One, two. I’m alive. Three, four. I’m—
“Oh,” came a small voice. Fairel stuck her head out from behind the bushes, holding a watering pot. “I thought you might be Raya. Was that your plant you dug out?”
I squinted at the child, utterly thrown by her presence. My current mood should not be borne by anyone, let alone Fairel. I wrapped my arms around my middle. “Go inside, Fay. It’s past bedtime.”
She lowered the watering pot to the ground. Her chin jutted out, and I braced myself for the argument. “You’re upset. I can tell. Why don’t you talk to me like you talk to Sefa and Marek? Is it because you think I’m little? I will be twelve in two months and six days.”
I couldn’t help myself. “You think I talk to Sefa and Marek?”
“More than me. Twelve is big, you know.”
“I know.” When I turned twelve, Hanim enchanted lions to chase me through Essam so I could practice my climbing skills. I had her to thank for my ability to scale a tree in under a minute. I sighed. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”
Fairel glanced at the hushed streets beyond the hill. “Now? The patrol will yell at us.”
Then I would flay their skin from their bodies and feed it to them. On how many occasions had I allowed myself to be belittled and demeaned for the sake of safety? All for nothing. I could not budge an inch beyond the village. Not when the Nizahl Heir had placed me firmly in his crosshairs.
“I’ll protect you.”
Like you protected Adel? Hanim laughed. I gritted my teeth. She was so hungry for my guilt. When would she realize I had none? She had wrung every drop out of me long ago.
“Okay.” The trust on Fairel’s face disturbed me. More than age or maturity, the ability to trust remained the greatest relic of youth. I hoped to be long gone before I witnessed the world take it from her.
Of all the young wards in the keep, Fairel was my undisputed favorite. So much so that when she reached for my hand, I let her hold it all the way to the bottom of the hill before gently pulling away.
“Why do you always pull away?” Fairel clasped her arms around her middle. Mimicking me from earlier. Kapastra’s scaly throne, I couldn’t imagine a more disastrous scenario than Fairel modeling her behavior after me.
We ducked into a narrow alley, allowing the darkness to swallow us. Neither of us needed help navigating the uneven path. A shower of pebbles rained into our hair. I shepherded her away from the deteriorating wall, wishing I could as easily guide her from this question.
I could have lied. I would have, had it been anyone other than Fairel and her hurt tone. “I do not have fond memories of being touched. My body recognizes it as a threat.” It hadn’t always, but Fairel didn’t need to know how I’d loved being swung up in Dawoud’s arms as a child. I would spend hours hanging on to Usr Jasad’s chief advisor while he conducted his business in the palace. Dawoud would walk into meetings with me dangling from his neck and carry on his conversation without batting an eye, as though the other person would be in the wrong for noticing the hyperactive seven-year-old clinging to him.
Hanim had bled those memories from me. She left them gray, so everything to follow could be a dark, dripping red. Whips tearing against my back and shoulders. Nights of hanging by my feet from a sturdy tree branch, not unlike a slab of meat from the butcher’s hooks, with a dagger placed in my hand to fight any curious animals. On those nights, I could have easily bent in half and sawed at the ropes lashed around my feet. Another layer of Hanim’s punishment—knowing I had the ability to free myself, but not the bravery.
“I would never threaten you,” Fairel said, horrified.
Oh, but only this child could make me laugh in the temper I was in. “I know you wouldn’t. But my body interprets the sensation the same, no matter who it is coming from.”
A clatter echoed from the other end of the alley. I put a hand in front of Fairel and listened. A rat scurried next to my foot, overturning a pile of pebbles in its path.
Just a rat. I ushered Fairel forward, my arm hovering protectively a few inches behind her back.
The alley opened to the flickering illumination of lamplight. Fairel’s head swiveled, taking in the uncharacteristic stillness of the main road. A muddy dog loped to the front of the butcher’s shop, sniffing at the discarded bones.
Preparations for the waleema were almost complete. Lanterns connected by silver twine hung from the balconies lining the plaza road, creating a roof of light over the village. Shop owners had laid out lovingly braided reed rugs, dyed in muted shades of Omal’s blue and white. Incense burned in almost every balcony, warding away the evil eye of the new visitors. I breathed in the smoky scents of lemongrass and rose and exhaled on a smile.