“Darcy, please respond to all these invitations. I will not be available today, nor tomorrow. You can tell them why.”

Darcy got herself under control. “Yes Concubine. I will do that straight away.”

From late morning until early evening, Gentian sat in her office carefully reading each note and letter. Most were misspelled. Many were written by the same hand, clearly dictated to someone with passable handwriting. The marks under each message changed- some a fine signature, others used a stamp, many just made a mark. In too, too many cases, it was just a smear of blood next to the name written out by the scribe.

“Dear Xia Gentian- is it strange that I’m thinking of your beauty right now? My body is ruined. I have lost my nose, my ears, my hair, my whole body is black with burnt flesh, and on the ashes of my home and body blooms a brilliant red rose, waving her sharp thorns after the fire and screaming her defiance at the sky! That's what I’m thinking about. I got nothing left to offer my family or the Throng. I’m going to die, and everything hurts. Don’t mourn me. Just remember me, in the dancing lights in the sky. And always, always press forward. We are behind you every step of the way.”

-Redic Warrlen.

“Dear Gentian. Never good at writing. No scholl, but lern som lettrs. Hang that light. Talk plain, push em. Don quit. Use our gift. Luv you.”

-Cilla Verun

“Dear Gentian. It all hurts. It all hurts. My baby is dead. My wife is dead. I’m dead, just haven’t stopped moving yet. The Dusties say they can make my body a tree. I’d like that. A tree all the little babies can play around while I watch them from the stars. My little Silas would love (the word was scribbled out) would have loved that. Please make sure I’m planted somewhere good, and the kids can play there. Sorry for the trouble.”

-Durbin Habsley

“Dear Gentian. I saw you in your tiara once. Loved it. Made me want to be a princess. But you sat in the dirt with us. A princess in the dirt! Well. Someday, wear your tiara and climb my tree. I’d love that. Forward. Always Forward. For Cold Garden and the Throng!”

-Daisy R’ven

“Dear Concubine Xia Gentian. It is hard on those in the outer generations of the Clan. You are too new and too blessed by position to see our struggle, but it’s real and inescapable. All we can do is work and fight and scheme to make sure our kids have it better than we do. All the privilege of the Clan name, hung on our bodies with fish hooks. The Clan is doing a mass funeral service- my corpse won’t be missed there. If you like, toss some ghost money and think of me. I never believed in the family gods anyhow. I pray there is no life after this, and consign my faith to oblivion. My body, I leave to my City. My hope, I leave to the concubine who became the pride of the Xia. Forward. For Cold Garden, Xia, and the Throng!”

-Xia Gou

“Der Gentan, evrtn hrts. I dnt want o liv ne mor. Keep Fightn. Kill ‘em!”

- (a cross with a C over it was crudely drawn below.)

Over and over and over the final messages poured over Gentian. Prayers for the future, for hope, for revenge. Prayers that their last gift would be used and honored. Sadness that the cost of caring for them would devastate the City and the Throng. Would have devastated their loved ones. Everyone could see the starvation coming. Why not ease the burden? Everyone knew there weren’t nearly enough doctors or medicine. Why not ease that burden too?

At first, Gentian read them with horror. Then blinded with tears. Then simply numb, doing her best to read every word. The messages blurred together. They were so similar, over and over again. It hurts, I hurt. This is for the best. We love you. Thank you. Don’t forget us. Never stop moving forward. She struggled to breathe. The sheer weight of it all, pressing down on her.

She didn’t notice when she ran out of messages. She just sat staring at the desk until her soul recollected her body. Gentian looked over at Roberta, standing with endless patience by the door. “You are one of them, aren’t you. One of the victims. A remnant of the fire.”

“No, Concubine. I am one of the dead.”

Gentian staggered over to ’Ja’s study and knocked politely. A muffled “Come in.” came through the thick door. Gentian came in slowly. She prettily held her hands together in front of her and put on the best smile she could manage.

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“Mistress? Gentian is tired.” ’Ja’s face quickly turned pale. Gentian didn’t notice her knuckles turning white or the way her tears had stained the silk of her dress. “Gentian is very, very tired. She has been good. She has always done her best. Can she please rest now? Please, Mistress?”

’Ja bolted from behind her desk and embraced Gentian. “Of course, of course. Sit, sit in the chair.” She lead Gentian to a rocking chair with a footstool in front, helping her to stretch out. “Here, smell this flower.” ’Ja picked one from the vase. “You remember this smell, don’t you? It’s my special gardenia. This smell always helps you relax.” She spoke in a soothing, steady tone, gently pressing on Gentian’s chest, then her thigh, softly squeezing her forearms just before the wrists. Letting Gentian’s body relax.

“Here, I will put the kettle on. You always admire my pretty copper kettle. Why don’t you look at my pretty copper kettle for a bit. It’s so shiny. If you keep looking at it, I bet you will soon see your reflection. Shh. Just rest. Smell the Gardenia. Watch my pretty copper kettle. I will make you that special tea you like so much. All will be well. Mistress is here. You can put everything down. I can hold it all for you.” ’Ja kept her voice running in a steady stream, letting her words wash away the thoughts savaging Gentian.

