“Cleo hates me,” Asher says.
“Well, she has reason to, doesn’t she?” Saph gives Asher a particularly pointed glare. She looks only a few years older than we are, but when she steels her eyes, Asher folds like a baby.
“I’m sorry, Saph. Really. But I had to go. You all knew that. I had to try to find them.”
Now Saph’s gaze drifts to me. “Seems you were successful.”
“Not really,” Asher spits out. “One, when I should have found more than a dozen? That’s not a success. He has the Loyalists combing the wastes now. Did the Reaper tell you that? Does she tell you that while everyone is safe here, everyone outside the walls suffers?”
“Don’t make this about me. You’re the one who left.”
“You could barely stand me any more than Cleo.”
“I was trying!” Saph snaps. “Which is more than you can say—”
“I’m sorry,” I cut in. “But how, exactly, do you two know each other?”
Saph levels her gaze to mine. “We were sharing a bed.” She spins on her heel and stalks off, and I stare after her, dumbstruck. When she’s disappeared between shanties, I turn to Asher. His face is blanched and his mouth stuck in a small circle. Well, good. He should be mortified! He’d finally managed to find some safety after Bedrock, and what’s the first thing he does? Ditch his clothes and expose the map to a complete stranger, all for a few minutes of pleasure.
“You move fast” is all I can think to say.
“It wasn’t like that, Delta. I slept beside her. That’s it. I was gone before it could go anywhere.”
“I don’t care. You can roll with whoever you want.”
“Amari the Tender pushed us together, had us sharing a home,” Asher goes on. “I don’t know why.”
“Because there aren’t many young men in Powder Town,” a voice says as the doorway’s blanket is pulled back. The woman standing in the frame has hair that falls to her hips, but otherwise she is so strikingly like Saph that I wonder if they’re twins. “The Loyalist army has swallowed most of the wastes’ men, even the once-decent ones, and a town can only continue to thrive if it continues to reproduce.” She jerks her head at Asher. “This one was decent and free of the General’s influence. My sister is of prime childbearing age. The Tender saw a good match and encouraged it.”
Asher beams. “Cleo, you just called me decent.”
“I still hate you. Come inside.”
We slip into the one-room home. It is dark, even with a few candles burning. Half the space is filled with bed mats and pillows. The other holds a small eating area overflowing with the scents of fresh bread and a flavorful stew. My stomach immediately growls.
“She cried when you left, you know,” Cleo says as she surveys Asher. “I’ve never seen my sister cry.”
Asher looks genuinely confused. “She hated me. She was furious when the Tender suggested that we lie together. I think her exact words were, ‘You can’t tell me what to do, Tender. I am my own person to give to who I want. I’d rather gouge my eyes out than share a bed with that piece of driftsand.’”
Cleo sighs. “You’re a decent man, Asher, and decent is hard to come by. After almost two moons, you were growing on her. I think maybe she was starting to picture a future she never imagined possible.”
I glance at Asher. I used to know him so well, but this person before me is full of secrets, and he looks conflicted now. It makes me wonder if maybe he didn’t mind Saph so much either—that if he hadn’t felt an obligation to look for my pack, he could have grown fond of her too. The thought makes my stomach uneasy.
“Thank you for taking us in,” I say to Cleo. “We won’t be any trouble.”
“I believe that of you. Not so sure about this one.” She jabs a finger in Asher’s direction, but she’s smiling now. “I just came back from the market. Are you hungry?”
Asher practically drools. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
After we’ve cleaned quickly at the dry sink, Cleo stuffs us with food. Warm bread and a potato stew so flavorful I moan through half the meal. When we’ve had our fill, Cleo tells us to get some shuteye. “Lots to do tomorrow. I’ll show you around, teach you the ropes.” She pulls a tie near the low ceiling, and a blanket that had been rolled and secured there unfurls, separating the sleeping mats from the rest of the space. From the sound of it, she’s clearing the dishes before she joins us.
The mats look terribly close. Asher’s already collapsed on the middle one, so no matter which I pick, I’ll be beside him, our bodies just a palm’s width apart. We already slept curled together that night in Burning Ground, but this feels different. There will be walls around us, for one.
“Did you stay here last time?” I ask as I sprawl out on the mat.
Asher shakes his head. “At Saph’s.”
“Right. How could I forget?” I picture a cramped sleeping space like this, Asher and Saph lying so close that their sides are pressed together, and my cheeks get warm.
“Nothing happened between us,” he says again.
“The more you insist that, the less I believe you. Besides, why should I care? You’re a grown man. You’re free to do what you want.”
His brow creases. “I just thought you’d want to know I didn’t do that.”
“It’s none of my business. I just hope you kept your shirt on. Taking it off that time when we were kids didn’t lead to anything good, and I’d’ve thought you learned your lesson.”
Asher looks at me for a long beat, then says, “I remember you being blunt and honest. I don’t remember you being mean.”
He rolls away from me, and I’m left in the darkness, stomach churning in a way that makes me wonder if something was wrong with the stew.
* * *
Cleo wakes me at the crack of dawn. At least it feels that way. But Asher’s bed mat is empty, and when I duck beneath the curtain that divides the sleeping area from the rest of the hut and get a view out the lone window, I can tell it’s already past noon.
“You let me sleep in.”
“You’ll thank me for it later. Now eat so I can show you the ropes.” She shoves a biscuit slathered with honey in my direction. My stomach has settled since last night—actually, it’s growling all over again, as if I haven’t eaten in ages.
“Where’s Asher?” I ask through a mouthful of flaky biscuit.
“Already at work. He doesn’t need a tour.”
“Is that your job—giving newcomers tours?”
“Nah, I’m in production, same as you. Bronx the Chemist stopped by early this morning and asked me to get you up to speed. It’s hard work, though, so I figured you could use a bit more shuteye.” She squints at me. “You don’t know how to work a loom, do you? Or knit? I hear the textile gals can chat all day. It’s not too late to switch to the prosperity pillar.”
I shake my head. Knitting and handiwork may be one of my strong suits, but I need to stay where my odds of meeting someone who can read are highest.