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Back Rapture
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. 1.
  5. 2.
  6. 3.
  7. 4.
  8. 5.
  9. 6.
  10. 7.
  11. 8.
  12. 9.
  13. 10.
  14. 11.
  15. 12.
  16. 13.
  17. 14.
  18. 15.
  19. 16.
  20. 17.
  21. 18.
  22. 19.
  23. 20.
  24. 21.
  25. 22.
  26. 23.
  27. 24.
  28. 25.
  29. 26.
  30. 27.
  31. 28.
  32. 29.
  33. 30.
  34. 31.
  35. 32.
  36. 33.
  37. 34.
  38. 35.
  39. 36.
  40. 37.
  41. 38.
  42. 39.
  43. 40.
  44. 41.
  45. 42.
  46. 43.
  47. 44.
  48. 45.
  49. 46.
  50. 47.
  51. 48.
  52. 49.
  53. 50.
  54. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  55. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“Do I? Looking at you here, I’m not so sure.” He lowered his voice, moved within a breath of the filter. “Inaya, they will kill you. They will get what they want from you one way or another. I have seen what people do when they want information. I’ve been the one who did those things. It isn’t romantic or honorable. And it always ends in death. Yours and whoever you’re working with. Please. Just tell them what they want and let me take you home. You know they won’t offer again. They never do.”

She shook her head. Stepped back from the filter. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said. “They should let me go on that account.”

“You know that isn’t how this will go,” he said.

Inaya turned away.

“Did I ever tell you how I got these tattoos?” he said.

Inaya faced him again. She had asked once, the night they arrived in Tirhan, the first time he asked her to marry him. He said he would tell her if she told him why she had fled Ras Tieg the way she had, alone, in the dead of night. She had refused, of course. They had eventually built their marriage around this mutual silence.

“It was before the brit malah,” he said, “When I turned twelve. Mhorian kids die as often as they do in Ras Tieg. No inoculations, unless you’re rich. Not like the Nasheenians and Chenjans. That’s why they wait so long for the brit malah, and give us proper names.”

“But yours isn’t a proper Mhorian name,” Inaya said.

“No, it’s a Nasheenian one. Because I left before I had a name. I refused the brit malah. They give you that choice.”

“Why would you do that?”

“We reach the age of majority at thirteen. You can decide to exile yourself from the community, or to join it. If you refuse, it means giving up everything. Your fathers. Your friends. The hope of having children with a Mhorian woman. Your whole life. I gave that up because I could not love a woman who belonged to everyone else. Couldn’t see my children raised communally. I was a selfish man then, and a selfish one now. I know that. But it doesn’t make me want you any less.” He began to unbutton his coat.

“Khos—”