Posted 2024-07-08; beta'd by Eeyorefan12
After Irene had led them down from the loft, Bella paused, exhausted. Even though Edward was carrying the baby, she felt weighed down.
Irene studied her. "Have you had the water treatment yet?"
"No," Bella said, leaning against the wall, wondering if it would be rude to let herself fall into Irene's bed.
Edward quickly handed their daughter to Irene, lifting Bella into his arms as her legs gave way.
"Then let's take care of that," Irene said. "I don't have a proper seat, but the bath will do."
After an hour of soaking, Bella was an exhausted prune, but thanks to the tardigrade-rich water, she was less sore and her bleeding much reduced. With their frenzied escape and the baby's birth, it felt like it had been weeks rather than days since she'd last properly washed. As she toweled herself off, her shakiness persisted, and Edward had to help her dress.
She'd have to learn to manage on her own, and quickly. Given her weakened condition, the idea was daunting. She envisioned Earth and its conveniences—sanitary pads, nursing bras, and car seats—all with a strange mix of longing and grief. Edward wouldn't be there for that. Would her father?
Bella watched Edward as he washed himself quickly, got dressed, then filled the ewer with warm water, setting it on the stand.
It was impossible to keep her eyes off of him. She loved him so much that it made her heart ache.
With their joint future fading, the much bleaker one on earth shoved itself back into her foremost thoughts. She'd be a single parent, at least for the foreseeable future, and even if her father accepted her story—and her child—she'd still have no job and no ability to finish her degree in order to get one. What would she even say to explain her absence? How much anger would she have earned in putting her father through thinking she was dead? Her other friends?
The visages of her new family—Esme, Alice, Rose—flickered through her thoughts. Leaving meant an end to those friendships.
Bella's dark ruminations were interrupted by Irene bringing in the baby. Edward gestured to the basin. While it was unlikely that Irene's closest neighbors would hear them talking, they'd kept their voices low, just to be safe.
Bella watched them wash her child. In the lampa light, her little claws appeared even more prominent, and as Edward turned her over, Bella again saw the unmistakable Sabellian musculature in her back. If she was at all human, it didn't show. Even as her daughter scrunched up her face, there was no tell-tale reddening. Purely Sabellian. As the sherooz had promised.
Bella tried to convince herself that it didn't matter. She wanted to, but that longing for normalcy smoldered inside her, and as she watched Edward and Irene bathe her child, the meager future she imagined on earth disappeared.
Their daughter was too Sabellian to have a normal life there. How would she explain a baby with claws and fangs?
But with Edward and—it pained her to consider it—Irene . . . maybe.
She watched them with a painful tug in her heart. How ironic. Before, she'd been jealous of their connection. Now, it might be useful.
Irene and Edward smiled as they soaped the baby's feet and hands, carefully unwrapping one part of her at a time as they went so as to keep her warm. Not that Sabellian babies needed help to regulate their temperature. Perhaps they hadn't realized yet. Perhaps they assumed she was half human.
Irene giggled at something Edward murmured, and he smiled.
No one would think anything of a Sabellian couple and a Sabellian child.
Bella's heart shrank in on itself with grief, envisioning the scenario. But for her child—she would do what she needed to.
Irene and Edward could easily blend in. Edward was a scholar, but he also knew how to run a farm. Irene was a skilled apothecary. She and Edward had been friends for more than half their lives. They could make a new home together. Bella recalled a picture of one of the smaller settlements in the south, one of the more remote archipelagos islands. Yes. It could work.
They could be . . . happy and Bella, well, she could be too, knowing her daughter would be raised by people who loved her. Who knew how to care for her.
You'll never be able to have another child.
Another painful squeeze at her heart. She forced the thought away.
If she—Bella—went home, Irene and Edward could pretend that she'd taken the baby with her. Irene could travel to supposedly visit her cousins. It would be fairly simple to conceal an infant. With the right amount of Sidero grass extract—
"Bella? What's wrong?" Edward glanced at her, quickly handing over the baby to Irene and approaching.
