《Hidden Eyelight》 The Meld Divinity was a strange city situated in the upper echelons of the soul tree. Those materialising as worthy souls entered the city gates at the start of time and split into equal halves. Royal lines built the city outward from the crown of the soul tree, who¡¯s roots touched chaos and transmuted it to order. Today, the soul is guarded by flesh, blood and bone. To find your half and become whole, one must gaze through the guarded gates of the eyes. Chantria¡¯s final test to get in to the University of the Wise and study the art of the mind was to allow an old Master a look in to her normally shrouded eyes. She sat before three old men in a wide-open room looking at her with a mixture of frustration and sympathy. ¡°Is this your first soul gaze?¡± Master Sangare asked, his light brown eyes clouded with grey framed by clear spectacles in contrast to her tinted glasses. She nodded, staring up at the professors dressed in black robes lined in green; a stark contrast to the pearl room. All were male and former soldiers of the city. Professor Ngalula stroked his greying brown beard and pierced her with his deep green eyes. ¡°How old are you, dear?¡± ¡°20.¡± Chantria said, keeping her words short and to the point. Her uncle Ayele didn¡¯t know she applied to the spirit healer''s course. He thought she was looking for a job in the cobbled streets of the city with her school certificate, and she was, until she saw applications for the University were about to close. She thought, she wouldn¡¯t get past the initial application, but her sister¡¯s, Liseli and Taraji, convinced her there was no harm in trying. Their aspirations were practical in nature, in fashion and music, but her sister¡¯s wanted her to do something for herself. ¡°Don¡¯t the girls start going to the gatherings at 16?¡± Professor Nkurunziza said, bushy eyebrows furrowing in to a unibrow that creased his wrinkled features and further obscured his periwinkle blue eyes. ¡°My uncle wanted my sisters and I to finish our education before we found our halves.¡± ¡°Ah, that¡¯s wise of him. Our boys can be rather temperamental. Perhaps our wives could take a look instead and save any distress.¡± They called in their wives dressed in floor length silk wrap dresses and braided buns to denote their status as women. The number of strands that made up their braids was a medal of honour testifying to how many souls they made. Pink for a girl and blue for a boy signified the gender of the flesh around the soul of their children. The look into her soul wasn¡¯t as bad as she thought it would be, merely a look into her eyes, but they proclaimed her a perfect candidate for the course. Ayele¡¯s rage when she got home with her acceptance letter in hand, was another matter. The memory of that day intruded in to her life whenever someone grazed her hip or grasped her wrist. Her sister¡¯s told her they hadn¡¯t heard a thing, but found her crying in her room the next morning. Ever since that night she couldn¡¯t bring herself to let someone see her eyes again, but the graduate quickly realised she would never be able to practice her chosen trade because her obscured eyes breed distrust. So, she added literacy to her studies and graduated with a triple majour in social, literary and spirit studies. Spiritual health was fun for fiction, but representation was important. Or at least that was the tagline to her little business venture. The Timber Caf¨¦, was where she chose to conduct business. Ash was the wood of choice for this establishment. The smell of coffee and chocolate gave the caf¨¦ a welcoming warmth and the strings of spherical lights hung from the rafters of the ceiling like static fireflies gave it a mythical look. The many booths shielded groups of patrons from each other allowing the men to talk strategy without being watched. Constant piano music emanating from a large redwood radio kept their patrons from being overheard. Waitresses were trained not to bother patrons unless called by a raised hand or the switching on of a red light above each booth. Freshly prepared breads and cakes were protected from dust by glass casing and ready for the waitresses dressed in uniform black dresses to grab and give to the patrons before congregating behind the counter again. So, Chantria could sit in her little station and concentrate on her charts of deadlines, goals, spreadsheets of finances and geometrically organised stationary while she worked on editing her latest novel or manuscript. The lockers outside the Timber, could be rented by the month. The editor suspected these lockers were usually used to pass information from one faction of the military to another with minimal interaction and risk of being overheard. It was essential not to scare the masses with the reality of fighting at the borders. Touching the tinted glasses Chantria¡¯s uncle forced her to wear, she looked up from her notes on a work of fiction she was being paid by the word to consult on and edit for the first time in hours. Rubbing her tired neck Chantria stared at the pile of paper meticulously organised by deadline. Her mind travelling back from the dream of her work she sighed out her exhaustion. Removing her glasses, she rubbed the dryness from her sapphire eyes and her heart jumped to her throat. The wood lined shop was filled with thick armed exuberant soldiers shouting in celebration after the end of another long battle for space at the border. Each soldier, dressed in a clean white shirt and khaki trousers, was gifted a cup of spiced coffee by the owner for their bravery and sat laughing in the booths on the other side of the room. The women around the statuesque soldiers gifted their time and the men their warmth in exchange, each person focused on the group. Assured that the other patrons were focused on themselves Chantria replaced the glasses and tied her wavy waist length black hair in to a neat French braid to the nape. A glance at the sky through the glass ceiling revealed her curfew almost upon her. Using the justification of having skipped lunch she debated exchanging some coin for a sandwich and tea. It won¡¯t be more than 5 Ekwele. Chantria¡¯s light fingers counted coins from her purse on to the dark oak table she hadn¡¯t left since the store opened. Praise be the chaos that gave birth to life because she was withering where she sat. Uncle Ayele would beat her senseless if she came back late. He didn¡¯t know about her business; she was careful when setting up her account and venture under a false name. She done everything via messenger on her secret aether scroll and rented a locker near the shop. Her uncle considered her worthless and useless, but her hell was a small price to pay for her wages to go toward a new home away from her uncle. Her other two sisters kept the house and that vile man happy in the meantime. Chantria replaced her glasses and was about to stand when she caught movement in front of her. Looking up she found a lightly tanned man thickly muscled with a soldier''s posture in the previously empty bench. He stared at her through narrowed grey eyes, his wire short brown hair as harsh as is features. ¡°Can I help you, sir?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you here before.¡± ¡®I see you¡¯ had a very specific meaning in the divine city and Chantria nearly swore allowed. He¡¯d caught a glimpse of her eyes and thus a glimpse at her soul. You stupid girl. She heard the voice of her uncle in her mind like a hammer to her flesh. You stupid worthless girl. ¡°I was about to leave, sir. The shop is closing in an hour and I need to get home.¡± ¡°Hmm, looked to me like you were going to get something at the desk.¡± The soldier raised a hand and summoned a youthful waitress from the other side of the room. ¡°What can I get you, sir?¡± ¡°Another spiced coffee and for the lady?¡± ¡°Mint tea and a spiced lamb wrap, please.¡± Chantria said pushing her coin toward the waitress, but the soldier waved it away. ¡°It¡¯s on me.¡± Chantria closed her eyes in resignation. He intended to not give her an easy excuse to leave the table so social niceties would force her to remain and he had succeeded. The editor swallowed her curses and stiffened against the waitress''s suspicious gaze. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡± the soldier said and the waitress scurried off to the kitchen taking her hint with wordless professionalism. Resigning herself to the inevitable strained conversation the editor packed away her scroll and papers in precise order and let the silence stretch until the soldier broke it. ¡°Name¡¯s Kijani, and you are?¡± ¡°Chantria.¡± ¡°What¡¯s up with the glasses?¡± ¡°I have sensitive eyes.¡± The soldier stared at her, waiting for more of an explanation she was unprepared to give least she be pulled in to a conversation she couldn¡¯t disentangle herself from. Kijani smirked. ¡°Like pulling teeth. I caught a glimpse, was hoping for another look. I felt quite at home in your eyes Chantria.¡± Her heart jumped in to her throat at his words. Ayele would go on a rampage if he found out she allowed a soldier a glimpse of her soul. Years ago, he told the girls the meld would take away their consciousness and make a new soul. The thought of dying in that way terrified her even though she knew better now. Ayele, thought of her sisters and she as his own personal harem. He used them as servants and toys to placate his temper, but he used their bond as chains and kept the girls tied to him to do with as he pleased. Chantria and her sisters had never been to the required gatherings in which the men found their women. Her Uncle Ayele would hardly give his sources of income and toys away to another man. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir, the light pains me too much.¡± ¡°Sun¡¯s setting in 30 minutes. I can walk you home and get a decent look.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sir. I¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s my right.¡± Kijani snapped The soldier was correct. Her denial was illegal. It was unheard of for any person to refuse a gaze in to their soul. To refuse such a simple request invited enough suspicion for an arrest. The soldiers fought parasitic invaders that threatened the safety of the city on a regular basis. Their touch corrupted a soul to the point of madness. Letting even one through could spell disaster for their little world nestled in chaos. If she refused he would reasonably suspect her flesh the vessel of the corrupt. The soldier would get his look whether she wanted him to or not. ¡°Do you not have a wife, sir? She will be expecting you home.¡± Chantria knew the answer even as the words left her pretty pink lips and felt foolish for asking. ¡°No.¡± the soldier growled. Their drink¡¯s arrived and Kijani held her gaze until the waitress hurried off back to the kitchen. ¡°Well?¡± he prompted. He wants his woman. The thought nearly jolted her from the bench and out the door. If she weren¡¯t so sure he would catch her before she got to the door she would have ran already. Chantria guessed he was about 30 years to her 27. Far too old to still be considered a boy and a likely source of frustration for the soldier. The only reason he hadn¡¯t pinned her down to gaze on her soul was basic decorum: he didn¡¯t want to terrify his potential wife. Only full souls can form children together and the notion of family was so ingrained in their society it was a rite of passage to go from children to adults. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°If it pleases you, sir.¡± ¡°It does.¡± Kijani said lifting a hand and making three quick hand signals for his watching brothers in arms. Two men with similar features sauntered up to their booth. ¡°What¡¯s the matter brother?¡± the brown-haired man said with a playful smile in his chocolate brown eyes. ¡°This colt¡¯s ready to bolt and I need to piss. Keep eyes on her.¡± ¡°What did you do, brother?¡± the other man said, hazel eyes narrowing. ¡°I sat down and got her tea, Iniko. Don¡¯t know why she wants to bolt so bad.¡± ¡°Why the glasses?¡± the other brother said, his smile hardening on his face even as his hand reached for the knife strapped to his thigh. ¡°Lady said she got eye problems. Figure it¡¯s worth a check. She might have sisters, Adjo.¡± Chantria sighed and resigned herself to hell from her uncle. She just hoped Ayele would be in a drunken stupor and she could claim to have slipped in the back door on time. Ayele wanted her to ¡®earn her keep¡¯ or he would find her work. She was pretty enough for any man desperate for a good time and if she couldn¡¯t find work with her fancy degree, why not sell herself? There¡¯s nothing wrong with honest work. They were his girls and he would see them taking care of themselves... and him. The aim of his manipulations was clearly to steal their wages and keep them captive until his dying day. A terrifying fate to Chantria. The graduate had nothing against the sex workers by the docks. Honest work was honest work and that is something she begrudgingly agreed with, provided it was all consensual. Chantria, couldn¡¯t deal with such a job. A wayward touch could send her spiralling in to terrifying memories she avoided at all costs. Ayele, made sure she knew who owned her. She was his and he would do with her what he wanted, when he wanted. She had no idea how much longer she could keep him at arm''s length before he forced his friends on her. Just a little longer and she would have enough to get away with her sisters. She stopped the thought before her pounding heart forced her back to the past. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, ma¡¯am?¡± Iniko said, trying to look past her glasses. ¡°I¡¯m fine, sir. I¡¯ve just been in this caf¨¦ too long.¡± Adjo¡¯s hand moved away from his knife. ¡°Restless then. I get that, I hate being on watch duty. Can''t even move to take a leak. What have you been doing here all day?¡± Chantria smoothed the azure linen dress she specifically wore to blend in to the plush velvet lining of her chosen booth with shaking hands. ¡°Working.¡± Keep answers to one word and people soon gave up thought of a conversation. A tactic familiar to both military and psychology alike: make yourself as boring and grey as a river rock and you will be left alone. It kept difficult people at bay, but was a challenge to the stubborn. Her guard¡¯s face¡¯s hardened and Adjo made a point of taking his brother¡¯s seat. Apparently accepting her challenge. ¡°What were you working on?¡± ¡°I edit books. I didn¡¯t notice the Caf¨¦ get so busy. Did something happen at the border?¡± ¡°There was a scuffle while the sorcerers expanded the realm. No one died, but it got tense for a while.¡± Iniko spread himself out beside her, caging her in the corner of the booth. ¡°What were you working on? Kijani might not seem it, but he likes a good book. He follow¡¯s a particular editor, weird, I know, but he insists... She goes by Tambika Nnena I think. She makes sure characters are psychologically accurate in the books she edits, but the woman¡¯s got one or two of her own books. I read one about a woman transported to another world. She didn¡¯t sugar coat reality though and it was a mind fuck. Heard of her?¡± Chantria bit her tongue. Tambika Nnena, was the name she worked under. She started off relatively obscure, most authour¡¯s didn¡¯t know what to do with an editor who promised psychological input. Authour¡¯s thought they knew their characters and were shocked to find the opposite when she got a hold of the book. It was eye-opening how little people understood about their own mental inclinations, but her input made for more satisfying books and she was getting busy. The authour might write the book, but the editor sets the standard. Which was why she really stayed out of the house from dawn till dusk and not, as Ayele thought, because she was desperate to find work before he made her a whore... Well, there was a triadic dynamic there. Chantria took a sip of her tea. I have to get back before Ayele decides my sisters are just as good a target as I. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of her.¡± what else could she say? The men didn¡¯t reply and she followed their gaze to her thin fingers that grasped the cup of mint tea so tight her knuckles were the same colour as the porcelain. Iniko decided to give her more room to breathe. ¡°Kijani isn¡¯t going to hurt you, ma¡¯am. He might seem a little rough, but he¡¯ll just take his look and leave you alone if you ain¡¯t a match. We¡¯ll get you home and you can get on with your night.¡± As if cued by the stage manager Kijani came back and gestured for Adjo to move over and looked at Iniko. ¡°The Lady told us she was an editor. You like reading, don¡¯t you Kijani?¡± ¡°Yeah, I read a bit of everything. You any good, Chantria? I dabble in writing between shifts.¡± Chantria finished her tea and forced herself to attend to her wrap. She missed dinner at home and she wasn¡¯t sure when she would have the opportunity to eat again. Ayele, would be guarding the kitchen by the time she gets back. No food after sundown, girls. We want to keep you pretty. Ayele liked his girls to look impeccable and Chantria expected an inspection when she got back, but that was her future self¡¯s problem and she had to reply in the present. ¡°I get by.¡± Kijani slipped a notebook out from one of the deep pockets sown in to his trousers. ¡°Mind taking a look?¡± The sigh escaped before she could stop it and Adjo chuckled. ¡°How long have you been sat here for?¡± ¡°Since the cafe opened.¡± Chantria said. Iniko whistled. ¡°That¡¯s a long shift. I make that what? 12 hours? No wonder you want to get going. You should have said. We could''ve sat outside.¡± If only it were that simple. Suppressing a groan Chantria flipped through the notebook. Making herself as boring as possible to get rid of these soldiers hadn¡¯t worked. So, she moved on to the next stage: deflection. If she could distract the men long enough by a different topic entirely, then it was possible they would forget why they were keeping her here and they had given her the perfect excuse. ¡°It¡¯s not too bad. I¡¯m having some difficulty following your main character¡¯s logic. He seems to be turning his empathy on and off like we do a light.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t that what a psycho does?¡± ¡°No, people with APD have a brain abnormality that means they can¡¯t interpret another person¡¯s pain. They see people as dolls without emotion. Since they can¡¯t interpret another person¡¯s pain, they see themselves as the only being with emotions. So, everyone with APD also has NPD.¡± ¡°What the fuck is APD and NPD?¡± ¡°APD is short for anti-social personality disorder, colloquially known as psychopathy; NPD is short for narcissistic personality disorder. You''ll need to tweak your character¡¯s reactions.¡± she said handing him back his notebook. ¡°Thought you were just an editor?¡± Adjo said. ¡°Spirit theory forms a small part of the literary course.¡± ¡°Huh, didn¡¯t know that.¡± Kijani said slipping his notebook back into his pocket. It wasn¡¯t clear what Kijani was referring to, but Chantria chose to make an assumption. ¡°Spiritual studies is common sense when it comes down to it, as much as the Masters like to make it complicated. If a person can¡¯t process someone else has feelings, how could they see them as anything else but a doll?¡± The graduate let the men think on that and finished her wrap in three bites, but she was still hungry. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir¡¯s, I have to get back home.¡± Iniko moved to stand, but Kijani held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯ll still have my look, ma¡¯am.¡± Chantria nearly swore. ¡°Of course, sir. I¡¯ll need to be on my way straight after however.¡± Kijani smiled. ¡°We¡¯re escorting you home. As payment for the advice.¡± the last he added as an afterthought, but Chantria knew he wanted her address. If she felt like home at a glance and she didn¡¯t quite fit, she ¡®might have sisters¡¯. The editor had no idea how she was going to get rid of them. They left the ¡®Timber Caf¨¦'', Kijani took up position on her right while Iniko fell in to step to her left. Adjo, slunk along behind them. I can¡¯t let these men take me back. Ayele will... Proclaim her the whore he always ¡®knew¡¯ she was and sell her to his friends for entertainment if he found her coming back with three military men. Whatever it was wouldn¡¯t be worse than any rage she experienced growing up as a wilful teen until she learned to keep herself and her sisters away from the man who stole their home upon her parent¡¯s death. ¡°Where to ma¡¯am?¡± Iniko asked staring over her head at his brother who was trying to find the eyes behind her glasses. ¡°You should get those eye issues checked, Chantria. It¡¯s beyond suspicious.¡± Kijani said, jaw locked in frustration. ¡°I don¡¯t want to bother a physician for something that¡¯s more than likely self-inflicted. Let me just put my scroll in my locker.¡± Chantria said. ¡°You keep your scroll in the caf¨¦ lockers?¡± Adjo exclaimed. ¡°Yes, I do my work in the caf¨¦. I don¡¯t want to carry all these papers everywhere I go.¡± the editor replied. Ayele didn¡¯t know about the scroll. She saved up the money she earned while doing her apprenticeship placements during her spirit studies course. She¡¯d stolen her birth record to get the account set up at the treasury specifically for it otherwise Ayele would have taken the money. The graduates two sisters were already working at the time and because she had to declare the household income, she explained she wouldn¡¯t be receiving compensation for her work from the university. Chantria thanked the tree of souls he didn¡¯t read the fine print. As she was over the age of 24 by this time, she was able to claim the compensation as a non-dependent person and bought herself a miniature copier and scroll. They rounded a corner to the left of the caf¨¦ and Chantria placed the evidence of her work in the reinforced wooden locker and locked the box with the complicated looking key she kept disguised as a keychain in a secret compartment inside her satchel. Tripple checking the lining the editor made sure the key was invisible and forgot the men watching her for a moment. Satisfied, she let the weight of the bag rest on her shoulder. ¡°Hmm. Bit darker round this side of the caf¨¦.¡± Kijani said. Chantria froze, grip tightening around the strap of her bag. What is really the harm? Still, adrenaline rushed through her veins and set her heart in to a punishing drum beat. Ayele will kill me if he finds out. He won¡¯t know. How can he? There won¡¯t be any harm. She couldn¡¯t be a match for anyone. Thoughts streaming round her mind in an endless circle Chantria forced herself to calm. ¡°It¡¯s just a look ma¡¯am. Then we¡¯ll take you home.¡± Kijani said. Let¡¯s just get this over with. Chantria ripped off her glasses and her deep blue eyes met the soldiers grey. The world flashed white and knitted together in a slow deliberate spiral one section at a time like pockets of oil forming one solid mass above water. One section at a time her picture of the surroundings returned in sharper focus. The cobbles¡¯ dips, edges and subtle shifts in colour resolved themselves and formed layers. The damp wall in front of her gained colour and form with the moss that grew along the running water from the broken gutter and pooled in to a puddle at its base. Kijani¡¯s face formed even slower than the background. His muscular shape went from pure white and built itself up from light tan. Lines of criss crossing scars from his time on the battlefield formed rivets on his skin. Finally, Kijani¡¯s face shifted in to being and Chantria found his smile shackling her to the ground. Frozen with her back to the lockers she felt the fountain of magic unlocked by her other half pour through her veins. The prize of the connected was the ability to transmute chaos to order and, for the women, to bring a soul in to being in her womb. Taking advantage of the graduates'' shackled gaze the soldier grasped her hand and laid a kiss on her lips. ¡°I got my other half.¡± Kijani said. ¡°May she give you beautiful souls.¡± Iniko said. ¡°May she give you beautiful souls.¡± Adjo said, though his words bit back a jealous undertone. Kijani¡¯s smile widened. ¡°You got sisters, Chantria?¡± ¡°Two.¡± that one word was all that would form in her throat. The brothers'' eyes widened with excitement. ¡°That¡¯s usually how it goes... Brothers connect with the sisters.¡± Iniko said, staring at Adjo. ¡°You boy¡¯s might be made men today.¡± Kijani said with a cheeky grin. Only when you connect with your other half can a boy be considered a man and a girl be considered a woman in the eyes of the Governance of Chaos. Girls and boys remained in the home under the protection of family until that time. That was the importance of the gatherings she and her sisters were never allowed to attend. If a match wasn¡¯t found by the age of 19, the boys and girls went to work anyway, but moving up the ranks of any field without the aid of the power unlocked by the meld was impossible. Women, then joined the male¡¯s family, yet another reason why Ayele never allowed the girls attendance at the gatherings. He filled their heads with lies until Chantria learned the truth, but by then the thought of going to the mandatory gathering filled the sisters with anxiety. Ayele didn¡¯t want to lose his toys and income. Iniko took a breath. ¡°Let¡¯s not get our hopes up...¡± ¡°But we have to take her home. We can take a look and be on our way. The Misal doesn¡¯t open until tomorrow anyway.¡± Adjo replied. The Misal was a domed building demonised by Ayele as a building for mass suicide. In reality, it was a place of worship connected to the University of the Wise as a venue for officiating melds and gatherings. She¡¯d wandered in by accident once.... Attracted by the peaceful atmosphere of the gold topped building she snuck in for a taste of tranquillity which lasted 5 minutes. Chantria was so tired she hadn¡¯t noticed the old priest walk toward her until he was beside her. His kind brown eyes gaze turned from incredulous, to thunderous black when he found her wondering around the perimeter of the Misal staring at the stained-glass windows depicting the beginnings of the soul tree. Heart pounding and panic stricken Chantria backed away from the white robed priest. Chantria barely avoided the priest''s grasp and ran. ¡°Why would you deny yourself and another the meld. It¡¯s blasphemy! Blasphemy.