Page 35 of Dark Chains: First Link
Your body language is doing the talking,Number Three contributed. Your shoulders are tight, and your jaw is clenched. You have to relax.
Theirattempts to moderate were only fueling his anger further.
You need to pull back,Number Four reasoned. She's warming up to you because you were gentle and careful until now. The rage and aggression you are projecting will remind her of those who harmed her and undo all the progress you've made.
They were right. He could feel the anger reshaping his posture, tightening the tendons in his neck, and turning his face into a hard mask. The rage was not directed at her, but she wouldn't know that. She would sense it and get frightened of the big, angry male who was sitting too close to her.
Forcing the anger down was not going to work, so he released it into the hive mind and let the others absorb it. They couldn't eliminate all of it, but their efforts were enough to make it manageable.
"Tell me about your son," he said, pivoting to a more positive subject.
A more suspicious person would have questioned that, but the mention of Tomek did exactly what he'd hoped it would do, and Sullha's face transformed.
The default expression of guarded wariness dissolved, replaced by luminosity. Her eyes brightened, and her entire body relaxed as if the mere thought of her child was a key that unlocked the version of herself she kept hidden behind the protective walls.
"Tomek is so smart. Too smart, sometimes. He asks questions that I don't know the answers to, and when I tell him I don't know, he gets this look like he can't believe there are things that his mother hasn't figured out yet."
The collective cataloged the description and cross-referenced it against Number One's childhood memories. Yaaf had been like that too, asking questions that his teachers couldn't answer and being puzzled by their inability or refusal to explain.
"He's kind," Sullha continued, and the brightness in her eyes intensified. "He gives up his treats if he can delight others with them, and he helps the smaller ones climb the equipment in the playground." She chuckled. "Last week, he found a little lizard in the yard and built it a little house out of rocks and stocked it with leaves. He got so upset when it left."
She was talking with her hands now, one gesturing freely while the other still held an okra pod. The animation in her voice and body was so different from the careful control she'd projected only moments ago that it was like watching someone step out of armor.
"He sounds like a good boy," Number One said.
"He is. He's the best thing in my life," she said without hesitation, with absolute and unapologetic conviction.
Then the brightness dimmed, pulling back. "Being smart and kind are wonderful qualities, but they are not going to do him any favors where he's going. He needs to get tough and strong."
She looked down at the okra in her hand and turned it over slowly. "I need to teach him to be harder, but I don't know how to do that without breaking what's good about him. And even if I could, I don't want to. I don't want my son to change. I love him just the way he is."
The knot behind Yaaf's sternum tightened. He remembered what the camp commanders called boys like Tomek. Soft fruit. Something to be squeezed until the softness was gone and only the pit remained.
He had been a soft fruit once, but he'd been wise enough to hide it and strong enough to survive whatever had been done to him. He wished Sullha's son wouldn't have to go through what he had gone through, and maybe he wouldn't. Sullha wasn't going anywhere without Tomek, which meant that they were taking the boy with them when they escaped the island.
But in the meantime, the woman he cared about, his best friend, was agonizing over how to prepare her child for the same machine that had processed thousands of immortal soldiers, turning them into killers, and the rage surfaced again.
Change the subject, Number Two advised.You are both spiraling.
Number One searched for something to redirect her with and landed on a question that seemed innocuous enough.
"Do you want more children?" As soon as the words left his mouth, though, he realized it might have been the wrong thing to ask.
Sullha's expression closed off, she straightened her spine, and her chin lifted, the combination suggesting that he had crossed a boundary even though he hadn't meant to.
"That's not up to me," she said flatly, as if she were reciting a declaration. "It is up to Mortdh."
The words sounded rehearsed, delivered with the typical smoothness of someone who had said them many times, because that was what everyone expected her to say, and not because she believed in them.
She could just tell him that she didn't want more children. He would understand. But maybe this was about something else?
The collective was curious, the hive mind reaching into Sullha's, and Yaaf didn't stop it because he was curious too.
They did it gently, the lightest possible touch, just skimming the surface thoughts and listening to what was already there.
A memory. Recent, vivid, and tinged with the conspiratorial warmth of a shared secret.
Sullha was sitting in a circle with five other women, all of them holding cups of reddish tea. The color was distinctive, deep crimson fading to pink at the edges, and the smell, though he was experiencing it through her memory, was floral and slightly tart. Hibiscus. The women were drinking and exchanging conspiratorial glances over the rims of their cups, as if they were participating in a secret ritual.
