NADYA

Kaki is called to the Court to discuss what we saw in the City regarding the Boneheads. I am not called. The words of an Ospry may be tainted, for Ospry are indulgent in their tales and are prone to drawing stories of the truth.

In the meanwhile, I visit the Temples with Missus Yarna for Prayer, and then to get my Soul checked by the Purifiers. As we wait in the line, I cannot keep myself from shaking. I think of all those bodies in the City, how their Souls hadn’t even the chance to wait in a line that I once thought was so dreadfully long. I can feel Missus Yarna’s careful gaze on me, but cannot tell if it is concern or scorn.

My Soul feels dirty. Tainted by the City.

Tainted by a City which calls to Kaki, a City which is Kaki’s only escape.

“Keep your chin up,” Missus Yarna commands. “Stop sulking. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

I straighten my back.

In their silent cottages, with their weaved mats and the drapes which cover all of their figures, the Purity Checkers tell me, once more, that my fractures have not healed, that I clearly am on a path away from healing and have not been putting my heart into my Prayers. My eyes water at this sentiment, for I Prayed well right beforehand; for both myself and the wellbeing of my best friend.

When the Purity Checker notices this moisture in my eyes, I can feel the disappointment radiate from them. They say nothing, but I know.

What is the personal comfortability of my own mere self in comparison to that of the woman I am supposed to wish to ascend to be? Why cry at criticism which comes from a good heart to make my heart good? I am being ridiculous.

As we leave the cottages of the Checkers, I flinch. A dark shadow had crept its way behind me, but it is only a young noble boy, wearing a beautiful blood-coated arma.

Missus Yarna eyes me. “Nadya.”

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just distracted.”

“The Sergeants said you ran off,” she says. “What is it that Lightened Bakiyoria had you do?”

“Nothing,” I say. “We were just scared, that’s all.”

She stops right as we are about to enter the courtyard. Dozens of women and men in frocks like our own walk past, smiling and laughing. A few legs away, a group of folk singers. These are the men and women of the Fortress, hidden behind a wall that keeps us away from the rest of the world. My head pounds.

“I understand the Lightened better than you do,” Missus Yarna says. This is incorrect, and I feel oddly protective of the fact that I am sure no one knows Kaki better than I do, especially after he opened up to me in the middle of a blood-torn street.

“I say this many times, but I greatly disapprove of how he influences you. Nadya, you are special. Understand this.” She points at my face, to the disgusting burns which reside. “Those marks are the marks of the Suns. They kept you alive. They marred your skin to remind you that you have already been through a hellish trial before your consciousness was even formed. Whatever it is he wanted to show you in the City, it is not worth risking your own safety. The Boneheads are dangerous peoples, and there are so many more other savage sorts beyond these walls, Nadya. Understand me. The rest of the world does not cherish other Souls like those of us in the Fortress do.”

“I—”

I find my eyes watering.

I have never interpreted my burns to represent such; Missus Yarna has never been so sentimental.

“I only want what is best for you.” And, when she looks into my eyes, I realize that this is true. I almost think that she tries to take my hand, but her plague-ridden limbs prevent her from doing so. They spasm and twitch in front of me, so much so that I am forced to look away.

“Did you grow up in the City, Missus?” I ask.

“I grew up in Sal Gasve.”

“I know little of that City,” I say.

“So do I,” she says. “Understand, however. You would rather die in this Fortress than in any City—Mecraentos or Sal Gasve.”

I glance up at the red sky. They say the sky is red for that is the color of Pure blood, unlike the black which runs through my veins.

Kirill, Gerasim—my Suns. How do you decide someone worthy of living? Is it selfish of us to determine our quality of living as insufficient, unjust? Or is that supposed to be motivation, to hope for something better?

But what if I discover there is no better? There is never a guarantee, is there?