¡± Her trip to the library the next day was eye opening and disconcerting. She was still unravelling lies from truth. Shaking, Chantria tried to find her voice, but Kijani beat her to it. ¡°It¡¯s getting late, Chantria. I¡¯ll see you home and at the Misal tomorrow.¡± Kijani said and took a closer look at her eyes. ¡°Your eyes don¡¯t look too bad, but we can have the doc check them out tomorrow.¡± She couldn¡¯t refuse. Chantria didn¡¯t want to refuse, but Ayele would kill his girls rather than let another take them. She couldn¡¯t leave, not without her sisters. If her uncle discovered she found her half they would all be dead before morning... Or worse. ¡°I¡ª¡± Chantria didn¡¯t have to attempt to finish the sentence, the spherical lights that lined the streets turned from a subdued yellow, to a sundown red. A call to arms for the unconnected boys and men of the militia. The soldiers had to run. Kijani gritted his teeth. ¡°You¡¯ll be here tomorrow?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The men ran for the wall and she in the opposite direction down the narrow-cobbled streets of the city. Whores Game The path wound through damp back alleys and past bins until the markets¡¯ back door transitioned to quiet residential streets with small patches of greenery imitating parks. Chantria slowed to a stop and stared at the stars. Born amidst swirling clouds of chaotic blues reds and muted golds, celestial bodies enveloped the true sky, or so prophets predicated. Gaze lowering, the editor found the lanterns lining the streets still glowered a vicious red. Townhouses towered in the dark like slim parasites, masquerading in human form. Books and clergy warned incessantly about the corrupt and insinuated them into her darkest fears. Their soldiers fought and died to protect her and everyone else from, an invasion of the shadows. Yet when she dwelt on the existential fear of changlings she had never seen nor met, those terrors were a second-string villain compared to the parasite camped in their home, claiming all joy for himself. A glance at the clock told her she was 20 minutes late. If Ayele were still awake and sober enough, he would imprison her for a week at best, especially if he found her melded. Truly, Chantria feared if her uncle learned she was no longer his property, liberty was the least of her worries. One fear overrid another, giving her a bit of daring. Why not stay out and leave early tomorrow? Chantria found a bench in the narrow park and set her satchel to one side. She might be able to avoid a beating and meet Kijani at the Timber, as was her obligation. Then Chantria and her sisters would likely move in with the brothers and¡­then what? The editor couldn¡¯t imagine a wholesome, regular family life any more than she could muster a fear of alien parasites. Nevermind Kijani, all men in the city, expected souls from melded women to build their line into an ordered future. How could she possibly deserve motherhood? Would any man even want someone so defiled? Motherhood naturally required a level of intimacy Chantria wasn¡¯t capable of giving. Little souls deserved better than her damaged self to care and nurture them. Despite knowing the truth of herself, thoughts of Kijani not surviving the night at the border threatened burning tears. Staring at the red lantern, her world revolved around Chantria prayed to the tree of souls that Kijani and his brothers would live through the battle. The editor''s mind circled in prayer while the ebb and flow of magic shared drained and filled at the speed of waves crashing against rocks in a storm. I call to the seed of order from which the soul tree came, may its coat shield you during battle as it did the embryo of souls. I pray to the roots of the soul tree which transmute chaos to order, may they ground you to this life as they do the Ash itself. I beg the trunk of the soul tree to lend you its strengths so you may stand steadfast against the chaos as the soul tree against the engulfing dark. And... Chantria paused, one finger tracing her lips. when you return, may our union bear fruit on our branch. The storm of magic rose and fell with the tiding of battle. Cold settled on Chantria''s skin like a blanket of snow, but she continued her circular prayer until the flickering red lantern turned a steady white. Weary from cold and prayer the editor stared at the statue of time that stood in the centre of the parks shimmering greenery. Its gilded edges a testament to the holy order of time, but its simple ash hands remained a humble declaration of the 3rd hour of the day. Ayele, would surely be as asleep as the streets by now? Chantria hurried home and slipped through the back door in to the darkened kitchen, but froze halfway across the threshold when she saw Ayele''s sturdy frame sitting on the chair facing the door. Three bottles of wine stood beside him and the room smelled of alcohol. Clearly, he intended to stay awake to carry out is punishment for her tardiness, but Ayele''s snore released her tension. The alcohol won and drew him to sleep before her return. Praise be to order. The editor sighed in to the room and locked the door with a whisper of sound. Creeping up the stairs Chantria avoided the loose creaky floor boards out of habit and snuck through the airy hallway. The editor looked in on her sister, Taraji, first, but her bed was empty. Anxiety spiking, she walked the three steps to Liseli''s door and found them both huddled together in the same bed. Ayele, must have been in a terrifying rage, and she wasn''t here to shield her sisters. It was her fault. Chantria wanted to take her sister''s and go, but where? With no other family and Ayele holding her sister''s accounts and documentation to ransom, she was the only one earning anything. Her ability to work was limited by Ayele''s patience and her productivity. Once time ran dry Ayele would make her a slave to entertain his friends and her sisters would be trapped in this house until his death. The ever-present guilt settled with the closing of her sisters door. Chantria was sure she wouldn''t sleep and there was little point with three hours left of her night. The Misal opened in the 10th hour of the day and something told her, if Kijani survived the night, he would be waiting for her at the Timber the hour the caf¨¦ opened. Hope remained, that she would be able to get her sisters out with marriage. As Iniko said: brothers usually melded with sisters, there was a chance the editor''s back breaking efforts would end, and she could rest for a few hours. Hope was the last to die and Chantria had waged war in secret to grasp a spark, but she didn''t know if their halves would treat them well. The verses of the Creed of Ash which formed the basis of their religious doctrine forbid ill-treatment of each other. It demanded loyalty from the wife and ordered the men to provide. All money she earned was legally hers, but all money her husband earned was for the family unit, because if the man died in battle the woman was responsible for the family. When both their parents died during a break at the border, Ayele was supposed to take up the mantel of their protector, but he chose to make them his slaves. With nowhere to go for help Chantria was stuck with her sisters until she could save the money to escape in the night. The editor opened her bedroom door and slipped inside for fear her door would wake the beast, but her heart stuck in her throat and stopped a scream. A topless figure sat on her bed reading a book by the light of the newborn moon. In her exhaustion she forgot Ayele could use magic. What she saw down stairs must have been a decoy so his prey would feel secure. Ayele placed the book on the nightstand and stood. "You''re back late, Chan. Where were you?" he said, darkly tanned arms trapping her between is body and the door she pressed herself against. Chantria didn''t dare look in to the hazel eyes of his gaunt features bespeckled with grey beard in case he spied her melded soul. Panic freezing her to the spot she couldn''t force herself to answer immediately. Ayele, had little patience at the best of times and the hands that caged her to the door balled themselves in to fists threatening to grab her throat and strike her. "Well?" "I got a trial shift at a bar. I just finished closing." It was a line Chantria took from the book she was editing, but it sufficed as a believable lie. She could pretend she got the job and release a portion of her pay as an editor in to the account each month to keep up the fa?ade, it would both slow down her plan to leave and stop him from pimping her out. Ayele leaned in, his drink heavy breath brushing her ear. "Did you get paid for this?" "No, it was a trial." Chantria said, her voice shaking. "Refuse the job. I don''t want you back this late. It''s far too dangerous for a woman alone on the streets, at least the ladies in the brothels have an escort." her uncle said undoing the clasp at her collar. Eyes widening, Chantria saw his manhood bulge against his light cotton trousers and knew what her punishment would be for this transgression. Most have heard of fight or flight, but the body keeps score forever and the editors knew the consequences of fighting would be worse than letting the inevitable happen. Ayele let her terror drag on torturously as he unlaced her dress with care and pushed it off her shoulders until the azure linen pooled at her feet. She cursed her choice of bra; the lilac cotton with a magnetic clasp was easily undone by her uncle and it swiftly followed the dress to the floor. Ayele licked his scarred lip. Grasping her breast, her uncles rough hands were remarkably gentle. "You look so much like your mother, Chantria. I was always so jealous of Chike... Come to bed." "Ayele please..." He slapped her, the strength of his blow carefully calibrated to sting but not to leave a mark lest he mar his little doll. "I''m your uncle, Chantria, and I deserve your obedience. A man needs to find relief once he''s aroused. The other girls aren''t my type, but if you don''t do as you''re told I will have to relieve myself with your sisters. " This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Chantria buried the rage, buried her shame, buried the blazing hate and disappointment in herself. If playing the whore saved her sisters, then she would accept the whore. Slumping onto the bed, she raised her hands and Ayele tied them to the headboard. The editor never got out of the habit of fighting and it had become routine for her uncle to tie her down, but he knew better than to kiss her. The last time he tried Chantria bit his lip so hard it left behind the scar as a reminder. With a shuddering breath, she felt her legs parted and all courage left her. Unable to watch, Chantria looked away and found the novel he was reading minutes before. Ironically, Ayele was reading her latest book. ~*~ A bare 2 hours later Chantria woke with her alarm, and forced herself to sit up. She couldn''t remember much of what happened a mere few hours ago, not exactly. The memories were so vivid they bloomed and fade like a dream, but she knew what happened. She still felt Ayele''s hands on her body and the pungent smell of sex remained in the air. Still naked and not caring who saw her in the morning rays the editor opened a window. The morning is always so peaceful... Taking in the day Chantria let the remaining memory of the last few hours fade in to the furthest reaches of her mind. The mills around the trunk continued to turn and collect the water that fell through the rivets of the soul tree like waterfalls. It was too early for the streets to come alive, but the houses, built in a spiral around the trunk of the Ash, stirred as their inhabitants yawned, stretched and opened their windows. Chimneys misted the air with smoke as ranges were lit to heat the home and cook the morning meal. In their home, this was Taraji''s job. The editor tore her eyes away from the view and picked a dress from her small closet. Her favourite, was a red wrap dress with gold trim, but that was entirely inappropriate for the Misal. The next, option was a white dress with rose embroidery, but she didn''t feel worthy of the priestly colour of purity. So, she settled on an emerald green dress with leaf embroidery around the cuffs and high collar. A very traditional dress even Ayele couldn''t disapprove of. Chantria took her time with her hair. Making sure each strand was in equal sections before she styled it in to the usual French braid and, tying off the braid at the nape, she twisted the rest of her waist length hair in to a bun. Chantria smoothed any fly away hairs with a comb dipped in a mixture of liquid gum, rose oil and alcohol. The editor paused, eyes set on the circular jewellery box she rarely paid attention to, but today she opened the lid. There were a few odds and ends: sun and moon earrings her father gave her the night before he died. Festive silver rings carved with geometric lines and inset with rose quartz meant to highlight her braid and bun. A pendant of jade carved in to a leaf and white rose and a simple silver ring were inside. They lay untouched and lonely for years and, while pretty, held too much pain for her to dare wear. Chantria never had time to dwell on her feelings and, if she were being honest with herself, she didn''t dare for fear they would swallow her hole. The editor closed the box and picked up her bag of make-up. She had a little pink eyeshadow pallet, coal eyeliner, simple foundation and a blush lipstick. Twisting the lipstick between her fingers Chantria debated the colour, but, as disgusted as she was by her own skin and tears stinging her eyes she decided it was pointless to gild slime. Chantria checked her hair three times before grabbing her satchel and heading down for breakfast. Taraji had the porridge waiting and was making eggs. Her deep brown hair was in a loose bun held together by a red ribbon and a copious number of pins. Taraji stood by the stove dancing to a tune only she could hear, her red dress swaying in time to her movements. The editor didn''t have the heart to interrupt her sisters'' thoughts. Creeping down the stairs and to the table where her bowl of porridge waited, but the wooden chairs scraping gave her away. Her sweet sister turned to face her. She was the picture of summer. Lightly tanned skin and bright green eyes lit up by a smile on her freckled face. "Chan! I''m so glad you''re back, Liseli and I were really worried." "Sorry, I got a trial shift at a nearby bar and worked the closing." Taraji''s smile brightened. Her sisters didn''t know about her business by design. If either sister told Ayele in a desperate attempt to keep her with them, they would be trapped in this abuse for decades longer. "Did you get the job?" "Ayele didn''t like the idea of me being back so late." "Oh... What are you going to do?" It wasn''t a subject Chantria wanted her sister to dwell on. "I''ll find something. Liseli told me you got cast in a play?" "Yeah! The theatre was looking for people to act in a new play. I''m to be the Valkyrie, so I get a few songs, but I''m not the lead." "Will you be back on time?" "Oh, yes, Ayele even sweet talked the director in to some free tickets for us all!" Chantria replaced her spoonful of porridge with a cup of thickened coffee. The thought of Ayele at this moment put her off her food entirely. She would have to be mindful of her clothing on the night if eye didn¡¯t pick them out for her. "That sounds fun. I''d love to hear you sing." Chantria replied, keeping her tone bright. "Uncle Ayele even said we could go out for dinner on closing night." Chantria suppressed a furious sigh. Ayele enjoyed doing that, one minute he was kinder than anyone; the next he raged like a beast at the smallest perceived slight. It was a deliberate tactic to confuse that Chantria saw through earlier than she liked to admit. Ayele knew she was wise to him, but it only enraged him more. Truthfully, the editor lost all care for Ayele¡¯s tantrums long ago, so he upped the ante when she turned 16 and begged to go to her first gathering like the other girls at school. After what felt like days Ayele finally untied her hands "All men do this, Chantria..." Sobs took her voice as she rushed to get dressed. The editor bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself out of the memory. "Chan? Are you ok? You look pale." Chantria laughed. "I''m always pale!" Taraji didn''t look convinced. "Paler than usual." "I''m fine." Chantria said, going back to her porridge to prove the point despite her lost appetite. Taraji sat in front of her with a plate of poached egg and toast. There was a moments pause in which her bright-eyed sister chewed her lip in obvious discomfort. "Chan... I know Liseli and I aren''t Ayele''s type... But you don''t have to shield us like that." The second in which her horror came crashing down on her like the end of days felt like an hour, and in that time the editor managed to force herself to frown. "What do you mean, Tara?" "We heard Uncle Ayele and you talk when you came back yesterday." "I''m not sure what you mean, I went straight to bed." It wasn''t exactly a lie, she did go straight to bed when she came back in the early hours of the morning... but at Ayele''s behest and satisfaction. Chantria hated lying to her sisters, but she couldn''t stomach the thought of her sisters finding out what Ayele was doing to her. Her humilation, and most of all, her sister''s guilt at allowing themselves to be used as tools for Ayele¡¯s manipulation would set them on a war path they couldn''t win. To win this game of mental warfare they simply had to leave and sever all ties of control. Copies of their birth documents had to be made, a home purchased from her salary, and they had to leave slowly and in Ayele¡¯s absence. Ayele''s rage when he realized his toys were gone would no longer be their concern. "We thought Ayele..." "Tara, I got back late and, I''m sure Ayele was furious when I didn''t come back on time yesterday. Maybe what you heard was more of a dream?" Chantria suggested as guilt stabbed her chest. The editor was gaslighting her sister. Rewriting reality to suit her means, and, by extension, making Tara feel crazy for thinking their uncle would rape her. In any normal situation, what the editor was doing would be wrong in the extreme, but she didn''t see any other way. Chantria would rather offer herself as sacrifice than see her sisters hurt. Taraji cocked her head and thought for a moment. "You''re probably right. Ayele is nightmare inducing when he''s mad..." "He is, at least there will be a few hours of peace to go over your script for the show. He''s never up before the 15th hour anyway." Chantria said and finished her porridge. Laughing, Taraji nodded. "And Liseli won''t be up before noon either." "Anyway, I''m sorry, I have to rush off. I have a job interview later today." She replied rushing out the door. It wasn''t even a lie; she had a meeting with a client booked through her scroll. Naturally, her picture would be off, but she didn''t want to risk business by being late... And she didn''t know when Kijani would be at the timber to meet her. ¡°Good luck!¡± Taraji said, waving her out the door. Chantria walked to the Timber in a daze and the barest nod of acknowledgment toward her emerging neighbours. She retrieved her scroll from the lockers, and feeling nothing but a black hole growing inside her the editor walked in to the Timber Caf¨¦, but as the first note of a sob escaped her, the editor ran to the bathroom. That first sob, was merely the beginning of rising winds that unleashed a pent-up storm in her soul. The tornado of emotion ripped up the solid foundation in which she planted herself and threw her around like a doll torn apart. With tears streaming down her face, she berated herself in the mirror for wasting time crying while she longed for compassion. I don¡¯t have time for this. Get a grip. It took ten minutes to breathe through the tears and stop crying, but the damage was done. She couldn¡¯t go back out looking like a whore whose last john abused her. Chantria ran cold water in to the marble basin and held her face just below the water line for as long as she could stand it before returning for air. The editor continued until the swelling her eyes reduced and her emotions settled in to an exhausted, muddy numbness like the carnage left a tornado left behind. There weren¡¯t many patrons in the Timber at this time and taking up a cubicle for a little while wasn¡¯t going to inconvenience anybody. So, while the inner carnage remained, Chantria attempted to pick up the pieces and recovered the little bag of make-up from her satchel. The editor was rusty, but still a dab hand with make-up. After applying foundation, Chantria gave her eyes a subtle winged eyeliner and coloured her eyelids with layered shades of pastel pinks and white frosty glitter eyeshadow. Chantria finished with a touch of lipstick. The effect was pleasant enough and hid the exhausting havoc the storm of her sobs left behind. Walking out of the cubicle Chantria set herself up in her usual booth and started the day''s work with a meeting. Her image on the scroll was shrouded for anonymity, but she deliberately forgot about the tinted glasses Ayele demanded she wear when out. The purpose of the tinted lenses was null and void and she would have to carry the consequences. Chantria¡¯s work day was hindered by growing anxiety the longer she worked alone in the booth. She expected Kijani to be waiting at the Timber Caf¨¦ when she arrived, but he was gone. Anxiety turned to fear as the thought occurred that their first meeting could have been their last, but fear collapsed in to relief when she saw him walk toward the glass counter and place an order. Warrant Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Academic Interlude Professor Ngalula flipped through his stack of notes for today''s lecture on the relationship between the abuser and the abused. Order is founded in the family unit and the city of Divinity encouraged and required healthy family units to continue for the benefit of the whole. Unhealthy families breed unhealthy spirits which are a threat to order. It was important for spirit healers to recognise and treat the spirit early. Otherwise, the damage could become impossible to heal. Now, where did I put my pen¡­? The door flipped open and his students pilled in to the lecture theatre. This class was for the ladies only. He gave the class 15 minutes to settle and for the tardy to catch up. Out of habit, he paid more attention to those at the back. Most of the women were happily chatting with their friends, but there was one who always kept her eyes covered behind tinted lenses. Her essays were amazing and her reviews on her placements were flawless, but there was one little issue with the eyeglasses. The professor spread his arms in welcome. ¡°Good Morning Ladies. I hope you all had a restful Ash festival.¡± A chorus of affirmations and well-wishes filled the lecture theatre. The professor smiled affectionately. ¡°good, good. Then let us begin,¡± he said writing the title of the lecture on the blackboard. The Relationship between Victim and Abuser ¡°The overdramatization in the media of those with ASPD (Anti-social Personality Disorder, more colloquially known as psychopaths), has led to the inability to recognise the dangers early or the victim''s silent cry for help. Similarly, due to the portrayal of drowning in popular literature, people do not expect how silent the victims are and failed to help. If you cannot breathe you cannot call for help. ¡°Everyone at their heart wants to believe they are a good person. Individuals with ASPD are no different. Key characteristics of those with ASPD are poor emotional control and deception. Those with ASPD are also automatically given a diagnosis of NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) because they lack the capacity to empathise with others and have a grandiose self-image and sense of entitlement. ¡°Due to the ASPD¡¯s lack of empathy for others and abundance of empathy for themselves they see any minor threat to their self-images as a personal attack. In a family setting, the ASPD/NPD individuals see their children as an extension of themselves. As such, the children must behave and act as the ASPD ¡®perceives¡¯ they should. Their children must do exactly what they say when they say it merely as a starting point. Complete obedience is not enough. The ASPD believes that they are entitled to have their needs for money, sex and admiration met without the corresponding personal accomplishments. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Nothing can ever be the ASPD¡¯s fault despite how horrific their actions may be. However, make no mistake, these people know exactly what they are doing. Their actions are calculated and designed to reinforce their fa?ade of perfection. They will therefore often manipulate and deny reality to the point that the victim of the abuse believe that they are the ones at fault. This is reinforced by the fa?ade the ASPD presents to others who may believe them to be pillars of the community. The effect on the victims is profound.¡± Professor Ngalula took a long drink of his already cold mint tea. A little dribble of liquid found its way in to his beard. The professor quickly wiped the greying brown bristles with the back of his hand and waited for the scratching on pen against paper and frantic typing on scrolls to pause before continuing. ¡°Victims, are not allowed to tell others of their abusers'' behaviour. That was a threat to the ASPD¡¯s self-image. Their victims having friends or acquaintances outside the immediate home was a threat and therefore the victim becomes isolated. The victims'' world had to revolve around the ASPD because they lived in fear of their volatility. The ASPD¡¯s behaviour and violent outbursts were the victims'' fault. Displays of negative emotions such as fear, anger or distress could easily be met with more violence and verbal abuse or manipulation. As a result, the victim learns to suppress emotions and become invisible. ¡°When becoming invisible fails the victim will attempt to appease the ASPD. If that fails the victim will likely comply with the ASPD¡¯s demands under duress despite how they may feel. Threats against the well-being of loved ones or pets are common means to control the victim. Subsequent compliance is likely to cause increased emotional suppression otherwise known as dissociation. ¡°The victim of abuse is not allowed to experience happiness outside of the influence of the ASPD. Any accomplishment of the victim has to be equal to, or less than the ASPD because it threatens their internal view of themselves as superior. However, the ASPD will push their child or victim to perfection. Expectations may be higher than what is appropriate for the souls'' age and stage of development. This damages the development of the young soul by reinforcing the idea that they are useless and worthless. As a result of this constant internal and external abuse the victim tends to further dissociate as a defense mechanism. Professor Ngalula found the girl with the tinted glasses. She¡¯d set down her scroll and was listening intently. What was her name again? Ah Chantria Keita¡­ Yes, a lack of confidence was often mentioned in her evolution¡¯s. Perhaps I should send her an aether-mail. The lecture ended and the ladies filed out. The next class was a refresher course for their soldiers. It was their sworn duty to protect those weaker than them and the ability to recognise these issues were considered important. Though the professor couldn¡¯t stop a sigh when he saw the Abara boys come in. They could never could sit still. Old Blood House Chantria was so focused on her work she didn¡¯t notice the hours slip by until one of the servers dressed in black tapped her on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to disturb you madam, but we are closed.