Soon the water was boiled and the tea- a beautiful selection of dried flowers and herbs, steeped in the pot. Gentian drank the cup slowly, as she had hundreds of times before. Slowly her body relaxed. As her body grew more relaxed, the easier it was to focus on the pretty copper kettle. The quieter the noise in her head got. The easier it was to just listen to Mistress.

“Gentian has worked hard. She has been very good. She has done her best, so much more than anyone could have asked for. Can she talk to Mistress? Or does she need to sleep for a bit?”

“Could she sleep? It’s so hard for her to stop thinking. Maybe Ginny could talk to Mistress?”

“That sounds just fine. That sounds wonderful. Count back from a hundred for me, pretty. We are going all the way down to sleep.” ’Ja slowly guided the consciousness of Gentian to sleep, and brought up that of Ginny. Who slowly broke down into sobs.

“It's too much! It’s much too much. I can’t carry it all. And it hurts. They want so much, hope so much! I’m just Ginny from South Bend! I don’t know nothin bout, like, settin up schools or nothin. Or fighting damn wars! I don’t want to fight! I ain’t a fighter! I ain’t even a good concubine!” Her body shook. ’Ja pressed her hand against her forehead and brought the gardenia closer to Ginny’s nose. Even ’Ja didn’t know how many times she had conditioned the girl to associate those triggers with relaxation, safety and comfort.

“Lets go through them one at a time. Starting with the last. What makes you think you are a bad concubine? Master and Mistress are very happy with you.”

“That makes me real glad, an I’m happy I make them happy but that ain’t my job, is it? Concubine is to make babies. That’s the job, and I ain’t doing it!” She broke out into sobs again, and ’Ja silently sighed. She had counseled innumerable women on this issue before. Not that she was a doctor, but she was a bloody good biologist. Well, at least it was something she could manage. The other things… she could only do her best. Her Gentian deserved the very best.

“…So you really must take every opportunity to relax. Find trustworthy people you can delegate to. Confide in Master and Mistress, we will listen and not judge you. Take pride in how happy you make us, and know that you will give us many beautiful babies in the future. It just takes time, and it’s awful fun to do.” There was a slight shift in ’Ja’s voice. “In fact, why don’t you insist? Claim exclusive use of your Master until you are pregnant? You can be as cruel as you like to Mistress. You know she would enjoy it.”

“Is that really ok? I always worry I’m going to hurt her.”

“Remember what we discussed? Gentian, Mistress and Master? Mistress knows how to stop things if they truly hurt her, as does Master. And I know you enjoy that bit of power.”

“It… makes me feel safe. Somehow. Like it’s what I’m supposed to be.”

It certainly was. ’Ja had suppressed her desires for fifty long years and was one hundred percent completely done with denying herself. Her dream of a chamber of one hundred and one odalisques, draped in gold cloth and glittering jewels, would remain a dream. However, if she could only have one concubine, it would be the absolute best, most perfect concubine she could make. With a great deal of careful training, extensive hypnotic conditioning, as well as a few subtle alterations to her brain chemistry and biology, Gentian was certainly that.

‘Ja felt she actually might have overdone it. Gentian was incredible. Even knowing why she was the way she was, ’Ja genuinely admired her. How in the hell was she going to make the next concubine? She wouldn’t know where to begin.

“Please do it if you would enjoy it. It would make Master and Mistress very happy.”

“Alright. I will.”

“Ready to come up?”

“... Must I?”

“Slowly and gently, yes. But you won’t be carrying the things you put down, will you?”

“No, Mistress.”

“And Ginny? Thank you. I know I tell you every time, but… thank you.”

Gentian slowly returned to herself. Mistress’ study was as it always was- specklessly clean, with row after row of books and ledgers along the walls. The room was filled with the most extraordinary gardenia plants. Sitting with pride of place on Xiatokja’s desk was a single Gentian, blue as a summer’s morning. There was the little heat stone, and the pretty copper kettle. The box of tea leaves, the well shaded light cores. The walls were hung with beautiful pictures- pictures of her children, of ’Ja and ’Tok when they were young, pictures of her proudest creations. Carrots, trees, a fruiting bush. A tall stalk with black seeds hanging from it. And a beautiful picture of Gentian herself.

Gentian slowly smiled, less in happiness than relief. The memories faded. She never forgot what happened when she went under, but they would drift from the front of her memory. Ignored, unless they were needed.

“You are an incredibly brave woman. Master and I support you completely. When it gets too much, you can always come to us. We will never refuse you.” ’Ja’s voice was soft, kneeling by the armchair and holding her hand.

“Thanks to you.” Gentian smiled sadly.

“No. That, beloved, was all you.” ‘’Ja stood and kissed her softly and powerfully. “Now. Speaking of. Time for dinner. Then it’s time for that pretty man of mine to bully us. Well. Me. Bully me. You, not so much.” Gentian laughed for the first time in days, and got up.