***

When my first round of chores is done, I walk over to the Courthouse. It is found beside one of the theaters, the Theater of Kirill. This is where the Court has most of their meetings. It is not a luxurious building. Like everything built in this military Fortress, it had humble beginnings, and thus is still the same stone and mortar which the rest of our capital dons. It is quite ugly, actually. It is a huge heap of a block, with not much to say for itself. What catches my eye are the men and women who sit around it, who wear pearls and bright dresses and bright suits—the latest fashions.

I wonder if the children in the City and their colorful quilts can imagine such dresses.

Another shadow comes upon me. My breath hitches and I whip around.

“Nadya?”

Standing behind me is Lightened Roe, with her hawkish face, donning a less fashionable dress—yet it still highlights her slim, girlish figure in an extremely flattering way. My eyes widen.

“Lightened,” I say. I stand up hastily and raise a hand to my forehead, then proceed with an awkward curtsy.

I’ve not seen Lightened Roe since Chrysan’s performance.

When I make eye contact with her, I find her eyes to be wide, full of concern. She glances at the Courthouse. “Yoria was summoned to meet with the Court, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” I say.

“It must have been terrifying,” she says softly, her gaze still on the building, “trapped in that City with those Bonehead brutes.”

I can only nod.

“How are you? I feel as though no one asks the servants this, how they are.” She waves a hand. “We only do this. Wave the bell. But no one has seen such devoted people. I could never do the work of the Rain Keepers. Nor the Gate Keepers, nor the Kitchen Keepers. Nor a personal hand-maiden, as you. I heard that the drive was strenuous, and the protest a terrifying sight. They were killing children with poisons, the Boneheads. Just to prove a point.”

I know quite little of Lightened Roe’s character, but these words surprise me.

My mouth is dry. I do not know why this has happened twice, this lack of speech—the first being the Moon at her chamber door, with the necklace. As though I were a fool.

As does what she said about the Boneheads. “The Boneheads killed no children,” I say. “They just threatened to.”

“I see,” she says. “What were they like?”

“Excuse me?”

“The Boneheads,” she says. “You saw them, didn’t you? What were they like, if you do not mind my asking. I do not mean to be insensitive.”

“No, you are not being so,” I assure her. “They—well, I didn’t get a good glance. Their leader was an old man, and he was shot in the forehead.”

She gasps, raising a hand daintily to her sharp, glaring lips; a hand that seems not so dainty at all. “Suns forgive him.”

“Suns forgive him.”

A short silence ensues. I glance away, my cheeks burning.

Lightened Roe gestures towards the Courthouse. “It is beautiful, is it not?”

“I… suppose so.”

She laughs lightly, quite a musical laugh. “No. Not externally, not the building, no. But the Court. We have so little information on people like the Boneheads. It is quite hard to get information on anything, you see, when its people are so determined to shroud themselves in the Underground. But those men and women in there? They are the greatest minds, all together at one round table. It is a beautiful thing, to have a single epicenter of knowledge. Do you not agree?”

“I… yes,” I say.

I think of the men and women I saw chained on the streets, the broken fences, the sheer amount of smoke in the red hair.

“A blessing of the Suns,” I say.

“I Prayed, last night, for those involved in the protest,” Lightened Roe says.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she says. “For their prosperity and their recovery. It is the least I can do. That is something else. Many complain of the savagery of the City, but if we think the lessers so savage, the least we can do is to ask for their recovery; their transformation. It is true that the Suns may guide us, but us of higher Purity must also assure the Suns that we need less guidance than our others.”

I think of Jeran. Some part of what she says makes me hesitate to speak, but this seems to be my own foolishness whenever she is within three legs of me.

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Something about Lightened Roe’s voice is like a sirenic lullaby. It draws you and forces you to hang onto every word.

Yet—

I think of how Kaki reacted to my interpretation of Chrysan’s play.

“I do not think they are savage people.”

At the sight of her shocked face, I regret my words. I am too used to having a slippery, indulgent tongue when I am with Kaki—who is anything but courteous of social expectations. “I’m sorry—”

“No, I do not mean to be demeaning,” she says quickly. “But… you know. Sorry.”

