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TWENTY-FOUR

DANTE LOCKS THE GREENHOUSE BEHIND US. I’M not sure why a bunch of plants and potting tools need to be secured, but I know Dante wouldn’t tell me even if I asked him. In evening’s dim light settings, the glass is black. I trail a finger along a pane, considering something Dante said earlier.

“I wonder how our family got a pass to go,” I muse.

Dante chuckles, moving toward the main house. “I should think that’s obvious given your ability.”

“You said we were made,” I remind him. “They didn’t choose the original Spinsters for their skills—they had none!”

“But they chose our families based on a list of physical and mental requirements. Decisions were based on potential,” Dante says, as I trail beside him.

“And then they made them into Spinsters,” I finish. “But wait, my mother wasn’t a Spinster. Or my sister.”

“Most genetic abilities skip around in a family,” he explains. “Not everyone gets the same eye color or body build, for instance. Remember the footage of the injections and surgeries in the film? It was genetic manipulation.”

“So the scientists gave us the gene?” I ask.

“I’d be lying if I said I understood half of it. Weaving is a cultivated recessive gene. Once it was added to a person’s genetic composition, it might reveal itself but that wasn’t certain. The first crop of Spinsters was very small and very weak. Early on, while the scientists created serums that increased ability, they depended completely on the looms.”

Dante claims ignorance, but he’s full of information.

“And those that didn’t have ability?” I ask.

“They were put into the population to breed more Spinsters.”

“And Tailors,” I add. “So now the Guild is trying to isolate those genes so that they can replicate them?” I guess.

“It will be much easier for the Guild to have total control over Spinsters. You’re right, Adelice,” he says. “I think they plan to make a dominant gene that can be spliced into hand-picked specimens. Then they can decide which girls to grant the ability.”

Girls who are easier to manipulate, I think. Girls who are obedient.

“My grandmother told me families fought the retrieval squads,” I say out loud. “All those women in the film looked eager to join.”

Dante’s mouth thins into a tight line and he tilts his head thoughtfully. “You shouldn’t believe everything you see in a film, Adelice, but I suppose you’re right. The circumstances here were terrible during the war, but I think things changed in Arras.”

“Changed how?” I ask.

“Nations merged, and laws were adjusted to meet everyone’s expectations. Conflicting national identities merged to create a cohesive whole. Those changes, coupled with resentment over having daughters whisked off in the night with little to no expectation of seeing them again. There was an adjustment period,” he tells me.

“How do you know about this?”

“Our family,” he says after a pause. “They took care to chronicle things despite the laws against it.”

“Were they members of the Kairos Agenda?” I ask. My parents had never told me these stories, even though they knew what I was—they kept this information from me.

“Not really.” Pause. I can tell he’s holding something back. “They were pacifists. My parents wanted to live comfortably and easily.”

“Until you showed your abilities?” I ask.

“It wasn’t my parents who asked me to run. They should have,” he says. Pause. “With the increasing amount of propaganda thrown at them, like the film, for instance, most Arras citizens stopped seeing the danger of the Guild’s absolute control. Bombs weren’t being dropped, so people went along with it, even as the laws got stranger and more restrictive. The Guild required everyone to marry and have children, who could then be tested for the gene. It’s how Arras wound up with marriage laws and skills testing.”

“So this trait could reveal itself in a male child?”

“I’m living proof,” he says with a flourish.

“Then why not use men at the looms?” I ask. The Guild seemed eager to keep women in small boxes, carefully placed on specific shelves. If men could weave, why not give them the opportunity and keep women even more pressed under their thumbs?

“How powerful would a man with weaving abilities be?” This time he pauses for emphasis. “More powerful than an official without?”

I nod. “That makes sense.”

“And at first glance, there’s no problem. But the war the Guild escaped from was fought by men hungry for power. What if a government was put into place to act on behalf of citizens and a young man demanded power from them because of his ability? It would have been disastrous to the peace the Guild had cultivated.”

“They were no better than those other men,” I say.

“Intentions are fickle things,” Dante says. “I believe the Guild intended all their rules to safeguard against power struggles and war. If they carefully monitored and controlled the female population with a male government, things could be regulated. Boys with weaving ability remained untrained and away from looms.”

“Now the Guild tells us only women can weave.”

“Denying an ability doesn’t make it go away. More boys were born with the gift. Some went away and came back different. Changed,” Dante tells me.

“Is that why so many Tailors fled to Earth?” I ask.

“It’s safer for them here,” Dante says.

“Too bad it’s so much more dangerous for the rest of us with them here,” I say.

“Not every Tailor is evil, Adelice.”

“You aren’t,” I say.

Dante hesitates before he responds to this, running a hand over his cropped brown hair. There’s a pattern to his nervous habits. “I’m not really a Tailor. Not in my heart. I never wanted my skills.”

“Just like I’m not really a Spinster,” I admit.

“Exactly,” he says.

“You can warp, then?” I ask.

“No, that’s a Creweler’s skill,” he says. “I’m powerful, but not as talented as you are.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Good genetics?” He shrugs, giving me an awkward smile.

“So both Spinsters and Tailors need tools like looms to manipulate the weave,” I say.

“No, Tailors can’t work looms,” he reminds me. “Their power is more insidious than that. You know that the true nature of their ability lies in alteration.”

“Tailors alter objects and people physically. Spinsters use looms to weave and embroider.”

“Correct,” Dante says.

“Is that why the Guild is so afraid of Tailors?” I can’t imagine how dangerous that talent could be unchecked. Spinsters can be kept under control by preventing loom access.

“It’s certainly why they control them so stringently. But never forget that there are Tailors who go along with the Guild. We aren’t all bad or evil, but you can’t blindly trust us either,” Dante says. “If you suspect a man—or a boy—of being a Tailor, keep him at arm’s length.”

The warning isn’t as generic as he’s trying to make it sound. He’s telling me to keep one particular boy away, but while Dante may not have a reason to trust Erik, I do. I steer the conversation away from Erik, knowing things could get volatile. “How do they find Tailors? There’s no required testing of boys like there is for girls.”

“Once they understood the true nature of male weaving ability, they started cataloging boys born to parents who had been part of the initial experiments. Many didn’t come back. Cities were segregated so the Guild could attempt to control marriage, ensuring ideal female offspring.”

“They’ve been successful enough at keeping women under their control,” I say, not bothering to hide my distaste.

“Spinsters can be powerful, but they allow themselves to be controlled by the Guild. They resign themselves to patterns in return for privilege.”

Dante clearly doesn’t understand what it feels like to be dragged from your family. I acted out of fear for my safety. I let them cage me in the Coventry for too long because I thought they were in control. I didn’t act because I thought I didn’t have a choice.

“It’s not always easy to accept that you have power,” I say instead. “Especially when the world is dedicated to telling you that you don’t.”

“You’re an exception, Adelice,” Dante says. “And that’s thanks to your parents.”

His words are complimentary. He means them. But his mask slips for a moment, revealing his scars again.

“They understood,” I say, the realization hitting like a sudden gust of wind on a static day. “They knew what I would face, because of you. Because you ran.”

“I felt like half of myself in Arras—always hiding my gift instead of embracing it. Here, I thought I might be able to do something with my skill,” Dante admits.

“How did you find the courage to leave?” I ask.

“Stories,” he answers in a conspiratorial whisper. “Stories are dangerous and useful things.”