes.

She offers me a small smile, then folds her hands at her waist and bows her head as she speaks. "Your mother belongs to us now."

"What?" I blink at her, confused. "What are you talking about?"

The ancient Matron looks up at me once again, her eyes patient and soft. Like she is about to explain something very complicated to a small child. "It has never happened in your lifetime, so of course you are confused."

"What has never happened? What the hell is going on?"

"The death of the Extraction Master, of course. Your mother was the Extraction Mistress. So naturally?—"

"Wait." I put up a hand to make her stop talking. "What do you mean Extraction Mistress ? There's no such title."

"Oh, but there is, boy. Every Master has a Mistress, doesn't he?"

"Well…" I stop there. Because no. We don't. Obviously. Since I am not married. And my mother is not a Mistress. She's married, which means she's a… I can't even think the word that comes to mind. Because it suddenly makes perfect sense, but at the same time, it can't be.

"Of course you don't have a Mistress, Finn Scott. Yet, that is. You've only had the position for a single day. But you will. All Extraction Masters must have a Mistress. How do you think we get the next generation?"

"Well…" I say again. Then stop. Again.

"Never mind all that. We can discuss your options at a later date. Once you've had time to mourn and settle in."

"What does any of this have to do with my mother?"

"Finn."

I look up, startled at my mother's voice. She's on the landing between the first and second floors, her eyes bloodshot and tired-looking. Her smile, meant only for me and only as a pacifying gesture, is small. Barely enough to lift up the corners of her mouth.

But the thing that really disturbs me about her right now is what she's wearing. Because it's the exact same outfit as the ancient Matron standing in front of me. "Mother. What is going on? Why are you dressed like that?"

My mother's gaze finds the old one's. "Can you wait outside for a moment? I'll just need a minute."

The old Matron doesn't answer, just nods her head and motions for the rest of her group to leave.

When they're gone, I walk up to the stairs and offer my hand to my mother. She takes it and allows me to help her down. Then we turn and face each other. She has aged since I last saw her, which was only a couple weeks ago when I came for dinner.

I don't know what to say, and she knows this, so she starts first. "I'm sorry we didn't have a chance to talk before the funeral. It all happened…" She sighs. "It all happened so fast. And then the bells started ringing and there was just… no more time." She gives me a little shrug.

"But what does all this mean, Mother? Why are you dressed like that ancient Matron?" Of course I know the answer. I just can't seem to accept it.

"Because I am one of them, son. I was a Little Sister when your father became Extraction Master. He was about your age, in fact. That year the Choosing had a dual role. A courting for him so he could choose a suitable wife, and the Choosing, of course. And that is how you will experience it as well." Her smile is bigger this time, showing me a little bit of her teeth even. Then her hands come up to the collar of my shirt and she straightens it, like I am a small boy once again.

"You're leaving, aren't you."

She nods. "I did my job. My husband is gone and my son is grown. Now it's your turn to start a new legacy." Her smile grows even wider now. "With Clara."

I let out a breath, and with this breath goes a lot of tension. "She's not a Little Sister. She's a Maiden."

"It's not how it's normally done. But it's not forbidden. The important thing is that your future wife will be one of the Chosen. And Clara is. Quite a fantastic one, actually."

Now it's my turn to smile. And in this moment, I think… maybe it's all going to be OK? Maybe there's a reason for all this pain and uncertainty? Maybe we really will get married, and have our own son, and I will turn into my father, and Clara will turn into my mother, and everything about this life will be just fine?

If I can stomach the lies.

"I have to go, Finn. But I'll see you tonight at the Extraction for Haryet. I'll be with the Matrons, of course, not by your side." Then my mother places a hand on my cheek as she gives the other a small kiss.

Her robes swish as she turns towards the door.

"Wait. Will I see you again after that, Mother?"

Her head turns, just a little so she can look across her left shoulder, but she doesn't meet my gaze. "No, Finn. Our time together is over now and my place is in the Matron Tower."

A moment later she steps through the door.

And then she's gone.