¡± The newly married woman rubbed her tired sapphire eyes and looked in to the young man¡¯s kind brown eyes. He¡¯d been making sure her water was topped up throughout the day. She tended to forget to eat or drink after breakfast and she was immensely grateful for his care. So, the ink haired woman was rather ashamed to find the entire caf¨¦ empty and the other servers waiting by the door with their cloaks on ready to leave. The blush was hard to hide on her milky skin, they¡¯d been so kind and here she was intruding on their time. ¡°My apologies.¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright madam.¡± The waiter replied and patiently watched her pack her papers and scroll away. Chantria reached for her silver pen, but found the waiter holding it out for her. ¡°Thank you.¡± She packed the pen in the loop of her diary and hefted the heavy satchel. ¡°Madam, you¡¯ve been coming here for some years and we were wondering¡­ What¡¯s your name?¡± The question gave the newly wed pause. The servers viewed her with nothing but suspicion until she removed the sunglasses she was supposed to wear. Chantria didn¡¯t entirely blame them for their caution and distance, but the sudden change was beyond jarring. ¡°Chantria Keita.¡± She replied ¡°I¡¯m Lutalo Girma. You¡¯re a graduate right? I could tell from the pen. I¡¯m looking forward to getting mine. What did you study? It¡¯s usually written on the pen, but you just have symbols.¡± ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯m a triple majour. At that point they engrave the symbols in a coat of arms.¡± Chantria¡¯s reply was carefully calculated to give as little information as possible and she hoped Lutalo didn¡¯t notice. The server held the stained-glass door open for her and whistled. ¡°How did you do it? I can barely manage my astronomy study and work.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I did.¡± Chantria said laughing tiredly, ¡°I better get home.¡± ¡°Definitely! It must be exciting being a married woman. I want to go to the gatherings myself soon, but it¡¯s probably better I wait until after I graduate. I want to be in a better position for my wife.¡± Chantria let him prattle on until they parted at the crossroads. She sighed with relief when he left. She hated answering questions at the best of times, by the tree¡¯s root¡¯s she never knew how much information was too much information. Repeated warnings throughout her early teens of imaginary threats to their safety should they dare to speak to anyone left their mark on her manner. She had no friends outside of her sisters and the need to connect warred with ingrained feelings of peril when attempting to form bonds with another. This led the editor to wonder why the server was suddenly so nice, but just as soon answered her own question. She covered her eyes with tinted glasses whenever she was out, it was as disconcerting to most as a blank face was to a baby. There were laws against obscuring the eyes, but you were allowed to do it for medical reasons. Most assumed, she covered her eyes because of a medical condition and didn¡¯t question it further. It simply wasn¡¯t their business. Only the soldiers were allowed to demand she take them off for checks. And¡­ Chantria sighed, They likely heard me crying in the bathroom stall. Guilt and compassion could have given them cause to set aside any gripes they had. She didn¡¯t deserve the pity and their kindness was unsettling. She was simply waiting for the gallows to do their work, but the end of their interaction was rather anti-climactic. The editor arrived at the place she spent the night and she stood in front of the inviting red front door as if before the gates to hell. It was a nice little town house surrounded by a patch of garden she had scant memories of playing in before the breach in the wall that killed her parents. She used to love hiding in the bushes and jumping out at her father when he came home. When Ayele took over their care however, she was confined inside with her sisters and forbidden from speaking to the other children in the neighbourhood. She still remembered her best friend Hadiza. She got away with sneaking out to play with her until Ayele came back home from whatever shift he was on at the wall, but he came back home early once. He was angry, he got drunk on duty and needed someone else to blame for his transgression. Finding her playing cards in the garden with her friend was enough. He sent Hadiza away and dragged her inside by the hair when her friend wasn¡¯t looking. Chantria wasn¡¯t at school for a week after that. Ayele wasn¡¯t careful enough with his blows and the bruises were too visible. Chantria heard her friend from all those years ago was married to a councillor now and had four souls to nurture. Her breath quickened and formed short clouds that floated up toward the star filled sky. Her heart rate spiked and the blood froze her gut. She didn¡¯t want to step past the threshold. The editor committed two sins in two days and Chantria feared the devils wrath, but she reached for the doorknob and skittered inside. Her sisters needed her home. The door clicked shut behind her like deaths rattle and her heart stopped. The air weighed as heavy as the chains of Ayele¡¯s manipulation. The clink of ice against glass forced her hackles to rise and the blood drain from her face. With the air as thick as sand she found it difficult to find the will to move, but she looked down to the left where the long kitchen table made for guests sat. That table held many happy memories. The burn mark from where her mother set a copper pot of stew and forgot to put a mat down. Laughter filled celebrations with their neighbours and school friends still hung around that table like ghosts. Memories gave way to reality when Chantria found Ayele¡¯s coldly smiling face. He sat at the spearhead of the table quietly crushing their souls with his presence. ¡°Chan, right on time, come join me for a moment before you go to bed.¡± Her body moved without her command in a bid of self-preservation and she sat an arm''s length away from her uncle. She kept her eyes trained on the moonlight range across from her and noticed Taraji left the knives out on the wooden counter. ¡°Your husband came to tell me you will be moving to his house tomorrow. Congratulations, Chan. The Abara clan is quite the wealthy military family and I hear the other two brothers are yet to find a match. Excellent strategists. I served under their father at one time.¡± ¡°Where are Tara and Lis?¡± Chantria asked, her blood turned from slurry to ice. Ayele enforced perfection in the home and leaving anything out for any length of time was harshly punished. ¡°They¡¯re in bed, Chan. It¡¯s late, you¡¯ll see them in the morning. I haven¡¯t told the girls your news.¡± ¡°I will tell them in the morning.¡± ¡°You know you shouldn¡¯t have taken your glasses off.¡± Ayele said, his tone had the hard edge of a threat and his hand gripped the crystal glass. ¡°I couldn¡¯t refuse the soldiers a gaze.¡± Ayele paused and took another drink of his whiskey, eyes flashing with rage. ¡°Yes. Hmm, well I hope you don¡¯t forget your sisters when you leave.¡± ¡°My household will always be open to them.¡± Chantria replied, barely able to keep the shiver from her voice. Ayeles smile widened in to a malicious grin. ¡°I¡¯m sure it will be, but you must pack, chan. Officer Abara said he would be here to pick you up tomorrow, but I¡¯m quite sure he will be early.¡± Chantria stood and turned to leave. ¡°Good night, Chantria.¡± Ayele said, his tone sickeningly sweet. She paused with one hand on the banister. ¡°Good night.¡± The editor''s heart beat a hard staccato against her ribs. she had to force her body to calm its breathing, but she didn¡¯t trust her shaking legs. Chantria slid down the bedroom door and hugged her knees against her chest in an attempt to self sooth, but tears flowed once more before she could stop them. She didn¡¯t think to go to her sisters for comfort, she never thought to ask for help. Who would help? It took another hour for her to calm herself enough to stand. Chantria wiped her tears and lit a candle with the matches from her dresser drawer. Her room was as meticulously organised as her work. Nothing was on the surfaces apart from a book on her nightstand and the jewellery box on her vanity. The room was so small a set of old clothes left on the floor would make it look untidy. The walls were painted in a light lilac. She used to keep plants mounted on the walls and flowers covering the dresser, but Ayele hated anything he perceived as superfluous or messy and her flowers were some of the first things to go. Chantria found a trunk and began packing. Sleep was out of the question for now. The ink haired editor fell asleep the minute she triple checked the contents and over slept by 3 hours. She usually left for work at the 7th chime of morning, avoiding Ayele and missing Liseli in the process, but today nothing could be avoided. Today she put on her favourite red dress with gold trim and tried her hand at a married woman¡¯s braided bun. Then felt the need to exercise her make up skills again. She went without eyeshadow, but managed a winged eyeliner, foundation and lip gloss. The editor paused before the mirror. She wasn¡¯t sure how she was going to tell her sisters she was leaving the family home as a married woman, it¡¯s not something Chantria had quite accepted herself. Reality moved at an uncomfortable pace, but she looked forward to seeing Kijani. Chantria checked her appearance once more and opened her trunk for a last inventory check. Ayele thought he might be here early and she hoped he was right. There would likely be some back and forth as she collected the rest of her things and move to her new home. Perhaps she could start gardening again and roll back on her working hours... She would have to; it was her duty to shape the little souls she made and Kijani seemed impatient for family life. The editor stopped that thought with the clicking shut of her trunk. She didn¡¯t want to think of the precursor to children. Ayele set the standard by which she would be treated in the bedroom. Hefting her trunk down the stairs Chantria didn¡¯t dare look in to her sister''s eyes as she placed her trunk by the door. Liseli was the first to speak. ¡°Chan? Where are you going?¡± Chantria was about to say she wasn¡¯t entirely sure. Not a lie, she didn¡¯t know where Kijani¡¯s family lived, but that wouldn¡¯t be fair on her sisters. Still, she found it hard to find truthful words that would reassure. In her mind she could already see Liseli¡¯s sensitive brown eyes turn to tears when no one was looking. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Chantria has some news to share, girls.¡± Ayele said. The editor looked up sharply. She wasn¡¯t expecting Ayele to be awake at this time. Chantria sat at the other end of the table between her sisters and across from Ayele. ¡°Yes. I was questioned by some soldiers the other day about my glasses. One of them found a match in me. Legally, there was no choice but for me to sign the papers with my husband confirming the match. Once I am settled, my home will be open to both of you.¡± Chantria looked from Liseli, her sparkling auburn hair was poker straight and framed her light skin, to Taraji, who reflected their sisters concerned gaze. ¡°Did the wedding already happen without us?¡± Tara asked. ¡°No, the ceremony hasn¡¯t taken place, we just signed the papers.¡± ¡°Well, I want to make your dress!¡± Liseli replied. Chantria smiled, her emotions calmed by her sister¡¯s enthusiasm for her craft. ¡°I¡¯d love that.¡± The editor helped herself to eggs and fruit, the meat was reserved for Ayele who remained remarkably quiet through all conversation about her impending wedding. Chantria kept her answers relatively short and polite. She didn¡¯t have any information to give on wedding themes and colours, she had to discuss that with Kijani. Old habits die a slow death and keeping her sisters in the dark about her double life was as tough as it was cruel and necessary. It was nice to share this little bit of joy with her sisters, but it was hard to ignore Ayele¡¯s cold smile looming at the other end of the table. The knock on the door silenced Chantria and her sisters. All three stared at Ayele, because only he was allowed to answer the door. He took his time downing his drink, washing the glass and putting it away. Keeping up appearances was the most important thing to her uncle after all. Chantria¡¯s uncle passed by behind her a little too close for comfort before answering the door. ¡°Ah, Master Abara, I thought you might be early.¡± Kijani¡¯s gruff voice floated through the door in to the heavy kitchen. ¡°Is Chantria ready?¡± Chantria quietly hugged her sister¡¯s. ¡°She is packed, there are some bigger things you will have to come back for, but my girl is extremely organised, so I¡¯m sure she¡¯s got what she needs for the immediate future.¡± ¡°Chantria?¡± Kijani called as she threw on her black cloak. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Do you have your branch certificate¡± Kijani asked peaking in to the kitchen. The editor blinked. Her branch certificate functioned as a record of her birth. She hadn¡¯t seen that since she stole it to set up her business account with the treasury. They needed that to add her lineage to that of Kijani¡¯s clan and merge family trees. ¡°No. My uncle has been storing it for safe keeping.¡± Ayele gritted his teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll have to look it out, I¡¯m not entirely sure where it is.¡± ¡°Looks like we¡¯ll be coming back tomorrow then.¡± Kijani said with a raised eyebrow. Clearly wondering if Ayele had one to many head injuries ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much uncle, I can get another copy from the registrar. Bits of paper get lost all the time.¡± Chantria said, her tone polite, now that she was legally a woman, she could get any and all her documents from the registrar of births. Kijani chuckled. ¡°didn¡¯t think of that.¡± Her uncles pleasant smile hardened. ¡°Are you stopping by tomorrow then?¡± ¡°Maybe briefly, to see if you¡¯ve found the documents and collect some things. There¡¯s a lot to organise.¡± ¡°This your bag Chan?¡± Kijani asked, gesturing toward the red trunk by the door. ¡°Yes.¡± To Chantria¡¯s horror her husband made a move to pick up the trunk. ¡°Kijani! I can manage that just fine. Your ribs are cracked, already, do you want to break them entirely?¡± Oh, by the roots I sound like my mother. Kijani merely chuckled, but picked up her bag anyway. Chantria sighed, and, in the spirit of compromise, held the other end of her trunk and helped heave it in to the carriage. ~*~ They stopped off at the Timber to get her scroll. The editors body tensed at the thought of more work ahead. Her tired eyes longed for a safe night''s sleep that wouldn¡¯t come soon and made conversation with her new husband difficult. Chantria kept missing parts of what Kijani said and had to piece together what he meant more than once to come up with a suitable response. ¡°Chan?¡± The editor pulled her gaze from the greenery outside the carriage window and looked in to Kijani¡¯s frowning face. ¡°Are you ok?¡± ¡°Just tired. There have been a lot of changes to our lives these last few days.¡± Kijani smiled. ¡°Maybe get an early night then, my mhather is excited to meet you. She thought she¡¯d never have grandchildren pattering about the estate.¡± Chantria pointedly ignored the grandchildren comment for her own sanity, but raised an eyebrow at the old-fashioned word for mother. His family must be upper-class. It may be time to crack open a book on etiquette. ¡°I have clients, Kijani. I can¡¯t default on a contract.¡± His face fell and guilt set in instantly. The editor knew she should be on leave to settle in to marriage and family. It was entirely unnatural not to take the allotted leave and it wasn¡¯t time she could get back. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I have contracts that need to be filled. I¡¯ll speak to my clients and see if they can accommodate a delay in delivery.¡± ¡°Do you have a lot of... clients?¡± Chantria had to think about that a moment. ¡°I suppose.¡± Kijani leaned back against the indigo bench and bit his cheek as if chewing over a problem. ¡°Might want to raise your prices. We can¡¯t have your life revolving around work. Our family needs your time.¡± The editor paused. Chantria never thought to raise her prices. She didn¡¯t feel worthy of the coin she claimed, but Kijani was right. Time would become a valuable commodity once children were in the picture. Her prices had to change to reflect the value of her time, but Chantria thought of her time as close to worthless, so maybe it was time to reframe the question: how valuable would her time be to others. ¡°I¡¯ll think over a new price structure for my work. I don¡¯t want to lose established authours to other editors.¡± ¡°If your good they won¡¯t leave your books. Might even be glad to pay the extra so your eyes are fresher for their books. Are you working tonight?¡± She paused. ¡°I don¡¯t think I could.¡± The carriage came to an abrupt halt and Chantria stared out the open window at a gate guarding greenery. Kijani¡¯s family seemed the simpler kind of rich. The kind where the home bowed to the land that kept the family inside fed. Apple, orange and plum trees obscured the view of the house. Beyond that, Chantria assumed the family were growing vegetables. Most of the upper-class families did this. The rich had the most land and, with space so sparse the ruling classes kept the masses happy by growing and donating food to the economy. All in the name of proper order! Is what the priests of the soul tree would say, in reality, it was a way to balance status with the needs of the many in past times. This way of working used to be of the utmost importance, but today food was grown in skyscrapers and food was plentiful enough. This is an extremely traditional household and I¡¯m far from properly dressed for it. Chantria thought, snatching her satchel in frustration. ¡°Good.¡± Kijani said, holding out a hand to help her out of the carriage, ¡°phiuthar-mathairr, will probably demand you help with dinner. The women in the house like to have a bit of a party in the kitchen.¡± His mother¡¯s sister. ¡°I thought your aunt would be married?¡± Chantria replied, accepting his hand and stepping down from the carriage. ¡°She¡¯s not exactly related to us, she used to help mhathair with us and around the house, it¡¯s a pretty big place to manage, she has her own family as well though.¡± ¡°I can see that.¡± Chantria said slowly. She vaguely remembered speaking to one of the more upper-class students in her class while doing a project at university. She was always talking about the next political gathering, who she had to try and build connections with to help her husband advance. The hassle of managing the accounting and inventory of the estate, planning dinner parties, children and employees. Chantria didn¡¯t say much about her life when pressed. They knew she was a good student, but not much else and it led to a lot of prodding in the group. They were curious, she came to class and went straight to the library. Then they found out she was taking on three majours by looking over her shoulder at her diary. That was more of a headache as people tried harder to get to know her personally and it was harder still to feel as if these women meant anything but malice. Men and women were taught the same material separately as a matter of course to prevent bias between the sexes and account for those delaying entry to married life in favour of studying for stability. ¡°Mhather demanded I pick you up early so you could have a say in what we¡¯re having for dinner, I didn¡¯t feel I could argue. What do you like to eat?¡± Chantria hesitated, but played it off as thinking carefully about her answer while Kijani unlocked the gate, but the first thing that popped in to her head was Madombi. The fluffy dumplings served with stew could be basic comfort food or a delicacy depending on the ingredients used. It was a dish that nourished the soul and she was famished. ¡°Maybe some kind of dumpling stew?¡± the editor replied, making it seem like a suggestion rather than a request left options open. Kijani raised an eyebrow. ¡°Simple¡¯s always good for phiuthat-mhathair. Athair¡¯s coming home early, he wants to talk to you as well.¡± Chantria hesitated. Attention wasn¡¯t a good thing to the editor and she preferred to sit and listen like a shadow in the room. There was a lot to learn from the atmosphere in the room and as the centre of attention it would be hard to gauge the dynamic of the family. ¡°Any reason in particular?¡± Kijani took his time unlocking the gate. ¡°The higher-ups in the chain of command have been wondering about the lack of women at the gatherings since the breach. It¡¯s been getting worse and it¡¯s affecting the defensive lines. Fewer melds mean fewer magic users on the lines.¡± ¡°Your athair would be better off questioning my uncle.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t bring him in for questioning yet, Chan. We need to investigate.¡± The editor usually maintained a stoic demeanour, but she was too tired to hide her worried frown. ¡°I¡¯ll rain athair in if he gets too intense. The sudden decrease in melds since the breach made the higher ups antsy.¡± The ink haired editor watched Kijani open the iron gate with a click of the lock and gesture for her to pass the threshold first. With her stomach in knots, Chantria walked past her husband in to a garden filled with beds of luscious fruit and rich vegetables ready for harvest. She couldn¡¯t resist picking a raspberry from the bush on the way to the looming entrance of what could only be described as a complex. The main building branched off in to smaller buildings, Chantria assumed those were for the branching family. ¡°Will we be living in one of these smaller buildings?¡± Chantria asked, staring at the closest branching building. ¡°Yeah, but mhather likes to have everyone in the main house for dinner. It¡¯s a loud table.¡± Chantria¡¯s gaze was drawn to a still flickering curtain, perhaps someone risked a peek? ¡°How are your brothers? You said something about poisoning?¡± ¡°A parasite got through their armour; they¡¯re sleeping it off.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that deadly?¡± ¡°Not for us.¡± Old blood. The descendants of the first soul were known as old blood. When the soul first bloomed it was said the flower was pollinated by chaos. The first fruit that formed the original soul carried a certain amount of immunity to the rebelling parasites. 50 years ago, the church of souls theorised the old blood line as corrupt and corruption was a threat to order. Extremist denizens of the church quietly murdered those who survived contact with a parasite. Making it seem like they committed suicide or disappeared. At least that was Chantria¡¯s theory. The official council statement was no one survived the parasites touch. The editor found that hard enough to believe that she went looking in the dark parts of the library where few ventured and fewer still understood the text written in the ancient tongue her father taught her. There she found records of infection and death from parasitic touch. At the time when less technology was available only 1/3 of soldiers died of poisoning, now it was close to 100%. The church weakened their army in their misguided pursuit of order. That was the natural consequence of meddling with the soul trees creations. Chantria held her curious tongue desperate to confirm her theory; they didn¡¯t know each other well enough to pry. Someone was waiting for them because they didn¡¯t need to knock for someone to open the door. Entering The Crown A dark-skinned woman with tightly braided hair answered the door. Her welcoming smile sent Chantria¡¯s mind in to a spiral of what possible torture this lady could have planned. The editor had to remind herself that this home was not inhabited by her personal devil, but her body still reacted to the ingrained warning with tightening muscles. Taking a breath the editor looked past the older woman at the table set with a main dish of cous cous with sides of egg, spiced cold cuts and fruit. It was a fine feast, but Chantria couldn¡¯t help a pang of disappointment at the lack of Madombi. Under less unusual circumstances, the thought of Madombi would make the editors mouth water. The fluffy dumplings slow cooked in savoury stew was one of Chantria¡¯s favourite meals. Never mind, she could make that in her little household for lunch when her nerves were settled and her bags unpacked. She still remembered her mother''s recipe. Kijani laid a hand on her should and stepped inside with the editor. ¡°I thought you wanted to wait for my wife to get here so she could have a say in what we were having, Mhathair?¡± he said raising an eyebrow at the display of dishes on the dark oak table. ¡°This is brunch darling I can¡¯t imagine your wife has had much to eat.