“No, I get it. It is nice that you Pray for them,” I say. “I am sometimes frustrated with K—Lightened Bakiyoria that he takes Prayer not so seriously at all.”

“Prayer is what keeps me Pure,” she says with wide eyes. “Prayer is the hedge of our being. My own servant, Venara, does not understand this well either. She Prays, but she is not devout. You understand the difference?”

I nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

“You understand,” she says softly.

Just then, the front door to the Courthouse swings open. It is as though Kaki steps out of an abyss. Behind him, there is no way for the average person to glance at the doings of the Court. It is all dark. Every shroomlamp and candle having been shut off. There is no way to eavesdrop on the most important peoples of Mecraentos Kingdom.

Since he found out about his potential arranged marriage, a small cloud of weariness hangs over him. Not quite a real cloud—it takes a lot to truly weigh down Kaki. Even when he was bullied, he never spoke of loneliness nor despair, not like he did those few Moons ago in the City. But just enough for me to notice. Me and me only.

His eyes light up at the sight of me. They dim at the sight of Lightened Roe.

“Roe,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“I only stopped to speak to Nadya,” she says. “You are quite lucky with her, Yoria. She is extremely intelligent, if you didn’t know.”

“I do know that,” Kaki says. “I’ve always known that.”

She smiles. “That’s nice.”

“Yes. Nadya is.”

Something about Kaki’s expression is bothersome, as though he is bothered by her.

“How was it?” I say.

“Fine,” he says. “Nothing useful happened, as is the way with the Court.”

I see Lightened Roe purse her lips, but she only says, “And how are your Trials coming along, Yoria?”

“Bakiyoria,” he corrects. “And I’ve put as little effort into them as possible.”

“Don’t you mean ‘as much?’”

“No. Learn to listen.”

I stand up suddenly. “Okay, Kaki. Let’s go. You need to wash your hair and eat. You skipped the morning meal.” I press my hand to my forehead. “Goodbye, Lightened Roe.”

“Goodbye, Nadya.”

When we are a sufficient distance away from her, I glare at him. We stop in front of the folk singers. Their upbeat melodies and clapping of the drums becomes a comedic ambiance to the look I throw his way, but he does not dare wince. I feel eyes turn towards us, at the sight of the one and only Bakiyoria. I treat him no differently.

Luckily, there are only a few that see us in such a way—most are too focused on the singers.

“What?” he says. He casts a look over at the bystanders.

“That was rude,” I say.

“I know.”

“You should apologize.”

“I know.”

He runs a hand through his greasy hair. I was not lying. It needs a wash.

I let my gaze soften. “How was it really?”

Kaki has visited the Court more times than any other noble child, especially when he was younger, due to his Purity and lack of Enlightenment. It is often not a place he associates positively. “As I said, fine,” he says. “I hate the smell of that place. It smells incredibly dusty, but a rotted dust. Everyone knows it is there, but no one is willing to take up a brush.”

I just nod.

“I remained just by the door, where the Court couldn’t see me for a few minutes,” Kaki says. “Enlightened Everleigh told the Court of my potential marriage. They were fighting over it. Religious protests in Sal Gasve and the Javimoe have been getting worse—they believe an international marriage will give the people enough spectacle to unite them once more. They spoke of how cluttered the Slaughter Houses are. Too many are being sent for misconduct or because of the plague. It is a mess. And, of course, marriage would be the most fruitful distraction. They are waiting to see how well I do at my Trials, just like Aunt Everleigh said.”

“Kaki,” I say.

“Do you know what they say of the people in the Cratic? That they are just as icy and Soulless as their cold country. If I were to wed either one of the twins, it would be anything but a happy marriage.”

“I don’t want you to marry.”

“Me neither. Anyways, I plan to leave the City tomorrow, to speak with Lucy. But the Watch and the Gate Keepers have been on edge because of the Boneheads. It’s going to be harder to sneak out.”

