11 - CLARA

CHAPTER ELEVEN

M y head is swimming with emotions . Confusion, and sadness, and fear, and anxiety, and frustration. All of them, all at once. And those fucking bells will not stop tolling. Which only adds to my distress.

It's a form of torture, these bells. For all of us, but especially poor Haryet. She's crying, and even though our rooms are massive, and the walls substantial, and she is a whole floor below me—there is no way not to hear her wailing.

It's so heartbreaking.

But the worst thing is my reaction to it all because there's a part of me—a pretty substantial part at the moment—that just wants Haryet to walk through those doors, right now, in this very minute. Hell, there's a part of me that wants to push her through myself, just to make the wailing and tolling stop .

Which adds shame to the list of swirling emotions inside my head.

Stop it, Clara , I chastise myself. You are not that selfish .

Normally, anyway. But today is far, far, far from a normal day and all I want to do is go back to Finn's quarters—not that palace of a place he took me to earlier, but his real quarters—and lie in bed with him, and let him put his arms around me, and believe his whispers when he tells me it's all going to be OK.

But that's not going to happen. I'm at home, he's at work, and this is the very last day I will ever spend with one of the dearest people to ever grace my life with her presence.

I get up, leave my room, and take the stairs down to Haryet's floor. When I peek into her doorway, I find a whole slew of Matrons surrounding her as the maids fuss over her dress for the Extraction.

My gaze darts over to the right where Gemna is standing off to the side, a scowl on her face as she watches Haryet be criticized and hushed for displaying her anguish.

I actually catch the words "poised, proper, polite," in the cacophony of scolding.

"OK," I say loudly. "That's enough. Every one of you needs to get the fuck out."

The whole group of them—Matrons and maids alike—turn to look at me in open-mouthed surprise.

"Don't look at me that way. Because I'm not about to apologize. This is Haryet's last day and it will not be ruined by the lot of you making her miserable with tongue-lashings and dress-fittings. Who gives a fuck what her dress looks like! The god? Who cares what that asshole thinks! He's stealing my friends! One by one, he's stealing my friends . And I"—I'm practically screaming now—"have had enough !" I point a shaking finger at the door. "Get out!"

There are a few seconds of absolute shocked silence. But then they are all in motion at the same time and just a few moments later they are out in the hallway and I'm closing the doors in their faces.

My outburst has silenced Haryet as well, so even though the bells are still ringing, the clamor has been toned down several degrees. I go over to the windows—which are open because it's midday and hot as hell outside—and close them. And once they are all shut, the tolling fades and the feeling of discord begins to fade with it.

To a tolerable level, at least.

Then I turn back to a still-crying Haryet—though it is the silent kind now—and let out a long breath. "Sorry. But I couldn't take it anymore."

She sniffles, staring at me with wide eyes. Then walks over to her bed, sighs, and, even though there are still pins in the hem of her dress, she flops down onto it. "Thank you."

"Yeah." Gemna walks over and flops down next to Haryet. "That was amazing, Clara."

I huff, then smile. It kinda was. Though I'm sure, once all the drama is over, I will pay dearly for my outburst. I mean, last night I slapped a Matron with spark and today I was the picture of insubordination in front of a whole group of them. Not to mention the maids.

Oh, the gossip happening right now down in the servants' quarters must be epic.

One slip-up in a moment of high stress might be overlooked. But two in as many days?

Never.

But I don't care. I'm so relieved that they're gone, and so thankful that Haryet has stopped crying and the bell-tolling has been toned down to a tolerable level, that I push it far, far away into the recesses of my mind to dwell and fret about on another day.

I walk over to the bed and lie down on the other side of Haryet, then put my arms around her and snuggle up to her neck like she's Finn. She doesn't have a steady man the way I do. Not that Finn and I have been very steady over the past decade, but it's more than all the others had. Much more. We're in love. Haryet has suitors, and gentlemen friends she's been ordered to entertain at parties and such, but no one to cling to the way I'm clinging to her now.

So she clings back.

And then Gemna has her arms around the both of us and this is how we stay. Silent, and all curled up together, and sleepy. Like it's just another hot afternoon and nothing special at all is happening tonight.

Haryet sighs again, and this time it's a heavy one. I can tell she wants to say something, but can't find the words. So I prod her on. I might never get another chance to have a private conversation with this woman, and this hurts me. I want all the words from Haryet right now. "What, Haryet? What are you not saying?"

"Oh… never mind."

Gemna rolls over onto her side. "No. Tell us." Gemna must feel the same way as I do because she adds, "Please," to the end of that sentence.

"It's just… unfair. And I know that's a stupid thing to say because I'm number eight. And it was always unfair, right? But… I don't understand this, girls. I don't get it. Why? Why does the god in the tower need so many of us? What has changed? Why now? Why not last time? I mean, it's just…"

"Unfair," I add. Because it is.

"It's more than unfair," Haryet continues. "It's pointless. Why do we need that god anyway? What does he do for us?"

Gemna kinda snickers. "Well, come on, Haryet. He gives us power. The spark is how everything runs around here."

"Not everything," Haryet counters. "Down-city doesn't have spark power."

"The farms do," I add. "The greenhouses do. That's how we get food. I mean, the climate here is pretty messed up. Without power how would we irrigate the fields? How would we keep the orchards warm at night?"

"Fire?" Haryet says. "And… well, I don't know about irrigation. But if the people in down-city can manage to live their whole lives without elevators, and electric lights, and hot water from the faucets, couldn't we all manage that?"

I shrug. "Sounds pretty depressing though, doesn't it?"

"You say that because you were born up-city. You don't know any different. But are these small luxuries worth the price of a woman?"

"Of course not," I say, slightly miffed at the turn in conversation. "I would trade all of it to save you."

Haryet turns her head towards me, her eyes less sad now, more resigned to her fate. "And I you, Clara."

"But that's all just a fantasy," Gemna adds. "Woulda, coulda, shoulda. We can't change it, girls. All we can do is meet our fate with grace."

I know what Haryet's thinking. Because I'm thinking the same thing. It's easy for Gemna to say that because she's number ten. She's not going into the tower tonight, nor is she next in line. There's still a possibility that I don't go in. I mean, there are only three months left. It's a pretty good possibility, actually.

But the chance of Gemna going in feels far away. A lot farther than three months.

If I don't go in, then she's definitely not going in. There is room to spare in her mind. And this extra space between fates is enough to give her hope.

I don't think I possess that same hope. I feel like it's all about to be ripped away.

Haryet smiles at me. "I wish I had someone like you, Clara."

"What do you mean?"

"Finn. He's the Master now. If those bells ring for you, he would save you. You're so lucky."

I don't say anything to that. It hadn't even occurred to me. Probably because his position is so new and came with such emotional trauma, I haven't had time to properly think about it. Would Finn intervene? If the bells rang for me?

It's a nice dream and we all lie on Haryet's bed, picturing this fantastical turn of events, for about an hour. But the maids return, sneaking in through some back door, bustling through the room and getting things ready. There's no way to put off what's coming. No one is coming to save her.

Haryet must be dressed. Gemna and I must be dressed. There is a dinner, and a gala, and then, of course, the Extraction itself.

This is reality and we live in it.

So I end up back in my own rooms, with my own maids, standing in front of my own mirror.

But that little bit of calm we conjured up while lying in Haryet's bed stays with me.

And I spend the rest of the afternoon daydreaming about how, if I am called for duty, Finn Scott would step in and save me.

It's a comfort. So much so, I let myself believe it.

And this is how I will manage to get through tonight.

With borrowed hope.