¡± Chantria looked in to her mother in law¡¯s sparkling brown eyes. The editor hadn¡¯t had a bite since breakfast the previous day and the food Kijani¡¯s mother beckoned her towards looked enticing though she was disinclined to eat. Her stomach clenched with heightened anxiety when she entered the room and saw a man with greying brown hair dressed in full military uniform. He stared at her with even green eyes and gestured for her to sit at the dark timber table meant for extravagant dinners. A smaller table bedecked with fine wines and spirits stood in the corner by the head of the table. She couldn¡¯t see any doors leading further in to the home, but she suspected they were hidden behind the arched mirrors on either side of the room. Minute the front door closed behind Kijani the editor felt the click of a trap sprung, but she joined the family at the table. Unease, once at an even thrum buzzed beneath the editors skin. The room, though bright, smelled sterile beneath the surface despite the invading smell of fresh flowers coming from the open window. A black marble kitchen was built along the far wall and so immaculately clean Chantria was sure even Ayele couldn¡¯t find anything out of place. The ink haired editor looked up in to Kijani¡¯s perplex face. ¡°I thought you weren¡¯t back till dinner, athair?¡± ¡°It was decided we are to urgently investigate the sudden appearance of your wife. That means questioning her.¡± Kijani¡¯s father said resting his head in his hand. Chantria couldn¡¯t help but notice the red band on the man¡¯s arm. Rank, especially this close to the soul tree, was an understated affair. Expensive jewellery were for the middle class trying to break in to the upper echelons with displays of wealth. In the central circle, class was displayed with cloth and colour. For a woman, silks and bright colours were in fashion. The men wore black linen with specific-coloured bands, the placement of which told you with certainty where they stood on the hierarchy. Kijani¡¯s father held a red band with three silver veins embroidered vertically across the fabric. If Chantria remembered rightly, this marked him as a Majour general 3rd class. Her uncle told her the Abara¡¯s were strategists and Chantria assumed they would have a vested interest in the population of magic users in the ranks. ¡°Jambulani, can¡¯t that wait until after brunch? She just got in the door!¡± Chantria swore she saw the man flinch, but the smile he gave his wife was genuine. He reached out for her and she tolerated his kiss on her cheek. ¡°It can¡¯t darling, Issay expects a report when I get back.¡± Her mother-in-law frowned. ¡°We haven¡¯t even been introduced yet!¡± she said, shooting Kijani a disapproving look. Etiquette demanded that she be introduced to the family before she could speak. This would usually be done at the ceremony where she was handed in to their family. Kijani, however, was taking his time removing his shoes and black cloak. Kijani stepped forward, smiling in the face of his mother''s playful glair. ¡°Mhathair, athair, this is Chantria Keita. She comes to our house as my wife.¡± He said playing on the formality with his tone. Chantria nearly laughed, but managed to keep a straight face. ¡°Good morning.¡± Kijani¡¯s mother offered her a seat at the table with a gesture of her dark hand. ¡°Good morning, Chantria. It is a joy to welcome you in to our home. By the roots, I thought my sons would never marry and I hear you have two sisters?¡± His mother''s calm, glowing smile confused the editor, but she pressed on with the conversation and sat in the offered seat as curtesy demanded. ¡°Yes. I expect they¡¯ll be at the next gathering. That¡¯s next month, isn¡¯t it? How are Adjo and Iniko? Kijani said they were poisoned?¡± Kijani¡¯s father smiled. ¡°Yes, but they¡¯ll be fine in two days or so.¡± Kijani¡¯s mother set a square green plate in front of her. ¡°Help yourself to whatever you like.¡± ¡°Thank you, madam.¡± Chantria said, helping herself to a small slice of thick vegetable omelette and the clay pitcher of orange juice. Kijani¡¯s mother smoothed her loose orange silk dress as she sat. ¡°Call me Nobuhle, there¡¯s no need to be so formal.¡± ¡°And you can call me Jambulani... After I question you. For now; I¡¯m Majour Abara.¡± Nobuhle sighed, but said nothing as she poured everyone tea. Chantria gladly accepted. I need to be awake for this. ¡°Am I under caution, Majour?¡± Majour Jambulani hid his hesitation behind a swig of coffee. ¡°Athair?¡± Kijani said his tone taking on an edge of surprise. ¡°You may act as if you are. The only reason I¡¯d consider arresting you is if I thought you were involved in the reduce number of women at the gatherings, but I find that unlikely.¡± Chantria nodded and watched the Majour pick a notebook out of his pocket. ¡°We¡¯ll start with the basics, you¡¯re Chantria Keita-Abara and your profession?¡± ¡°I¡¯m an editor.¡± ¡°For what department and company?¡± Departments, were what the governing council called their organisations of membership and were overseen by the relevant guilds. Editors were classified into different departments dependant on their specialism. The literary guild found her hard to classify given her triple majour. So, they put her name down in three departments as she intended to function as a consultant, editor and authour under one business name. This made her taxes complicated. She had to file them three times and was taxed separately for money earned on consulting, editing and published works, but payments went in to one account. The editor would have preferred to have payments for each prong of her business to go in to separate accounts, but she didn¡¯t dare try and steal her documents again. As her accounting got more complicated the editor outsourced her accounting to a third party that handled her taxes and guaranteed her anonymity for a hefty fee. Currently, that particular frustration was beside the point. Chantria valued her anonymity and keeping the conversation bouncing was a good way to avoid the question. ¡°I get kicked around the editors, consultant and authours department¡ª Mistress Nobuhle, the coconut puff puffs look lovely. Is that vanilla I smell?¡± ¡°Nobuhle is fine, my darling, we¡¯re not so formal here, and yes, it was my grandfathers recipe, he was addicted to coconut. The vanilla is my own little addition.¡± ¡°It¡¯s grandpa Badru¡¯s recipe? I thought he took that to the grave?¡± the majour said, eyes furrowing. Nobuhle pushed the red clay plate closer to the editor. ¡°Yes, I sweet-talked it out of him, but he insisted it be left to the women in the family. His mother only gave him the recipe because he was from a brood of son¡¯s and had son¡¯s himself.¡± Jambulani looked irritated. ¡°Chantria, you better forge us a couple of daughters.¡± Chantria couldn¡¯t stop a note of laughter escaping. ¡°I make no guarantees.¡± ¡°Kijani has my old out-house, but he converted his nursery in to a workout room. You¡¯ll have to give that up my boy.¡± Kijani shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s a gym round the corner from us, I can leave Chan with the brats for a couple of hours.¡± ¡°I do hope you don¡¯t intend to call our children that in my hearing?¡± Chantria said, her tone matter of fact. Her husband was about to reply, but the Majour held up a hand. ¡°You two can discuss what you¡¯re calling your kids later. So, Chantria, where do you work?¡± ¡°I work in the Timber.¡± Jambulani raised an eyebrow. ¡°You work as an editor, in the Timber?¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯d usually be there at this time.¡± ¡°The Timber Cafe, does not employ editors. Obstructing an investigation is a crime.¡± Chantria sipped at her orange juice. ¡°I would never, you asked me where I worked, I find a table at the Timber and do my work there. I employ myself like most editors.¡± The majour twirled his pen in his left hand and eyed her thoughtfully. ¡°You knew very well what I meant.¡± Chantria gave the man a long look. ¡°I don¡¯t assume people¡¯s meaning, Majour Jambulani, I wouldn¡¯t be a very good editor if I did.¡± The Majour paused and made a note. ¡°What is your company name?¡± Her plan thwarted, Chantria sighed. ¡°I trade under a pen name, if I am not under arrest, I would prefer not to disclose.¡± The Majour looked like he was about to argue, looked at his son and stopped himself. ¡±It¡¯s not relevant to the investigation at the moment, but it may be relevant should you become a suspect. Why were you and your sisters not at the gatherings?¡± ¡°We were never signed up and presented to the gathering.¡± Chantria said, forcing herself to eat her eggs before they got too cold. They were nicely spiced, but she couldn¡¯t enjoy them the way she would have liked. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°This is like pulling a stubborn tooth. Who is your guardian?¡± Majour Jambulani asked ¡°Ayele Keita.¡± ¡°I know that name, he was dismissed from the guard for being drunk and violent on watch duty we found drugs in his pack as well. He your father?¡± ¡°No, he¡¯s our uncle, our parents died in the breech.¡± ¡°what¡¯s your family¡¯s address?¡± She gave it. Majour Jambulani made another note. ¡°I¡¯ll investigate that. It¡¯s a little far away from the skirmish. There are three of you so your uncle will have gotten a lot of money from the state to keep you fed and clothed until you turned 25, but you went to University I presume, so he would have received funding for you until you graduated. When did you graduate?¡± That explains why he didn¡¯t bother to read the fine print on my funding application when I went for my placement in my last year of spirit studies. ¡°Two years ago.¡± Nobule shook her head, her long braids rippled like a river and their decorative beads shimmered in the morning light. ¡°There¡¯s just no excuse, is there?¡± ¡°No.¡± The Majour replied, lips thinning, but Chantria couldn¡¯t escape his attention. ¡°And your other two sisters?¡± ¡°They didn¡¯t go to the University; one took an apprenticeship as a seamstress and the other works in the theatre.¡± ¡°And how long have they been working?¡± ¡°Since they left school six years ago.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know why you and your sisters were never registered for the gathering¡¯s do you?¡± There are many reasons. Ayele, thought of them as property and an income. Chantria was the only one who wasn¡¯t earning in his eyes and therefore of the least value. Meaning she had to satisfy him in other ways. Her skin reminded her of every touch despite the fact he wasn¡¯t there. The body kept score of every one of his punches despite the fact she only remembered flashes of her past and present abuse. Shivering, she gripped her tea cup in an effort to steal its warmth. Something told the editor she was lucky he didn¡¯t kill her yesterday, maybe that was why the knife was left out in the kitchen... To Chantria the question of why Ayele never registered them for the gathering was beside the point, but that was the question posed. ¡°No, and I wouldn¡¯t like to speculate.¡± Majour Jambulani tapped his pen against his notebook. ¡°You know non-attendance at the gatherings without cause is a crime, correct?¡± Chantria¡¯s heart lurched in fear. ¡°I¡¯m aware.¡± ¡°So, why didn¡¯t you report it?¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure where my sister¡¯s and I would end up.¡± Chantria said. While studying, the University placed the editor in a shelter for orphaned children as part of her course. Children, were defined broadly as unmelded individuals under the age of 25 in the city of divinity. It was incredibly uncommon for children to be abandoned or become orphaned and with the such weight placed on the building of family there was usually a relative to place any orphaned children with. If not, they were housed in large buildings with a few staff to help support the children. Staff done their best for the children, but they needed more attention than her colleagues could provide and much more consistency than the institution allowed. It as demoralising work and people soon left to join other professions within the field of spirit studies. This lack of consistency and the inherent trauma of losing parents caused behavioural issues that made it less likely for necessary staff to stay. The Majour stared at her a moment, scribbled a final note in military shorthand and stood. ¡°Thank you, Chantria. I¡¯m sorry I can¡¯t stay longer, for this initial impression... and my lack of tact, I will investigate. I¡¯ll see you all at dinner.¡± He said giving his wife a lingering kiss and marching out the oak door. Chantria breathed a sigh of relief and finished her breakfast. ~*~ Dinner was an extravagant and work intensive affair in the Abara household. Especially on special occasions such as a long-anticipated wife and daughter entering the family. Nobule invited half the neighbourhood. Chantria absentmindedly peeled a carrot. ¡°When are all these people coming?¡± ¡°Tomorrow! We can get the soup and dessert ready tonight, have all the vegetables chopped up and spend the morning cooking.¡± Chantria stared at all the potatoes, beetroot, carrots, radishes, nuts, parsnips and egg plant that needed to be chopped up. ¡°It¡¯s not as big a job as it seems, once the veg is prepared everything just needs to go in to the oven!¡± The editor turned to face her soldier who sat quite comfortably in a corner with his nose in one of her novels and his feet propped up on the windowsill. ¡°Kijani? We¡¯ll need some help through here. I can¡¯t help all of tomorrow morning. I have clients to see.¡± Kijani sighed and moved slower than his broken rib could account for in protest. Nobuhle raised one delicate hand. ¡°We¡¯ll have some people come and help with the rest of the preparations tomorrow as an exception. You are right, Chantria, it¡¯s too much work for us three, even with the men helping. More to the point, do you have a dress for tomorrow''s occasion?¡± Chantria paused. ¡°I don¡¯t have a lot of clothing and I¡¯ve never had cause to attend an event.¡± Nobuhle held up a hand against the excuses tumbling out of the editor. ¡°I understand. We don¡¯t have time to get you a dress, but I¡¯m sure we can find one in the attic and have it tailored today. Kijani, I know your rib is broken, but do you think you could help Chantria ruffle through some boxes?¡± ~*~ It took 45 minutes to find a dress for the editor and another 15 minutes to walk down the spiralling street to the seamstress lined with lampposts guarding the road like soldiers in perfect symmetry. The editor found a beautiful thick silk midnight blue dress marbled with gold thread and cinched at the waist with a delicate gold chain belt. Kijani made a fuss about how beautiful she would look in the dress. Compliments were a difficult thing for the editor, her anonymous work was held in high esteem, but Chantria saw that as entirely natural. She should be good at what she does, she offers much more value than the average editor. Therefore, the compliments given for her work were mere statements of fact, but Kijani was giving praise and the editor didn¡¯t know what to say or do in the face of it. So, she walked beside him in utter disbelief telling herself he didn¡¯t really mean it. He was probably just embarrassed to be giving her a second-hand dress and a slightly out of fashion one at that. Chantria, however, liked the colour and the fabric and couldn¡¯t care less if the dark shade of midnight blue was out of fashion. The bell above the seamstress¡¯s door chimed as they entered the airy store. The walls were white washed to display the fine fabrics that hung on the wall in order of lightest to darkest. All the fabrics in this shop were exquisitely thick leaving Chantria in no doubt that this was a store that focused on quality. ¡°Good morning, Master Abara, is this your lovely wife?¡± A lightly tanned woman with brown curls and a finely tailored white dress said from behind an extravagant oak table. ¡°I¡¯m always impressed by how fast news carries.¡± Kijani said. The seamstress neatly tidied away her sewing. ¡°But is it true? The forever bachelor has wife?¡± ¡°Yes, madam Kanyu.¡± ¡°My, the other ladies of the crown will be disappointed.¡± The crown was slang for the upper-class, referring to the highest branches of the tree. Melds, were equal opportunity. The ladies of the crown always liked to speculate who would meld with whom during the three-month melding period, to the point entire gossip columns were devoted to the subject. Chantria never dared to pick one up and mourn what she could have had. Kijani stiffened. ¡°Madam Orvue, I¡¯m sorry for the short notice, but do you have time to alter a dress?¡± ¡°Oh, anything for the Abara¡¯s, but do tell where you two met.¡± Yes, I¡¯m sure it will be half way around the crown within an hour. ¡°We met at The Timber.¡± Chantria said avoiding eye contact by riffling through her bag. ¡°The Timber?¡± Madam Orvue said, aghast. The Timber Caf¨¦, while it wasn¡¯t some back water caf¨¦, it was an old establishment and the only thing that mattered to such an establishment was reputation. Money, was a matter for the trivial masses. In line with this archaic school of thought The Timber had a few quirks. Namely, as an ancient meeting place for negotiation and political conquest, catered to the male taste, though women were not unwelcome. Kijani¡¯s entry to The Timber that day said more about his standing than his military record or familial wealth. Something Chantria hadn¡¯t considered at the time of meeting him, which was likely a good thing, because she was petrified enough in the moment. The only reason Chantria¡¯s entry to the Timber wasn¡¯t questioned was because she was the eldest daughter with good lineage. A point she established in discussion with the manager of the business with her ¡®stolen¡¯ documents when she began working out of the institution. However, she would likely no longer be able to continue working out of the Timber given her new status as a wife and likely soon-to-be mother. Not that she wouldn¡¯t be allowed, it just wasn¡¯t practical for her to work out of The Timber part time while managing the family. It would be utterly irresponsible to damage her family''s reputation in that way. The Chalet, the counterpart to the Timber would be a far more suitable option, she would likely meet some of her old school friends, maybe re-kindle some relationships? In short, she would get nothing done. ¡°Yes, I worked in the Timber.¡± Chantria clarified, but thought it best not to elaborate. Madam Orvue¡¯s professional smile returned. ¡°Ah I see, what luck then! What can I do for you both?¡± Kijani reached in to the brown paper bag he carried. ¡°We need this dress altered. By tonight.¡± ¡°That is a tall order, but I¡¯m sure I can squeeze it in.¡± In other words, the Abara¡¯s are good customers, and good customers have certain privileges, Chantria thought, but felt her face pale when Madam Orvue unravelled the dress in the bright light of the modiste. It. Was. Sleeveless. Chantria tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves that hid that scars from years of being burned by the rope that held her while Ayele used her body as a tool to satisfy himself. Unwilling to meet anyone¡¯s gaze she stared at the neat herringbone wood floor, yet another sign of the wealth of the modiste. I really shouldn¡¯t be here. ¡°And could sleeves be added?¡± Madam Orvue raised an eyebrow. ¡°Whatever for? It¡¯s not exactly fashionable.¡± she was correct and it wouldn¡¯t do to have something against the trends leave a store like this. Chantria thought a minute. ¡°Perhaps sheer sleeves with cuffs? It could bring out the gold in the marbled fabric?¡± ¡°If it were off the shoulder sleeves, and I had the same fabric, it would be lovely, but I don¡¯t have this weave. A pair of gold bracelets would be a very nice addition to the dress however.¡± The editor gulped. She didn¡¯t want to have to explain the scaring that marked her as Ayele¡¯s slave in her mind. Failing to think of an excuse, Chantria was about to open her mouth to argue, then she remembered the make-up in her satchel. The foundation would lessen the appearance, but it wouldn¡¯t stand the test of close scrutiny. ¡°I understand, it was just a thought. I normally like more modest clothing. Do you have a bathroom I could use, madam?¡± ¡°Yes, there¡¯s a door behind the purple curtain on the left-hand side.¡± The sapphire eyed editor nodded her thanks and soon found herself in a small bright white bathroom lit by orange lamplight. She closed her eyes and sighed. The light wasn¡¯t ideal for applying make-up so she would have to risk checking her work in the dim light left behind the curtain. With shaking hands, she found and opened her cream foundation. Another calming breath and she unbuttoned the cuffs of her red dress. She had maybe 5 minutes before they would start getting suspicious. For the first time in years Chantria had a good look at the damage. It was thick red and covered in small, scabby cuts from Ayele¡¯s recent attack. The scabs would make the scars harder to hide with foundation, but she couldn¡¯t risk picking them off encase she started bleeding again. Heart pounding, the editor reached for the sponge that came with her foundation and her body reminded her of the years of invasion. Chantria could never stop herself from fighting against the rope once he found his way inside her. He enjoyed her terror. It hardened him when he looked in to her wide eyes and saw she could barely stop herself from screaming. I don¡¯t have time for this. The editor washed and dried her hands quickly and covered the scar as best she could. She was careful with her blending, but the lighting made it difficult to see how successful her shaking hands were at covering the scars. The editor opened the door of the bathroom so a slit of natural light flitted through. Satisfied, she done her best with what the equipment she had Chantria packed away the foundation and stepped out, nearly walking in to Kijani in the processed. ¡°Sorry to keep everyone waiting!¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine, Madam Orvue has other clients coming in. So, the fitting will be quick.¡± Thank the seed. The less time she has to measure up, the less time she¡¯ll have to scrutinise. ¡°I¡¯ll hurry and get this dress on then.¡± Hurriedly walking back in to the cloth gilded shop Chantria took the dress from Madam Orvue who gestured toward a row of cubicles with thick white curtains which functioned as changing rooms. They were well hidden on the left of the entrance so the fabrics lining the wall drew the eye and the oaken table where Madam Orvue likely conducted her work took centre stage. ¡°Let me know when you are done changing and I¡¯ll take some measurements. She walked into the cubicle furthest away from the door and adjusted the curtain. Chantria avoided gazing in to the mirror. The editor hated how malnourished her figure was beneath the red dress. Chantria hoped a better diet might give her the curves she craved, but for the moment the editor felt lost in the dress. ¡°Madam?¡± Chantria said quietly through the curtain and Madam Orvue entered briskly. ¡°It¡¯s rather big on you.¡± ¡°Yes, I was thinking we could save the fabric in the seams? The dress is lovely and I was hoping I would gain some weight.¡± Madam Orvue¡¯s smile was warm. ¡°I can certainly hand sew it, the fabric is beautiful, you¡¯re right it would be a shame to waste. Please hold still while I take the measurements and I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡± Chantria stiffened while she took the measurements and pinned the fabric in to place. She watched Madam Orvue¡¯s pleasant smile turn to dismay as she confirmed the measurements in her notebook, but she didn¡¯t say anything. A lingering look at her wrists told the editor she saw the scars. The Seamstress¡¯s empathetic glance clenched her stomach in shame and the editor stared once more at the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll have it ready for you by tomorrow morning. You¡¯ll look wonderful!¡± Madam Orvue said with false cheer and left her to change. Changing absentmindedly, Chantria vaguely heard Madam Orvue suggest Kijani get her some gold cuffs to match her dress. There was a jeweller not far away. Hint of the Canopy The ten minute walk from the jewellers to the modiste set Kijani¡¯s ribs on fire, but he¡¯d be damned if he let Chantria find out. Holding open the door the soldier let his wife enter first. The bell announcing their arrival was so familiar to the soldier he didn¡¯t hear it. The lighting, was ambient rather than bright. The room was painted cream and smelled as stale as the old man staring through a magnifying glass mounted into his eye socket. A stately man stood creakily and tucked one hand behind his back. He stood like a lord about to ask a lady to dance. ¡°Good morning Master Abara, am I correct in assuming this is your bride?¡± the old gentleman said, speaking as if from another time. ¡°I presume the canopy ladies have been through town?¡± Kijani said, taking on the stiff tone he used with the rest of the crown. The Jeweller gave him a small smile. ¡°Naturally, the honoured ladies of the canopy were twittering their excitement at a new addition to their circle.¡± The canopy was the ruling class of the crown, the ladies set the trends and gate keep the social sphere. Advancing in any profession as a member of the crown was hard without a woman behind you. Networking and family management was the woman¡¯s job and it occurred to him that Chantria might need some lessons in the finer points of social etiquette. She wasn¡¯t from his world and something told him her former guardian shirked so much of his duty it was disgusting. At least she seemed to know the basics. Kijani¡¯s amicable smile tensed and he gritted his teeth behind the mask of heavy formality. ¡°I¡¯m glad we missed them, my poor wife would be bombarded.¡± ¡°Quite. So, how can I help Master Abara?¡± ¡°My wife and I were just at the modiste and Madam Orvue suggested we get some cuffs to match the dress.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure I can find you a suitable piece madam..?¡± ¡°Apologies. Master Zadzisai, this is my wife Chantria Keita-Abara. We¡¯re looking for a set of bangles for her introduction tomorrow.