The Scent of Lilac: An Arrow's Flight Novella (4 page)

           
“We know
what they called Kate. The Rebel Breeder?” She smiles. “It was a cute epithet.”
She pauses, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You would tell me… if the
breeders were up to something?”

           
Eyes
wide, I stare at her. “Why would you think they were?”

           
“Is it so
hard to imagine they might join the fray?”

           
I shake
my head insistently. “None of us have plans to defy the Village.”

           
“I would
hope not, Mia,” Leah says gently. “This duty matters more than any other.”

           
“I know,”
I whisper.

           
“Good.”
She hoists herself to her feet. “Good.”

           
“What
would the Council do?” I dare to pose the question, and Leah peers down at me,
a slight trepidation lighting her eyes. “If there was a rebellion among the
breeders? Would they... dispose of us all?”

           
My voice
squeaks involuntarily on the last syllable, and Leah emits a small laugh.

           
“Goodness
no, girl,” she replies. “Disposal was Mona’s answer to most things. It served
her well, I suppose.
Tara
may be like-minded in extreme
circumstances, but she also listens to reason.” She pauses, crossing her arms.
“Executing even a small portion of the life-giving branch of our clan would not
be wise. Which is why the Council is working diligently to staunch all the
small disturbances that have cropped up, including securing the stock as soon
as possible.” She studies me, eyes intent. “Until then, I need you, Mia. To be
my eyes and ears.”

           
My mouth
parts slightly. So this is it. This is why she pulled me so quickly out of the
Great Hall. Slowly, I rise to meet her eye to eye.

           
“Why
should I do this for you?”

           
“Because…
” She reaches for my hand, squeezes. “I’m one of the few Council members who
believes Kate just may have had a point. Maybe...” She hesitates, her voice suddenly
transforming into a whisper. “We should have a choice.”

           
My shock
is quick, but Leah holds my gaze. A slight fear ripples through her expression
and falls away as she straightens, composing herself.

           
“Okay,” I
whisper in return.

           
My
response is involuntary. She squeezes my hand again with a wink, sealing the
pact we’ve just made.

           
As to
whether it was with or against the Council is still a bit fuzzy.

y midweek, I can’t keep myself from the Pit another day.
I’d like to say it’s curiosity that draws me back earlier than usual, but I
would be deceiving myself. Leah assured me that the Council would have a
solution for the lack of jailers soon, but still, I find myself worrying for
Chad
.

           
I blame
Kate for coaxing this attribute out of me.
       
 
  

           
Chad
lumbers to his feet the moment the gate clanks shut behind me. He looks much
cleaner and shaven, and he assures me that he’s had at least one meal a day since
I last saw him. But he takes the bowl of duck stew from my hands eagerly
enough.

           
I sit silently
next to him and watch him devour every drop. When he’s finished, he hands me
the bowl, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, a grin appearing.

           
“Thank
you,” he says.

           
I nod and
reach into my pouch for the mint leaves. I began bringing them to him a few
weeks ago. The first time, to be more precise, was exactly the day after Kate
challenged me to truly take a look at
Chad
.
To see if there was something more to him than simply a never-ending means to
an end. The answer to my own private troubles. The one way to a few months of
freedom from the Pit. She infuriated me with her insistence that the stock were
not so different from us, and I didn’t want to hear it. The idea was absurd to
me.
 
 

           
And then,
one day, I asked his name. He barely remembered, so long had it been since
anyone had spoken it. But I remember the sound of his voice so clearly when he
told me. There was freedom in it, as if I’d asked him instead to come outside
of the cave and walk with me in the sun.

           
He chews
on the leaves now, still smiling at me. I set the bowl aside. After a minute, I
take his hand. His gaze drifts downward, and then his fingers tighten.

           
“I don’t
think they are going to repair the gates anytime soon,” I say.

           
He stops
chewing, eyes flicking toward the bamboo and back to me.

           
“Why not?”

           
I shrug,
uncertain of how much I should share. “The Council… they have a plan. It will
just take some time to work it out.”
   