Perhaps a challenge being so difficult is a sign not to do it, I think. But I know that Kaki would fundamentally disagree with this thought.

“As long as nothing as dramatic as the protest happens once more,” Kaki says, “the Watch and authorities should relax by tomorrow.”

At that moment, the folk singers come to a silence. Filling the lack of sound are hundreds of gasps and from above. On the balconies which eject themselves from the hundreds of levels within the Fortress, men and women crowd, pointing somewhere over the wall. Clean, gloved hands pointing over the wall and words uttered that I am unable to make out. I glance at Kaki.

We run up the stairs. My knees burn—they cry out, my plague-ridden bones making the wind seem colder. I trip over my own foot, knocking myself to the ground. I hit my arm against a particularly sharp stone slab and cry out.

“Nadya,” Kaki says. He reaches down to help me up, but I wave him away. It is only a scratch. The black blood seeps from within, and I wipe it on my frock.

We reach the top of the Valka Wing; another which is uninhabited, for the depressed and ennui-prone Valka are in the City.

I want to imagine beautiful mountains beyond this wall.

Instead, all I see are plumes of smoke, coming from the Southside.

The fires burn bright and terrible. It licks the edges of the harbor, the boats burning. One is already wrecked, turning onto its side, while I see crowds struggling to break away. It is a mirage of hot red against the blue waters—the fire seems to merge with the sky, as though its destructive nature were just an extension of our beautiful Suns’ domain.

All seems still on the ever-burning harbor, despite the rushing waves and clawing flames. It seems still. It seems as though it were meant to be.

My eyes water and I touch the burn mark on my face. I think of what Missus Yarna said about my burns. May this be another test of the Suns? And, thus, is it as beautiful as I know I horribly think it to be? Such pretty colors may always draw the worst of nature.

Another woman waits on the balcony besides our own. She is shorter than I, mostly covered by the stone railings and overhangs. She holds a hand to her mouth. “I can smell the smoke from here,” she says. “It is sickening. I feel as though I am going to faint. It was the Boneheads! The Boneheads! They are trying to suffocate us all!”

“The Boneheads did not do this,” Kaki says.

The woman only now seems to register our existence. “Lightened Bakiyoria,” she breathes. “Tell them to stop this! Tell them to stop this?”

He frowns. “Why me?”

“They say you were there when the Boneheads killed the children. You know them. Tell them to stop this!”

Kaki turns from her wordlessly, the shadows which cast him even darker in comparison to the flame.

***

The Feast of the Young for this week calls upon Lightened Kattalina and the Sen Fair once more. I watch with a weary eye as Kaki remains utterly silent on the floor beside the Youth table. I note that Lightened Roe pointedly sat on the opposite end from him.

Lightened Kattalina has a list of sign-ups for the Sen-Fair. She reiterates its usefulness to the nobles once again, how the seventeen Moon retreat—two weeks—will help cleanse the Soul and bring them all closer to Enlightenment, and to each other.

LIghtened Kattalina speaks of the Boneheads and the fires and the protests. How, in this time of great commotion, the poor Lighteneds need a retreat in order to heal from the recent trauma and stress which they may be experiencing. Both Kaki and Lightened Roe snicker at this notion. Lightened Kattalina says to Pray for those dire Souls in the City, for they need our support and ralliement. “We must support the common people,” she says. “We must.”

Meanwhile, beyond the curtain, I wash their dishes, unable to speak to either.

Despite this emphasization of the Sen-Fair, we learn that it is to be held somewhere within the City. How, I wonder, will they keep themselves away from ‘the trauma and commotion’ if they are in the midst of it?

On my serving tray, I step out from the Kitchen with blood-curdled stew.

