by Davis Ashura
“First Father, then,” Rukh said. “Anyway, I remember everything that happened to him. How He discovered the death of the First Mother, His betrayal by His Daughter, and His death at Her hands. I even know what He meant by a Bow and how to make one.”
Jessira rose from the couch and crossed the short distance to where Rukh sat at the square, mahogany table at which they had their meals. “You're not doing anything wrong,” she said. “Put it away.” She took The Book from his hands and laid it face down on the table. “Besides, we're supposed to meet the others for dinner in an hour.” Jessira's nose wrinkled when Rukh's odor wafted her way. “And you need a shower.” Rukh had spent most of the morning and afternoon training and teaching at the House of Fire and Mirrors. Right now, he smelled like an unpleasant mix of oil, sweat, and dirt.
Rukh looked in her direction and a strange gleam lit his eyes. A bowl full of mangoes rested on the table before him, and he popped a slice into his mouth. He grinned around the mouthful of fruit.
Jessira knew what was coming next and she deftly sidestepped his grasping hands before he could pull her into his lap. It was an old trick. Rukh would get smelly and sweaty from teaching at the House of Fire and Mirrors, and when Jessira commented on it, he would try to pull her close and get his stink all over her.
“Not this time,” she admonished, using one finger to push him back into his chair as he attempted to rise and follow.
Rukh shrugged, a look of indifference on his face. He slid the bowl of mangoes toward her. “Want some?” he asked.
Jessira loved fruit of any kind, and just as she was about to reach for the bowl, the strange twinkle returned to Rukh's eyes. “Oh no, you don't.” She sidestepped away again, this time turning her back on him, trusting him not to give chase. He wouldn't, not after she'd caught him at his trick twice. For some reason, it was his self-imposed limit. “Did you leave a mess in the kitchen?” she called over her shoulder.
“Sure did,” he replied, sounding unrepentant.
She shook her head in exasperation at his lighthearted tone. How did he move so easily and seamlessly from overwhelming frustration with deciphering The Book to a mood as chipper as the spring morning outside? Part of his charm, she supposed.
Jessira glowered when she saw the kitchen. He had left a mess.
“I'll take care of it after I shower,” Rukh called over his shoulder as he entered their bedroom.
Jessira knew he would, but there also was no point in waiting for him. She'd take care of the dirty dishes and the mango pit on the cutting board while he cleaned up.
As she stood at the sink, scrubbing the plates and glasses, she glanced through the pass-through window, into the main room of the flat. As Kummas reckoned matters, their flat was modest, and she and Rukh were poor, but Jessira didn't care. Their home was a cheerful space, warm and comfortable. It was more than enough for the two of them, and far more spacious than any home she had ever expected to call home. It was certainly larger than the flat in which she had grown up. Her Amma would have loved it.
Jessira paused in her work and blinked away sudden tears. It was the subtle things that so often reminded her of the enormity of what had happened, that tore her happiness aside like a flower ripped away by a hard wind. It could be as simple as the smell of cold carried on the breeze; a child's glad laughter as she played with her nanna; or the brief glimpse of snow-capped mountains far to the west on a clear winter day. The slightest observation or sensation could set Jessira's thoughts traveling down paths she hated to tread. Even now, many months after the fact, the pain of her loss, the murder of her home and her family, of nearly everyone she loved—the memories still left her with a catch in her throat and eyes shiny with tears. At least the pain wasn't as severe as it had once been. It was a small mercy.
“I said I would clean the dishes,” Rukh said, breaking her out of her reverie.
She stared at him helplessly, unable to voice her pain. Wordlessly, he pulled her into his embrace. This time, Jessira didn't try to dodge him. Rukh had showered and donned fresh clothing and smelled of the lavender soap she favored, but even if he had still been as sweaty and dirty as before, she wouldn't have cared. Right now, she needed his warmth and his strength.
