Page 53 of Born for Lace

“Coming up.” I step onto the deck and freeze. Gaze around in awe. We are definitely not at The Bite. A screen of water to my left and a rocky structure blocks my right. Overhead stones and the mouth of a spilling waterfall collide. We are hidden behind it—inside it. And it’s a wonderous white curtain that encloses us, hiding us from view.

I close my eyes and sigh. I would have never seen such a thing, such a beautiful part of The Cradle if not for Maple and Spero. Great experiences… food, soap, sex, and I think I have my own to add… I smile.Nature.

Trade citizens are herded into towers to protect us from the Redwind, given Trades to offer us Purpose, but at the cost of discovery and adventure. Of finding who we are in our mind.

And it isn’t simply our Trade.

I open my eyes. “It’s so pretty.” I revel in it. The waterfall mists the air with cool, briny droplets that sheen my skin and dot my eyelashes.

“It’s falling water,” I hear Lagos grunt from somewhere not too far away.

“Well”—I smile at his grumpiness because it’s stunning and he must know that. Deep—deep, deep, deep— inside that thick skin, he knows. “Some things must be prettier when they fall.”

“Hm.”

I blink, breaking the small clear orbs on my cheeks. How I wish Maple could see this… She deserved so much better. My heart twists, and I suddenly feel as though I owe her for this.

For all of this…

For this glimpse of The Cradle beyond the Half-tower, outside the regime.

“Please come sit with us.” Tomar’s voice catches my attention moments before the top of his head appears on the far side of the ship. He waves me over. “There is no spray over here.”

I inhale and try to clear my thoughts. “What were you talking about? Please don’t stop on my behalf.”

I begin toward the back, careful not to trip over the ropes and frames of the catamaran. It is pieced together rather than designed—each element appears salvaged. Mismatched and tarnished but strong.

Slowly, Tomar comes into view. His skin is ashen, with thin blue veins visible beneath his cheeks. He looks unwell. “You look pale, Tomar. What has happened?”

“A little off.” Even his voice seems distant. “I'll be fine. How are you? Your nose looks much better now the swelling is down.”

I don’t care about my nose or the dull ache in my side. I take a step. This area of the large cat is obviously where they spend their time above deck. Fishing rods are set in holders, and large, old tackle boxes are fastened to the edges.

Lagos suddenly appears at my side, his hand on my elbow, helping me over a lip in the frame.

I peer up at him, at his dark-blonde beard and serious gaze. “If you keep this up,” I tease, “I’ll start to think you have a heart.”

“That would be a mistake,” he states, cold, letting go of me the moment I am on the flat. “Bathe, eat, and go back to my room.”

My room…I wish I didn’t feel those two words inside my stomach.

“Fine.” But it isn’t fine. I’m not fine with that. I don’t want to go back tohisroom. Turning to Tomar, who smiles softly, I find myself grinning lazily at him. “Were you talking about sex when I came up? Is that why you want me to leave?”

Tomar coughs out a “No!”

I lift my chin. “You said something about needing a fuck. I can handle it.” I move around and carefully sit on a small, fold-out chair opposite him.

“Is this the Opi reduction effect?” Tomar asks Lagos, forced amusement in his tone.

Oh, he’s right. Heavy doses of Opi can yield a sluggish and dazed aftermath. I have never taken it twice in twenty-four hours, though I know many Lace Girls who have. Their Wards enjoyed them often, but mine only required me once a month because he was older, much older than me. Though I liked him as a person and a man, I was never attracted to him.

I glance at Lagos once, just quickly.

He is stiff-backed as he moves to a box fastened to the back wall and opens it. “I said give a fuck,” he clarifies. “Not need a fuck.”

I frown ahead. “I want knowledge of all the great experiences in life.” I didn’t mean to say that aloud. “What’s a better way to learn than from two men like yourselves.” I apparently have no control over my own mouth right now.

I don’t gaze across at Lagos again, but I don’t need to. I feel the air beat with disapproval, ripples of energy coming from him, but he says nothing. Does nothing. Am I imagining his tension? I try to push further, testing. “I don’t want it to be a mystery to me. Why are these conversations so private?”

---