say another word, Seeri has said a hasty good night and fled.
I fall onto my bed. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I swear, Pek, if I’d known the two of you were in here—”
“Did you hear? He’s going to do it. Chev’s breaking her betrothal. He said he didn’t want it to stand in the way of a possible alliance.” Pek picks up one of the ivory harpoons and twirls it. “Father will speak to him for me soon—I’m sure. But Kol, our parents won’t let me marry until you are at least betrothed. You know that, don’t you?”
I remember what you said earlier—that Seeri would not marry until you were betrothed. “Pek, I will do everything I can.”
He’s at the door. It’s so dark inside the hut now; he is little more than an outline. “I’m going to go find her and head back to the feast. I’d rather sit with Seeri in a big crowd than sit without her in here.”
And then he’s gone.
Songs and laughter go on long into the night. The hut, though empty, feels crowded with ghosts—your mother, Tram’s father, your betrothed. Even Tram’s mother lends her presence, stirring a sense of regret, both for the things that have happened and for the things that never will.
Voices still ring out from the feast when I finally fall asleep.
In the morning, I pretend I’m still asleep when I hear my mother rise to start cooking. She moves around noisily behind the hides that divide the hut into a separate sleeping area for her and my father. She groans as she dresses; I can tell that last night’s mead is hurting her a bit this morning. It takes her longer than usual—her feet shuffle a bit more slowly—and I hear my father’s voice, deep and rough, asking her a question I can’t quite make out. It may be a request to be quieter so that he can sleep.
Eventually, the rustling stops, and she finishes her routine and heads out into the early light.
It isn’t long, though, before she returns. I hear her speaking my father’s name, in a loud whisper designed to wake him but not the rest of us. “Her mother,” she says. “She wants to speak with you. You better wake up because I believe it’s serious.”
My first thought is that she is talking about Seeri—that Seeri is the “she” my mother refers to. But she said her mother wants to speak, and Seeri has only a brother. Whose mother wants to speak to my father?
After an extended exchange, my father finally asks in a voice loud enough to be heard by the entire hut, “Well, what’s so important that she has to wake me before dawn?”
“She wants to discuss a betrothal. Not Pek this time, of course, poor girl. She’s had her taste of that disappointment, and she sees what’s going on with Seeri. It’s Kol she wishes to discuss with you.”
At these words I sit bolt upright. They can mean only Shava. Shava’s mother wishes to discuss the possibility of a betrothal to me.
I’m on my feet and pulling on my pants before my father has a chance to frame an answer. “Excuse me,” I say from the side of the hut I share with Pek, Kesh, and Roon—all of whom appear to be sleeping soundly. “May I please add my thoughts to this discussion?”
My mother pulls back the hide between the two rooms and stares at me with a look of disapproval. “You’re awake early,” she says. “Awake and listening at doors, I see.”
This reprimand reminds me of the night I offered you the honey and you accused me of the same thing, even said the same words. “I wasn’t listening. It couldn’t be helped. It’s possible Shava’s mother heard you herself. Where did she and Shava sleep last night?”
“The kitchen. There was nowhere else, since I had ten elders from the Olen to find room for. But it’s comfortable enough, and warm. I assure you they slept fine—”
“They must have,” says my father. “They managed to wake early so they could greet you with this proposition.” My father smiles and leans back on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head. I can see the thoughts darting around in his eyes. He’s considering the idea.
“Don’t bother,” I say, and now it’s my turn to be heard all the way in the kitchen. “Don’t bother considering it, because I will not do it.”
My mother turns to me, and her stare carries