It had been his love and devotion that had carried Jessira thus far. It had been his warm presence that had lifted her up, supported her, kept her whole. Even during the times of reticence when Jessira had refused to speak of her pain, when she had shut her heart to the world, he had been there. Or when the toil kept them apart except for a few brief joyless moments at the end of a long day, he had remained a true constant by her side. She might not have survived without him, or if she had, she would likely have been a far angrier, unhappy version of herself, one more like her cousin, Sign.
Jessira held Rukh close, pressing her head against his chest and neck. She grew embarrassed when the sobs started. “Damn it.”
Rukh stroked her head, saying nothing.
Jaresh stepped aside for an elderly Kumma grandmother leading a gaggle of children into a nearby park in Jubilee Hills. The grandmother dipped her head in acknowledgment of his courtesy and let the children off their figurative leashes the moment they had entered the park. Their loud peals of laughter rang out, and Jaresh grinned at their joy. How easy it was to be young.
After the children's laughter drifted away, he turned his attention back to the others. Bree was involved in a conversation with Farn, while the final member of their group, Sign Deep, lagged behind and wore a pensive or unhappy countenance. It was a feature Jaresh had come to expect upon the woman's face.
Jaresh could understand her sentiment, at least up to a point, but he did often wonder when Sign might once again start seeing the bright side of life. After all, Jessira seemed, if not happy, then at least content. She certainly wasn't sullen and angry all the time like Sign.
Jaresh listened in on Bree and Farn's conversation.
“Rector is to help with it,” Bree said in a tone of disapproval. “I still don't trust him.”
Farn shrugged. “I wasn't here when he betrayed Rukh, but hasn't he been helpful since rejoining the House?”
“He certainly helped at the Magisterium,” Jaresh interjected.
Bree turned to him. “Yes, he helped at the Magisterium, and I don't know why.” She frowned. “It's what has me so bothered,” she mused.
Jaresh pretended to stumble and gazed wide-eyed at his sister. “You? Unaware of something? Heavens forfend.”
Farn laughed, but Bree rolled her eyes. “I wouldn't think my admission of a fault would cause you to react with so much amusement,” she replied.
“It wasn't amusement,” Jaresh said with a grin. “It was mockery.”
“Leave her alone,” Sign said, joining their conversation. “As far as I'm concerned, distrusting Rector Bryce is a wise decision.”
“You only say that because either Jessira poisoned you against him or you heard what he supposedly did at the Magisterium last summer,” Jaresh said. “But you weren't there. Rector was helping your cause. He and Nanna came up with a plan to make it seem like he was trying to sabotage Bree's testimony, but he was really supporting her.”
Sign pursed her lips. “But Bree says . . .”
“Bree just doesn't want to admit any of this because of how much she dislikes Rector,” Farn interrupted.
“It's not because I don't like Rector,” Bree huffed. “I just don't think we should trust him so easily after everything he's done to us in the past.”
“Nanna believes otherwise,” Jaresh reminded her.
“And everything Nanna says must be the gospel truth?” Bree asked sarcastically. “He isn't always right about everything.”
“Maybe so, but after the Magisterium, I think Rector's earned back a large measure of trust,” Jaresh said.
“I disagree,” Bree replied.
Farn raised a questioning eyebrow at Jaresh, who shook his head in reply.
Bree had badly misjudged R
ector Bryce once—they all had—but while the rest of them had seen the change in the man, for his sister, it wasn't enough. Once burned, she was slow to forgive.
“I don't see why the two of you are so intent on having Bree approve of Rector Bryce,” Sign commented. “Wasn't he the one who drew a sword on Jessira?”
“The first time he saw Jessira, he had a foot of his blade out of its sheath, but he quickly slammed it home,” Jaresh said. “My brother corrected his poor manners, and after that, all he did was make an ass of himself and speak rudely to her.”
“And words can't hurt?” Sign argued.
“You're being purposefully dense,” Farn said, “Of course words can hurt, but if rude talk was the only reason to dislike someone and never offer them a chance to apologize, then what would you have me say about how I was treated by the OutCastes when I lived in Stronghold?”
“That was different,” Sign replied.
“Different how?” Jaresh challenged.
“Because my home is gone. My people are gone. Those who spoke rudely . . . Oh, never mind! It doesn't matter anymore,” Sign snarled. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.
