Page 103 of Born for Silk

For The Cradle

A Silk Girl’s

First Trimester

Chapter One

Aster

Though it has been four days since the news of my pregnancy, I’ve kept it a hard secret.

The reasons are many. I want to wait until Ana’s grief releases her enough for her to rejoin our regular routine, and for Paisley to announce the next steps, given the babe in my belly lacks anonymity.

‘Do you trust your Collective?’

Rome’s questioning rolls in my mind. No. I do not. Not Iris, at least. That truth is profound and undeniable, weighing like a stone inside me, unmoving, steadfast.

I am sitting with the Silk Girls on the lush emerald courtyard lawn when I hear a commotion inside the wing. Blossom, Daisy, and I share questioning glances, but Iris does not even look up from the book open on her lap.

We hold our voices and breath as the sound of heavy footsteps grows. More than one set and they rap with unyielding focus. Tension crackles in the air.

Suddenly, I see them. Through the window, four Guards stride into the Silk Dining Hall.

We jump to our feet with a start.

They breach the courtyard, their faces hardened with Purpose. Behind them… My breath catches as Rome turns the corner, his black cloak a phantom behind him, the hood bunched at his neck, his dark hair dishevelled and wild as if he has been thrusting his fingers through it, clawing at the dark thoughts that make his eyes appear thunderous.

He is back.

My heart starts to spark.

I want to nurture the warmth.

But my arousal from seeing him is quickly extinguished when the Guards halt, and Rome paces through the middle, stopping a mere ten feet away from where we stand shoulder to shoulder, seeking reassurances together.

Something is wrong.

Rome doesn’t look at me.

He is glaring at Iris.

“Iris of the Aquilla Silk Aviary,” one of The Guard booms at Rome’s flank.

I pale.

“You are under arrest by order of The Trade and The Crown for crimes against your Collective and for deceiving Rome of The Strait, The Cradle’s Monarch and Protector.”

I gasp, my stare panning across, landing on Iris. Her chest rises and falls, erratic and shallow, like there is a little bird inside, desperate to get out. A moment from weeks ago, when she was dragged through the van’s glass screen, flashes before me. I see her fear—she’s not strong, not a survivor at all.

Two Guards move to her and grip her arms; she doesn’t struggle, too paralysed to react. Her mouth opens, but no words come out, merely silent shock.

I would struggle.

I would question, but she is… weak. She knows it, too. Jealousy became her, because, despite her Xin De genus, she is terrified of the world. Of her failings. Of everything.

“Aster,” Iris mutters to me, not with disdain, anger, or accusation, but with a quiet plea for help.

From me…

---