Unravel (34 page)

“Really?” said Cadan's mother.

“Yes!”
Elissa stopped. “What? What do you mean, ‘really'?”

Emily Greythorn sighed. “Look, Elissa, don't think I don't understand the attraction. You and Cadan—you've been thrown together under some really stressful conditions. And of course it probably didn't help that you had the world's worst crush on him when you were little—”

“What?”

“Elissa, please. You think we didn't notice? And he's grown up . . . well”—again that look of pride colored her smile—“I'd be surprised if you could spend all that time with him and not be . . . tipped a bit off balance. Especially with the pressure you were both under. And, of course, you're a very pretty girl—I can see the attraction for him, too.”

“Jeez,”
said Elissa, all at once furious, “thanks for the compliment.”

Mrs. Greythorn gave her a patient look, a look that said she'd noticed Elissa's anger, but that she was choosing not to pay attention to it. “You say you're not going to interfere. What do you think you're already doing?”

Hearing it said like that, actually stated rather than implied, was like being hit in the face.

“I—I'm not—” She was stammering again. She stopped, staring at Cadan's mother, shock and hurt taking away all that heat of anger she'd felt a minute ago.

“Well, I'm afraid you are.” Mrs. Greythorn's voice wasn't unkind, but it was unrelenting. “He's thinking about you when he needs to have his attention undivided. After we escaped from the square, he came to you first of all, when he could have been—”

“We—we'd only just escaped! I'd thought he was—”

“I know.” Mrs. Greythorn spoke over her, cutting her off. “I thought he was too. Elissa, listen to me. I'm not
opposing
you here. You're a sweet girl, and you've coped with an awful lot. I'm impressed, truly. And goodness knows, I'm not against Cadan dating!”

“It's not just . . .” She trailed off.
It's not just dating.
She could say that, but what reason would his mother have to believe her? And, really, despite what Cadan had said, despite what Elissa herself felt, it had been only a few weeks. It might not
feel
like just dating, to either of them, but all the same, that was pretty much what it was.

Mute, feeling like her defenses had been, very neatly and gently, taken away, Elissa stared at Cadan's mother as she continued to speak.

“I just think, Elissa, that now probably isn't the right time for it. Don't look so stricken! I'm not trying to stop you seeing
him.” Mrs. Greythorn laughed a little. “I've brought up two teenagers—I'm not so stupid. I'm just saying maybe . . . ease off a bit? Spend some time with the other young people. Make some other friendships. You can't afford to depend on just Cadan—and he can't afford to have you doing it.”

She sounded so . . .
sensible
. Like the voice of a million teen advice websites and magazine advice columns. And everything Elissa could say, every argument she could make, would just make her sound like the insecure girls who e-mailed those advice columns.
But we love each other. But he doesn't want us to ease off any more than I do. But I'm dealing with more than I can cope with alone. But it's not just an ordinary teenage relationship. . . .

“And he's a good bit older,” said Cadan's mother, still the voice of an advice columnist. “Oh, come on, don't look at me like that. Again, I'm not
against
it. Trust me, I haven't forgotten being seventeen myself, and I can imagine I might have been swept off my feet if someone Cadan's age had been interested in me!”

She paused for a moment, as if thinking whether to say her next words. Her gaze met Elissa's, and although there was still an edge of coolness to her expression, her eyes were kind. That made it worse, really. If there'd been spite showing in them, or if Elissa could think Mrs. Greythorn was being the clichéd possessive mother of books and TV shows, at least then she'd have had good reason to ignore her. To fight back. To say to Cadan,
Do you know what your mother's been saying to me?
and have him leap to her defense.

Cadan's mother sighed again. “Look, I'm not blind. I can see how close the two of you have become. I can tell he cares about you. But honestly, Elissa, I have to ask: How much do
you think the two of you really have in common?”

Elissa's lips went cold. All this stuff, everything his mother was saying—it wasn't like the thoughts hadn't come into her head before this. It was what she'd been scared of. What she'd been scared of all along, the stuff she'd wanted Cadan to reassure her about, help her dismiss.

But oh God, hearing it . . . hearing it said out loud—and by Cadan's
mother
—it was so much worse than when it had just been silent fears in her own head.

“I—” she said, and couldn't think of anything else to say.

Mrs. Greythorn stepped away from her. “I'm sorry, Elissa. I don't usually comment on Cadan's relationships. If life was as it was before the takeover, I'd let things take their own course. But as things are . . .” She lifted a shoulder. “Well, I won't patronize you. You know the situation as well as I do.” She moved a step toward the stairs up which Elissa had come. “Look, I'm going back down now. You're old enough to make your own decisions. And it's not like I have any authority over you—I'm not going to try to stop you seeing him if you're set on it.”

She moved farther, out of Elissa's line of sight. Elissa didn't move her head to follow her. She couldn't bear to meet her eyes again. Couldn't bear to see all that dispassionate, adult wisdom—that look that said Emily Greythorn had witnessed this kind of thing before, that this time wasn't anything out of the ordinary, that—
whatever
it felt like—it wasn't anything different.

Cadan's mother's footsteps tapped across the floor. The door to the stairs slid open, then shut. She was gone.

Elissa put her arms around herself, not so much as a comfort as because of a feeling that if she didn't, she would break
apart.
If I ask Cadan, he can tell me it's not just because he thinks I'm pretty, it's not just because we were thrown together and everything around us was going crazy. It
would
have happened anyway. It would.

He wouldn't tell her that, though. Someone else might say what she needed to hear whether they were sure or not. Someone else might take a leap of faith—
yes of course it would have happened anyway, no of course it wasn't just right place, right time.
Cadan wouldn't. He wouldn't say it unless he was sure. And that hours-ago talk with him (was it really only this morning?) had told her he
wasn't
sure.

