“Tonight, we continue with meditations and spiritual tranquility. Then, we’ll recite chants before moving forward with the Saiyyin alphabet. Of course, I’m going to test how much you remembered from the previous lesson. Good luck.”

Zara’s itchy head made it difficult to study her scroll notes. White flakes dirtied the gray shawl around her shoulders. Her family wanted nothing to do with her—it honestly wasn’t anything new. But how long was she supposed to stay like this? She’d been provided a bar of ivory soap, a water bucket, a few washcloths and towels—most of which were now used up and in need of a change. This did not—could not—replace a proper bath, never mind a hair wash. These provisions were not meant for cleaning hair in the bedroom in the first place. For that, she would need the washroom’s tub and plenty more water and soap than a flimsy bar could ever offer.

She had Historical Archives: Mages, Magic, and Dark Arts—her stolen library text—open next to her. Revan went over some history as well during their recitations. He wanted her to learn the meaning behind the words, their origins, and their significance. It was all so much to take in.

“That’s okay,” he had assured her when she fretted that he was moving too fast. “If all goes well, you’ll have hundreds of years time to memorize everything in these sessions.”

When he put it like that, her worries were trivial. She had time, plenty more than the average human—if she could even call herself human anymore—but it was still a difficult concept to grasp. She felt like she wasn’t soaking in the lessons well enough.

I could use a good soak. Her mind turned to the dry red spot above her elbow, another itch that would not heal. She stood from her desk to retrieve the body oil on her dresser, but the slick residue on her skin only disgusted her and did nothing to solve the root of the problem.

The base of her neck tingled. She put the bottle away and tried not to think about how gross she felt. She gathered her long, knotted tresses into a bun. It was frizzy and oily, probably worse off than Rowan’s head at this point.

Back at her desk, Zara ran through her notes once more without taking much in. Restless, she resorted to pacing around her room. What did she used to do, back when she willingly wanted to be left in here, alone for hours at a time? She;d never had much freedom to go anywhere, but now that her options were limited to her solely living in her room, she was beginning to fidget. She could always read something else, a story she hadn’t touched for a long time. She surveyed her pathetic collection of novels and found nothing to appease her.

Laughter drifted from her open window. She heard happy chatters quickly cease as the courtyard doors slid shut again with a thump. Did her parents have guests? It sounded so. Those voices were unrecognizable. She had gone to the window too late, missing the chance to catch a glimpse before they’d all but shut themselves back inside the house.

A sharp rattling of the door lock startled her. She spun around in a panic.

The scroll. The book. SHIT!

Zara ran to her desk, almost tripping over nothing in her hurry. She stuffed the texts in the junk drawer, disregarding the little tears and crinkles she’d find on the pages later. Her mother was here, likely coming in with leftover food or to switch out the chamber pot or something. She usually never came this early though; it probably wasn’t even mid-day yet. All that noise with the door lock didn’t make sense either.

No matter though. Perhaps Zara can request a replacement of washcloths, and pray Leyli grant the request without too sour of a face.

But the person who steppped in wasn’t her mother.

Zahir shut the door behind him and faced Zara with a stony expression. Zara shifted on her feet and tried to even her breathing, like she hadn’t been scrambling to hide her shit just seconds before.

“You are to come down and join us for the evening meal,” he stated coldly.

“….Huh?”

His brow twitched. “I see this confinement has made you slower than you usually are. I am not repeating myself.” Zahir looked her over once and scowled, scrunching his nose. “You are to bathe beforehand. You look—and smell—like a miserable wretch.”

Zara nodded, speechless.

He regarded her once more before speaking again, “I’ll have the maid fetch you when it’s time. You are to remain in here as you were before then.”

He sniffed unpleasantly and stalked out without waiting to a hear a word from her. The door shut, the bolt locking her in once again.

Zara slumped into her bed with a great exhale. So she wasn’t ‘free’ yet, only granted entrance into the dining room for tonight. It was better than nothing, she supposed. She didn’t know what brought this sudden change on—her father clearly didn’t like this arrangement. Maybe her mother was sick of bringing food up to the room and collecting dirty dishes. Maybe it was something else entirely. Zara had heard guests. Who were they? Maybe they were all planning something. Planning to do something….awful?

