#you know these girls always hear kaz muttering 'suli proverbs' whenever he's around to hear the stories KSNJRTJHSNRTH

[yaburnaee]

Binsa  is  napping  in  the  bed  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,    her  snores  almost  louder  than  the  wind  outside.    She’d  broken  a  fever  overnight  and  her  hair  is  coming  out  of  her  own  braid.    Wisps  of  black  tendrils  stick  to  her  forehead  as  if  stuck  there  with  paste.    Doubtless  Mama  will  wrestle  the  girl  into  a  bath  before  the  hour’s  up  and  go  through  this  same  ritual,    but  for  now  Nirmala  has  all  the  attention.    It’s  not  an  unusual  feat  except  that  Mama  will  leave  in  a  few  short  days.    Hence,    the  submission  to  hair  oiling  and  storytelling  riddled  with  hidden  messages. Well, that and Nirmala's own hidden agenda.

❝    Well,    she  probably  wanted  to  leave,    ❞  Nirmala  guesses  with  a  little  shrug  of  her  shoulders.    It  jostles  her  in  her  mother’s  hands  and  Inej  bumps  a  knee  to  the  back  of  her  arm  in  place  of  verbally  scolding  her  daughter.    Nirmala  sniffs  primly.    ❝    She  wanted  to  go  somewhere.    You  said.    It’s  obvious.    ❞  Nirmala  doesn’t  actually  know  if  it’s  really  obvious,    but  she  certainly  thinks  so.    Mama’s  stories  always  have  a  lesson  and  only  sometimes  can  Nirmala  and  Binsa  make  meaning  of  them.

Maybe  it’s  because  Nirmala  wants  something  herself  that  she  can  see  what  Mama  is  trying  to  say.    Or,    if  not  what  she’s  trying  to  say,    at  least  what  Nirmala  would  like  her  to  say  when  she  finally  plucks  up  the  courage  to  ask.    Desirous,    Mama  had  said.    Well,    Nirmala  really  wants  this.

❝    Is  this  a  Saint’s  story?    ❞  They’re  almost  always  Saint  stories.    In  her  bed,    Binsa  makes  a  snuffling  noise  and  rolls  over  with  a  sigh.    Nirmala  tries  to  peek  over  at  her  sister  without  turning  her  head,    but  the  strain  on  her  eyes  isn’t  worth  it.    Binsa  doesn’t  get  out  of  bed  so  she  must  be  alright  and  Mama  makes  no  move  to  go  to  her  either.    The  eldest  Rietveld  girl  hugs  her  knees  to  her  chest.    ❝    Why  do  all  Saint  stories  have  sad  endings?    ❞

The cold festers deeper than the bones. For broken bones not properly healed it is an agonizing affliction with an infection radius as large as this country property. Inej had determined Kaz’s poor mood as soon as she’d woken up and found his side of the bed long gone vacant. It’s impossible to get in the way of his morning ritual, but she usually has good luck delaying his walk to thieve a few extra hours of his warmth. But if he’s out of bed this early, he’s seen fit to make himself more miserable. She’s glad he doesn’t make the attempt up the stairs. For the sake of his leg and the bruise of his mood escalating if Nirmala were witness to it.

Her daughter bats her big cow eyes up at her mother and even upside down Inej is sure she’s never seen a better intimidation tactic. She simply wants a story, but Inej knows better than to underestimate her. After all if she’s asking her mother for a story rather than her father regardless of his mood, that’s cause for suspicion. And Nirmala Rietveld hates when Inej braids her hair. What are you up to, Shevrati?

“It means wanting,” Inej supplies. “Wanting something very much.” Nirmala’s hair is unruly even with the oil and Inej has to coax it into a single plait with painstaking patience. Every few strands requires that she pluck a twig or leaf from those Ghafa waves after the previous day’s adventures. Her mother shakes her head fondly each time.

“Now this girl on the shore was afraid but not so afraid that she dared not go. The fear did not outweigh the wanting. So she gathered her courage and swallowed that fear and off she went.” At the nape of Nirmala’s neck, Inej gathers the start of the braid in one hand and pokes her daughter’s shoulder until the girl looks back. “What do you think she wanted?”