We Set the Dark on Fire Read online

  It was a far cry from the dirt floor Dani had grown up on, she thought, remembering the fanned feet of her corn-husk dolls kicking up tiny clouds of dust in the summer months. The single bed the three of them had shared. When she’d moved into the dormitory at school, everything had felt temporary; she had still thought of that little slant-walled house as home. How long would it take to start thinking of this enormous place that way?

  “And that’s the house!” said Mama Garcia when they had finished at last, gathered back in the entryway.

  “It’s beautiful,” Dani murmured, giving herself permission to be awestruck. She couldn’t pretend it was anything less than magical.

  Mama Garcia’s eyes softened. “It’s a good life,” she said, tousling her hair absentmindedly. “Though it would be better if those miscreants across the wall were locked up in jail where they belong for carrying on like this and we could get rid of all these damn checkpoints. My hair is unacceptable after all that humidity.”

  There it is, Dani thought. It had been inevitable.

  Señora Garcia grumbled her agreement, and Dani forced herself not to speak. It had taken only one morning for the ghosts of her past to invade her future.

  “Well,” said Carmen lightly, and Dani’s chest tightened further still. Whatever Princess Carmen had to say on the subject, Dani was sure she didn’t want to hear it. “I suppose they’ll keep carrying on until they’re not hungry anymore.”

  It was masterful, the way she did it. A statement that neither confirmed nor denied her sympathy. But the skin around her eyes was tight, a mirror of the way Dani’s own face would have looked—had she been at liberty to express the tension now buzzing within her.

  But what did Carmen care about the outer islanders? She’d made it her personal mission to make sure everyone knew just how deficient Dani’s upbringing had been, and now this?

  “I suppose,” said Mama Garcia, to a statement that would have been incendiary if Carmen had been in rags at the border. “But I’ve been plenty hungry and I’ve never felt the need to disrupt the peace of an entire nation, for Sun’s sake.”

  “Mateo will be home this evening,” said Señora Garcia, skillfully changing the distasteful subject. “I expect the size and scope of the house won’t prevent you from remembering your duties.”

  Dani was suddenly exhausted. They had toured the kitchens, the dining hall, three living rooms, a collection of studies, a library, and acres of gardens. Even without the unwanted foray into political commentary, she’d never imagined walking around a single house could make you so tired.

  “Please make yourselves at home,” Señora Garcia continued, more tension in her face after Mama Garcia and Carmen’s exchange. “It’s been a long day, and there’s still much for you both to accomplish before Mateo’s homecoming. Once the house has been prepared, we’ve instructed Roberta to have dinner sent to your rooms. She’s one of the girls from our kitchen, and she’ll be assisting you until Daniela hires appropriate house staff of your own.” Dani nodded her understanding. “Well, you have plenty of reading to do before morning,” she said by way of dismissal, eyeing the thick folders in their hands.

  “We’re glad to have you both here,” said Mama Garcia warmly, smiling at them in turn, her earlier distaste for the downtrodden already forgotten. “Daniela for the order and stability you will bring to our son’s home, and Carmen for the warmth and beauty that will be your contribution.”

  “It’s quite a job,” said the señora with a self-mocking smile. “And Garcia men don’t rise to great heights because they are docile or easy to manage. But, Dani, your background”—Dani cringed inwardly at the mention—“could very well have been a detriment. You managed to make it a strength. We know you’re capable of rising to the top, despite any adversity. You and Mateo have that in common. Carmen . . .” She gave Carmen a once-over. “You’ve proven to have an attention to detail and an aesthetic sensibility that will keep him happy at home.”

  “And your children will be lovely.” Mama Garcia beamed. “We just want you girls to know we didn’t make these choices lightly,” she said. “We know you’ll do your best to live up to our very high expectations.”

  Señora Garcia looked them each in the eye before turning away. “See that you don’t disappoint us,” she said on her way out. “The Garcia family isn’t fond of failure.”