¡± Zadzisai automatically picked out some suitable pieces from the display beneath him. Thee crown wasn¡¯t wealthy, but they were skilled. Most of his class lived off their estate and, though they clothed themselves in good cloth, they didn¡¯t adorn themselves like the middle rung. The crown¡¯s taste was more practical than showy, they didn¡¯t have the funds to play with gold. Charity was emphasized in the crown, so every extra penny was invested back in to the government in the name of good order. A stipend of profit and good will was issued to them at the end of each year. It¡¯s how is family survived the quiet slaughter of old blood descendants. However, given the increase in casualties from poisoning over the years, his line might be given the stipend they were really due in the near future. Kijani glanced at the ornate black knife mounted on the wall above Zadzisai¡¯s till. It was made of rippling poison concentrated in to hardened steel. The hilt was sealed with a tree encircled with roots. The weapon could poison even one of the old blood descendants with one blow. The slaughter weakened the army and it hadn¡¯t gone unnoticed that Kijani and his brothers were luckier than most in surviving their injuries. It was more reason for the Canopy to be keeping close watch on them, and make sure they meld to good stock. Chantria will be the subject of scrutiny at her introduction. He didn¡¯t know what they would do if they found her below par. He watched Chantria make polite small talk with Zadzisai. His bright eyed wife kept all conversation to the jewels and on the jeweller himself. Giving very little of herself away his bride liked to leave herself a mystery by wearing a mirage of boredom. A good tactic for the middle-class backstabbers, but not for the canopy of royals. ¡°So, Madam Keita, how did you and Master Abara meet? We have all been waiting with bated breath for one of Jambulani¡¯s son¡¯s to match at the gatherings, but the festivities are over for yet another year.¡± Chantria kept her eyes on the glimmering ghost wood bangles. Apparently fascinated by the rippling lines and crystal structure. ¡°We met while I was working at The Timber.¡± ¡°I see, all honest work is good work, as my grandmother used to say.¡± The Jeweller declared with a hint of derision. ¡°I agree entirely. This ghost wood is beautiful. Isn¡¯t it carved from ash and then transmuted by magic?¡± Zadzisai raised a manicured eyebrow. ¡°Indeed, my wife was a distinguished craftswoman and then joined the ranks of sorcery after our melding. We are largely retired now, this shop is more of a hobby really.¡± ¡°It must be lovely working together on a passion project.¡± Kijani sighed. The canopy want those who join their ranks to be distinguished. A woman with her own business despite difficult circumstances was a subject for admiration within the crown. It would bring his little family an inordinate amount of prestige, secure his advancement, set his children up for success¡­ And make sure his line lived. At the moment, the crown saw his family as a fucking breeding project. The soldier knew he wasn¡¯t book smart, his athair trained him as a tactician, he preferred directing troops and getting in the thick of the action on the field. Good traits for a man born in to a military family, but he needed a woman¡¯s subtlety to manage the politics or he¡¯d sink. Chantria had to impress tomorrow. ¡°Not many people know of the manufacturing process Madam Keita, where did you learn?¡± Kijani heard Zadzisai say. ¡°I took a brief interest at University.¡± Kijani snapped out of his brooding and started paying attention. Chantria looked a little rattled. ¡°Ah, an alumni. May I see your pen, madam?¡± Kijani gritted his teeth. It was unusual to ask to see the pen of an alumni, it was an unlikely thing to lie about as the dishonour was more than the short term prestige gained. Once found out, the social penalty was severe. No one would employ you after such a lie and your families reputation was ruined. It was the height of sin to steal honour that does not belong to you. The soldier watched his wife fish out her pen and prick her finger on the needle hidden beneath the pen cap. Graduate pens are attuned to the blood of the one they¡¯re issued to. The glow when the pen comes into contact with the blood functions as proof of authenticity and ownership. Chantria handed over the pen without a word and picked a bandage out of the front pocket of her bag. Kijani was forced to hide a smile as the blush settled on the old jewellers face. ¡°My apologies madam, I never intended to question your integrity.¡± "Your intention doesn¡¯t matter to me sir. I wish to keep my family reputation out of public debate.¡± The jewellers blush deepened and Kijani didn¡¯t bother to hide a derisive grin. At least Chan knows what her job is. ¡°I understand completely madam. However, it begs the question: what is an alumni doing working for The Timber? And a triple majour? By the roots.¡± ¡°I have my own business, sir. I don¡¯t work for The Timber, I work out of The Timber. I simply prefer to working in the caf¨¦.¡± The old goat handed the pen back as if it were a hot coal. ¡°What do you think of this piece madam? I have a matching set if you would like to part take Master Abara.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Kijani raised an eyebrow at the two sets of matching ghost wood bracelets. They were pretty pieces, but not for him. ¡°Maybe some other time Master Zadzisai. What do you think of the pieces Chantria?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t made up my mind yet.¡± Chantria replied, but he followed her gaze to a set of ghost cuff bracelets who¡¯s lines were inset with gold. The ghost wood was of good quality, opaque and simmering in rainbows The rest of the bracelets were inlaid with jewels of varying colours, but there was beauty in simplicity. His wife had good taste and they were well within budget. ¡°What about these ones?¡± ¡°They¡¯re not in my size.¡± ¡°I can have my wife resize them madam. It¡¯s not a problem.¡± Master Zadzisai said taking the set from him. ¡°But we would need them for tomorrow morning.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a quick job madam, it¡¯s really no trouble. His wife paused one finger on her lower lip in obvious consideration. ¡°As long as it¡¯s not too much trouble.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not madam. It takes less than 5 minutes for my wife to resize a band. May I take some measurements?¡± His bride held out a hand and flinched as the measuring tape wrapped around her wrist. The old man took his que from Chantria and noted down the measurements as fast as possible. For all Zadzisai could be a suspicious prick, he wasn¡¯t uncaring and neither was Kijani. Something ain¡¯t right¡­ but he shook the thought out of his head for now and put it in a mental box until later. He still had to make his wife comfortable at home. ~*~ Kijani threw in the towel for the walk back. He hid the pain from the broken rib well enough but the concentration this required was sapping his strength faster than the injury itself. The soldier briefly thought of going back to the medic and asking for some damned painkillers. Then he remembered all the soldiers that were discharged for addiction. The state wouldn¡¯t help him if he didn¡¯t work. As the man of the house, his wages were meant for his family and the state would supplement his income dependent on the amount of children his union produced. Chantria could support and something told him his wife didn¡¯t have a problem contributing to their family, but it was his job. The soldier¡¯s roles was to provide and Chantria¡¯s role was to nurture the family. A good 70% of the provision for his family had to come from him. That¡¯s not to say he thought of Chantria¡¯s contribution as less than his. Her role was to maintain the mental welfare of the family and therefore not to be underestimated. The soldier smiled. Since the Meld he felt the spark of magic accelerating his healing process. Magic users were in short supply and once he finished his training next month, given his military record and lineage he was looking at a big promotion to his father¡¯s division. Battle tactics was what he was good at. If only talking to Chantria wasn¡¯t like a battle of wits. Kijani leaned back against the upholstered seat. ¡°Hey Chan, mathair expects us in the main house for meals, but we have a few hours. Want me to help you get settled?¡± Chan mentioned she didn¡¯t have ¡®a lot¡¯ of clothes and he wanted to see what else she didn¡¯t have ¡®a lot¡¯ of. The soldier was sure her uncle didn¡¯t do his duty and provide for the girls in his care. ¡°There isn¡¯t a lot to put away Kijani, I can manage.¡± ¡°That ain¡¯t the point and you know it.¡± Chantria gave him a look and sighed. ¡°If you must.¡± ¡°I gotta know what you need so I can provide. You do your job and I¡¯ll do mine. You back me and I provide and protect. That¡¯s the deal. You ain¡¯t under your uncles banner anymore.¡± ¡°I still have to work, Kijani.¡± The soldier restrained his temper. ¡°I ain¡¯t gonna stop you from doing whatever you wanna to do. I¡¯ll have a talk with you if it¡¯s potentially bad for the family. Like, if you want to go out at night, I might say you should wait until morning, but I ain¡¯t locking you in a room. Our family is my priority.¡± ¡°As it is mine.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad we agree. So, I don¡¯t need to help you put anything away, you can tell me what you need or you can get it yourself, but presenting yourself as without resources I can and should provide makes me and our family look bad.¡± Kijani leaned back and let that sink in. Family was the foundation of the Church of Ash and the foundation of society. Family is responsibility and you can¡¯t have rights without responsibility. Some people, like Chantria¡¯s uncle, pervert this. He was responsible for making sure the girls were cared for, but instead he sat at home while his wards worked. At least that¡¯s what Kijani surmised given the disgraced officer Ayele Keita was unemployed and the sisters were never presented at the gatherings. If the disgraced sergeant had presented all three girls, it was likely they would all be married and in their own households. Their uncle would then only be minimally provided for as the needs of the girls primary family took over. He and their children would be Chantria¡¯s primary family now. ¡°I¡¯ll likely need more clothing and an office space for my work. I can get those myself.¡± ¡°I can clear a space in our out house and I have a desk you can use, the main house kitchen is a bit loud for meetings. Clothing will have to be approved by the family, we won¡¯t force you to wear something you don¡¯t like, but there is a dress code in our circles. Mathair will give you a crash course in etiquette tomorrow morning.¡± Chantria stared at the wood panelled floor of the carriage. ¡°Kijani, this is all quite a lot at once.¡± The soldier paused and analysed what his wife¡¯s body was telling him. His bride was tense, and avoided his eyes by firmly staring out the window behind him. Chantria subtly shrunk away from him. He reached out to her to and she flinched as if expecting him to hit her. Eyes widening he stared at his bride and thought back on the last few days. When he first met her. He¡¯d went to the Timber with his comrades after his shift. As usual, he was the oldest one there and, having just been passed over for a promotion in favour of a married man his comrades were fucking razzing him. Then he saw Chantria take her glasses on and felt a spark. Fuelled by frustration and high on adrenaline from the earlier fight he was far too aggressive. Then he broke his fucking rib when he got called back to the wall. It dawned on Kijani he was being an arsehole. He¡¯d pushed her along with little regard for how she felt with all these sudden changes. He rubbed the tension from his face and took a deep breath shame tightening his stomach. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Chan, I¡¯ve had a traumatic couple of days and my rib is gnawing at my patience. That isn¡¯t an excuse, but can we start again?¡± His wife paused, tilting her head to one side in silent contemplation. ¡°I understand, and I forgive you, but I can¡¯t say it¡¯s ok.¡± Kijani bit his lip and nodded. The woman had a point. ¡°I understand, what do you need?¡± ¡°Could you leave me alone to unpack. I¡¯d like some time to process.¡± Kijani felt her words like a kick in the ribs, but he nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll show you where everything is and you can put your stuff away. We¡¯ll work out what you need later?¡± Chantria nodded and the carriage came to an easy stop. ~*~ True to his word the soldier showed Chantria the outhouse. It was very plainly decorated, the walls were painted in different shades of grey and cr¨¨me. The furniture was old, but grandly matured by careful use, yet the outhouse didn¡¯t feel like Kijani lived in it. From observation she didn¡¯t think the d¨¦cor suited him, but it matched the d¨¦cor in the main house. Meaning it was likely left over from before Kijani moved in and he simply never bothered to change anything. The only touches of his she could see were in the bedding, densely woven black cotton bedeck a perfectly made bed and, on close inspection, the place was immaculately clean. Chantria¡¯s heart sank. She wasn¡¯t sure she was able to keep this up with children and her work. ¡°Kijani? What is your position on cleanliness?¡± ¡°Piuthar-mathair helps with that, as long as things aren¡¯t covered in grime it¡¯s fine. We¡¯ll have kids soon and kids are messy. We both have jobs. We¡¯ll drive ourselves crazy trying to keep the place up to show home standard on our own.¡± Chantria dared to give him a small smile. ¡°That¡¯s good, I¡¯d prefer to concentrate on the children.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± Kijani said with a boyish smile and continued his tour of their outhouse. Chantria was left to unpack her things in peace as Kijani promised. Though he wasn¡¯t far away, she could hear him snoring in his chair in the sun room from two rooms away. His aunt was going to come and get them for dinner. It didn¡¯t take long for the editor to pack her few belongings into the oak dresser. Kijani proudly told her he spent an hour cleaning after fishing it down from the attic. Staring up at the clock the editor found she had a couple of hours till dinner and remembered she really needed a bath. Chantria hadn¡¯t had one at home for years and instead bought a pass to the gymnasium to use the showers. She was too terrified of Ayele stepping in while she bathed. He removed the lock years ago out of ¡®concern¡¯ he couldn¡¯t reach them if there was an accident, it was easy to slip on wet tiles. Chantria briefly thought about sneaking out to the gym for a shower, it was only five minutes away¡­ but Kijani was sleeping and the bath was just too tempting for her tense muscles. It didn¡¯t take long to fill the cast iron tub which stood on lions paws beneath a metal tap. The warm water eased ache¡¯s she didn¡¯t know she had and the rhythmic snoring of her husband nearly sent the editor to sleep. Sighing, Chantria forced herself out of the bath far sooner than she would have liked. Wrapped in a white cotton towel the night haired editor towel dried her hair. Doing her best to avoid her reflection''s sapphire gaze and thus sight of her body the editor concentrated on meticulously braiding and tying her hair in a bun. Chantria didn¡¯t notice her husband''s snores stopping and the footsteps coming toward the bathroom. She ignored the doors creaking as a symptom of an old home and wiped the steam off her condescending reflection and froze. A first the veil of a long buried memory tricked her in to seeing Ayele in the doorway. Then the foggy veil of memory cleared and revealed Kijani standing behind her in the mirror. ¡°Who did this?¡± He said through gritted teeth staring straight at her scarred wrists. Black Market The more you hesitated in conversation the less likely the other was to believe a lie. This old adage was what echoed in Chantria¡¯s head the moment he walked in. It was indeed a lie Chantria would have to spin to save herself the shame of admitting Ayele¡¯s repeated violation. Intellectually, she knew it wasn¡¯t her fault, but that didn¡¯t erase the humiliation the memory would bring upon her confession. Chantria couldn¡¯t say she didn¡¯t remember how the scars came to be: there were fresh abrasions over the raised scar. She couldn¡¯t think of anything else that could have caused the scars. Time ticked by in slow seconds in the editor''s mind, but each lie she thought of couldn¡¯t cover the truth. Seconds marked by drips of water falling on to the white tiled floor counted down the time for her to come up with a suitable tale ¡°Well?¡± Kijani said, and upon his urge to respond told her she was out of time. The editor finished braiding her coal black hair and allowed herself a calming breath. ¡°They built up over time.¡± Her husband''s grey eyes darkened, but he held on to a civil tongue. ¡°How were the scars built up over time?¡± ¡°They¡¯re rope burns, Kijani.¡± ¡°Ok, so someone¡¯s been tying you down. Why?¡± ¡°There were one or two different reasons- Kijani, can I perhaps get dressed first?¡± Kijani did a double take, apparently he hadn¡¯t noticed she was in a towel. ¡°Chan, if your sisters are in danger we need to get them now.¡± The soldier hit a nerve without the editor realising and she snapped back before her mind could catch up with her tongue. ¡°They aren¡¯t Ayele¡¯s type.¡± She said and just as quickly wished she could take it back. Kijani might not have her capacity for academics, but he wasn¡¯t unperceptive. Kijani¡¯s reply was stiff with barely contained fury. ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll let you get dressed while I speak to athair. Your uncle unstable?¡± Chantria had to think about that. He was prone to rages indoors and out of sight of passing strangers. He was impulsive and acted with little regard for consequences believing himself entitled to others time and body. Chantria was sure Ayele understood what he was doing, but the editor didn¡¯t think he was capable of empathy on an emotional level. ¡°It¡¯s situation dependant. Can you be a little more specific?¡± ¡°If I walked up with a couple of my brothers in arms, would he turn your sisters over?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± It was a horrifying thing for Chantria to admit. Not because she cared about admitting she didn¡¯t know something, but because she knew Ayele was cold enough to rape and kill without a thought for the victim of his ire. The only thing that stopped her uncle from committing every atrocity that served him was keeping his grandiose delusions alive. If those delusions were ripped away from him in the bright light of reality the editor had no idea what he would do. The icy eyed editor stared at her reflection in the steamy mirror, both hiding her own reaction while gauging Kijani''s. Ayele¡¯s ability to control himself was diminishing the older he got. He used to be able to charm his way in and out of various situations with grandiose claims and tales that, if one thought about them for a moment, became highly improbable to the point of impossible. It¡¯s how he got away with keeping Chantria off school for a week without explanation or a physician''s note after beating her so badly there was no way to hide the bruises. He needed the admiration and attention of the people in his surroundings and like a suffocating man needed air. Her uncle''s good looks and with it his ability and power to charm was diminishing along with his impulse control. Since his dishonourable discharge from the military his behaviour had gotten worse faster. Chantria guessed it was because his reputation began unravelling and continued to do so the longer he was out of work and on the drink. In his mind he was the victim of a conspiracy to fire him which succeeded and one day he would be vindicated. Ayele¡¯s tale of how he was discharged became more improbable with each re-telling and Chantria wasn¡¯t sure how connected he was to reality at times. However, the editor was certain that he wouldn¡¯t let his toys go lightly. The knives laid out on the kitchen counter upon her return to her family home the previous night made the editor think he intended to kill. Then perhaps the probable consequences of his action entered her uncle''s mind and he abandoned the idea, but if someone threatened to take all of his puppets within a few days of each other? Chantria kept watching while Kijani searched her face through the mirrors reflection, but the editor new how to keep her face as blank as a grey rock. A defence mechanism developed from her years of suppressing emotions and needs that were not permitted within Ayele¡¯s house. ¡°I think I get what you¡¯re saying.¡± Kijani said rubbing the emerging brown stubble on his jaw and flinched. Chantria sighed. ¡°How¡¯s your rib?¡± ¡°Still as broken as it was yesterday.¡± ¡°Kijani?¡± ¡°hmm?¡± ¡°I know your mhathair likes to have everyone in the main house for dinner, but could we maybe have a quiet dinner here instead?¡± He nodded. ¡±I was thinking the same. You still wanting madombi for dinner?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not fussy.¡± ¡°That ain¡¯t what I asked.¡± Kijani said, his tone gentle. ¡°I would prefer Madombi.¡± ¡°Then that¡¯s what we¡¯re having.¡± ~*~ Chantria changed in to a deep green sleeveless wrap dress and thick black wool shawl to guard against the cold despite the ever temperate climate. The editor stood beside the agar oven that baked bread from dough she found in the freezer. She¡¯d put on some make-up for the sake of presentability in this new household. Green frosted pigment, mascara and a simple lipstick was enough to highlight the green in her otherwise sapphire blue eyes. Sighing, Chantria leaned on the black marble counter and stared past her scarred wrists at the white tiled floor. Kijani said he¡¯d handle his old man. He¡¯d interrogate her otherwise and she wasn¡¯t in the best of mental nor physical state. The last observation Kijani emphasized with a touch of bitterness before walking out the door to the main house. The editor unhappily accepted the point and thanked the Ash for the peace this time alone granted. The timer went off with an angry ring. Covering her hands in a white cotton dish towel the editor removed the bread from the oven and the whistling kettle from the stove. She baked two rolls thinking he might be back to have lunch with her but found herself relieved. Spiritually, Chantria felt herself between a rock and a wall of spikes. She wanted to get to know Kijani, but that required her to let him get to know her. In Chantria¡¯s limited experience of social interaction, it was dangerous to allow someone in to your mental life because it was easy to find an effective weapon there. Searching the dark oak cabinets the editor found a set of simple black plates and a matching tea set. From the layer of dust on the tea set, the editor surmised it hadn¡¯t been used in years. Sitting the bread in the basked on the dark wood table Chantria proceeded to wash the dusty set. Tea was soon brewing in the black porcelain kettle and the iron one posted on the stove to heat more water. She¡¯d need more than three cups of chamomile to calm her stomach enough to eat. The editor found spiced honeyed ham, gouda, a mixed basket of lettuce and grapes in the fridge. Fruit was an unusual luxury in Divinity and grapes even more so. The seeds required a lot of space and heat in the skyscrapers the city devoted to food production which demanded a higher price on the market, but Chantria saw them growing in the Abara greenhouses in passing. The editor briefly thought of taking her lunch outside when the back door opened and Kijani emerged from the garden into the kitchen. ¡°Athair ain¡¯t too happy. The canopy men are blowing up in the administrator''s face right now. You women aren¡¯t fertile till after the Meld. Magic ain¡¯t a thing till after the Meld. Less Melds mean lower birth rates and less magic users. We¡¯ve been paving the road to hell because records didn¡¯t raise the alarm. Defence should have been told. They could be covering up a black market.¡± A black market? That gave Chantria food for thought. Ayele liked to threaten to pimp her out to his friends for money if she didn¡¯t start earning. It was entirely possible he knew about this market, if it existed at all. It was uncommon for women to sell themselves openly, but she was sure if a man new where to look, he would find a girl to satisfy him without the potential responsibility of a child. She thought of telling Kijani this, but the words died on her tongue. Instead, she nodded in quiet agreement. ¡°I didn¡¯t think he would be. Tea?¡± Kijani thumped himself down on the bench across from her and poured them both a cup. ¡°Remind me, did we tell your uncle we¡¯d swing by tomorrow?¡± ¡°Yes, to pick up my branch certificate. He won¡¯t have found it, but we can check on Liseli and Taraji.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I was thinking.¡± Kijani replied, buttering his roll, but he frowned down at the platter of honeyed ham and Gouda. He sauntered over to the fridge and snatched out the pancetta. ¡°So, what did your athair say?¡± ¡°Not happy just about covers it. He passed on the details you gave to his superior earlier and they started investigating your uncle. Let¡¯s just say his military record was never clean. There were a load of incidents after his first scuffle with the Parasites. The doctor noted his suit was damaged and he had a few scrapes, but they didn¡¯t do a blood test.¡± ¡°Do you think he was poisoned?¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Kijani shrugged. ¡°Possible. The poison can do strange things to a man without immunity. What do you think?¡± Chantria blinked back her surprise. It was unethical to attempt to diagnose her uncle. The editor had some idea of what could be wrong, but it was unethical to attempt to diagnose her uncle. A diagnosis didn¡¯t mean anything other than you fit the criteria for a certain condition, but there was a lot of overlap. Chantria speculated that it was best to say that someone meets the criteria for certain things and adjust the therapy accordingly to account for individual variation. ¡°My opinion on the subject is null and void.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± Kijani said, filling his roll Chantria stopped herself from laughing but couldn¡¯t suppress a smile. ¡°What about your mhathair? She can¡¯t have been happy about not having me in for dinner.¡± ¡°Ehm, I had to negotiate on that a bit. We¡¯re still having dinner together here, but mhathair is going to be joining us. She has to talk you through some basics for tomorrow evening''s party.¡± The editor paused. She forgot about that. ¡°I understand. We¡¯ll have a lot to do tomorrow morning. Is this a private function?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Can I invite my sisters?¡± ¡°Nah. This is for married crown members only. It¡¯s not an official gathering and we don¡¯t want potential melds at a debut. Anything outwith ordered process causes chaos.¡± Chantria mulled this over while chewing on her sandwich. The ham was deliciously balanced between sweet and spicy. The gouda was light and creamy on her tongue and she savoured the taste. ¡°Liselli will want to see pictures.