           
He thinks
a moment, and then nods with a shrug as if I’ve said the most practical thing he’s
ever heard. The gesture brings up an unwanted sadness in me, and I’m startled
by this. I should be relieved that he seems uninterested in taking advantage of
this situation. Instead, it bothers me that he’s so content, and I wonder: If I
asked—if I caused him to consider what the open gate truly means—what would he say?
Does he have some hidden desire to be free that he has never divulged because
there was no point in it? I study him, and then I ask it.

           
“Would
you leave,
Chad
?”
I gesture toward the entrance. “The gate is open; freedom is just past it.
Would you go?”

           
He swings
his eyes toward the gate again, chewing on the inside of his cheek a moment,
and then he swivels his head back toward me.

           
“No, I
wouldn’t.”

           
 
“But… have you ever thought about it?” I prod
him. “About getting out? Seeing what’s on the other side of that gate?”

           
His brow
pinches, just the tiniest of motions, as he thinks. And I wait, half-afraid of
what he might say.

           
“I—I
don’t know what I want.” His voice carries a hint of uncertainty, as if he’s
afraid to say it aloud. “I’ve never been allowed to know.”

           
His eyes
pierce me as they do each time he looks at me—innocent and blunt and so very honest,
searching me out. Like always, they touch a spot deep inside me that flutters
quite perceptibly. His eyes remain steady, but I doubt he realizes what this
one look does to me. His hand in mine has grown sweaty, and I pull away, wiping
the wetness onto my skirt.

           
I’m
reminded of the many conversations we’ve had since I decided to allow
conversing. I learned very quickly that, besides food and exercise, I am the
one diversion that he looks forward to. A break in the mundane loneliness that
accompanies the life of the stock. Each time I appear on the other side of those
bars, he greets me with a crooked smile that causes one of his sandy brows to rise
slightly higher than the other.

           
“Mia?” My
name on his tongue pulls me out of my memories, and I shake them away and look
at him. “I would never leave you.”

           
Surprised,
I tilt my head, a familiar fluttering pulsating in my stomach—one that happens
often these days, and against my will. The sensation scares me because it
thrills me, and this is wrong. These kinds of feelings between a breeder and
her mate are dangerous.

           
“This is
my place,”
Chad
continues, and his voice pulls my eyes toward his. He dips his head slightly. “It’s
my duty.”

           
The
fluttering eases, setting things back into perspective. His duty. Of course. I
take him in. His eyes rest on me fervently, waiting for my response. And they
remind me of how much control I have over his every thought—his every move.
Yes,
Chad
knows
his place. He knows that a breeder’s will must be obeyed.

           
“We all
have our duties,” I whisper.

           
Chad
waits, eyes on me. There is no question he is significantly attached to me, but
whether this attachment is solely out of a dog’s loyalty is something I’ve
never been able to quite perceive in him.

           
I pause,
contemplating this reality. I never intended to let a dog make me feel things.
That may have been Kate’s way, but not mine. What transpires in the Pit should
fall simply under duty, and as an obedient member of the clan, I perform my
duty as required. No emotions, no fuss. In and out.

           
No
emotions.

           
Chad
understands this all too well, and I should take a lesson from it.

           
With a
sigh, I close my eyes and lean into him. He takes his cue, habitually wrapping
his arms around me, and I listen to his heart thud against my cheek. Soon, duty
obediently steps in, and we are tangled on the mat, which is all we truly know
of each other.

           
Until
recently, I always left immediately after, grateful to have the week’s task
behind me. And I wouldn’t give
Chad
a second thought for an entire seven days. But these days, his face slips into
my mind more often than not. As I scrub laundry in the creek, wash dishes,
gather vegetables. It shocked me at first, which is why it took weeks for me to
tell Kate that
Chad
was becoming more to me than just a dog. First, it was simply out of sheer
stubbornness that I said nothing. I never liked admitting when I was wrong,
especially to Kate, who always seemed to make the right choices, even when she
suffered for them.
 