  And then, with a wave, Mama Garcia followed her Primera out the front door, leaving Dani alone with Carmen for the first time since they’d shared a seat on that fateful bus ride so many years ago.

  Carmen flipped her hair in typical fashion, but for once, she looked determined instead of bored.

  For a strange moment, Dani felt that same dangerous kinship flare to life again. Like she was looking once more at twelve-year-old Carmen, her straight shoulders and her careful braid, her eyes fixed on an unknowable horizon.

  Carmen met her eyes, and all the air seemed to hang still. A constellation of possibility.

  “I hope you read faster than you pick up on upper-class mannerisms,” Carmen said at last, breaking their eye contact and the moment. “I’m not carrying you through this just because you’ve never lived in a house with a floor before.”

  Dani’s posture stayed straight, of course, her face impassive, but everything inside her seemed to fold in on itself at Carmen’s words. Would she never learn that there was nothing but misery waiting for her behind those eyes?

  “I’m perfectly capable of reading a list,” Dani said, too tired to fight back.

  “Good,” Carmen said, turning on her heel. “I’ll start in the west wing and you start in the east. If we do this right, we should never have to see each other.”

  “Spoken like someone who can’t see past her own irrational feelings,” Dani said. Carmen, for once, didn’t engage, and Dani wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

  Retreating for a moment to her new rooms, Dani took a rare unobserved moment to let herself slump back onto her bed. The relaxation was short-lived. Something crinkled beneath her, and without sitting up, she pulled a piece of paper from beneath her head.

  Welcome home, Primera, it read, its edges worn and smudged. A single letter was all the signature he needed.

  S.

  Dani was no longer exhausted; she felt electric. He had been here. The fox-faced boy who had been both torment and savior.

  Suddenly this room, which only an hour ago had seemed awe-inspiring, seemed like too much. Gaudy and over the top. With this smudged, honest sheet of paper in her hands, Dani felt the ache of Polvo stronger than ever in her chest. But not only Polvo. Stirring with Sota’s handwriting was another whisper. A quieter one. Of the place across the wall where she had been born. A place that made Polvo seem like a paradise. A place her parents had risked everything to leave behind.

  What right did the Garcias have to live like this when so many others went without?

  What right did Dani have?

  She was shaken from her thoughts by the faint trembling of the note in her hand. Was it an earthquake? A breeze from an open window? But no. For the first time since she was thirteen years old, Dani’s body was visibly acting without her permission. She was angry, and her fingers had betrayed it.

  She was angry with Carmen, for nearly luring her in again; with the Garcias, for having so much and appreciating it so little; with Sota, for soiling what should have been a satisfying if not joyful moment.

  And yes, even with her parents, who had been so sure this life was better than the one they had fought so hard to earn.

  Just as it had on graduation night—had it only been yesterday?—Dani felt her legs buzz with the urge to run. To take what was left of her self-respect back home, consequences be damned.

  But what would that really change? This house would still be here. There would still be suffering out there. The world would still be the same. Just as unfair. Just as maddening.

  “Señora?” came a voice from the hallway. “Will you be supervising the
arrangement of señor’s newspapers?”

  Dani wanted to snap that Roberta probably knew the newspaper protocol better than she did, but she swallowed the words. She’d have a new staff to supervise after this week, after all, and she’d need the practice.

  The trembling in her fingers had stopped as soon as it started. Dani checked that the room was secure and slid the note beneath the plump mattress. “Of course,” she said when she’d answered the door, her voice reflective as metal. “Please, follow me.”

  Unfortunately, the questions followed, too.

  6

  Family harmony is based on four successful working relationships: the Primera with her husband, the Segunda with her husband, the Primera with the Segunda, and—perhaps most importantly—the three of them together.

  —Medio School for Girls Handbook, 14th edition

  THE NEXT MORNING, DESPITE SLEEPING fitfully, Dani was up at the first lightening of the horizon. Section two of the pleasing-Mateo-Garcia handbook had stated explicitly that she join her husband for breakfast at sunrise.