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll take plenty. Some will be in the paper the next day.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think this party would garner so much attention?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a big thing when someone enters the crown. The other women want to get to know you. The crown ladies have a lot of political power even though us men are on the front line. We don¡¯t go to regular school. The ladies in the crown and canopy do the teaching and networking for us men folk. We protect and provide. Successful men have good women behind them.¡± Chantria heard the unspoken question in his little speech, but self preservation taught her not to answer an assumed question. ¡°I understand the baseline of my role.¡± ¡°So what did you majour in? Zadzisai said you¡¯re a triple majour?¡± ¡°Social, literary and spirit studies.¡± Kijani whistled. ¡°The canopy ladies will eat that up. You could end up teaching half the crown kids a couple of days a weeks by tomorrow.¡± ¡°I have a business, Kijani.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Like I said, raise your prices. Anything I can do to help?¡± ¡°I... Not at the moment. I have a few administrative tasks I need to do to streamline the business. If we have time, I¡¯ll drop by the bank after we¡¯ve been to the registrars for my branch certificate and got my new identification.¡± It would be nice to get some help with the accounting. Chantria wasn¡¯t bad with numbers. Tax and accounting just wasn¡¯t her area. ¡°Well. Military work is two weeks on shift, three weeks off. If you need help when I¡¯m of duty, I won¡¯t be doing anything useful anyway.¡± ¡®I want to help¡¯ in Chantria¡¯s mind translated to: ¡®I want to know how to destroy you.¡¯ Which was beyond ludicrous under the circumstances. Her education and business brought prestige to the Abara clan and that is what the men of divinity look for. It was a confusing place for the editor. She grew up thinking of herself as incompetent and useless, but reality was telling her otherwise. It was enough to put her off her food. The silence stretched like an elastic band until Kijani broke it. ¡°Hey Chan, I ain¡¯t book smart, but I understood what you meant. I was looking forward to our first night together, but you¡¯re in charge. There ain¡¯t any rush, but tell me if there¡¯s anything I can do to make you more comfortable.¡± Chantria let Kijani¡¯s statement languish for a while. ¡°So, when is your mhathair coming?¡± ¡°In an hour, she¡¯s leaving us time to be a couple.¡± Kijani said bitterly. Chantria finished her roll and took a long drink of the calming tea. ¡°I¡¯m sorry this isn¡¯t what you expected.¡± Kijani¡¯s smile approached a grimace, but there wasn¡¯t a trace of anger directed at her. ¡°Nothing to do with you.¡± ¡°How long are you off duty?¡± ¡°Three weeks. Figured we could talk about how we want to decorate this place. Moved in and never bothered changing anything when I enlisted.¡± Kijani said. Chantria looked beyond the kitchen in to their living room the white walls were a rather bland and the grey corner sofa surrounded what could be a children¡¯s play area if they got rid of the coffee table. ¡°Maybe we could get some plants?¡± ¡°Like gardening then?¡± It was a trap. ¡°They look nice.¡± ¡°Mhathair been looking for an extra pair of hands. My brothers and I ain¡¯t that great with plants. Want to take a walk round the garden?¡± Yes please! Was Chantria¡¯s first thought, but not one she could bring herself to admit. ¡°Maybe later. I was just thinking, the registrar isn¡¯t far away and there are a few things I need my documents to sort out a few things.¡± ¡°How about doing that tomorrow instead?¡± ¡°Tired?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve just been out. Once I¡¯m in, I¡¯m in.¡± Chantria stared up at the copper clock on the wall above them trying to think of the best way to get out of spending time with her husband. He hadn¡¯t done anything objectively wrong, but his needling in to her was driving her heartrate to a staccato and her chest to constrict her breathing. This must be some sort of sin. ¡°I have some work to do for my authours and I¡¯ll need to send some aether mails to cancel consultation¡¯s for the next two weeks. I¡¯ll have to honour the contracts for the manuscripts and deadlines I¡¯ve committed to.¡± ¡°You trying to avoid me?¡± ¡°Kijani, it is impossible to avoid you.¡± Chantria said, but felt a twang of guilt. This six foot man looked like he was a puppy who had just been kicked. This was hard, Chantria wanted the attention and affection he was offering. She physically wanted to remain in his proximity, but the second she spent a little time alone with her husband the felt the urge to flee. She was so confused she felt the urge to cry, and looking at Kijani¡¯s expression she realised how unnaturally she was behaving for a recently melded woman. Chantria heard the tales of heightened feelings of excitement and infatuation in passing from the other girls at the university. Naturally, they took their leave and finished their studies either pregnant or with a newborn. Chantria wasn¡¯t interested in coitus at the moment. Her violation was too fresh, but she wanted and needed to give herself a concession. ¡°We could sit and listen to the voice box once your mother is done with me.¡± Chantria took his smile as consent and set up her papers outside on the wooden deck table in the freeing sun. ~*~ The manuscript Chantria worked on was as hard to edit as it was for her to read the more direction she gave and the more drafts she went through with the authour. Chantria was almost grateful to take off her editors hat and sit down with her mother in law and husband for dinner. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to go back inside. Her body craved the sun. The last 6 years of her life were spent indoors, shut up in Ayele¡¯s house, the library or the Timber. Ayele, as a disgraced soldier, was barred from the Timber and it was the only place she could safely work. By setting the table and serving the food her mother in law brought with her from the main house, Chantria avoided being the centre and subject of the conversation. For the first half at least, she only half listened to the conversation and watched the fiery flowers sway in the breeze. As the light dimmed, their petals glowed, lighting the way for the moths to reach their pollen. A multitude of other plants, berries, a kind of moss with white petals clinging to the stones on the raised bed. Purple flowers pointing to the sky and slowly opening the more the three moons light the sky. Chantria was pulled out of her trance by the mention of her name. His mother was a bit taken aback by Kijani¡¯s behaviour earlier. He¡¯s been rather forceful about not letting him speak to her yet. Though his mother seemed to understand his reasoning. ¡°But surely if we had kept things calm-¡± Kijani¡¯s mother began, but he held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m your son, you do whatever the hell you want with me. Chantria¡¯s my wife, she¡¯s my responsibility. You say nothing to her.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, was there a problem?¡± Chantria said tentatively. ¡°No, darling. Your father in law is simply a bit hot headed and Kijani wanted you to have some peace for a couple of days. It¡¯s entirely reasonable really.¡± Nobuhle said and took over the job of clearing the table. If it were within Chantria¡¯s nature to swear she would have. Her mother in law had taken away the task she intended to hide behind for the remainder of the evening. Then, on top of everything else, she started brewing the tea, that would have been her back up plan. ¡°So, darling, I can see we won¡¯t have much to discuss in terms of table manners for tomorrows party. It would be nice if you lent a little more to conversation, however.¡± Her mother in law continued between the clanging of dishes in the iron sink. ¡°I¡¯m not very interesting.¡± ¡°Nonsense. Mistress Zadzisai called earlier to say your bangles had been resized and she¡¯s looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. She apologised for her husbands lack of tact and wondered if you would like to visit her family for tea next week. As a triple graduate, she is interested to hear your thoughts on the canopy curriculum.¡± ¡°Told you you¡¯d be teaching half the canopy.¡± Kijani said with a smile and Chantria surmised he never hated telling someone he told them so. She shot him a warning look. ¡°I don¡¯t know what my schedule is going to be like next week.¡± ¡°Oh, you can¡¯t refuse. She¡¯s a canopy lady, it would be an utmost insult and bring your young family in to disrepute. She also heard you had sisters, one working in theatre and the other as a seamstress?¡± Nobuhle said. ¡°Liseli works in Theatre and Taraji is a Seamstress.¡± Chantria clarified. ¡°I see, well, she has some unmarried grandchildren that would be eager to take a look.¡± ¡°Iniko and Adjo called dibs.¡± Kijani said with a raised eyebrow. Nobuhle retook her seat and poured the tea. ¡°Naturally, they are your sisters in law.¡± It¡¯s a bit of a scandal that you and your sisters were never at the gatherings. If anyone mentions anything, I strongly advise not to comment.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have anything to add to such a conversation.¡± ¡°Understandably, of course. That is for the men folk to investigate: we govern the political sphere, although the men don¡¯t like to admit it. Now, shall I tell the matriarch Zadzisai you will be over for tea at 10th bell next week?¡± Nobuhle replied with a smile and a twinkle of mischief. Chantria sighed in resignation. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°The ladies will want to hear about your business as well. There are a few in the canopy who would love to help give your business a boost in exchange for you teaching their children.¡± The hairs on the back of Chantria¡¯s neck stood on end and anxiety entered her blood and set her heart pounding. If someone got their claws into her business, they could as easily destroy it as help it. Absolutely not. ¡°It can be discussed.¡± Chantria replied, keeping neutrality was always safer. The conversation dragged on for another hour in which Nobuhle gave all the important names she must try and remember. Half the crown will be there tomorrow and they all want to get to know the new addition. Chantria simply nodded along, uncertain she was taking in the information. All she could think about was how she was going to handle the questioning of dozens of people with no means to leave the room. The thought was suffocating enough she delayed going in side with Kijani for as long as she could, bu the minute she stood she realised she was shaking. It wasn¡¯t the first time Chantria noticed her lack of conscious awareness of her own feelings. The brain might be advanced enough to switch disregard the bodies signals, but the body itself cannot lie. ¡°Chan? You ok?¡± Kijani asked, the edge of worry in his tone contradicted his gentle voice. She had to work to find her voice and even then found it to be a mere thin whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Disordered Paper Kijani put a leash on his temper with a few deep breaths. I find any excuse, imma put my foot so far up that oxygen thief¡¯s arse, it¡¯ll come out the other end. Then he mentally stuck is foot up his own arse, because he was sitting watching his wife shaking like some jellyfish new recruit. He better get himself a cup of ¡®suck it the fuck up¡¯ because this was the real world and he wasn¡¯t in the barracks. In the barracks, he knew exactly what to do. Policies and procedures were clear as was the chain of command. He didn¡¯t have to think. He just had to follow orders. Kijani¡¯s blood broiled between simmering resentment and boiling rage. The soldier had been looking forward to spending his wedding night with his wife. The crown heavily hinted they wanted their wives knocked up fast, and his mother and father were feeling the pressure. The Crown fucked up by starting an ethnic cleansing, and the remaining old blood had to iron it out. Kijani should just have to ease his wife in to bed and plant a child in her. She¡¯s in my house now, why can¡¯t she just get over it already. A gust of cold night wind knocked him out of his selfish bullshit and his temper settled to a boil. His eyes settled on the scars on his wife¡¯s wrist, just visible in the dim light emanating from the kitchen. They built up over time. How fucking long does it take for scars like that to build? Likely years. No one could get over years of torture that quick. Torture didn¡¯t have to leave scars to leave a mark. The ¡®best¡¯ kind of torment was the one that didn¡¯t. The spiritual torture he heard about in whispers. The crown didn¡¯t like threats to order. The hairs on the back of the soldiers neck stood to attention and he wasn¡¯t sure it was just because of the cold. How sadistic you gotta be to do that to someone who relies on you? The soldier gave himself a second and reached out a comforting hand, but she flinched. Kijani took the hint. He¡¯d tried to keep the pressure off her, but her nerves were dancing on a knife¡¯s edge and physical contact was too much. Kijani rubbed his thinning lips and marched through the kitchen into the hall where he kept his bedding and the weighted blanket they used when his grandfather had a panic attack. Kijani wasn¡¯t sure that¡¯s what it was, but it was worth a shot. Kijani rushed back to his wife and put the blanket round her. The soldier didn¡¯t say a word and left her some space to make a pot of tea, but he kept one eye on her. It took a good 20 minutes for his wife to calm down and another 30 for him to get her inside. He slept on the couch that night. ~*~ Kijani woke up to the mouth watering smell of bacon and eggs. Wiping a bit of drool from his mouth, the soldier carefully sat up, but it didn¡¯t stop his rib from sending a shooting complaint up his side. Military training and habit forced him to fold and stuff the pillow back in to the hall cupboard. He briefly thought about getting dressed, but his stomach ordered him to get some breakfast. The soldier walked into the kitchen with just his pants on and found his wife by the stove. She was dressed in the blue dress he first met her in. It brought out her pretty blue eyes. She hadn¡¯t put her hair up yet and the black curls framed her face. Kijani chuffed back a laugh when he realised she was blushing. ¡°Mornin¡¯.¡± ¡°Good morning,¡± she said putting a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of him. Kinda slapdash, but I don¡¯t have a lot in the cooler. ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan for today.¡± Chantria stared stubbornly at her bowl of porridge. ¡°I wanted to drop by the registry for my new documents first. That will take a good chunk of the morning. Then I was thinking we could stop by my uncles.¡± The soldier paused and then nodded. Kijani knew the type, there was no way her uncle was going to handover those documents. Her uncles type liked to hold on to any control he had even if it was a shred of nothing. Chantria probably just wanted to check on her sisters. ¡°That''s fine. The treasury is near the registrar, want to sort your accounting out first?¡± ¡°That will take all day and multiple rounds of administration. I¡¯d rather get some shopping. I¡¯ll just get stuff for lunch and breakfast since your mhathair takes care of dinner.¡± ¡°You know, Iniko and Adjo will be out by the end of the day. They¡¯re going to be pissed we went to your sisters without them,¡± Kijani said, building his egg and bacon sandwich. ¡°I¡¯m sure they will be,¡± Chantria replied, the note of uncertainty in her tone made him balk. ¡°Come on. I got no idea what your uncle told you ladies to make you this skittish, but most men I know would die before they hurt their families.¡± Chantria finished her breakfast and stood. ¡°We should really get going, we have a lot to do today.¡± We ain¡¯t in that much of a rush. ¡°What? Don¡¯t you like what you see?¡± He said gesturing at his military chiselled chest. ¡°You are objectively not unattractive, Kijani, but we need to get going.¡± Chantria replied carefully. Kijani sagged and finished his breakfast in silence while his wife walked to the bathroom. He lost his appetite in seconds, but forced the food down anyway. His body needed the fuel if he wanted to go up a weight class. Not that his fitness goals would help him get closer to his wife. Her fucking uncle put her through hell and he didn¡¯t know what to say to calm Chantria¡¯s nerves. In some ways, he knew she¡¯d slip in to the role laid out for her, but that¡¯s not what he wanted. He didn¡¯t just want her to ¡®perform¡¯ because she had to. Kijani wanted the kind of relationship his father had. Maybe I could ease her in? Worth a shot. ~*~ The marble registry building of Divinity rivalled the university in grandiosity. It¡¯s grand pillared entrance gave the impression they were entering the palace of the gods, but the space within the building was given to carefully organised paper. The space for visitors looking to register a birth, death or marriage was limited to one rectangular room with four desks. To signify status of those working behind them, each desk sat on a podium making the people behind them appear taller than most. Kijani could barely look the black clad master registrars in the eye. However, for the comfort of the guests, there was a small caf¨¦, which sold cheap coffee and lunches that functioned as a kind of waiting area. Administration of documents was thorough and careful. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for people to wait half a day for copies or records of birth and death to be written up and notarised. The request to merge family tree¡¯s documents wasn¡¯t as smooth as Kijani would have liked. It seemed someone changed the father¡¯s name on his wife¡¯s birth certificate to that of her uncle. Chantria was livid. ¡°That is my uncle, not my father,¡° she said her words clipped. ¡°Many apologies madam, but that¡¯s what the record says,¡± the bald registrar said looming over them from his expensive oak desk. This exchange had been going on for about 15 minutes and Kijani could see the frustration was about to break his temper. Registrars were akin to gods and usually came from the priesthood, they weren¡¯t accustomed to being questioned. ¡°Is that the original certificate?¡± ¡°No madam, but everything is copied precisely. An error of this magnitude is unlikely. I know this must come as a shock, your dear mother was married to his brother, but it isn¡¯t uncommon if a couple want to have a family and the husband becomes infertile.¡± Chantria¡¯s lips thinned. ¡°Please produce the originals.¡± The balding man¡¯s brown eyes bulged and the soldier saw a vein on the registers neck pulse. ¡°That will take some time madam.¡± ¡°I¡¯m happy to wait, there¡¯s a coffee shop. Perhaps take a look at my sister''s birth certificates while you¡¯re in the vicinity. There may be more errors to be found there.¡± Kijani was sure the old owl was about to open his mouth to argue, but his wife gave him a look that could command a room. ¡°I am entitled to request the originals Master Registrar.¡± The registrar gritted his teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll be back as soon as possible,¡± the old man stalked off. His black robes flapping behind him. Kijani chuckled. Not as meek as I thought. ¡°Come on, I¡¯ll get you a coffee.¡± ¡°I can get my own.¡± The soldier tried to look her in the eye, but she stared stubbornly away. ¡°That ain¡¯t the point.¡± He took Chantria¡¯s sigh as resignation. The cafe attached to the registrar was seperated by an ornate iron gate and slightly bigger than the office. The kitchen, a box room hidden behind the glass counter. The busy period had passed and the cosy cafe was empty, save for an old couple at the other end of the room. Kijani found them a table near the gated door to the registrar. There was only one boy manning the clunky iron register. The red haired boy looked to be about 14 and so bored he seemed to be counting the slats on the herringbone floor. He turned to Chantria. ¡°Do you want anything to eat?¡± ¡°We just ate two hours ago.¡± ¡°Yeah, and you need to gain some pounds,¡± the soldier said. Chantria paused. ¡°I could probably manage something light.¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°I¡¯ll get you a salad then.¡± The soldier came back with a tray of two black and a simple Abacha salad. Kijani wasn¡¯t a fan of the spicy grated root salad, but it was nutritious and Chantria didn¡¯t complain. ¡°Hey chan? Why are you so desperate to get this sorted now?¡± Chan cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. ¡°Because Ayele¡¯s guardianship is limited by my parents instructions in their will. If records are changed to reflect his name as the father, he can do as he pleases.¡± Kijani paled. Order was prized above all else in Divinity. Records of fact should not be changed under any circumstances, but errors could happen. When a mistake was made it needed to be traced and erroneous records destroyed to avoid mix ups. However, because documentation was so important registrars and archivists were practically gods. So, if her uncle were planning something, Chantria may have avoided a trap. But... she just challenged a god. ¡°what if the certificate¡¯s right?¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t.¡± Something tells me I better not argue. Kijani was about to change the subject when the old owl walked through the gate. The registrars face was corpselike. ¡°My apologies madam, we recently had a new intake of registrars. It didn¡¯t take me long to find the error. It seems your uncle was removed from the family tree before your conception. He is, indeed, not the father of you or any of your sisters.¡± Kijani and Chantria looked at each other. That¡¯s strange. If Ayele was officially excommunicated from the Keita family, then he shouldn¡¯t have been given guardianship of his wife or her sisters. It could be a quirk of law, Ayele either claimed guardianship, or the girls went into the care of the city, and the city did everything in their power to avoid that. It was so unusual for children not to have an abundance of extended family to go to, that the city treasury didn¡¯t have the budget or a system for fostering. The situation had gotten worse since the breach 16 years ago and what little infrastructure they had was failing. The soldier looked at Chantria and the smile fell from his face piece by piece. She looked she was about to strangle the registrar and a much more sinister thought crossed his mind. Because of the importance of records and bloodlines, such a mistake was grounds for execution. His wife was far from stupid and took a long drink of her coffee before responding. ¡°Thank you, sir. However, I find it hard to believe that my parents would allow someone who had been excommunicated from my family tree to gain custody of my sisters and I after the breach. If I may take up a little more of your time, I would like to see their last will and testament.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question and the registrar didn¡¯t argue. He walked back out as if walking to the gallows. If her parents original will didn¡¯t reflect her uncle as guardian, Kijani might have his sisters-in-law under his roof for a while. His wife would have every legal right to take her sister¡¯s and the house leaving her uncle with nothing. If Ayele resisted, Kijani would take pleasure in executing him where he stood. ¡°Hey Chan, you know your sister¡¯s could stay with us right?¡± Chantria held up a hand, her sapphire blue eyes were sharp. ¡°Careful, there¡¯s more beneath the surface.¡± Kijani¡¯s eyes widened and his gut clenched with anxiety. Her uncle didn¡¯t seem like the type who could have organised entire records changed, and bribed officials to cover it up. He¡¯s just a foot soldier. If we go in and just take her sister¡¯s we¡¯d be a sitting target for an unknown army. Kijani was chained to his seat with the weight of this revelation and in awe of how level headed his wife remained. The old man returned with his wife¡¯s parent¡¯s last will and testament, his arthritic step was solemn and Kijani had a good idea what the registrar was about to say. ¡°Forgive me madam. I took the liberty of having a look over the records encase of further errors. The original will states you and your sisters were to remain with a family friend. Your home and your sisters were to be maintained with a regular stipend from the inheritance. Any remaining funds were to be part of your dowry¡¯s as a security when you married. Chantria took a couple of deep breaths. ¡°Thank you, Master Registrar. I would enquire what the falsified document states. However, I, frankly, don¡¯t have the emotional capacity for any further ground-breaking revelations. Please write up a notary of error. My new sisters of the canopy will undoubtedly have begun a background check, and I don¡¯t wish to combat public gossip without proof.¡± Kijani¡¯s expression was as grim as the reaper¡¯s. She ain¡¯t wrong. Chantria was merging with Canopy stock. The canopy ladies will have already started a background check. If they ¡®found out¡¯ she was the daughter of a disgraced soldier it wouldn¡¯t matter how talented she was the canopy would make life very difficult for their family. Normally, he would feel an unholy amount of satisfaction in a member of the authority being knocked off their soapbox of superiority, but in this situation he couldn¡¯t muster it. A registrar was going to die within the week. It wasn¡¯t just the person responsible who would be executed either, the master registrar in charge of the would be as well. The master was probably wondering if it was one of the men under his supervision. The old owl seemed to get the point ¡°Of course madam. I¡¯ll get that written up along with your mergence certificate. I promise you this will be investigated rigorously. May I enquire as to whether you will be keeping your last name? As the eldest daughter and no brothers in your family line you have the option.¡± Chantria looked at him and he shrugged. Ain¡¯t up to me. ¡°That would be preferable. It means there¡¯s less to change from an administrative standpoint.¡± Chantria replied slowly. While this would normally be grounds for disapproval, the old owl simply nodded. ¡°Very well, I will be back momentarily.