upon me. Finally I turned.
‘What is it?’
Her legs were crossed, her hands folded neatly upon her knees, the picture of control.
‘If you are finding this too difficult then perhaps you should give up.’
Her words were like frost.
‘What do you mean?’
‘This project. Reed. It is clearly affecting your behaviour. You should not talk to Benedikt like that. Or anyone, in fact.’
‘I was afraid. I thought Reed had found out.’
‘Yes, well, that is part of the problem, is it not? It is not in an erta’s nature to be afraid. You seem… distracted.’
‘It is the hurricane. My head.’ This was a lie. ‘I have not been feeling myself.’ This was not a lie.
‘I had thought that your superior clarity made you the perfect fit for this project. But perhaps I was wrong.’ My mother’s posture softened. ‘There would be no shame in it, Ima. Someone else could raise Reed and you could return to the skies, and your balloon—’
‘No.’ The word leaped from my mouth. ‘No, that will not be necessary.’
She blinked.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. You must allow me to continue.’
‘Must I, indeed?’ she said, with a thin smile.
‘Please.’
I would have snatched that word back if I could, but it snuck in like a stowaway.
‘Very well,’ she said, standing. ‘Then get some rest. There is a meeting in the Halls this evening.’
‘Who will be there?’
‘Everyone. We need to understand how this hurricane was allowed to happen.’
‘Of course.’
She stopped at the door.
‘Oh, and Ima?’
‘Yes?’
‘I am afraid some were not so lucky as Haralia and Jakob. Greye is dead.’
— TWENTY-NINE —
AFTER I HAD dressed, I collected you from Benedikt’s chambers—I did not meet his eye—and took you to the halls. Outside of the walled-in peace of my mother’s dwelling, Ertanea was in disarray. Lines of hunched figures streamed down from the forest, and the square, which had always been such a cool and spacious place, was now hot and claustrophobic, full of clamour. Greye’s body had been laid out in the centre, and there, wailing over it, was my sister.
‘Haralia,’ I called, pushing through the crowd. She pulled back her hood and turned her tear-stained face up to mine.
‘Greye is dead,’ she said, with a ferocious tremble.
‘Are you all right? I saw you at the beach. I ran to you, but…’
Her face contorted as if I had said something out of turn.
‘Greye is dead, Ima. Don’t you understand? Dead.’
‘Yes,’ I said, taking a step back and finding your hand. I felt suddenly hunted. ‘Of course I understand.’
She spoke to the sombre crowd encircling Greye.
‘This is what happens here. This is what awaits us all—death. Death and tears!’
At this, her cheeks streamed with a fresh flood of her own tears. She turned back to me.
‘And where are yours, sister? Don’t you care?’
‘Of course I care. Haralia, please…’ I kept my voice low, for the crowd were watching, but Haralia had no intention of muting her performance.
‘Then show it.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to do.’
‘Show something. Anything.’
I stared back at her, nonplussed. She scowled.
‘You’re like a stone,’ she said, and stormed away.
I am not, I thought, as the crowd dispersed. I felt the warmth of your hand. I am not like a stone.
We followed the bewildered line inside.
I was shaken by my encounter with Haralia, but something else was troubling me, and it grew worse with face I passed. Stunned expressions, caged whispers: How had this happened?
I knew the answer.
A hurricane landing upon our shoreline was improbable, but more so was the fact that we had not expected it. Our weather beacons should have picked up the pressure changes weeks before and alerted the Halls of Necessity, giving us plenty of time to dissuade the storm from gathering further. But they had not, and they were my responsibility. I had not checked them for five years.
So this was my fault.
‘Ima?’
My mother was right: I had been distracted, and now this distraction had led to Greye’s death, and doubtless the deaths of many others.
‘Ima?’
And if this was true, then what else had I allowed to go awry? We had succeeded in balancing the planet, but had I been too quick to abandon my post? Was the rebalance tight enough, or was it merely a precarious patch-up, ready to slip back into kind of chaotic system in which hurricanes spring from nothing?
How much supervision did this infernal planet need to restrain itself from oblivion?
‘Ima?’
We were in the halls now. The sudden density of the walls, the tepid, humid air, the hushed, urgent chatter—it all pressed down upon