“No one fully trusts anyone in the wastes. But you’re in Powder Town now, and you won’t be leaving, so if you’ve got something to say to that young man, I suggest you say it before he moves on to someone showing him interest.”

I break off a final piece of sulfur and snap it again so it can fit into the jar.

“I’m not kidding, Delta,” Cleo continues. “Men don’t do subtle well. You gotta lay things out for them, and I promise you, Saph’s gonna lay it out. I’ve never seen her fold and forgive someone so quickly.”

“I don’t get it.” I screw the lid on my jar and stand. “Saph’s your sister. Don’t you want her to be happy?”

“Not if the person she’s happy with would be happiest with someone else. Not if what she’s chasing is doomed for failure.”

“It’s complicated,” I say.

Cleo shrugs. “It always is.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

That evening, I convince Asher to introduce me to Bronx the Chemist.

“She likes to work late—and alone. She’s not going to want to see us,” he says.

But Saph is at some mandatory meeting at the defense barracks and Cleo went to see a friend, and even with my aching muscles after a day of harvesting sulfur, anything sounds better than lying on those cramped bed mats alone with Asher. So I insist. Tomorrow marks six days since my mother’s execution, and Alder will die at noon. I’m too late to save her, but if I act now—if I find answers—I might be able to make it back to Bedrock in time to stop the following execution.

As we leave Cleo’s, Powder Town is peaceful beneath a blanket of stars. The sounds of families chatting and laughing flood the streets. Candlelight flickers through slats of shuttered windows. There’s a sense of ease here, of safety. People are truly relaxed. I’ve never come across anything like it, not outside Zuly’s tanker. It gives me hope that even without our gods, people might be able to live together. If we just pool resources—if we work together instead of tearing each other apart—there might be hope of a future worth seeing.

“Those three buildings house the saltpeter beds,” Asher says, pointing. The smallest building is on our side of the glistening Serpent River, and a narrow bridge leads to two larger buildings on the other bank.

“I think I can smell the manure from here,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“You can. It’s a scudding bad job, the saltpeter beds.” He shudders, like he’s shaking off a bad memory, then pauses. “And here’s the kitchen.”