Page 88 of As Many Souls as Stars
Walter shrugged and looked uneasily up to the sky. ‘Wow, where’d the sun go? These clouds came in fast.’
‘Let’s go inside,’ Rosamund said.
‘I think Jean and I wanted another smoke—’
‘Fine,’ she snapped, ‘enjoy it,’ and she marched away before they could protest.
Inside the ship, the bar was being decorated in anticipation for the festivities; staff were draping gaudy laurels of fake hibiscus from the ceiling in soldier-like rows. The flowers were made with cheap fabric, and their petals were tattered at the edges, as if torn rather than cut. As Rosamund passed beneath them, one fell from its moorings and landed squarely on her head. Rosamund snatched it out of her hair and crushed it in her fist. She carried it like that, wadded up in her palm, until she reached the cabin. Then she threw it on the bed, where it combusted and reduced itself immediately to ashes—startling Caviar, who had been asleep on the pillow.
She was tired, that was all. She was tired, and anxious, and the trip was making her seasick. That was why she had this feeling in her stomach, this awful, unshakeable, nauseatingneed. She wanted to go to Miriam, curl her arms around her waist, and beg her to forgive her; or to lie down with her and find a way to make the ruse real, to unburden herself of the anger that had defined her ever since she’d regained her memories. Rosamund wanted to be whole, wanted to be herself. She was sick of being a shadow of her past lives. She was the third act in a story she had never agreed to be part of, and all she could think of was escape.
Caviar yapped. She groaned into the pillow. She’d have to find a way to get Miriam back on her side; this would all be so much easier to pull off if she wasn’t being viewed with suspicion. One moment of anger, and now she might’ve ruined everything.
Sweetness, then, just as Walt had said—that was the key. Miriam wanted Rosamund resistant enough to feel like a conquest, but still pliant enough to use; she could give her that. There were less than forty-eight hours until the deal was up. Until then, Rosamund could be as sweet as Miriam needed, sweeter than Esther had ever been.
Like a fish on a line, Rosamund thought.Why don’t you come a little nearer, darling, and just bite, bite, bite.
Rosamund called to Miriam that afternoon, her thoughts featherlight, coaxing:Forgive me, my love. Come find me again.
Miriam, still angry, nonetheless followed the call with a petulant, reluctant sort of excitement—the excitement only increased whenshe realised that Rosamund was behind a door labelledturkish baths. These baths apparently required a ticket, but none of the attendants were much inclined to protest when Miriam strode inside. A young woman offered her a massage—she declined—and another offered her a bathrobe. She declined that, also. Instead, she strode through each muggy, pink-tiled room entirely naked, searching for Rosamund. Some pools were hot, some were cold. There was a sauna and a steam room. Miriam found it extraordinary that this was feasible on a ship, when humans had been slopping their shit into the sea with buckets less than a century ago; that was the gift of mortality, she supposed. The possibility of change.
Miriam found her, eventually, in the hot room. It was a large pool, although shallow, and Rosamund was alone inside, wading at the far end. The steam was thick enough to make the air semiopaque, and it fell around them like a blanket, her figure only faintly visible.
Miriam had entered silently enough that Rosamund didn’t react. Her eyes were closed, and she had bent her knees against the tiles, descending into the pool until she was submerged up to her cheekbones. Her hair floated around her in a rust-coloured halo, darkened by the water.
After several minutes of silence, Rosamund, eyes still closed, said, ‘It’s rude to stare.’
‘I’m not certain you should be lecturing me on rudeness, my dear, after that display this morning.’
Rosamund’s eyes opened. Her lips quirked. ‘I suppose not. You know, the humidity’s made your hair frizz.’
Miriam lifted a hand to her hair, patting it curiously.
Rosamund swallowed. ‘It’s so—human, somehow.’
‘Do you prefer me that way? Affecting humanity?’
‘That’s a pointless question. I’ve seen you for what you are now, and neither of us can pretend otherwise.’
Before Miriam could reply, Rosamund spun around and sank into the water. She made a lazy lap around the edges of the pool. She was naked, and Miriam watched her move with a familiar hunger.
She halted in front of Miriam. ‘I did apologise.’
‘I’m not certain you meant it.’
‘Does it matter if I did? I concede, Miriam.’ Rosamund stretched out her arms, bared her throat in invitation. ‘The battle is won.’
‘The battle, not the war.’
Rosamund shrugged. ‘My soul is yours, either way. That’s enough, surely.’
Miriam stepped closer to the water. ‘I used to think so.’
‘But not now?’
‘I’m not certain.’ Miriam’s lips twitched. ‘I think you’rehidingsomething from me. How novel.’
Rosamund turned away, swam a little further into the pool; Miriam wondered for a moment if she had upset her, but when Rosamund turned back, her expression was perfectly calm.
