Page 68 of Born for Lace

I blush and say, “Maybe the bigger the thing, the more remarkable it is.”

“The more destructive.”

“The more powerful.”

He sneers. “That isn’t always a good thing, little flower.”

“It has the potential to be a very good thing if used correctly,” I argue. “I like big, powerful things.”

Tomar glances between us. “Are we still talking about windmills?”

I sigh, wishing I had brought a hammer instead of Maple’s little hacksaw. Maybe I could chip little holes into Lagos’ walls. I know we are different. Human and Xin De. Common and evolved. I still wish for more for him, happiness and beauty and peace.

For miles and miles, windmills leap into view, the farm stretching on and on across the hazy landscape.

We drive in silence.

And drive.

And drive.

Hours later, Spero begins to cry, so we stop the truck for a break. Lagos and Tomar climb out, braving the chaos, using the truck to shelter them from the Redwind. I lay Spero on my lap and feed him from the bottle he eagerly sucks at.

I need to try to feed him tonight, need to stimulate my nipples, probably fail miserably, and try again and again.

Until it works.

It has to work!

The truck is still, my rib sighing with relief, but outside the metal vehicle, it is anything but calm.

Through the side window, I watch the wind churn in angry gusts. I remember Tomar saying that the sky has never forgiven us for ‘fucking it up.’ I wonder if the Redwind is a punishing force from a being greater than us?

From The Crust itself?

I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s too late to repair. Redwind is The Cradle’s temperament.

I’m staring at sweet Spero when Lagos and Tomar’s voices join the aggressive storm. I look up but can’t see them. They are shouting at each other, gruff voices clashing. I cuddle Spero closer. I can’t hear what they are saying. I can only take in the tones and tension.

It’s about you.

I don’t know why that thought surfaces. It’s silly and untrue… only… the energy between them has become icy and uncomfortable to be around. Now, they are arguing outside the vehicle, so I can’t hear them.

I finish with Spero and rap on the window to get their attention, only seeing that dense red air and no shapes beyond. Lagos appears first, and then Tomar on the driver’s side. They climb in and shut the doors fast.

“We’re going to stop early,” Tomar states, starting the engine and pulling onto the main road. “To give you a break.”

“I said I was fine.”

“Bullshit,” Lagos grunts.

“I don’t want to slow us down, I want to ke?—”

“It’s not open for discussion.” Lagos lifts me again to sit on his lap and glares ahead. Two tight lines pinch between his weaved brows. I wish I could smooth them with my finger and see the softness I know hides within him.

“Clearly,” Tomar mutters. “Not much is these days.”

Lagos growls out an inhuman sound that makes the hairs along my skin rise and prickle.

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