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it could be a reemergence of the virus,” the doctor said, cupping his hands together. “I assure you it’s not.”
    â€œThis has become such an event ,” I said, my gaze darting between them. “I feel all right, really.”
    â€œIt’ll happen again, though,” the doctor said. I stared at him, confused. “Nausea gravidarum,” he said, as if that explained something. “Most people call it morning sickness.”
    My father was smiling, his eyes giving off a look of quiet amusement. He came toward me, pulling me to stand as he squeezed my hands. “You’re pregnant.”
    He hugged me, the sick, heavy scent of his cologne stinging my lungs. I didn’t have time to process it. I had to smile, to blush, to feign whatever joy I knew I was supposed to feel. Of course this was what my father wanted. In his eyes, Charles and I had finally given him an heir.
    â€œThis is happy news. We must go see Charles in the Outlands,” my father went on. “Once you’re properly dressed, come meet me by the elevators.” Clara didn’t say anything. I didn’t dare look at her; instead I listened to her slow, uneven breaths. It sounded like she was choking.
    â€œYou’ll have to come in to the office this afternoon,” the doctor continued. “Run some tests to make sure everything is normal. In the meantime I’ve had the kitchen stock up on some ginger tea, some crackers—little things to settle your stomach. You may feel a bit nauseous, but skipping meals will only make it worse. And as you probably already know, you may find it wears off over the course of the day.” He put out his hand for me to shake. I hoped he didn’t notice my cold palms or my stiff, unchanging smile. It wasn’t until he was gone, my father following behind him, that Clara finally spoke.
    â€œI thought you didn’t love him,” she whispered, her words slow.
    â€œI don’t,” I said.
    I’d seen Clara angry before, could recognize how her face changed, her jaw set in a hard expression. But this was different. She turned her back to me, moving around the room, shaking out her hands as if trying to dry them. “It’s not true, Clara,” I said.
    â€œThen what is true?” She stared at me, her eyes watery.
    I hadn’t told anyone what had happened in the hangar with Caleb. It was the thing I returned to whenever my thoughts wandered. I remembered how his hands felt cradling my neck, his fingers dancing over my stomach, the gentle give of his lips against mine. How our bodies moved together, his skin tasting of salt and sweat. Now it existed in memory, a place that only I could visit, where Caleb and I were forever alone.
    I’d heard the Teachers’ warnings, had reviewed all the dangers of having sex or “sleeping with” a man. They had told us, in those still classrooms, that even one time could bring on a pregnancy. But in the months since I’d left, I’d learned that nothing they’d said could be trusted. And even if it was a hidden truth—even if it wasn’t an exaggeration or falsification—it wouldn’t have mattered. There was no way to prevent pregnancy inside the City. The King had forbidden it.
    Now, so many thoughts flew through my head: That it would be better if she didn’t know. That it would be safer if she didn’t know. That I would feel lonelier if she didn’t know, that I would be in more danger if she did know, that I would feel deceitful if she didn’t know. “Caleb,” I said finally. As soon as my father reached Charles it would be over anyway. “It was Caleb. I told you the truth—I have no interest in Charles. I never have.”
    She let her hands fall. “How come you never told me?” she asked. “When?”
    â€œThe last night I left the Palace,” I said. “Two and a half months ago.”
    She worried at the