The copper tails of the beaded curtains slapped against Indra's back.
There he went again, without sparing her as much as a glance. It was his day off, but that didn't matter. Since he had told him about the Queen's special mission, he rather spent his time at the base or in dodgy hookah lounges than at home.
Sci blew into her brew. Stupid Indra—if he wasn't going to argue with her like a real man, he should at least pretend he didn't hold a grudge. Not this silent treatment—it was a slap in the face.
It wasn't like she had deliberately tried to outdo him. In fact, until a week ago she had been right as low in the army's ranks as one could be. By all means, she was still a gate guard, and he a soldier. His wages were double hers.
Nana let out a soft groan as she sat down next to her. Grimacing, she rubbed her legs. "You have to understand, child. Indra worked so hard to get where he is today."
Sci snorted. "Good to know you think I didn't."
"Of course, you did too," Nana was quick to say. She hesitated. "But... he's your older brother. Your parents' only son."
"I'm their only daughter."
"It's different from him." Nana put her hand just above Sci's knee. "He's a man."
"So then it's alright for him to worship the Goddess of Envy?"
"Not alright, but men are more prone to fall for the Goddess. The balance—"
"Yeah, the balance between virtue and sin. Don't talk to me about balance—the Wanderers made that very clear." An image of the lifeless body lying in a pool of its own blood flashed before Sci's eyes.
"The Wanderers of Pride are deranged. That's not what I meant."
"Then what do you mean?" she asked harshly. "I'm going away for moons, on a mission that might cost me my life. Should I just accept my brother pretending I'm air?"
"You're air," Nana said. "Agile. Fierce like a storm when you have to be, then soothing like a cool sea breeze on a hot summer's day. Your brother is sturdy like the earth."
Sci raised an eyebrow. "Is Indra also a...?"
Nana smiled inconspicuously. "Talk to him."
"I tried. He doesn't want to."
"It takes a lot of wind to move the earth, blood of my blood."
Nana was right. Sci sighed. Nana was always right.
That evening, after her shift at the gate, she returned home to Ummi and Nana sitting on the roof, cutting beetroot. The chopping knives stopped momentarily as the two women greeted her, then the hacking, whacking noises continued along with their chattering about Hashan from the brewery who had burnt his hand that day.
Indra was nowhere to be seen.
Not interested, Sci turned on her heel. She'd lie in her hammock, dozing off, until dinner was ready or Indra came home—whichever came first.
"Just a second, Sci," Ummi called her. "A man from the palace came to the brewery today. More handsome than the Alafin—I swear—more rugged, but Gods, I wouldn't—"
"Ummi, I don't wanna know," Sci said with half a snort. "Get to the point."
"Well... He took me apart—said to tell you to come to Kayani's dock at the rise of midweek's day. Wear regular clothes."
"Midweek's day," Sci repeated to herself. "That's the day after tomorrow! I'm leaving in two days."
"Can't you tell these people to wait a few more days?" Ummi asked in all seriousness.
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The Witch's Hour (A New Dawn #2.5)
Fantasy[Novella]As a child, Sci was scarred by her own mother for being a witch. While the wound has healed and her shawl now covers her face, Sci struggles to remain deaf to the call of the desert wind. She works hard to get into the Scorian army, taking...