“What happened?” she said.
“Our route got bombarded.…” Revna told the story in halting whispers, choking out the words when shame threatened to close up her throat. She’d been such a coward. Why had she thought about the Weave before her family? What would happen to them once she was branded a traitor? But she had to tell the truth. If she was going to be arrested, Mama deserved to know why.
The Skarov officer had taken her home after their near miss, depositing her at her front door with a muttered “Stay inside” before he fled. Revna still didn’t understand. Was he waiting for her family to join her so he could arrest them, too?
“Oh, my darling,” Mama said when she was finished. She and Papa had admonished Revna whenever they’d caught her using the Weave. They gave her spark tests instead, encouraged her to practice the one form of magic that was legal in the Union. But she hadn’t been able to keep away from the Weave. She’d used it when no one was watching. She’d learned how the threads could move her over the ground, and once, she’d even pulled herself up to the loft where Mama and Papa slept. But the Weave was dangerous, and she’d stopped herself for love of the Union.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She shouldn’t have been so resentful after Papa was arrested. She shouldn’t have kept working the Weave, even a little, in secret. She’d probably be dead now, but at least Mama would get a few days off work for mourning.
“When they locked the bunker, I was so afraid you’d—” Her hand tightened around the back of Revna’s head.
“It’s okay,” she said, wiggling closer. It wasn’t okay—they both knew that—but what else could she say?
“And Mrs. Achkeva, whining about her dog, how unfair it was that she couldn’t bring him down. As though we had air in the bunker for all the creatures on God’s earth—”
“Mama,” Revna warned her gently.
“I know,” Mama said, flapping her hand. Mama had been the spiritual one, going to temple every seven days. She didn’t pray anymore, but she called on this god or that one a little too often for a good Union citizen. “But you were missing, and you weren’t the only one, and all this woman cares about is her poor dog.…” She sighed.
Revna echoed her sigh. It was cozy in the bed with the three of them. She wished she could be relieved that they’d all made it through the raid, but she still couldn’t quite believe it.
“I’ll write to your father in the morning,” Mama said. “If you want to add to the letter.”
Revna didn’t answer. The lump in her throat had grown too large. Of course she wanted to add to the letter. Papa wasn’t allowed to write to them, but they could send him mail, no doubt heavily edited by some bored Information Officer on the prison island.
“He’d be proud of you, you know.”
Revna let out a soft sound, somewhere between a laugh and a snort and a sob. “For breaking the law?” A tear slid over the bridge of her nose.
“For saving a man’s life,” Mama said.
“Even a Skarov’s?”
Mama brushed her tears away with a thumb. “Especially then. It takes a lot to save a man you hate.” Her breathing evened, and before Revna could think of a suitable reply, Mama was asleep.
The Union frowned on superstition and pointless tradition, but Revna had grown up with superstitions, and she even had one about herself. She was a curse. And her family was cursed with her. Every time something good happened to her, something bad seemed to happen to them. When Papa had used factory scrap to replace her old prosthetics, she’d walked better than she had since before the accident. Then he’d gotten arrested. Every time she had a good day at the factory, Mama or Lyfa came home crying. And now she’d survived outside in the air raid, caught using the forbidden Weave, and Mama was going to be branded as the woman with two family traitors.
Revna didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, but somehow the swirl of dread turned into dreams of dust and silver coats, and when someone finally banged on the door, light peeked around the blackout curtains. Mama woke up and gave her a worried look, but slid out of the bed and combed her fingers through her hair before opening the door. She murmured to whoever stood outside, then shut the door and pulled the blackout curtains back. Lyfa grunted and wriggled farther under the blankets as light flowed into the room, but Revna sat up.
“What’s happening?” she croaked. Her voice had thickened in the night.
Mama picked up her uniform and scrubbed at a palm-sized orange stain. “The factories are running,” she said. “Extra pay if we come to work today.” She was a cook for one of Tammin’s explosives factories, and she came home stinking of garlic and cabbage every night.
Revna leaned back against the headboard, gathering a blanketed Lyfa in her arms. “The Elda didn’t hit them?”
“Not one.” Mama put wood into the stove and grabbed the blackened teakettle. “So much for their Dragons.”
Revna thought of the buildings crashing around her, the smoke parting like a ghostly curtain, revealing the end of her life. She set Lyfa down and scooted to the edge of the bed to retrieve her legs. Mama looked up from where she leaned over the spitting fire. “What are you doing?”
“If the factories are open, then I’ll get extra pay, too,” Revna said.
“Oh, no.” Mama brandished the kettle at her. “You don’t need to be attracting attention to yourself. Whatever miracle saved you last night, I don’t want to chance it.”
Miracle, curse. She knew Mama wouldn’t want to hear her talk like that, so she grabbed her uniform off the floor and said, “The Skarov know where I live, not where I work,” and she got on with it.
“You’re making it cold,” Lyfa complained in a muffled voice.
Revna patted the lump of blanket next to her. “It’s light, Lyfa. Time to get up. You can help me with my legs, if you want.”
As Lyfa poked her nose out from under the blanket, Revna finished buttoning her uniform and reached for her prosthetics. She pulled on her socks first, modified tubes made from old flour sacks. They protected her from the slim sheet of living metal that slotted over her legs next, tightening on her calves. There was a pin at the bottom of each sheet, which snapped into the outer legs. She let Lyfa draw the straps at the top of the outer legs tight, threading them through three buckles at her calf and knee. The living metal did the rest, pressing against her like a firm hug. She winced. Her legs were still sore from the night’s action, and her prosthetics still shivered with fear. She rubbed at the area around the buckles, trying to send calming thoughts. But her mind was filled with the Skarov, and the Skarov never brought calm.
Mama pursed her lips as she watched. “You were caught out of the bunker. There’s no shame in taking a day off.”
“If I don’t go, someone else will pull a double shift.” For the glory of the Union. Worse, the Skarov would have one more reason to arrest her. And perhaps worst of all, no one in the factory would blame her for staying home. Poor girl tires easily, they’d say behind her back.
Mama sighed through her nose. She ushered Lyfa into an oversized coat and took her to the neighbors. By the time she came back, Revna had gotten up and poured herself a cup of tea. Her uniform was stiff with dust and crackled whenever she moved. It stank of smoke and heat. Then again, the whole city smelled of fire. She’d fit right in.