It was more than that too. His mother—probably both his parents—didn't think she was good enough for him. She hadn't
said
it, but then how could you say something like that without sounding like some crazy-awful snobby cliché? But no one talked the way she had to the girl they
wanted
their son to end up with.
How much do you think the two of you really have in common?
she'd said, and Elissa hadn't needed to read between the lines to know what she meant.

She came out here to talk to Cadan. Was she saying this kind of thing to him, too? Does he know she thinks I'm not good enough for him? Does he . . . even a tiny bit, does he agree?

The door to the spaceport opened on a rush of hot air. Elissa's fingers gave a guilty twitch—
I shouldn't be here, I don't have a good reason
—and her head jerked up to look.

It was the guard who'd opened the door. He'd left his hand on the panel to stop the door closing, and although he was still clearly on alert, he'd turned enough toward the lobby to be able to look across at Elissa. “You're wanting Greythorn?”

Elissa nodded. “
Cadan
Greythorn?” There wasn't any reason for Mr. Greythorn to be out there, but she
really
didn't
want to go straight from the conversation with Cadan's mother to one with his father.

“He's on his way.”

“Oh, he's finished?”

The guard smiled at her. “No. I told him you were here, that's all. Pretty girl, I said, dark hair, and he was happy to drop what he was doing.”

The twitch of guilt turned into a spasm like a giant hand closing on her stomach. The words
What do you think you're already doing?
and
He's thinking about you when he needs to have his attention undivided
rang in her ears. And the word “pretty,” which always before she'd have been super pleased to hear, suddenly sounded like an accusation.

“Oh God, I didn't mean to
interrupt
him. He doesn't have to come—tell him I can wait till he's done, or taking a break, or whatever—”

“That's an awful lot of backtracking, Lis,” said Cadan, coming in through the doorway. His fair hair was ruffled—the same way, Elissa noticed, his mother's had been—and there was sweat and dirt on his forehead and staining the edges of his shirt collar. “Are you sure you weren't actually hoping to see Markus?”

His eyes laughed at her, and for a moment warmth crept through her like the warmth blowing in from outside, relaxing her muscles, warming her cold lips and hands.
It doesn't matter what his mother thinks. His mother's not here, she doesn't know what it's really like. She's only judged from the outside—she doesn't
know
, she doesn't understand.

She reached out for the reassurance she was still—mostly—sure he could give her. “Is it okay for me to be here?” Then, as insecurity took over, “I can go away again if you're busy.
I completely didn't mean to interrupt you.”

“You haven't.” Cadan nodded a thank you to the guard and came across to pull her into a hug. He smelled dusty and sweaty, but underneath she caught the scent of his skin. And although his hands were rough with dust, they were warm and steady on the small of her back as his arms closed around her. “At least, I guess
technically
you have, but I can promise you it's not a problem.”

He smiled down at her as the door shut, leaving them alone in the chill lobby. “The ship'll be ready to go in another couple of hours.” He let out a breath. “I have to say, Lis, it'll be a relief to be off this damn planet. I'm half-ashamed to admit it, after everything we hoped to do, but . . .”

He shook his head, and relief and hope bloomed within Elissa.
He's not going to want to come back. I'm not going to lose him to a combat zone.

“But at least on Philomel we'll get a chance to regroup,” he continued. “There
must
be things we can offer IPL, for God's sake. I'm hoping, Lis”—his arms slackened a little as he moved back, his face alight with enthusiasm—“that the IPL officials on Philomel won't have quite such an . . . on-the-front-line firefighting mentality, you know? If they're able to think a bit more strategically than the people down here, who're just lurching from one crisis to the next, then talking to
them
might actually get us somewhere. What do you think?”

She nodded, numb. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“And you and Lin—once they see it's a
gift
you're offering them—” He broke off. “What is it?”

You and Lin.
The instant he spoke, that anxiety had swooped back over her, eclipsing the more recent worries.
Her eyes burned, and her throat, too, as she tried to hold back the tears. His mother's words—
more
of his mother's words—sounded in her brain.
You can't afford to depend on just Cadan—and he can't afford to have you doing it.

But who else am I going to talk to? Who else understands what Lin is like, who'll listen and who won't instantly see her as a monster?

“It's Lin,” she said.

As understanding dawned in his face, she knew she wouldn't need to explain further, and the knowledge was such a relief she went weak.

“It's what happened on the med-flyer?”

She nodded, blinking back tears, feeling her nose sting. “She let them die, Cadan. I asked her. I asked her to help me save them, and she . . .” Elissa shook her head, not wanting to spell out the details, not wanting to relive that horrible moment when she'd realized her sister wasn't going to step in like she'd always done before. “She let them
die
.”

Cadan drew her over to sit on a narrow white bench standing at the side of the lobby, then took a seat next to her. His eyes were bleak. “We all did that, Lis.”

“But only because most of us couldn't do anything else! Because if you, or Commander Dacre, or the pilot had tried to save them, you'd have gotten yourselves killed. But Lin . . .” She couldn't look at him as she said it. She put her hands up over her face. “She
could
have done something. She almost . . . kind of . . . considered it, because she knew I wanted her to. But she decided not to because—because she said it would
hurt
her.” She drove her fingers into her hair, pressing hard against her forehead as if to press the realization away. “When those children . . . those
little kids
were . . . I thought, when I looked down, I thought I could hear them. . . .”

“Lis,” Cadan said, his voice very gentle, “there was a hell of a lot of noise. You couldn't have heard them, not really. You must know that.”

“I know.” She spoke into her hands, her breath warm and damp against her palms.