"I'm fine. Just tired."
Irene dried the baby and put on a fresh diaper.
Yes, Bella thought. It could work.
"It's late. You'll sleep here." Irene lifted her chin towards her bedroom.
"But—"
"I'm going to sleep downstairs."
"There's nowhere to sleep there," Edward said, frowning.
"We made do when my cousins stayed. I'll be fine. Besides, I haven't just had a baby."
Yes, Bella could trust Irene with her daughter. She was already helping them at great risk to herself. She would be a good mother.
"And if the Pisma return?" Edward was still unconvinced.
"Well, they promised they wouldn't, and if they do, I'll make a fuss and demand they send back the gashte boys with the new whiffler to explain why they need to look again when they promised they wouldn't." She chuckled. "By then, you'll have heard my indignant demands and made your way into the attic. Trust me, you'll be safe. As well, I'm a little worried the Kaethe might use the Pisma's distraction in searching for you as an opportunity to raid. I want to raise the alarm if I can."
So many threats. The offhand comment only hardened Bella's resolve.
Bella and Edward lay in Irene's bed, the baby between them, already asleep.
Bella was as physically close to comfortable as she'd been in weeks but emotionally almost numb. She considered the future with as much logical detachment as she could, all while viewing the events of the last days like one would through a dirty window—dimly.
Edward rested his hand on her arm. "Can't sleep?"
"I'm sure I will. It's—being here is . . ."
"Strange."
"Yes. It doesn't feel real."
"You're still experiencing some shock. I . . . I can hardly bear to think about all that you endured before I could get to you."
Yes, it was shock. Grief. Something like despair.
She nodded, holding down the lid on her feelings as best she could. "You kept the worst from happening. I'm just grateful for the help we've received. Irene is a good friend. We're lucky."
Edward nodded, a tiny pucker at his forehead. He was worried.
She pretended to yawn, the fake one quickly turning real. Closing her eyes, she turned over, attempting to find a comfortable position—tricky, given how sore she still was.
As he had done each night they'd been together after their marriage, Edward slid his hand down her arm and around her waist, preparing to draw her against him—but she tensed instinctively.
His hand disappeared. "Good night."
"Good night."
The next day they hid in the attic, emerging in the early evening, repeating the procedure again the next day. With customers coming and going, they stayed quiet, only occasionally signing when they had to communicate. Bella pretended to sleep a great deal, catching snatches of real rest between fake ones. Most naps ended with nightmares from which she learned to wake in rigid stillness.
Though attentive, Edward focused most of his energy on Irene's scrip, where he scribbled and frowned at his notes for hours, occasionally sighing in obvious frustration. The calculations for severance were complex, and the plans for getting into the heavily-guarded site almost equally so. Still, he was making progress, he assured her. Over a quiet dinner, Bella listened to Edward and Irene plotting together. Both were familiar with the severance site, he through travel, she through her role in supplying the facility with necessary compounds. Even though Irene was in on the planning, Bella wasn't sure if Edward had told her he'd be staying behind on Aristea, and so she remained silent on the issue.
On the third day, Irene summoned Bella and Edward from their hiding place at midday to greet some visitors.
"Esme!" Bella tried to keep her whisper low. She hugged her mother-in-law and then did the same to a startled Jasper, who had hung back slightly.
"We couldn't risk telling or bringing everyone," he explained. "They don't know anything yet."
"Alice—?" Bella asked.
"The fewer people who know, the better." Esme stared at the bundle in Edward's arms. "Has she been named yet?"
Edward shook his head. "Of course not."
Esme chuckled. "Nearly a week's a long time to be stuck with Embel."
"Embel?" It wasn't a term Bella had heard before.
"My sweet," Edward said, resting his hand on their child's head. "Our pet name for unnamed infants."
Esme took the baby from him. "Where's the afterbirth?" She patted the baby's back, looking scandalized.
"Not so sweet after so many days, I'm afraid. Not to worry, I've wrapped it in wax cloth and stored it in one of the sealed stone cases," Irene explained.