  If he bothered to show up this time.

  Dani and Carmen had waited until the moon began its descent in the sky the night before—separately, of course—but Mateo had either not come home at all, or he’d returned long after Dani had given up and gone to bed.

  This morning, however, she had left all revolutionary thoughts and sentiments beneath her mattress with Sota’s note. She was determined to make a better impression on her new husband than she had on the night of their commitment ceremony.

  On the terrace, the table was set for two, each place setting far more elaborate than anything Dani had seen at school. She sat, putting her napkin in her lap, trying not to judge the silver-edged plates or the heft of the cutlery. Those aren’t Primera thoughts, she told herself sternly.

  Her inner scolding was mercifully interrupted by the door to the terrace, swinging inward to reveal her husband bearing a small velvet box.

  She had been braced for the cold boredom he’d shown on graduation night, but what she got was somehow stranger. When he turned, his face was mild, friendly, with no trace of the shadows she’d seen in his eyes.

  “Daniela!” he said, approaching her, shaking her hand firmly. “I’m so glad we’ll finally get a chance to chat. What an overwhelming night it was when we first met.”

  Dani knew it was an act; even his words seemed scripted and stiff. Even so, there was no helping it. That smile was contagious.

  She smiled back.

  “Not one of the calmer nights of my life,” she said, though in the grand scheme of things it had hardly been the most overwhelming.

  “I hope you’ll allow me to make it up to you,” Mateo replied, in a tone that made no secret of the fact that he expected her to, but he waited for her response all the same.

  “Of course, señor.”

  He extended the box, its delicate hinges hiding something that surely wasn’t appropriate for a Primera. Jewelry and trinkets were Segunda gifts. But there was no doubt that this box contained something . . . decorative.

  Dani gave him a cautious look of thanks tempered with mild reproach. How would it appear to others if she started her life as a Primera sporting inappropriate baubles from her husband? How would Carmen react?

  “Just open it, Daniela,” Mateo said, reading her expression perfectly.

  She obeyed. The lid gave way soundlessly, revealing the wide, round face of a silver wristwatch. The glass gleamed in the light of the early morning sun, the dull luster of the metal unmarred by any improper ornament.

  It was beautiful. The perfect gift. Dani could feel the sparkle in her eyes, and she allowed it. He had chosen well; what was the harm in letting him know?

  “May I?” Mateo removed the watch from its cushion and fastened it on Dani’s wrist without so much as brushing her skin. “I hope it will go at least a small way toward apologizing for my rudeness the other night,” he said. “As well as setting the tone for how things will be between us in the future.”

  “No apology necessary, señor,” Dani replied. Though had he really offered one? Did he have his own handbook somewhere, with interactions scripted fifty years ago? She forced her eyes from the watch to his face. Rapt attention. No hint of distraction. “No matter how common the practice, marrying a stranger is an adjustment for anyone.”

  “Well said,” Mateo replied, that smile lighting up his face again. Rehearsed, but effective. “Shall we eat?”

  Dani settled into her chair, continuing to watch him as he opened his newspaper and she a book on Median philosophy she’d taken from the library the night before. A Primera didn’t languish; she continued to expand her knowledge. If she could prove herself intelligent and useful, perhaps she would earn a role with a little more gravity.

  In companionable silence, they waited for their breakfast to be brought in.

  Mateo’s face appeared wide open, even accessible, and Dani wanted to believe this was her real husband, the man she’d be sharing her life with. But the way he’d spoken lingered in the back of her mind. This was no eager young husband on his first morning with a new bride. This was a politician. A skilled actor delivering the performance of the year for an audience of one.

  The only question was, what was hiding beneath it?

  “Ah, here’s breakfast,” he said when the door to the kitchen creaked slightly behind him.

  Carmen pushed onto the terrace bearing a heavy tray, and the intoxicating smell that accompanied it almost made Dani forget to be irritated by her arrival. Page twelve of the household manual: on weekday mornings, breakfast was served by the Segunda. On weekends the family dined together.

