Page 14 of The Black Key

His fingers trace down my neck, over my collarbone. I’m only wearing a thin slip, and goose bumps blossom over my skin as his fingers move down toward my stomach.

“Have you ever thought about . . . after?” he asks quietly.

“After?” I ask, only half paying attention because his fingers have circled my belly button and are moving toward my right hip.

“After all this.” His lips are on my neck. “After you save Hazel. After the fighting and the tearing down of walls. After this city has been thrown into an upheaval unlike it’s ever known. Say we win. The royalty don’t run this city anymore. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” I say as his hand squeezes my thigh. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“All this planning and you don’t even have an idea of what you want after?”

“Maybe I don’t believe we’ll win.”

“Maybe you’re just frightened of the future.”

I find the depression at the base of his neck and kiss it gently. “And what is your plan for the future?”

His hand freezes on my knee. “Nothing,” he says, pulling away from me.

I’m immediately alert. “Hey,” I say, reaching up to twine my fingers in his hair, keeping him close. His eyes reflect the barest hint of moonlight that makes its way into our bed. “You can tell me.”

He sighs, then says, “I want to be a farmer.”

I wait for more explanation but he doesn’t continue.

“Is that . . . all?” I say, not wanting to offend but feeling a bit confused.

“You don’t think that’s stupid?” he says. “You don’t think after all the fine things people like you and I have had access to, the clothes, the food, the wealth, that I’d want something more?”

“I think all those fine things we had came with too high a price,” I say. “I’d be happy never to see cloth-of-gold again in my life. Where would you want to farm? I mean, besides the Farm, obviously.”

He adjusts himself so that he’s stretched out beside me, head propped up on one hand. “There’s an old ruin of a place about five miles outside the Whistler’s village. Ochre showed it to me once. It’s a good spot for hiding the younger boys who’ve joined us, you know, a day or two before the Auction, when they won’t be returning home after their work day. But I thought . . . I thought I could fix it up. Maybe Sil would sell me a couple of chickens and a goat. Get some seeds. It would be nice to work with the earth. And I like animals. I’d like a life of growing my own food, making my own things. Having a real home.”

Tears spring to my eyes, as I realize I’m not anywhere in this picture he has painted. “Oh,” I say in a raspy voice. “That sounds nice.”

“Are you crying?” Ash says, aghast.

“No,” I say too quickly, scrubbing the tears away.

I can almost hear his brain click. “Do you think I don’t want you there with me?” he asks.

“No,” I say again, but it’s a clear lie.

“Violet. I did not write you out of my life,” he says, “but I would never want to assume my plans would line up with yours. You have the right to choose what you want for yourself.”

“But what if that sounds nice to me?” I say. “What if I want to help you fix up that old place? I bet I could convince Sil to give us Turnip, since she likes you better than Sil anyway. And I could have a chrysanthemum garden, like the one my mother used to have in our kitchen windowsill. I could use Earth to help you with planting crops, and Water, too, to tend them. I could use Fire to keep the house warm in the winter, and Air to keep us cool in the summer.”

I can see it, I can see it so clearly it’s an actual ache in my chest. A little front porch with a wild garden blooming all around it. A white house with blue shutters. Ash and I working in the soil, ending each day tired and sweaty and covered in dirt, but happy. Having a place of our own.

When Ash speaks again, his voice is thick. “That sounds . . . perfect.”

“Of course, Raven will have to live nearby,” I say.

“And Garnet, too.”

“And Indi.”

“Sienna?”