“No, not selfish, Rowan. You were only doing the best you could in an impossible situation.”
“You’re nice. Come in, have coffee with me.” She walked inside and Rowan closed the door, catching Kara eyeing the strap hanging on the wall. “I’m going to hide it,” Rowan said. “I hate that thing.”
“Me too. But Silas was right, you could have died.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Rowan said. “I want to forget about it.”
“You look better. Does your stomach still hurt?”
“No, just my butt.” She giggled as she made coffee. Once it was ready, the two went to sit outside. That was when Rowan saw her garden. Or what was left of it.
“I’ll help you replant it,” Kara said.
“In time.”
“Silas just told me the story of his wife,” Rowan said, hoping to hear more.
“Ina.”
Rowan nodded.
“I was twelve when it happened. I remember when she first came here, remember being so curious about her, about her strange eyes. I remember thinking how romantic and brave that Silas had kept her even when everyone wanted her sent away. Then everything happened. It was so sad. So horrible.”
“It still upsets him very much, I think. The loss of her, of the others.”
“I know,” she said. “He puts on a hard façade but I know. He hides it well, or so he thinks, but I know every time he looks at Ellis, he remembers it. In a way, I had thought you’d help him when you got here. I think you have too, but when you have to go…”
“But this is why they fear me, don’t really accept me?”
“They remember what happened and are afraid. That’s all.”
Silas cleared his throat in the doorway. Both women startled. “Kara,” he said, nodding. Rowan noticed he carried a small pouch with him.
Rowan saw the girl’s face redden but she nodded and tried to smile.
“Kara, Dr. Stone wants to see you this morning. He’s got some work he needs you to do for him.”
“Ok, I’ll head over there now. Thanks for the coffee, Rowan.”
“Thanks for the flowers. I’ll see you later.”
In a few moments, she was left alone with Silas. He looked very serious as he read something on his tablet.
“Did you get any sleep after I left?” he asked.
“A little,” she said, sipping her coffee, considering whether or not to tell him about what she remembered.
He put the tablet down. “I want to mark you with our tattoo. Are you opposed to it?”
That was strange. “Why?”
“I’d just feel more comfortable.”
“That’s all? You’d feel more comfortable?”
“Rowan, the colonies are becoming more and more unstable. I’m not sure where things will go, but I want to know that if I need to, I will be able to find you.”
“What do you mean unstable?”
“Pockets of rebellion, small but still, there. The people of the settlements have been joining secretly for some time now and I think now it’s grown too big for Norrin to ignore.”
“Are the other breeders ok?”
“They aren’t the target.”
“No, but if they’re not protected, they could be hurt. The people don’t look upon breeders kindly. They fear us.”
“I understand that but right now, I am trying to manage what is within my control, and you are within my power to protect. I’d like your consent to do this.”
“Who will be able to track me?”
“Only myself and the elders.”
“Does it hurt?”
“A little. Nothing you can’t handle.”
Rowan nodded her consent.
“Good,” he said, setting the package he carried on the table and unpacking it. Rowan watched him place a small black cloth down and onto it he set two vials, one a dark red and the other black, along with a thin and very sharp needle. Once he was finished, he turned to her. “Take off your dress and come here.”
“We’re going to do this right now?”
“Yes.”
“The needle looks very sharp.”
“It is sharp. Take off your dress and come here, Rowan.”
Rowan quietly slipped the dress off over her head and went to him. “Kneel with your back to me.”
She hesitated, but slowly did so and he settled on the chair directly behind her so she knelt between his legs.
“Good, now raise your hair up. I’m going to mark the back of your neck.”
Without questioning, she lifted the weight of her hair up off her neck and waited.
“It’s very important that you not move until I’m finished.”
Those were the last words he said before a cool cloth cleaned the back of her neck and she felt the first prick of the needle. He didn’t speak while he worked and she remained as still as she could. He ignored the alerts from his tablet throughout the process of marking her. She wouldn’t describe the sensation as pain, but it was more of a dulled awareness. She felt each touch of the sharp point at her nape but even more the weight of his hand when he laid his fingers on her, their rough pads still soft in the gentleness of his touch. She felt so aware of him in fact that when he said the words signaling that it was over, she felt the loss of his presence so close to her as just that: a loss.