  “Good morning, señor,” Carmen purred, before turning to Dani, who flinched. Carmen wouldn’t dare speak down to her in front of Mateo, would she?

  “Daniela.”

  That was all. Dani relaxed her shoulders a fraction of an inch.

  Carmen set the tray down, her body moving more sinuously than normal, the sway of her hips and the dip of her shoulders exaggerated in her white dress. Atop her loose curls was a crown of flowers from the garden in full, fragrant bloom.

  Apparently, Mateo wasn’t the only one performing this morning.

  As Carmen took much longer than necessary arranging the dishes and utensils, Dani watched Mateo. His perfect husband mask was slipping, and beneath it was a predatory gleam, like the one Dani had seen on graduation night. One that said he didn’t care about propriety or the rules. One that said he intended to take what he wanted by any means necessary.

  For the first time, it occurred to Dani to feel lucky that Primeras were prized only for their mental faculties—or, in Dani’s case, their ability to supervise a woman arranging newspapers. But used to their full potential or not, they were free of the burden of physical interaction. The fact had merely existed before, like the weather, or the nose on her face. But the choppy waters of that sea weren’t part of her world, and at this moment, she was thankful.

  Carmen turned around, the light breeze teasing her curls, a single flower petal drifting to the ground at her feet. The shadow melted off Mateo’s face just in time. Little as Dani liked Carmen, she couldn’t help a strange, protective flare from heating her chest.

  “Enjoy your meal,” Carmen said, before disappearing through the kitchen door.

  “Shall we?” asked Mateo, back to his boyish charm. How many masks did he have?

  “Of course,” Dani said, turning to the table in front of them.

  If anything could distract Dani from Mateo’s motivations and Carmen’s perplexing effect on her, it was food.

  The hardest part of Primera training for Dani had been learning not to react to the smell or taste of it. To a Primera, food was a necessity, to be eaten at an even pace until one was fueled for the coming hours. Groaning, shoulder-slumping, finger-licking, and the like were heavily frowned upon by the Medio School for Girls maestras, which Dani had discovered to her disappointment on her first da
y, and most days of her first month there.

  In Polvo, Dani and her mama had often eaten tortillas and salt alone for two meals of the day, saving the protein for when her father got home, overworked and hungry. The spread that had been laid out on her first morning of Primera training would have been the stuff of dreams, if her mind had even known to conjure them.

  And the food in front of her now made even those meals look drab and uninteresting.

  Small ceramic bowls littered the tray, each more seductive than the last. Tiny white beans in tangy green sauce, larger brown ones stained orange and red, slightly mashed with oil. A plate of cut fruit in a rainbow of colors, drizzled with citrusy yogurt sauce and honey, dusted with coarse chili powder. Dani’s mouth began to water before she even reached the slab of crumbling white cheese, the dishes of chunky salsas and smooth sauces with tiny seeds that would sting a grown man’s tongue.

  Shoulders back, said the maestra’s voice. Ladylike bites, with generous pauses for conversation. Or at least breathing.

  “We eat simply during the week,” Mateo said, spooning beans and cheese onto his plate like they were nothing, reaching for a steaming basket of blue-corn tortillas beside the tray. “On the weekends we’ll all breakfast together, and that’s when the real magic happens.” He winked, but Dani hadn’t recovered from the word simply.

  The strange anger from the night before was back, though this time she caught it before her spoon started to shake, taking an unobtrusive but deep breath to bring her back to the moment.

  “This will do just fine,” she said, loudly enough to drown out the girl she’d been at eleven. Before Primera training. Before the bus to the capital. A girl who had thought a half-rotten mango an unspeakable luxury.

  She dipped a tortilla into the steaming red beans, added a few flakes of cheese, and took her first bite in the name of that little girl, who in the back of Dani’s mind was still wondering how anyone could be so out of touch.