Jaresh frowned in frustration and confusion, not sure what to make of Sign's words or her demeanor. What was bothering her so badly this time? He shared a glance with Farn and Bree. They looked just as uncertain as he, and Jaresh turned back to Sign. “None of that made the least bit of sense,” he said, trying to be diplomatic through his aggravation.
Sign exhaled heavily and mouthed what seemed like a prayer. She turned to Jaresh and ventured a weary smile. “Please forget what I said. I shouldn't have spoken as I did. I'm sorry.”
Jaresh still wasn't sure what Sign was talking about, but nevertheless, his irritation with her faded. “Consider yourself forgiven,” he said. “Just stop being an ass, and we'll get along fine.”
Sign's mouth gaped.
“Now you did it,” Bree told Jaresh with a chuckle. “Wait until Amma learns you called a woman an ass.”
A sense of dread came over Jaresh. “I don't think she needs to hear about that,” he said quickly.
“Or when Jessira learns about Sign's mopey anger,” Farn said, coming to Jaresh's rescue.
Now it was Sign who spoke quickly. “Jessira doesn't need to know what happened,” she said.
“Then we're agreed. No one else needs to know what was said here tonight,” Jaresh said in relief.
“I'm not agreed,” Bree said, favoring Jaresh and Sign with sunny smiles. “The way I see things, you both owe me something if you want me to keep quiet.”
“I wonder what Dar'El would think about how you belittled him earlier,” Farn mused as he flashed Jaresh a wink.
“Er . . .” Bree said. Her triumphant grin turned into a sickly smile. “Maybe it would be best if we kept this conversation to ourselves.”
Farn chuckled. “I thought you might see it that way.”
Sign came alongside Jaresh. “Your amma must be a daunting woman.”
“You have no idea,” Jaresh said. “In some ways, Jessira is a lot like her.” A horrifying thought came to him. “Could you imagine what Jessira would do if she knew I upset you?” he asked, trying to keep the mood light.
“You didn't upset me,” Sign said.
Jaresh ignored her words. “If Jessira found out I almost made you cry . . .” He shuddered.
“You didn't almost make me cry or anything like that, so stop saying it,” Sign warned with a glower.
Jaresh studied her face for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly. “You know, I doubt if Rukh would even protect me from Jessira if she decided to chase me around with a bared sword, screaming like a demented banshee. In his eyes, I doubt your cousin can do any wrong.”
Bree laughed. “I'm glad I'm not the only one who's noticed it.”
“Noticed what?” Farn asked.
“You've haven't seen how they are around one another?” Jaresh asked in surprise.
“No,” Farn said.
Jaresh shook his head in pretend sympathy. “How can you be so brilliant and yet so incomprehensibly dense?” he asked.
Farn glanced around amongst the three of them with deepening ignorance that eventually led to irritation. “Will someone tell me what you're talking about?”
Jaresh clapped Farn on the shoulder. “You'll just have to see it for yourself,” he advised. “Just watch them tonight.”
Farn growled. “I think you're making fun of me,” he muttered. “I liked it better when we were talking about the deficiencies of Rector Bryce.”
“I thought we set him aside,” Bree observed.
“We had,” Sign replied. “And I still think you're right to withhold your trust of him.”
Jaresh turned to her. “Rector has already apologized to Jessira, and she no longer holds a grudge against him,” he noted. “So why do you?”
Sign shrugged. “Maybe he just reminds me of everything I've been taught to fear about the Purebloods.”
“And I can understand that fear,” Jaresh agreed. “But maybe it won't always be that way. When Jessira first came to Ashoka, she had to go around with her face covered up, but eventually, she decided to make the city acknowledge her.” He smiled. “We did, and she still got a lot of ugly looks, but that was it. There was nothing more to it than that. It wasn't like what Rukh and Farn had to put up with in Stronghold. I'm told they were even attacked on several occasions with no justice being brought to bear on the perpetrators.”
