Page 85 of Born for Silk

But as I brush my calloused, tattooed fingertips from her shoulder to her elbow, lifting tiny hairs to attention along smooth skin, I suddenly feel—it.

And I was right. It is fucking unbearable.

I slide her from my arms.

The fire is orange—first-light—so I leave her room and The Circle.

A Guard is stationed outside the Medi-deck door. I stop and look straight at him, but he stares ahead at the brick wall. I follow the roll of his throat, nervous under my scrutiny.

“Cairo?”

“Just left, Sire.” His voice shakes.

Yep, I’m not a huggable man.

I stride away.

Down the long, dim corridor in his chamber, I find The Trade Master at his desk, the large screen open, articles in Latin projected on the brick wall.

“Here.” I force my body forward, grit my teeth against my pride, and place Aster’s personal sheet on his desk. Her blood darkens a patch of the gold fabric. “This” —I stroke the scarlet stain, her body writhing beneath me is still a strong memory— “changes nothing. If you want my co-operation, then you will stay away from Aster. You will not examine her. I will. No one touches her. She is going to carry The Cradle’s heirs.”

He doesn’t look from his screen.

It is not the first time I have threatened to kill him, nor will it be the last, though, is the closest I have come to following through of my threat. I would have.

And even he believed it.

He revealed his masked fear when he threatened me with the Shadows. Should The Trade fall, the Crown falls. Should Cairo lose his life, my Collective lose theirs—we are linked.

And now that includes Aster.

Cairo ensured our coalition, the binding agents: my sweet sister and my little creature.

Balance, it is written, is steadfast when both forces rest with equal importance and power on either end of the scale. What it really means is we all tumble down together.

I look down at the blood under my fingertips, wanting to snatch the fabric and keep it. “What would you have done if I went to the redhead last night?” Returning my eyes to him, I say, “She obviously had others interested, given all the girls have been claimed now. There would have been a clash of interest.”

He continues to read, and the silence plays with the power struggle between us. Then he finally says, “She didn't. One of our lords has not chosen. He is unable.”

I frown. “Explain.”

Mouthing the last few words on his screen, he slowly slides his eyes to meet mine, his expression indifferent. “He enjoys the company of men. So, I gave her Meaningful Purpose after you were absent. I knew you wouldn’t visit The Circle last night. And when you did not, I allowed it to play out. But the girl deserves Meaningful Purpose. She followed the rules. The women in her line have never lost a child. She deserves her Meaningful Purpose, even if the babe becomes no more than a Trade citizen.”

Is that a genuine consideration?

Or another hidden motivation?

The Trade Master is appointed by the lords of The Cradle—Cairo by Turin and his Collective—and holds the title until death, but he has no legacy, no heirs of his own. His title dies with him. So, he would not consider this child an heir, merely another babe for The Trade. I don’t bother asking him why he did it. I don’t really care.

“And if I had changed my mind? Today? Tomorrow? What if I wanted the redheaded.”

“I was rather certain that you would not.” He stands, bows and stares straight at me, levelling me. “I've known you for a very long time, Rome. Your entire life.” My name on his lips is a double-edged sword. “I know what you want. I will do my best to give it to you. We have had our differences for many years. One thing that is assured, despite us, is the Crown does not exist without The Trade, and The Trade does not exist without the Crown. We are twin pillars that heal The Cradle. Do you believe this?”

Stiff, I nod. “To some degree.”

I know that before The Trade birthed The Cradle and humbled everyone as equals, Xin De and Common alike, the two divisions of human were at war.

Genocide. Prejudice. Slavery.