           
Later, it
was more than stubbornness that kept me quiet. By then, I sensed Kate’s
ever-growing rebellion, felt a shift in her attitude with each word she
uttered—with every moment she spent in the Pit with that boy. Revealing more of
my changing frame of mind toward
Chad
would have only encouraged her.
 

           
I lie
next to
Chad
now, the lengths of our bare bodies pressed against each other in a glistening
sheen of sweat, and I wish I had said more. I wish I had told Kate of my
feelings for him. I sigh, and close my eyes until her face disappears. I shift
my position.

           
“
Chad
?”
         

           
I whisper
his name into the darkness as if speaking too loudly may break a spell cast
over the earth. Outside, the sky has grown black, a twinkling blanket of stars
our only light.

           
“Mia?” he
replies. His mouth is close to my head, and my name comes on a puff of air,
disturbing my hair. I smile.

           
“Did I
tell you Kate is gone?”

           
“They let
her leave the Village?” he asks.

           
“No—” I break
off thinking. “Yes, I suppose they did. They didn’t stop her, at least.”

           
“But...
where did she go? Where would she go?”

           
“I don’t
know,” I admit. Another pause, and another sigh. “But she was my best friend.
Even after I brought trouble on her she—”

           
My words
are cut short by the lump that suddenly swells up in the back of my throat, and
then a quiet sob erupts—breaking the lump free with one heavy sound.

           
Chad
shifts beside me, snaking an arm beneath my body to pull me more tightly
against him.

           
“Don’t
cry.” His tone floods with true concern. “I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

           
“I have
no one.” My whispered voice is wet. “Everyone has left me behind.”

           
I do cry
then—thick and sloppy—wetting his chest. I thought my heart was finished with
its weeping, but it wasn’t. I hold nothing back, and
Chad
’s
arms tighten around me, silently giving what I require as if he’s been trained to
do this as well. To comfort me. To listen to my complaints. But when my tears
are spent and my body is weak with exhaustion, he speaks.

           
“Are you
finished?”

           
I hold still
beside him. His tone sounds different—irritated. He’s never spoken to me this
way before, and I lift my head in surprise. He is all shadows.

           
“If you
are,” he continues. “I have something to say.”

           
I push up
onto my elbow, the sudden space between us causing a cool wisp of air to slice
through the stickiness of our bodies. I shiver, but I keep my eyes pinned on
him.

           
“Okay,” I
say, curious.

           
He eases
up until his back rests against the rough wall, and he takes my hand.

           
“You
aren’t alone.” His voice is low and husky. “I’m here. Every day, I wait for you.”
 

           
The sweet
gesture in his words causes tears to pile up into the corners of my eyes again.

           
“Oh
Chad
,”
I shake my head, but my words are careful. “Of course you do. It’s your duty—”

           
“No,” he
interrupts briskly. “That isn’t why.”

           
I sit up,
growing suddenly impatient. I shouldn’t have let him see me fall apart. It’s
not good for him. He can’t understand what I’m feeling, and I’m too exhausted
to reason with him. Night moves in more deeply; I should have been gone hours
ago anyway.

           
I tug my
shirt over my head and swing my legs off the edge of the mat, but before I can
stand,
Chad
has
me by the waist, holding me in place.

           
“That
isn’t why,” he repeats.

           
I frown.

           
“Fine,
Chad
.”
I twist in his grip to face him, my former well-kempt demeanor snugly in place.
“Tell me why, then?”
 

           
He
hesitates, his fingers loosening their pressure. And when he says nothing more,
I stand, satisfied that he’s scurried back into his place beneath me. It’s much
easier for both of us this way, despite these feelings that crop up on occasion.
I slide into my skirt tugging on the string to cinch it.

           
“I’ll
bring you some food tomorrow, okay?” I swing my pouch over my head and push on the
gate.

           
“I wait
for you... because there’s something in the middle of my chest that hurts when
you aren’t here.”

           
Silence.

           
The gate
falls back into place. I turn.
Chad
stands and comes to me. Our eyes connect, and for once, I don’t see duty
written in them. I see his heart beating for me. And I can’t move.