and day out. Even her bed had been in one of these wall-less rooms, partitioned off by columns that seemed to be the trunks of ancient trees. Presumably, it had been hung with heavy curtains between the columns, but these were long gone. The temple had been looted for every last bit of gold leaf and gemstone accent dust during the Expurgation. It was decorated now with climbing vines and brambles.
Pearl watched the temple pass by as he continued downriver. There was nowhere for the child to be kept there. He departed the riverboat at its last stop, just yards from the shore. The rhythmic pounding of waves carried to him like the beat of Meeric blood. He would listen here for the child.
Cree felt like an asshole for leaving Ume. Sheâd used the lame excuse that fishing boats paid better than tavern work and they needed the money. Ume had only blinked at her and tried to smile as if Cree werenât lying straight to her face and cutting out bits of her heart. She couldnât help it. She couldnât look in those eyes like rising moons burnished by a setting sun without thinking of how Nesre had used both Ume and Cree since before the Expurgation began. The Expurgation made her think of MeerAlya, and how heartbroken Ume had been after Cree had helped foment the rebellion against him and nearly gotten Ume killed. And thinking of Alya meant thinking of the child. Which meant thinking of what Nesre had done, and the endless circling spiral of regret was more than she could stand.
It was better out here on the water. Sheâd worked the docks before in InâLa, but working a river barge was nothing like being afloat in the expanse of the Great Northern Lake, surrounded by so much water one couldnât see the shore. And out here, Cree was just one of the men. Able to do it easily since her youth, passing made it simpler to find work without having to prove herself. Unlike Ume, whoâd always felt like a girl regardless of her outward presentation, Cree had never felt like a boy; sheâd just found it easier to pretend to be one.
The best part of the work, however, was that it was hard. There wasnât time to think about the child that could never be hers, to wonder what he looked like or what he was doing. She was up before dawn swabbing decks and mending nets, spent her mornings casting and pulling in the hauls, and her afternoons cleaning and scaling and packing fish. At sunset, they headed back to the dock only to spend most of the night unloading and preparing for the next dayâs trip. In the spare moments between the myriad of laborious tasks, there was all they could eat from the dayâs catch. Not that sheâd probably ever want to look at fish again after Stórströnd, let alone eat it, but hunger from a hard day of honest work made anything delicious.
It was the few hours of sleep each night that were difficult to bear. As tired as she was, Cree had expected sleep to be easy, but it was the only time she slowed down long enough to hear herself think. And her thoughts were deafening. How could she not have known the child had lived? What mother wouldnât know it, feel it in her bones that her child was alive, that he needed her? Cree had accepted the stillbirth without question, grateful for the ordeal to be over. Nesre hadnât needed her anymore, and heâd let her and Ume go. Had she wanted that freedom so badly she was willing to ignore the maternal instincts that said her child was alive? Sheâd left him to be raised in a cage like an animal. What kind of mother could let that happen?
Ume thought having the child with them would fix everything, but Ume was wrong. Any child so abandoned by his mother would be bitter and damaged. But this child wasnât just any child. He was Meer. Cree prayed to the dead gods of the Delta and the Hidden Folk and all her dead ancestors that the child would never find her.
Pearl watched the moon rise over the waves as he
Pearl watched the temple pass by as he continued downriver. There was nowhere for the child to be kept there. He departed the riverboat at its last stop, just yards from the shore. The rhythmic pounding of waves carried to him like the beat of Meeric blood. He would listen here for the child.
Cree felt like an asshole for leaving Ume. Sheâd used the lame excuse that fishing boats paid better than tavern work and they needed the money. Ume had only blinked at her and tried to smile as if Cree werenât lying straight to her face and cutting out bits of her heart. She couldnât help it. She couldnât look in those eyes like rising moons burnished by a setting sun without thinking of how Nesre had used both Ume and Cree since before the Expurgation began. The Expurgation made her think of MeerAlya, and how heartbroken Ume had been after Cree had helped foment the rebellion against him and nearly gotten Ume killed. And thinking of Alya meant thinking of the child. Which meant thinking of what Nesre had done, and the endless circling spiral of regret was more than she could stand.
It was better out here on the water. Sheâd worked the docks before in InâLa, but working a river barge was nothing like being afloat in the expanse of the Great Northern Lake, surrounded by so much water one couldnât see the shore. And out here, Cree was just one of the men. Able to do it easily since her youth, passing made it simpler to find work without having to prove herself. Unlike Ume, whoâd always felt like a girl regardless of her outward presentation, Cree had never felt like a boy; sheâd just found it easier to pretend to be one.
The best part of the work, however, was that it was hard. There wasnât time to think about the child that could never be hers, to wonder what he looked like or what he was doing. She was up before dawn swabbing decks and mending nets, spent her mornings casting and pulling in the hauls, and her afternoons cleaning and scaling and packing fish. At sunset, they headed back to the dock only to spend most of the night unloading and preparing for the next dayâs trip. In the spare moments between the myriad of laborious tasks, there was all they could eat from the dayâs catch. Not that sheâd probably ever want to look at fish again after Stórströnd, let alone eat it, but hunger from a hard day of honest work made anything delicious.
It was the few hours of sleep each night that were difficult to bear. As tired as she was, Cree had expected sleep to be easy, but it was the only time she slowed down long enough to hear herself think. And her thoughts were deafening. How could she not have known the child had lived? What mother wouldnât know it, feel it in her bones that her child was alive, that he needed her? Cree had accepted the stillbirth without question, grateful for the ordeal to be over. Nesre hadnât needed her anymore, and heâd let her and Ume go. Had she wanted that freedom so badly she was willing to ignore the maternal instincts that said her child was alive? Sheâd left him to be raised in a cage like an animal. What kind of mother could let that happen?
Ume thought having the child with them would fix everything, but Ume was wrong. Any child so abandoned by his mother would be bitter and damaged. But this child wasnât just any child. He was Meer. Cree prayed to the dead gods of the Delta and the Hidden Folk and all her dead ancestors that the child would never find her.
Pearl watched the moon rise over the waves as he
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