The soup is a brownish-red color, the color of the sooty sidewalks splayed cycle after cycle with crimson. My hands shake. It bubbles, this soup, for it has just been curdled. My mouth goes dry. For the first time, I wonder. How many bodies were used to make this soup? How many of them came from the City? How much of this flesh was once kissed by a loved one, hugged by their child? How many of them were chained to dark, musty streets in the last legs of their lives—only to be boiled and salted for dainty hands sat cross-legged at a well-built table?

I suddenly feel very ill. My arm aches.

I nearly drop the tray. But I compose myself. Only Kaki notices my fumble.

***

A body settles beside me in the Ospry Temple as I say my evening Prayers. I’ve already Prayed my Redemption, Purity, and Gratitude with Missus Yarna and the other servants. This set is an extra set, a personal conversation between myself and my Moon. In a sense, this is also a Prayer of Redemption—only, I do not know what I must be redeemed of. Instead, in my own head and in a whisper beneath my breath, I describe my wrongdoings. Not defending Kaki on the balcony. Letting myself sneak around the City with him. I make sure my words are long and slow—to keep from my natural state of overexcitement as an Ospry.

I ask about the Voice which he speaks. Now that I have been given time for the idea to settle in, I beg the Suns to let us know if this may be a sign he does not understand. I would never tell him of this, but it is the only possible explanation I can find for his being able to read wordless books in a foreign, unlearned language.

Perhaps, I think, I would benefit from something like the Sen-Fair. Guidance from experts in Purity and various Mothers or Fathers of the Temples.

I Pray to redeem that thought. Once more, indulgence for what I do not have.

When I am finished Praying, I glance over at who sat beside me. To my horror, it is LIghtened Roe.

“Lightened,” I hiss. “You are too Pure to Pray in this Temple.”

“I know,” she says. “That does not mean I must not appreciate Ospry’s existence. Or your’s. I figured you would be here. You are devout.”

I don’t know what to say. I feel my cheeks burn.

“Let us leave, Lightened,” I say.

She nods, but runs a hand along the floor of this balcony, a fingernail of the hand which the Temple is shaped. “This Temple is beautiful. The Hand of Beauty.” She taps a rhythm against the side. A sign of respect, imitating the musical lilt of Sun Kirill.

When we are situated outside of my Moon’s domain, I say, “What do you need me for, Lightened?”

“I wanted to ask you to help me study for the Trials.”

I blink. “What?”

“I realized that Yo—Bakiyoria is putting minimal effort in for the Trials, and Venara—well, you work with her. She is hard to talk to, hard to bounce ideas off of.”

I hardly know Venara. I really only speak to Walas, Ponnie, and Chi-Chi. But, from what I’ve seen of her, I can understand where Lightened Roe is coming from. Venara is one of those people who cannot seem to follow instructions. All words spoken to her are consistently in one ear and out the other. They say she is sweet, but often in her own head. She struggles to hang laundry.

Still, I glance at the Temple. “I am Ospry, Lightened. I cannot help you study for anything. I have no education.”

“Yes, but you are intelligent,” LIghtened Roe says. “I can study by myself, but I cannot tell myself whether my Thesis is good or not. Whether it is sound. I would like an outside eye to understand me. I can read it aloud to you. And I cannot have the other nobles see my work, you see.”

“Lightened, I do not think I am the best suited for that,” I insist. “I really am not that intelligent, and I often have a sharp tongue. I don’t—”

“It is just listening to ideas,” she says. “Nothing that requires strenuous thinking. I do understand your Purity. But, also, Nadya. I see you, at the Feasts. You listen to LIghtened Kattalina. You observe. I need a peer who observes. I believe you are capable of so much more than you could imagine. Does Yor—Bakiyoria never tell you this?”

“He does,” I say. “He always does.”

But, for some reason, the words feel different coming out of her mouth.

“If you keep working at healing your fractures, perhaps, one Moon, the Industry of Scholars may be open to meeting you. If I do succeed at these Trials, I would be forever in your debt.”

“Okay,” is all I manage.

She smiles widely. “Wonderful.”