¡± It took another hour for the old owl to come back with the papers and his wife skimmed them before they left for her family home. ~*~ Kijani always thought the middle class homes were strange. They had gardens, but they chose to fill them with flowers, rather than grow food. A tenant of the canopy was charity and if you had the land you grew as much food as you could yourself and gave up the rest to feed the masses. Growing a bunch of flowers was just wasteful. The soldier took the liberty of knocking and stood between the door and his wife as he reached for the knife he kept underneath his loose brown tunic. Pausing with his fingers on the hilt, he drew the simple blade and handed it to Chantria. ¡°Put that in your bag, I don¡¯t trust myself with it and I¡¯m betting you don¡¯t know how to use it.¡± She didn¡¯t say a word, but he heard her satchel clasp snap shut behind him as the door opened. It was tradition for the man of the house to open the door and the Keita house wasn¡¯t any different. Ayele stood in the open doorway with what would seem a charming smile to the average stranger, but after what Kijani found out today? He looked like a leech grinning in the dark. ¡°Good afternoon, I was expecting you earlier. You¡¯ll be happy to know I found the documents. That will save you the bother of going all the way to the registrars. Come on in. Tara has the kettle on.¡± Kijani planted himself between Ayele and his wife the second he passed the threshold into the Keita house he checked the entrances and exits. Every house in this neighbourhood was built the same way. The downstairs was built in an L shape. When you walked in the front door the first thing you saw was a wide livingroom. A long brown sofa obstructed the exit. The kitchen was situated on the left and was dominated by a large oak table. The place was spotlessly clean and the white walls freezed the room. Kijani shifted uneasily. Normally, the middle classes gave everything a personal touch, but there were no pictures, plants, or decorative objects on the shelves. Everything looked as if it were a show of perfection. ¡°Thanks, but we¡¯ve got a load of stops to make today. We can¡¯t stay long.¡± Kijani said, and stopped his wife from passing more than two metres in the room. If they had to make a quick exit he wanted to be as close to the door as possible. ¡°Such a shame, but you can come in for a cup of tea.¡± ¡°Nah, sorry.¡± Kijani replied in an effort to keep the room at a civil temperature and his temper under wraps. Kijani saw Ayele¡¯s eyes flash with unhinged anger and the soldier regretted giving Chantria his knife, but her uncle pulled himself together. ¡°Very well, Master Abara, before I forget, here are all Chantria¡¯s documents. She¡¯s a married woman now and has every right to them.¡± Her uncle pushed them across the oak dinner table and Kijani risked a glance at the names on Chantria¡¯s branch certificate. Fucker has the right names on the certificates. He probably didn¡¯t want us going to the Registrar and finding out what his fucking posse had done. He passed the thick cream stack of paper along to his wife. She went through the documents one at a time as Ayele watched. ¡°Is there a problem darling?¡± Ayele said his voice sharpening a tone. Chantria filed the stack of papers away in a red folder picked from her satchel. ¡°No uncle, I¡¯m just making sure everything is here. Bits of paper can get lost very easily.¡± She replied, but her eyes were on her little sister sitting with her head in her hands at the other side of the table. Kijani was surprised the blond young lady hadn¡¯t said a word yet. ¡°You alright miss?¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯m very sorry. I have a horrible headache.¡± The sister said, rubbing her muddy green eyes.¡± Chantria stared from Ayele to her sister. ¡°Taraji? Where¡¯s Liseli? She¡¯s usually up by now.¡± ¡°She¡¯s not been well since yesterday night.¡± Taraji replied. ¡°Has the doctor been called uncle?¡± Chantria said without taking her eyes off her sallow skinned sister. If you were sick in any way, the government required you to self isolate to keep the rest of the population safe. With the city under near constant siege by the chaotic parasites, the government couldn¡¯t afford a mass outbreak of any kind of plague. Doctors therefore went from house to house. Anyone found breaking the law was put into enforced isolation and they weren¡¯t given a stipend for their period of illness. Divinity was brutal underneath the veneer of order. ¡°Of course, Chantria. The doctor is due within the next few hours.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± Kijani wasn¡¯t nearly as understanding. ¡°You should have told us before inviting us in, Master Keita. You¡¯re breaking isolation law¡¯s. Chan, we gotta go.¡± ¡°My apologies Master Abara. I wasn¡¯t thinking. I must be coming down with the same.¡± Kijani ignored the Ayele¡¯s obvious attempt at victimising himself. ¡°I won¡¯t inform city welfare this time. Chan, we gotta go.¡± His wife nodded, but her sympathetic eyes still rested on her sister. ¡°You and Liseli get well soon. Would it be ok if we came by next week Uncle?¡± ¡°Of course! You must tell us all about your little debut into the crown. It¡¯s all over the gossip column. The eldest batchelor of the Abara house, finally getting married. Your father must be relieved. I¡¯m sure Chantria will do her job,¡±Ayele said. ¡°Debut? Why didn¡¯t you say? Liseli would have loved to make your dress,¡± Tara said weakly. ¡°It¡¯s today Tara, you¡¯re both sick. Don¡¯t worry, there''ll be plenty of pictures,¡± Chantria replied. Kijani wanted to punch the slimy smile right off her predatory uncle''s face, but a prickling of unease set in. The fucker¡¯s trying to keep us here. ¡°Chan, we gotta go,¡± he repeated and herded her out the door. He didn¡¯t ease up until they were lost in the crowd in the centre of town and the hairs on the back of his neck stood at ease. Someone was watching us. Debut On the way back from her uncles house Chantria had convinced Kijani to come to the beauty parlour with her. He grumbled, but the shop assistant set him up with some tea and a biscuits in ¡®the men¡¯s corner¡¯. Or so the teenage assistant called it with a bit of a giggle as she explained her make-up was incredibly old and she had an important event to attend. Then the editor let the auburn haired teen pitch her mother¡¯s wares and recommend some additional creams. She couldn¡¯t possibly appear in front of such high class women with dry make-up, that would look horrific! As time ticket closer to dinner the numbing shock worse away to icy anxiety. I¡¯m so tired¡­ The day had been long but the work never ended. Everything had to be perfect and there was always something that needed to be done before things were finally perfect. Until everything was done she didn¡¯t feel she earned the rest or food. Though her husband was of the opposite opinion. He vehemently insisted on stopping for lunch after picking up the jewellery, while she wanted to go to the bank and streamline her account. The bank closed early on the eighth day of the week. Which was exactly the point, Chantria made the mistake of telling him that it would take all day to streamline her accounting and it was lunchtime. They had to get her registration for the Chalet in order anyway. They could have lunch there. Chantria could have screamed, but she bit her tongue. She wasn¡¯t above admitting, even if only to herself, when someone else had a point, but Chantria still thought it best to give Kijani back his blade. They struck a compromise. She would register at the Chalet and they would eat at home. It was surprisingly straight forward. Chantria handed over her new identification, meld registration and branch certificate to the white clad lady behind the timber desk. The blond woman took a lot longer than the editor thought was necessary to inspect her documents. I wonder if the canopy women already started my background check¡­ The documents would bring a swift end to a swift end to all potential gossip¡­ Or start another round of rumours. So, they went home, they ate and Chantria just got her scroll out to start working when Kijani put a book on top of it. He then insisted they spend the next few hours together. He was on leave, she should be too and they were newlyweds. The problem was: he had a point. They spent a painful two hours together in which Kijani tried to wheedle some sort of conversation out of her. They settled on books and had a walk around the garden together. She gave in to a little childish curiosity and ended up peppering him with questions about the glowing plants she saw yesterday and the colourful fish they bred in the pond. However, things turned serious very quickly. Kijani paused their walk in the humid conservatory. ¡°Hey Chan?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I know you¡¯ve been through hell, but people are expecting kids to come asap. I was thinking we could ease in?¡± Her brain froze along with her gut. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Slowly get used to more intimate touch. You¡¯re in charge though, we can stop anytime¡­ I figure the more restraint I can show the more you¡¯ll trust me.¡± I don¡¯t have a choice. It wasn¡¯t that Kijani would force her. While the soldier definitely had the potential to do it, she didn¡¯t believe he had the capacity to do so. The pressure was coming from outside forces. Kijani was old blood, their children will also be old blood. The culling of old blood families increased the mortality rate of the city¡¯s soldiers and weakened the city¡¯s defences. The city needed to reverse their error and their children were the solution. As much as Divinity idealised itself as a perfectly ordered utopia, you didn¡¯t take long to wipe away the lie. To maintain this ¡®utopia¡¯ the government brutalised those whom they thought of as a threat and Divinity had little patience for dissidence for any reason. Chantria stared at the seedlings a moment before responding. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s the most peaceful way forward.¡± Chantria couldn¡¯t help flinching as Kijani laid a hand on her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡± ¡°That ain¡¯t the point.¡± ~*~ They got changed for the party together, but Chantria didn¡¯t have the nerve to show him more than her back. She wasn¡¯t sure how much time they would have to ¡®ease in¡¯ as Kijani put it. However she understood he would keep the pressure off of her as much as he could. She changed in to the Midnight blue dress while Kijani dressed in the traditional long black tunic with his medals pinned to his chest. Kijani¡¯s grey pierced her Sapphire eyes through the vanity mirror as she finished adding a soft pink to her lips. ¡°Ready?¡± Chantria stood in response. Out of habit, Chantria attempted to avoided Kijani¡¯s gaze, but he had other ideas. At first her heartrate quickened and chest tightened as fear took over, but seconds later she found the flicker of comfort that eased her fear. He¡¯s warm¡­ ¡°I don¡¯t really have a choice,¡± she replied looking away. Kijani guided her eyes back to his with a soft hand on her cheek. ¡°I¡¯ll have to leave you to the ladies for the first hour, while I entertain the men, but I won¡¯t leave you after that.¡± She nodded and leaned in to his hand enjoying the affection she hadn¡¯t had in years. Hope welled as she realised it might be like this for the rest of her life. In a few short years there would likely be children playing in their living room. I¡¯m fooling myself. ¡°I¡¯ll manage,¡± she said and stepped away. Stupid girl. There would be a lot of work between now and children. Whenever she felt a pang of attraction her mind flashed back to her uncle tying her to the bed. She smelled the musk and felt his hands trace slime along her skin. The rope bit her wrists and her attempts to get him off of her only served to increase his arousal. When he was done it was her turn. Ayele knew her body well and he used her bodies climax to convince her she enjoyed it. Then he would untie her and leave before the rest of the house woke. Bile rose in her throat and the need to scrub her uncles touch from her skin filled her, but there wasn¡¯t time to bathe again. ¡°Shall we?¡± Kijani asked holding out an arm for her to take. She took his offered arm as appearances demanded and they made their way to the party. ~*~ They entered the main house through a side entrance hidden by a batch of maiden hair fern growing from a long pot above the concealed entrance. The narrow blank plaster hall was lit by gas lanterns. The sound of piano music languished in the distance at first and grew brighter the further down the hall they walked. Brightening piano music was joined by the sound of chattering voices and the occasional laughter. Finally the clinking of glasses caught up to the chattering just as they reached a plain wood door. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Chantria didn¡¯t think about what she was about to enter until Kijani opened the door and she saw a sliver of what was behind. Normally, Chantria¡¯s strategy for surviving a crowd involved entertaining 10 minutes of small talk then hiding in a cupboard. However, the party of colourful women and plainly dressed men in black were all here to meet her. The editor took a step back and barely stopped herself from running out of the passage for air. This isn¡¯t about me anymore. She had an emerging family to think about and she had to make a good impression. ¡°Chan? Can you look at me a second?¡± Kijani said. Chantria couldn¡¯t bring herself to look up further than the bridge of his nose. Kijani guided her face to meet his gaze and they were transported in to each other¡¯s minds. It wasn¡¯t that they could know what the other was thinking when they looked in to each other¡¯s eyes. Thoughts came as a mental image of what they felt and the meld made their internal images that much more vivid. The pair were still in the passage, but in Chantria¡¯s mind the door was fully open and the people were replaced by towering shadows with only sunken holes where there eyes should be. The shadow filled spectres stared silently at her and their smiles widened in to predatory grins with needle sharp teeth. Spectres moved in unison toward the door they¡¯re grins growing ever wider as they prepared to eat her alive. Then Kijani popped up in front of her. ¡°fuck sake, you must be terrified,¡± he said and the image changed to one more closely resembling an objective reality. The shadows disappeared to be replaced by regular people. They still stared at them, but there smiles were welcoming. Yes, there were a few men and women who stood in the shadows of the gaslit room looking on with suspicion, but overall the guests seemed kind. Chantria broke the soul gaze. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°You got nothing to apologise for. I respect your courage. You think us soldiers aren¡¯t scared when we face the parasites at the wall? Courage is doing it anyway,¡± Kijani laid a hand on the back of her head and gently pulled her against his chest. He wasn¡¯t forceful and she could easily push him away, but the steady beat of his heart calmed hers. A knock on the hidden door made them both jump. ¡°You two ready?¡± Majour Jambulani said his voice echoing in a flat whisper meant only for them. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re just slipping in.¡± Kijani grasped her hand and they entered the fray of upper class intrigue. ~*~ Chantria was taken to the ladies side of the party by his honoured mathair, while Kijani walked with his father to met the men of the crown as an equal. At first he couldn¡¯t help the smile pulling at his lips, but his fathers sombre stare wiped that smile of his face. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Kijani said, stopping in front of the black drawing room door. The scent of cigars crawled through the cracks. Kijani fucking hated the stuff. ¡°Majour Amari, spoke to me today, he wasn¡¯t impressed with Chantria¡¯s bloodline.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°The majour questioned her legitimacy.¡± That¡¯s not like my old man. He hates rumours. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, a meld¡¯s a meld. They just want to get the immunity back in to the forces.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true, they¡¯ll grit their teeth and put up with it for the immunity, but it reinforces their idea of us,¡± his father said. ¡°What idea?¡± ¡°Tainted men, it¡¯s why I keep getting passed over for promotion and our social contributions are so high.¡± Kijani gritted his teeth. In the past, members of the crown had made it a point of honour to contribute to the masses with the food they grew in their garden¡¯s. Now, the fact food was efficiently grown in tall buildings and the payment¡¯s they made were monetary in nature. They still donated the leftover food, but the majority of the family earnings were given to the state to atone for their tainted status. They were tainted figures within the crown, but they were respected for their immunity. This ain¡¯t like athair. He was strict, and abrasive, but not an arsehole. He didn¡¯t like rumours, but the current talk was hurting the family. They needed Chantria to be successful in the crown. His father just needed some ammunition to counter the rumours. ¡°Records were wrong. Chan got it corrected.¡± His father blinked. An otherwise unnoticeable display of surprise, but the 30 second count it took him to answer were the only clues to his stoic fathers feelings Kijani needed. ¡°That¡¯s interesting¡­ Who is her father?¡± His late father in law¡¯s name triggered a memory of the musty Misal. The marbled walls held depictions of the great ash and the personification of its fruits. At the head of the room behind the priest¡¯s podium there was a brass plaque with a list of honoured men and women. You earned your name on that plaque for great service to the city. ¡°Her fathers Chike Keita. He was given the title of General after he died. The man¡¯s on the honours list in the mess hall,¡± I¡¯ll have to look in to my father in law some more. His athair¡¯s grin was slow and sly. ¡°Could I see the notary?¡± ¡°Chan¡¯s got it. She seen this coming a league away.¡± ¡°good, shall we then?¡± his athair said and, without waiting for a response, opened the dark wood door. Kijani knew enough to the role of the silent bystander as his father stepped forward. ¡°Good morning gentlemen. May I introduce my son, Kijani, to our ranks?¡± An older man stepped forward. He wore the same black uniform as all the other men, but the gold medals pinned to his chest depicting a scroll marked him as the head archivist. His green eyes were bright despite his white hair and wrinkled skin. If memory served him, and Kijani¡¯s memory rarely failed, the man¡¯s name was Chiumbe Awad head of records and one of the most powerful men in the crown. His reputation was above reproach, but his wife was unable to give him children. It was a scandal for a man of such high ranking not to have children and more than a few wondered what was wrong. Chiumbe held out a hand for him to shake. ¡°Welcome and congratulation¡¯s lad, it must feel incredible to finally find a worthy wife.¡± Kijani internally gritted his teeth and took the offered hand. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Thank you for your kind words Lord Awad. I was sorry to hear about your impending loss from within the archive,¡± His father said gesturing toward the plush chairs by the open window. Thank fuck. I don¡¯t know how these snobs can smoke that shit. The head archivist raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°I¡¯m very sorry Lord Awad. My son and daughter in law were at the registry this morning to have their branching certificates updated. It seemed there was a mix up somewhere along the line. Her uncles name was mixed up with that of her father in the records.¡± The old man¡¯s face paled with every word. ¡°I see¡­ I¡¯m very sorry for this error.¡± ¡°My dear daughter in law fixed the problem. It is sad, but just that these errors are a capital crime. Any break in the order of things could cause chaos.¡± ¡°Yes, that is very true,¡± Lord Awad said slowly. ¡°Anyway, we are here to celebrate my son¡¯s upcoming wedding. We were very proud to welcome Chantria to the family. My son tells me her father¡¯s name is on the honours list at the Misal. There is clearly a problem somewhere, especially since records didn¡¯t alert us to the fact her sisters never attended a gathering.¡± ~*~ Chantria was led to the canopy table at the back of the room. She kept her head forward despite her pounding heart and the heat of a hundred eyes upon her skin. Though the editor saw the ladies welcoming smiles she noted the fine jewellery and silks which they wore like armour. The editor took her mother in laws lead and bowed before the ladies. ¡°Ladies, may I introduce Chantria Keita-Abara to our ranks?¡± her mother in law said. ¡°Welcome, darling! I¡¯m lady Imam,¡± an older lady said brightly. Shocked at the enthusiasm in the greeting Chantria looked up at the gently smiling woman. Her deep chocolate eyes were incredibly kind. ¡°Thank you,¡± Chantria said stunned. ¡°I¡¯ve heard some wonderful things about you from the maiden¡¯s in the Chalet. A triple majour and a father with his name on the honour¡¯s list. Though I was disheartened to hear about the error made in your records.¡± A static shock of gasps zipped through the room ¡°Error?¡± a lady dressed in deep pink and greying blond hair squeaked. ¡°Yes Lady Awad. It seem¡¯s one of the archivists mixed up her uncles name with that of her father.¡± Uncomfortable with the topic Chantria reached for the pot of tea. ¡°Would anyone like some tea?¡± ¡°Yes please, darling. Best wash away this topic. It¡¯s for the men to resolve. I was just speaking to Lady Zadzisai. We wanted to get your thoughts on the canopy curriculum?¡± ¡°Yes, Lady Zadzisai invited me over for tea to discuss this next week,¡± Chantria said. That one sentence turned Lady Imam¡¯s attention to the silver haired Lady Zadzisai. The ladies ears pricked up as they listened intently to the polite negotiation between the two crown ladies arranging a new time they could both meet with her. This shift in attention allowed Chantria to fill cups. However, one pair of eyes stared at her uncertainly. She was a darker skinned lady with curly coils dressed in a deep red wrap dress. Recognition hit her like a flood of relief. It was Hadiza. Her old school friend. Chantria briefly thought of beconing her over, but returned to filling cups. She probably won¡¯t remember me. In the time it took her to fill another cup her friend had crossed the room and embraced her in a tearful hug. Social Roses and Thorns The whole set, and room stank of smoke and Kijani had given up sitting and stood like a bodyguard next to the wide open window. His athair was shooting him glares and subtly gesturing for him to join the other men on the leather sofa. Kijani ignored him. The hell I¡¯m breathing all that shit in. He was already thinking about his next set, and he wasn¡¯t gonna reach his goal with poison in his lungs. The men of the canopy sat around the large glass coffee table and leaned back against the back of the sofa. The brown leather denting as they made themselves comfortable in their black uniform of loose cotton. All men were clean-shaven and wore expressions that told of varying levels of boredom and disdain. Though, much like Kijani in relation to his father, the other men let Lord Awad take the lead in conversation. It was his approval they needed to remain and move up in the social hierarchy. ¡°Master Abara?¡± Lord Awad said, staring at Kijani. Awad smiled pleasantly on the surface, yet Kijani sensed the shark beneath the mask. Kijani¡¯s father was Lord Abara in the context of this room. He, as the eldest son, and recently married, was addressed as Master Abara. As such he was not to speak unless spoken to directly. This event was an introduction and the beginning of his apprenticeship as heir to the Abara household. ¡°Yes sir?¡± The portly man took a pleasure filled draw of his cigar and breathed the smoke directly in his direction. ¡°How was your first night with your new wife?¡± This jealous fucker. ¡°We¡¯ve taken the time to get to know each other,¡± he replied, taking a leaf out of Chan¡¯s book and kept his reply in cryptic code that can be interpreted in a multitude if ways. ¡°Is she bleeding already?¡± Kijani gritted his teeth but kept a pleasant smile. ¡°Chantria wouldn¡¯t like me to say.¡± Mind your own damn business old man. ¡°Understandable, women can be a little touchy about these things. I remember my first night with my wife,¡± the old man gave a contented sigh at the memory. His athair smiled. ¡°It¡¯s a memory we all treasure, and we thank the great Ash the blessings that came from this union. My son will have strong and quick-witted children given his lovely wife¡¯s proclivities. How are your efforts for children coming Lord Awad? Have you considered adoption? It would be a kindness.¡± His fathers tone was perfectly pleasant, but the Lord stiffened despite his hollow smile. ¡°We have, but my wife is not too old yet.¡± Bullshit. Kijani thought, but restrained his tongue. He didn¡¯t understand what the big deal about adoption was in the crown. Sure, it¡¯s nice to have biological kids, but a baby adopted and raised in the crown would be as good a son or daughter as one born in. It¡¯s the values that counted. An adopted child would be theirs in the eyes of the Ash and the eyes of society. He was robbing himself. ¡°I wish you both the best of luck. May we discuss the taxes? My son is married and children are on the horizon.¡± Lord Awad took a long draw on his cigar and with narrowed green eyes. ¡°We will look at reducing the payments as your son is now married in the name of good order. As for further discounts in that region; we will need to wait until the souls bear fruit.¡± His athairs smile never faded. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m looking forward to seeing what my son and new daughter will yield. I did notice that our payments were unusually high compared to the rest of the canopy, however. Perhaps it could be looked in to in the name of good order?