Sign frowned at Jaresh. “Do you want another apology?” she demanded. “Fine. I'm sorry my people were mean to Rukh and Farn. I'm sure they found it upsetting to their delicate Pureblood constitutions.”
Jaresh blinked, both offended and impressed by her outburst. Meanwhile Bree hid a smile, and Farn looked like he wanted to grin as well. Jaresh turned to his cousin. “Why are you laughing?” he asked. “She was making fun of you.”
Farn broke into a broad grin. “No, she wasn't,” he answered. “She was telling you to shove your opinion somewhere dark and smelly.”
Jaresh gave his cousin a pitying look before turning to Sign. There was no chance she would have the last word in this. “I can see I've upset you once again,” he said to Sign. “Please don't break down into your womanly tears.”
She punched him.
“Ow!”
“Once, I can overlook. Twice, not so much,” Sign said.
“What is it with OutCaste women and their temper?” Jaresh asked no one in particular. “I think I liked it better when she was moping along and her eyes were wet with—”
“Be careful,” Sign warned.
Farn nudged Jaresh. “Let it go,” he advised. “You're not winning.”
“Why don't the two of you save your argument for later,” Bree suggested. “We're going to a play tonight, remember? Let's enjoy ourselves.”
“I'm not arguing,” Jaresh said. “I'm being assaulted.”
“I'm not sure I remember how to enjoy myself,” Sign said, ignoring Jaresh's words. “With everything my people have been through, frivolity just seems—”
“Like exactly what you need,” Jaresh interrupted. “A smile won't break your face.” He didn't know why he was so intent on irritating her.
Sign threw her hands in the air. “Are you trying to say the exact thing that makes me want to punch you?”
“OutCaste women and their temper,” Jaresh muttered.
“What was that?” Sign asked.
“Nothing,” Jaresh replied.
Sign narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
Jaresh stared back with wide-eyed innocence.
“If you didn't want a night away from the troubles in your life, then why did you come with us?” Bree asked, stepping into the conversation.
“Jessira asked me,” Sign responded.
“Well, I doubt she asked you to come along and not enjoy yourself,” Bree told her.
“I wish it were so easy,” Sign answered.
“Life is never
easy,” Farn countered. “You're a warrior. You should know this. Jessira does.”
Sign reddened. “Jessira has much more of a reason to be happy than I.”
“Then it's time you found your own reasons to be happy,” Bree said. She took Sign by the hand and pulled her into their midst. “We're going to see a play,” she continued. “If you can watch it without having your emotions touched, without finding an excuse to smile at least once, then Jaresh will pay for your dinner tonight and clean your flat every day for the next week.”
“Wait! What?!” Jaresh squawked.
Sign offered an interested smile and looked Jaresh up and down. “Clean my flat for a week?” she asked. “Is this a wager?”
“Witnessed,” Farn said quickly.
“No!” Jaresh protested.
“Seconded,” Bree announced.
“I never agreed to it,” Jaresh cried.
“Too late,” Farn said. “It's been witnessed.”
“And seconded,” Bree chuckled.
Jaresh gave the two of them a flat look of annoyance. “And what do I get in return?” he asked, turning back to Sign.
Sign tilted her head to the side in consideration. “I'll cook you dinner every night for a week.”
“Cook Heltin already does that for me,” Jaresh said. “Choose something else.”
Sign growled. “Fine. Then you'll have my undying appreciation, and I'll make sure no one learns that you made a weak, little woman like me cry.”
“You're not little,” Jaresh corrected.
“But I am a weak woman?” Sign asked with an arch of her eyebrows.
“Would you prefer it if I called you a strong man?”
Sign chuckled. “Well played.”
“Well, since you just smiled, I think I won the wager,” Jaresh said.
“The wager was whether the play could make me smile,” Sign corrected.
Jaresh scowled at her before turning to Farn and Bree. “What are we seeing tonight?” he asked.
“Down the Street,” Farn answered with a sharklike grin.
Jaresh groaned. “A fragging tragedy.”
“Why is this bad?” Sign asked.
“It's not bad,” Bree said. “At least not for you. A tragedy has lots of drama, and even some death, but very little humor.”