Page 21 of Born for Silk
I look at Iris as she clings to the Wardeness’s cloak—granted, the company could be better down here…
When the tunnel creates a sanctuary from the wind and sand, I pull my mask down and sling back my hood, which bunches at my shoulders.
I look around but see only steep concrete bathed in a low white hue from flickering tracks of lighting hugging the cracked grey ceiling.
“Will you note the lighting issue for when you come back tomorrow for your deliveries?” The Wardeness asks the Guard ahead. “There must be a windmill down.”
“Noted, Ma’am.”
The grey walls seem to disappear into the dead straight distance and my imagination takes over as the mundane trek continues for many minutes.
I picture the land above this tunnel. An unknown city or plane or farm. No glass walls of isolation. The aviary is all I know—I have only ever visited the Lower-tower a handful of times for special occasions, and even so, we are rushed from shop to shop, hidden and surrounded by Guards.
A few minutes pass, and I almost miss the steel door that the Wardeness stops beside.
She knocks twice and steps backward. The gasp of air escaping the door gives homage to its age and tight seal.
“Mother Rose and her sister are awake,” another Wardeness says through the door. “Bring the girls inside but don’t touch a single surface. You’ve not been tested or checked for ailments.”
“This will never be spoken of.” The Silk Wardeness turns to us, her cheeks flushed from the walk. “We travelled far because I trust these Mothers with our secrets, not all would allow such a visit. Or I would have taken you to a nursery closer to home. If anyone was to find out we let you in here with the babes, Trade be merciful, they’ll only have my head. The king himself doesn’t know the location of each nursery. Only a handful of people in all The Cradle know where we keep the precious babes.”
“Why risk it then?” I ask.
“Listen to me.” She cups my cheeks. “I care for all my girls. I care deeply. I can see the path you will take, and it is pitted with pain.” She wraps one arm around Iris’ waist and holds the arch of my neck with the other. “My girls.” She squeezes with affection. “This is your future should you choose to overcome your corrupt feelings of jealousy and hate for each other.”
We enter.
My breath catches as the warm, softly lit lounging area comes into view like a flower opening, revealing soft pinks, reds, and a scent unlike I have ever known. I sniff the air.
“Baby powder,” the Wardeness says to me, sweeping her hand to the side. My eyes follow. Along the wall are babies in rope hammocks, some stirring, cooing, and others mouthing in their sleep. I know they are babies because I have seen pictures of them, but they are even more beautiful in the flesh. They have such big heads for the size of their bodies, short limbs with rolls of plump skin bunching at every crease. They look like dough. Nothing like the little bird I found. Nothing so tight and frail. They are round. Chubby, even. Delightful.
“Welcome, Silk Girls,” a woman in an apron says, rocking a hammock with her hand to a baby’s chest. It mewls gently. Her voice is husky and deep but somehow soothing. “I’m Mother Rose, and this is what it looks like to be on the night shift with the babes. The light-hours are far wilder and fun, but nothing beats the nights when we cuddle and sing.”
“They are lovely.” Iris’s voice unsettles me, gentle and kind, and I turn to stare at her.
She slowly returns my gaze and doesn’t harden her expression. Every nerve in my body pricks up. I barely recognise her features like this. “Aren’t they, Aster? Just so peaceful.”
Startled by her, by some magical baby force that has her melting into someone capable of kindness, I gaze back at the source of her affection. The baby squeezes Mother Rose’s finger. My heart feels like it might pop.
“These are the babies of The Cradle,” the Wardeness says quietly with a sigh. “Trade willing, I wasn’t a Silk Girl, so I never had a chance to be a Sired Mother, but you girls do, and the most coveted Trade for women is to care for these little ones. No studies. No eyes on you. All the food you wish, the clothes you choose, and peace. It’s guaranteed.”
I look at Iris again, my lips forming a tight line. She is right.
This is the offering: a place away from the Guards, away from the Redwind, from the eyes that track us, the militant rules. This is the promised retirement for a Silk Girl. If we give The Cradle two boys and a girl.
“One may be a lord,” I murmur. “Imagine that.”
“One shouldn’t imagine anything,” Iris states, straight from her textbook, the dangers of speculations.
“Hosh-posh, we are all women here.” Mother Rose waves her hand. “Just a couple of old hens living out our lives in peace and tranquillity. Meaningful Purpose. Meaningful duties. We can talk in here.”
My ears basically grow. “About anything?”
“Anything.” She leans in, a playful smile teasing the corner of her mouth. “We are old. We’re done. What are they going to do with us if we natter? The babies can’t understand us.” She winks at me, and I giggle once.
Iris squares her shoulders. “But I have nothing to talk about. My mind is too fixed on my Meaningful Purpose.”
“Oh, lies.” Mother Rose dismisses, and I gape. “I can see the attitude all over this one’s face. You look like someone twisted your nose. You have thoughts. I am certain. You’re having them right now. Probably about me.”