Page 138 of Born for Silk

With a big breath, I look through the scope that has a better viewing capacity to the ports. At first, I see nothing but Redwind, then?—

Then I see them.

The Windmills.

One after the other.

Encroaching as if they are inches away from colliding with the tank, but then gone in a blur of grey.

Awe fills my chest.

The first time I jumped into the pond at the Silk Aviary, eager to fish out a broken bird, the weightlessness of being in water that deep threw me into another reality. I remember it distinctly. The shift imprisoned my breath. And in the presence of this vast forest of powerful machines, that is how I feel.

Breath suspended.

Glee shapes my eyes.

I dart my gaze quickly between Tuscany and Ana, their attention fixed to the vision outside. Their expressions, soft and smiling, fill my heart with joy.

Healing—not healed. Merely taking a moment to appreciate a spectacular detail in the greater puzzle of The Cradle.

We watch the sky-scraping Windmills chew through the red haze; I don’t know how long we travel, from crown-light to last-light.

Time flies by.

But then?—

The tank suddenly slows.

I peer forward through the metal sections to find Rome with fierce brows set above dark eyes locked on me. Taking laps of my body from my hair to the swell at my hips, his stare is mine while his chin is turned. He listens to someone further down the giant machine.

His jaw muscles pulse.

Something is wrong…

Energy sparks. I don’t like it, but this could be irrational pregnancy senses, but?—

When Rome’s expression darkens, I realise I am not wrong. My pulse shudders in my neck. I feel I could cough up a butterfly.

Rome nods stiffly.

“There is a storm coming from due north, my queen,” the mechanical voice says, and Tuscany leans closer to the front. “We are unable to make it to the Upper-tower without hitting it head-on, so we will need to seek refuge.”

“The Trade-tower? Or follow the east coast to the Upper-Tower Port?” she asks.

My brows rise; shocked. I don’t know why I am surprised she knows the landscape. Of course, she does. Just as I know details about Rome, The Estate, the lords, and how to pleasure and provide.

She knows The Cradle.

Rome answers, his tone disturbingly even. “We won’t make it across the Red Decline before the storm hits. It is one risk”—he stares at me— "or the other.” I cannot read him. “We need to park the tank in a nearby Common community for the night.”

My eyes widen.

A Common community?

The Endigo boy’s face flashes in my mind, the stench, the meat, the wild unkempt scene.

I startle when a horrible, long scratch on the tank rooftop coils around my spine, near bringing bile up my throat. I stare up, surprised nothing has punctured the metal sheeting.

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