"Of course. I'll take it home today . . . and plant it in our grove." Esme's frown returned but she quickly smoothed her features. Nodding determinedly, she smiled again at the three of them. "It's late for the amphidromia, but we've come prepared—under the ruse of bringing the last of your cousin's belongings, Miss Sarris."
"Ah, I wondered what the cases were for."
"I think Alice and Tabitha suspect something," Esme said. "Not that they said anything when I sent them on errands. I tried to pack what I thought you'd need." There was a tiny quaver to her voice.
This was a farewell.
It hit Bella then. She wouldn't see Alice again—or anyone from the household. Not for a long time or maybe . . . forever? She blinked away tears.
Esme cleared her throat. "Edward, Bella, what will you call your child?"
Edward looked at Bella, who nodded. She could at least give her a name. "Adelia."
"Adelia," the others repeated, still whispering.
"It seems to suit her." Esme ran her hand over the baby's head. Adelia yawned. "Oh! Look at your tooth mounds. You'll be teething in no time." Her smile was strained. "Where will you go?" she asked Edward.
"We're not certain yet."
Bella didn't react to the lie.
Their visit was brief. Esme insisted Bella eat some of the lakoodya she'd brought, apologizing for not making it herself. The sweet taste recalled to Bella the weeks she spent alone with Edward, only serving to highlight the parting that would soon happen.
Her heart beat under the grip of grief, her throat tight, fingers tingling.
That night, there was another knock at the door, sending Edward and Bella scurrying to the attic. Bella listened to Irene's quick steps up the stairs. She summoned them, whispering furtively. "I think I have information you'll find helpful. The day after tomorrow they want a delivery to the severance site. The amounts"—she rattled off measures still foreign to Bella—"I've never had such a large order."
Edward took the note Irene offered, passing it to Bella. Her gaze snapped to the familiar name signed to the bottom: Othonos.
He was back.
"What does it mean? The amounts?" Bella asked.
"That they're activating the severance site. For mass transport." Edward sounded grim. "They must have found a window." He traced his finger down the list. "Solana. Do you even have that much?"
Irene shook her head, then smiled slyly. "But I have something that will pass for it."
"Good. We'll go with you. We'll get my family to safety." He eyed Bella and the baby in her arms with resolve. "And I'm personally making sure they won't be able to bring any humans back."
— o — 0 — o —
Bella couldn't sleep, though she was now adept at pretending to. Adelia slumbered in a small basket beside the bed, easier to move without waking should they need to hide again. And while not having the baby between them would allow for her and Edward to sleep together, they stayed apart on the bed.
"You haven't argued with me about sending you away." Edward's voice surprised her.
She lay motionless, still feigning sleep.
"You're good at pretending, but your heart rate is much slower when you're actually asleep," he whispered.
Bella turned over to face him. Did he want her to argue? She studied his face and the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.
"I expected you to fight us being apart," he said.
She remained silent, watching the wrinkle grow.
He rested his hand between them. An invitation. She didn't take it.
"Please tell me what you're thinking, Bella."
That she could, switching to English, grateful for Irene's ignorance of the language. This conversation needed to be private. "I think the women's movement is complete bullshit."
Edward watched her.
"People here—even you—talk of equality, of change. I know you don't think it's fast enough. It's glacial—on a planet that isn't experiencing global warming. It's also a lie. There's no equality. Racism is as entrenched as it is on earth. Women and men's work is completely gendered, and the women's council is as toothless as anything—"
Keep talking, but quieter, please, Edward signed.
Fine. She watched his gaze as he followed her hands. I'm sure this is where you tell me I'm wrong? That I'm a newcomer? That I don't understand?
I've never said anything like that. The wrinkle had tripled. He was angry. I'd never minimize you that way.
No, you'd just make plans to send me away without talking to me about it first!
We are talking about it.
Are you planning on sending me and our child back to Earth? Without you?
Yes.
She threw her hands up. What's the point of talking about it?
For you to understand why this has to happen.