¡± The men paused and stared at Lord Awad, it was an open secret that his family paid more in tax as repentance for their existence, but taboo to discuss. The situation was different now though, the army was thinning because the underground cleansing diminished the army¡¯s immunity, and they needed more kids from his tree. There was a lot of pressure on Kijani and his brothers to find a wife, both socially and politically. At first, he found the gatherings boring and tedious. He used to take a book and read through the event once he was done looking at the girls on offer. As time went on the canopy wallowed in their scorn and increase their payments as punishment for their apparent lack of co-operation. The older he got the more frustrated he became at his lack of progression in the ranks. He stopped bringing the books and concentrated on finding a wife. If one of them found their woman, it would bring a swift end to his family¡¯s hardships. Though his athair was taking a risk speaking so frankly in front of the pillars of power that represented the crown to the public. The point that this delay in marriage and children was not their fault was so subtly and well made by his father that there was room for requests. ¡°Master Abara, does your lovely wife have sisters?¡± Lord Awad asked, barely looking in his direction. Kijani paused. My brothers will kill me if they don¡¯t get the first look. ¡°She has two younger sisters.¡± Lord Awad nodded and picked up his short glass of brandy from the oak coffee table. ¡°If what your saying is true and your son¡¯s bride is of such impeccable stock, we will reduce the payments after the marriage ceremony. We will reduce them to regular levels once Master Abara¡¯s union bears fruit and your other two sons are married. I will then take it on trust that your family intends to do their duty to our great city.¡± For the canopy, that was generous. So, he swallowed the protest that was bubbling beneath his icy fa?ade and put on a smile. ¡°My apologies for interrupting, gentlemen, but I promised my wife I would be back with her in an hour. She¡¯s a little nervous.¡± The last Kijani added in a tone of polite apology. For the benefit of his family, he could play part of the model heir to the Abara household. ¡°Well, we can¡¯t force your son to break his word to his new wife, Lord Abara? I am looking forward to meeting her. Such accomplished women are rare these days,¡± Lord Awad said. His father gave him a glancing glare before returning Lord Awad¡¯s smile. ¡°Of course. I¡¯m sure we all understand my son¡¯s need to be with his wife, but my Lady Nobule hate¡¯s cigars.¡± Kijani took a deep breath of fresh air. ¡°Then, by your leave, I will join my wife.¡± I got mission ¡®Knock up your wife asap¡¯ and Chantria has to trust me for that. Breaking my first promise won¡¯t be a good look. Kijani held his breath against the smoke on the way out the door. His athair could handle the rest. ~*~ Chantria sighed. Hadiza was a great help to the ladies in getting to know her. Her friend kept her partially distracted with a plate of coconut cookies and tea while the canopy ladies timed their questions between sips of tea. By the end of her third cup she had a full diary of social engagements for the month which included literary lessons for the children. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. All the attention kept her body on high alert for the majority of the ensuing conversation. A flicker of light or movement on the peripheral of her vision would startle her heartrate in to quickening its beat against her ribcage. One whisper of possible aggression forced her muscle to tense. Each sound and movement was so magnified she felt as if her body lay on a torture rack being pulled in different direction. Chantria drank the last of her tea. ¡°excuse me a moment ladies,¡± Chantria stood and made her way to the bathroom. The ¡®ladies room¡¯ was hidden behind a red curtain as was tradition. The white tiled room was quiet but for a dripping tap tapping against the stone washbasin that extended along the length of the room. She closed her eyes and used the beat of the dripping water to time her breathing to a deep calming wave. Unsure how much time ticked by with her back against the door trying to breath away the tension between her shoulders. Chantria felt her body drain of energy with each breath as her body dimmed her senses to normal levels. Sluggishly, she slipped her little green diary out of her satchel and stared at the pages of social engagements the ladies of the crown and canopy had deigned to offer and which she didn¡¯t have a choice but to accept. She was aware that a good impression was imperative for the future of her family. This good first impression was then something that had to be maintained, but her reputation could implode at any time with a single misstep and that of her family with it. Staring down at the pages she foresaw doom at every interaction and froze along with time. A knock on the door jolted her out of her trance and she stared up at the black clock above. She¡¯d been in the bathroom for 20 minutes staring at the pages of her diary. Dissociative seizures were a good sign she needed to see one of her colleagues. Her professor used to call this: ¡®Psychologist inception¡¯. A psychologist went to a psychologist in a never ending cycle of mental health necessity. Chantria chuckled and put away her diary. I¡¯ll see about organising that tomorrow morning. ¡°Hey Chan? You ok? The ladies said you¡¯d been in there a while,¡± Kijani¡¯s said through the door. Chantria reluctantly walked out of the little pocket of peace that was the bathroom and back in to the war zone that was the main foyer. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± it was a necessary lie. She couldn¡¯t have him thrown off his stride worrying about her during their introductions. It was too important. Kijani raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but didn¡¯t say a further word on the subject. ¡°I hear you met an old friend?¡± ¡°Yes, Hadiza. I haven¡¯t seen her in years,¡± Chantria said with a smile. ¡°Why?¡± Kijani asked laying a hand on the small of her back and propelling her toward the main table where the canopy ladies sat. ¡°My uncle wouldn¡¯t allow it.¡± Kijani¡¯s face fell. ¡°I see. Are you gonna be busy then?¡± ¡°Not for another two weeks. It seems uncouth for me to be managing social engagements during what is supposed to be our honeymoon.¡± ¡°Good. We need the time, ¡± Kijani said. Kijani¡¯s grin put her stomach off the canape¡¯s the black clad servers were just bringing out. Crackers, cheese, cold cuts of meat and fish filled the tray¡¯s the servers placed on the pristine tables. The party was, apparently, nearly at an end. This was a short gathering in the grand scheme of things, merely an introduction for the married couple before they isolated themselves for the traditional two weeks after their meld and before the marriage ceremony. It would not be unexpected that she be with child by the time the marriage ceremony rolled around. It would, in fact, be the ideal scenario. The process of conception was what loaded the scream in her throat. However, she had enough self-control not to pull the trigger. Instead she claimed that elusive breath. ¡°How did your meeting go?¡± Chantria asked, changing the subject so fast it could easily induce conversational whiplash. ¡°I didn¡¯t say much. Met the head archivist. He said the sooner we have children, the better.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± ¡°We¡¯ll work it out Chan. Do you have the notary of error on you?¡± Chantria nodded. ¡°Good. Lord Awad wants to see it.¡± ¡°Lord Awad?¡± Chantria asked picking a drink off the serving tray. ¡°He¡¯s the head archivist.¡± She paused with the drink halfway to her lips, and decided against taking a sip. With a polite nod to the ladies playing cards nearby they continued their walk to the canopy table, ¡°Lady Awad expressed some concern when the error was mentioned in conversation,¡± Chantria said. ¡°Yeah, cause he could be executed for the error. It depends on who made the error and if the person who made the error was still an apprentice.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think it would be someone that high ranking.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter who the fuck it was, this city depends on good records and organisation. One mistake threatens that. Actually, pretend you don¡¯t have the notary with you. I want six copies and a judge to verify them before I hand anything over.¡± Chantria was seconds from replying when Hadiza came rushing over. ¡°Chantria, where were you?¡± her old friend whispered, ¡°I had to start distracting them with tales of your mischief!¡± ¡°What mischief?¡± Chantria replied with a cheeky smile. ¡°Exactly! It was terribly difficult to think of anything!¡± they were spotted by the Lady Zadzisai. ¡°Ah, Mistress Keita-Abara, you were gone for rather a long time. We were getting rather worried,¡± the older lady said brightly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I checked my aether scroll while I was in the bathroom and noticed a couple of urgent aether mails,¡± Chantria said ¡°Yes, do tell us more. You work as an editor with three majours? Your business must be quite profitable.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t manage my own accounts. The taxes are too complicated for me to manage. We can talk about it another time though. I think the men will be joining us soon,¡± Chantria replied. ¡°What? You outsourced something? It must be complicated then!¡± Hadiza said, clearly hinting at her general need to be on top of everything to make sure it¡¯s done correctly. ¡°Chantria and I were discussing reducing her hours and increasing how much she charges. Her time will become much more valuable once children arrive,¡± Kijani supplied. ¡°Naturally! I quite agree.¡± Lady Zadzisai said. The banging open of doors announced the men¡¯s march in to the hall. Most joined their wives, but Majour Abara and a portly man marched directly toward them. Chantria only gave the men a cursory look as they approached. She noted the high bearing of the older gentleman and the majours thin lips. He didn¡¯t seem pleased, but she couldn¡¯t tell where or at home his anger was directed as he joined them. Nobuhle came rushing over with another pot of tea. ¡°Gentlemen! I thought you would be longer, my apologies, the coffee hasn¡¯t been served yet.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself, Lady Jambulani, we adjourned early. I was informed of an urgent incident at the archive¡¯s. It seems there was an error with your new daughter¡¯s birth certificates?¡± ¡°Oh? This is news to me?¡± Nobhule said giving Chantria a sideways glance. The older gentleman followed Nobuhle¡¯s gaze. ¡°Is this your new daughter?¡± Kijani stepped forward, partially shielding her. ¡°This is my wife, Chantria Keita-Abara.¡± The old man looked at her the same way Ayele did before he ordered her to bed. Ice ran down her spine as she fought the memories of last week. In a desperate bid to feel safe she reached for Kijani¡¯s hand and leaned in to his muscular body. Chantria briefly looked up at Kijani¡¯s sparkling eyes, but when he turned to face the Lord they hardened to quickly for her to decipher the meaning behind his expression. ¡°You are very lucky Master Abara, she is lovely. My dear, Majour Abara said you had a notary of error? May I see it?¡± the Lord said ¡°I¡¯m sorry my Lord, I don¡¯t have it with me. It didn¡¯t seem appropriate to bring such an important document to a party,¡± Chantria replied smoothly. ¡°If memory serves, your home isn¡¯t too far away from the main house, could you not go and get it?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my Lord, I¡¯m not entirely sure where I put it and I wouldn¡¯t like to keep you waiting while there is an emergency.¡± When faced with someone like Lord Awad, Chantria liked to keep everything short and sweet so as not to give them any wiggle room. However, this small act of defiance sent a ripple through the room and Chantria surmised it was not normal to refuse the old Lord. Lord Awad glared at her, but turned his attention to his wife. Lady Awad was already rushing over, her skirts billowing slightly in her hurry and her eyes wide with fright. The demeanour of pair left Chantria wondering whether the lack of children in the Awad household was really a product of fate or if it was a deliberate decision. Though abortion was illegal in the city, there were ways to prevent a pregnancy from taking root. It was the women, after all, who had control over who was born. Dilema Exhausted and with his rib aching, Kijani returned to their home with his new wife and hung up their cloaks. A twinge of lightning pain ran through his side as he did so, but Kijani stifled the wince. He turned to face his wife, but Chantria wasn¡¯t where he expected her to be. She had walked into the kitchen as silently as the creeping breeze and was preparing the kettle. Kijani smiled. ¡°If you were a man you¡¯d make a great ranger.¡± ¡°How so?¡± Chantria said getting two cups out of the cupboard. She sounded exhausted even though the party was a mere three hour introduction. ¡°I thought the floor and swallowed you whole when I turned around. I didn¡¯t hear you sneak into the kitchen.¡± Chantria turned on the stove and leaned against the counter. ¡°Force of habit.¡± His smile faded, but held. That reminded him of the lecture he had ten years ago. What had the old man said? ¡° Victims of abuse do everything within their power to prevent harm to themselves. They mould themselves into the ideal image of the abuser. They suppress any feelings that may cause the abuser to hurt them¡±, ¡®cause the abuser to hurt them¡¯ were the words that stuck with Kijani. You can¡¯t ¡®make¡¯ someone hurt you, the person who hurts you has to make the choice to do it. The thought that his wife made such an effort to make herself invisible signified something he couldn¡¯t put into words, but anger simmered in him like a serpent beneath the sand. Not that he¡¯d ever let Chan see it in him, she¡¯d probably run a mile. ¡°what are you brewing? Doesn¡¯t smell like tea.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not the regular brand, no. It¡¯s hemp tea with the hallucinogenic removed.¡± At least she¡¯s honest. ¡°Isn¡¯t that illegal?¡± he said pointedly. ¡°Not with the hallucinogenic removed. It¡¯s used a lot in practice to relieve anxiety and help you sleep. It can also function as an anti-inflammatory.¡± That sounds¡­ useful for the next part of the conversation. ¡°I¡¯ll join you for a cup.¡± ¡°I thought you might.¡± The kettle whistled and Chantria filled both mugs. She brought them both into the living room and left them on the coffee table. ¡°You did good tonight you know,¡± Kijani said ¡°It definitely could have been worse,¡± Chantria replied. Kijani sat on the sofa and picked one of the mugs of hemp tea to drink. ¡°Nothing bad about it, your social calendar isfull, the canopy ladies like you and the men haven¡¯t raised objections.¡± Chantria continued standing by the coffee table. ¡°Lord Awad didn¡¯t seem too pleased.¡± ¡°That had nothing to do with you. He was pissed that someone screwed up in the Archives,¡± Kijani said, patting the seat beside him on the sofa signalling her to join him. ¡°I was going to get changed for bed first.¡± ¡°Be quick then, your tea will get cold.¡± ~*~ Kijani didn¡¯t say a word when Chantria re-joined him in a white silk night dress and dark blue dressing gown some ten minutes later. Her tea would be lukewarm by now, but she took one long drink of the tea, still standing. ¡°Why don¡¯t you join me on the sofa? We could listen to the voice-box for a bit before bed.¡± Kijani nearly patted himself on the back as he watched his wife stare at the mantelpiece where the square box sat. With a turn of the black dial you could listen to a variety of music or dramas. Seemed like he¡¯d found a tempting vice, and excuse, to get a little comfy with his wife. ¡°What¡¯s on?¡± Chantria asked Kijani picked the voice-box guide from the shelf beneath the tabletop. ¡°There¡¯s some crime thriller about a group of kidnapped girls that looks good, we missed the comedies. You couldn¡¯t pay me to listen to a historical romance. The documentary about the canopy is nearly finished, and I¡¯d be able to give you more accurate information.¡± Chantria smiled. ¡°In other words, you want to listen to the crime thriller, and I don¡¯t really have an option?¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. So, are you going to join me?¡± Chantria sighed dramatically. ¡°I suppose I must.¡± Kijani grabbed the red patchwork blanket off the back of the sofa and wrapped himself in it. He held one end of the blanket out toward Chantria. ¡°It gets cold at night, want to turn on the radio to channel 4.3 and join me?¡± He asked again, reinforcing his request to join him on the sofa. Chantria was still standing, looking a bit lost. Her eyes went from him to the voicebox, but she turned on the voice-box and joined him under the blanket. ~*~ Over the next sacred two weeks after their wedding, Kijani worked with his wife to get her comfortable with intimacy. The first night they spent in each other¡¯s arms and most of the day sleeping off their exhaustion, but Chantria was far more lethargic than he expected then he remembered that they didn¡¯t have dinner yesterday¡­ ¡°Hey Chan, have you eaten today?¡± She thought a moment. ¡°No.¡± If food is restricted for longer periods it¡¯s possible for someone not to realise they are hungry. Kijani took over making breakfast from that day on, quietly set an eating schedule and dotted snack spots about the house. The last thing Kijani wanted to do was force his wife into anything. So he broached the subject over dinner the next night. ¡°Hey Chan?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± She replied, pushing the remaining bit of egg and plantain hash around the plate. ¡°Anything I can do to make you more comfortable in the bedroom?¡± ¡°I know we have to, but-¡° Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Kijani raised a hand. ¡°It would be ideal if the kids came sooner, and there is outside pressure, but my athair and I can keep the parasites from the walls. We just have to be working toward what we need to be doing. So, what would make you more comfortable?¡± She told him, and his exercise in restraint began. Chantria was tentative the second night, they sat in front of each other while she familiarised herself with his body. She ran her hands along the spiderweb of scars on his chest and abdomen, while he held himself back from tasting her skin. It ain¡¯t his fault he hardened uncomfortably at the sight of her naked breast and touch. His wife, however, withdrew at the sight. In the light of the candle, Kijani wasn¡¯t sure, but she seemed to be shaking. ¡°Chan? You ok?¡± She curled away from him as if waiting to be struck¡­ or more likely raped. He didn¡¯t take her uncle as someone with any self-control. His stomach sank and he reached out a comforting hand, but Chantria flinched at his touch. He paused, his hand flat against her back and waited until she found his gaze. She looked perplexed. Ash and stone, the woman genuinely thought I was going to jump her. ¡°I ain¡¯t going to hurt you. I ain¡¯t perfect, but no man in their right mind would hurt their family like that.¡± It took her longer than was normal to find his gaze and see the truth in what he said. A large part of Kijani¡¯s frustrations with his wife, up until now, had come from her behaviour. It wasn¡¯t her fault. He didn¡¯t think in the direction of possible abuse, because there was next to no space in his city for any kind of inter-family abuse in any level of society. Children and family were the single greatest blessing and supporting the family unit was the central creed of Ash and the city of Divinity concentrated its efforts on learning about and supporting the welfare of families. It was unheard of, for a basic evolved trait, like finding the other half of their souls, to be inverted like this. He was forceful out of frustration, because this wasn¡¯t normal. He wanted and yearned for his wife, and the family he should have begun years ago. Had she been presented at the gatherings, like a normal woman at 16, he may have had Chantria in his house, under his protection nearly a decade ago. When you first meld, there is the natural urge to get closer and be more intimate. It was normal for her to want to spend time with him. Not avoid him at every turn, worried he may hurt her. That thought would never have crossed her mind. If things were normal, she would be working away at her business part-time, still as a very educated woman, but with three children tearing up the place by now. She would have been pregnant with their first child within months of their meld. This isn¡¯t normal! But it wasn¡¯t his wife¡¯s fault. In the moments she looked into his eyes, he let her see the grief he had for what should have been their life. Then he shut it down just as quickly. He knew what his responsibilities were. He was supposed to be the protector of this family, that didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t be tender with his family, but he darn well better guard that door for his wife and child. Kijani pulled her in for a hug. He swore he could feel her racing heart against his chest. ¡°Let¡¯s stop there.¡± Kijani, took the situation a few steps back. He spent the next week fostering physical contact and the evenings cuddling until she was used to his presence and touch. Her trust in him slowly built over that week. The only time she flinched now, was when he reached out to touch her from behind, but when they sat on the sofa she melted into his arms. It¡¯s kinda cute. The only interruption to their two week honeymoon was a note from Chantria¡¯s uncle. ¡°Seems the household is still sick, but my uncle claims he called the doctor and they should be fully recovered next week,¡± Chantria said, eyeing the cream paper over her bowl of porridge. ¡°You believe him?¡± Kijani asked through a mouthful of scrambled egg. She paused. That pause was alarming to Kijani. It was as if she were becoming a shell, she was so still. ¡°Even Ayele doesn¡¯t always lie, and we saw they were sick when we visited last week¡­ He did capitulate to letting them visit us at a neutral location, and he will be presenting Liseli and Taraji at the gathering next month. He doesn¡¯t want to have my sisters meet your brothers just yet. He says he thinks it would be nicer if they met at the gathering, but your brothers will get first look.¡± ¡°I served him the day before I picked you up. He¡¯d have been arrested if he didn¡¯t present your sisters.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Chantria said, taking another spoonful of her porridge. Kijani was proud to say she was halfway through her porridge, and seemed to be eyeing up the eggs sitting on the counter top. He¡¯d been worried about her appetite and was glad to see she was getting it back. ¡°Figured, they were just catching whatever it was. In a family, when one person catches something, it¡¯s gotta do the rounds.¡± Chantria nodded. ¡°I remember having to stay in hotels once or twice. Sickness goes around in spiritual facilities.¡± ¡°Your uncle can¡¯t have been happy about it.¡± ¡°He wasn¡¯t.¡± Chantria said. Kijani thought it was better for his blood pressure not to pry for more information. Under the circumstances, Kijani spoke to his athair briefly about his attempts to get his wife used to intimacy. He gritted his teeth throughout the entire conversation, but it was a necessary evil. His athair had the power to extend his leave and, for political and familial reasons, it was important for he and Chantria to get more intimate. His athair took a few notes and tapped his pen on the notebook. ¡°Would it be reasonable to send Chantria to a spirit healer?¡± ¡°She¡¯s looking into it,¡± Kijani said. ¡°I mean one of ours.¡± Kijani had been to a military spirit healer once. It was the worst thing he ever done. They were impatient in the name of efficiency, and it shook him to the core. He ended up putting himself on the waiting list for a public one. ¡°No.¡± ¡°It would help with the investigation.¡± ¡°It ain¡¯t going to help Chan.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll call in a favour, and see if we can get her seen earlier.¡± Kijani got his leave extended by two weeks, but, to his frustration, Chantria had to go back to work. She had work commitments, though he had talked her into raising her prices and pulling her hours back to a more reasonable level. He did this by calculating her previous hours out on a piece of paper, comparing it to the pay she asked for, and dividing it by hours worked. His wife rarely let on how she was feeling, but Chantria said: ¡°I will take a look at my schedule.¡± ~*~ Chantria sat in front of her aether scroll, but couldn¡¯t concentrate on the letters in front of her. The last two weeks had been hard. She was caught between the animalistic urge to get closer to her husband, and the overwhelming flashbacks whenever he touched her intimately. The initial meld, and resulting state of limerence, was meant to result in a lot of bonding. She would likely be pregnant by now if all had gone by a natural process. It was hard for Chantria to accept the consequences of Ayele on her psyche. Abuse often inverted someone¡¯s desire to be close to others. Parental figures are the first and most significant examples one has of how the wider world will treat the individual. If the parental figures are abusive, volatile, or inconsistent¡­ or a combination of all three, it¡¯s likely the child will grow up not knowing what to expect from people. People are not meant to live in isolation. People need to bond and form community, and Chantria wanted that too, but her ability to connect was hampered by how unsafe it felt. She felt as if she were being pulled apart by the need to connect with her husband and new social sphere, and her need for safety. Sighing, Chantria gave up on the manuscript and shot a glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. Kijani was at the gym, and would be for another half hour. The man had measured his arm circumference and was mortified at losing half an inch of muscle mass. It was an exercise in self-restraint for her not to burst out laughing. I could start lunch? But she wasn¡¯t in the mood. There has to be something I can do to push this in the right direction. The problem was her anxiety and flashbacks. Maybe Hadiza can help? Hadiza had been telling her all about her studies in pharmaceuticals and botany. She might be able to help me with¡­ something. Chantria turned off her aether-scroll and, for a second, wasn¡¯t sure where to hide it. She shook her head. I don¡¯t need to hide it, she thought, but decided to take her satchel with her, for peace of mind. Almost as an afterthought, she left a note on the hall table telling Kijani where she would be and when she would be back.