I think I understand quite well. You've made a decision—without me.
What do you propose then?
She looked away. No, now was not the time. But when was? She had until the day after tomorrow.
Edward brushed her hand with his, drawing her attention back to him. I don't want us to be apart.
"Then come with us." Her words were barely a breath.
It was his turn to avert his gaze.
"You've never met my maternal grandparents," he said softly, still in English.
What?
"No, I haven't."
"Or my paternal ones."
She waited for his explanation.
"They're all dead, one set physically, one set ideologically, but still dead enough to us."
Oh.
"If I run away, Bella, I'm a traitor to what I believe in. But you're right, the change we're so proud of is nothing more than a veneer, and a brittle one at that. We won't see real change soon, but it will come if we work for it, and right now, that means making sure that these traitors to the cause"—he looked around—"that they aren't successful. They need to be exposed. I can't do that from Earth."
Bella's chest was tight. She loathed the sensation, and beneath it, she loathed the feelings triggering it. She wanted to hate his principles but found herself unable to. They were what made him who he was.
"She's Sabellian, Edward."
He cupped her hand with his. "I know."
"People will see that she's different."
"They won't."
"That's stupid. They will." Her tears made her feel stupid.
"You'd be surprised by how much humans overlook. I know this firsthand. You'll have to file her nails and teeth, but people will simply think she has a muscular deformity."
"Why do you have to be so fucking principled?" She pulled away her hand, wiping her eyes. "Don't answer that. I just need something to blame."
"The people who did this to you, to us—they're not enough?"
She shuddered. It was too hard to think about them. Even that night, when Irene had prepared a meat stew, Bella couldn't even chew on the pieces, trying not to recall the charred barbeque smell from the cave, the sherooz's frantically flailing limbs. Even drinking tea was difficult, bringing to mind an even more vile experience for her.
"I am trying to stop them, Bella, not us."
She broke into a quiet sob.
The distress in his expression was obvious. "We won't be apart forever. Just for a time. Only until it's safe for you both to come back."
"What if—what if I'm not enough? I don't know the first thing about parenting, Edward. My own mother—"
He laid a gentle hand against her cheek. "You know, Bella. You know how to love, and you know how to be kind. I've seen it."
Yes, he believed in her, but it felt so misplaced. "What if she stayed with you when I go?"
He frowned. "She needs her mother, especially now. And I—"
"No, listen. What if you and Irene took her? You could go south to the archipelago. If you stayed with her cousins, no one would think anything of a baby's sounds, and then—"
"No, Bella. Miss Sarris is repaying a kindness to me, more than repaying it, but I would never—no. You are my wife—my mate. What you propose is out of the question."
Her sense of relief at his words felt petty. Jealousy was an ugly thing.
But being separated from the one you love was even uglier.
"If she's with you," he said, "I know she'll be safe. You know your way on Earth. You'll be able to live a free life there. I'll be free to do what I need to do here. I've been naive—too trusting. I haven't questioned things, even when I felt in my gut that they weren't right. I didn't want to make noise, to disrespect those I thought wanted the same things for our people, for our world. That ends now. I won't stand by and let anyone else undergo what you have."
His words didn't give her peace, but they gave her an uneasy sort of resolve. She remembered that day just months ago when Edward had stood with her in front of that audience of matriarchs, his passion and fervor keeping everyone in his thrall without his ever speaking a word. If anyone could change the people's thinking, persuade them that there was a better way, it could be him. And if he wasn't distracted with worry for her and his child, he would be free to do it.
This time, when Edward scooched closer and drew her against him, she embraced him, trying to slow her breathing, to be quieter. Her anxiety and nerves refused to be quelled, and soon the embrace became a clinging of another sort.
"It's too soon," Edward whispered. "You're not healed."
Nothing could have been less important to her at that moment. "I don't care."
He didn't pause again, and as she lay catching her breath beside him afterward, feeling the renewed rawness inside her and the reopened scars on her neck, she knew the minor damage was worth it. The birth lacerations would heal. Her heart would not.