Wary as she was, Zara still looked forward to being out of this room for a bit. She was most looking forward to a well-needed bath.

In the early afternoon, a young maid arrived to accompany Zara to the washroom. The maid looked to be in her late twenties. Her auburn hair was tightly braided back, and she wore the typical maid’s uniform of plain, off-white trousers and matching blouse, paired with a faded dust-colored wrap scarf across her body.

“Miss, your bath awaits,” she announced politely.

Zara did not know this maid at all. The usual kitchen maid was a much older, more experienced woman. This woman here must be a new addition to the house. Odd, considering how Zahir disliked keeping more than one servant around, regardless of how much more work that meant for his wife. Extra chores around the house were usually done by Zara, but since she’d been forced to hole up in her room, maybe additional help was required.

“I’m sorry but…who are you?” Zara asked.

The maid gasped. “O-oh! Yes, I apologize, Miss, for not introducing myself first.” She placed a hand over her chest. “My name is Rauna. I am the new maid of the house.” She bowed with her palms together, flustered. “I’ve started my work here two weeks ago and was not formally introduced to you so I’m sorry that I’ve forgotten—”

“That’s okay. I’m Zara. Though…I’m sure you’re already aware of that.”

Rauna bobbed her head.

“Um, what happened to…?” Zara wanted to know if the old maid was still around or not. Rauna seemed to understand before Zara even finished her question.

She shook her head. “I replaced her, Miss. She—” Rauna’s face turned pink. “—She quit.”

Zara raised her brows in surprise. “Quit? Why?” That woman had been with the family for years. The only time she hadn’t worked for the Anvars was when Zahir had given her four months time off, paid, so that the family could figure out what to do about Zara—this was shortly after her magic had come to light. The old maid had been kept in the dark about Zara’s condition, and although she had raised some questions here and there, she remained loyal to this family. To hear her suddenly quit now was a bit…bizarre to say the least.

“S-She has her own….” Rauna had trouble speaking. “She was very—how do I say this? Everybody has their opinion on the matter of what happened on the mountain—” She stared at Zara for a moment, her cheeks red. “I’m…actually not permitted to tell you any more. I apologize, Miss. I’ve misspoken.” She swallowed. “She quit. That is all.”

Zara didn’t need to hear much more. The old maid was a religious woman. Not fanatic like Noina, but still traditional. Zara could discern that the old maid’s suspicions about this family’s secret have gone to the point where she could no longer comfortably stay.

“However, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Zara. Shall we?” Rauna asked, gesturing out the door. “Master Zahir mentions you haven’t wished to come down since that dreadful day. He insists that you bathe. I’m—and I don’t say this to be rude—but I’m inclined to agree with him…” She lowered her head sheepishly.

Without another word, Zara followed the new maid downstairs.

The sounds of lively chatter in the parlor made Zara shiver. There were strangers in the house, that was for certain. Zara had never been much of a socialite, for obvious reasons. The only guest she was ever used to coming for meals was Noina. How she was supposed to act around other people was going to be a challenge. She wasn’t too versed in proper dining etiquette or conversation. Why her parents chose to invite outsiders now was questionable, and it made Zara’s heart shake.

She sank into the tub as Rauna poured more hot water in. Then, Rauna gathered liquid soap into her hands and began to lather Zara’s hair.

“This might take a while, Miss,” Rauna said apologetically. “Your hair has gathered a lot of oil and dirt. It’s going to take more than one wash to get it all clean.”

The new maid was closer to Zara in age, and she seemed like a nice person. Formal, polite, cute, shy. Most of all, Rauna seemed like she cared about Zara as a person, even though they’ve just met. Maybe she was only doing her job, but she made Zara feel more at ease than the previous maid ever had.

“That’s alright,” Zara said gently. “I know it’s bad.”

She let Rauna work on her hair, wincing through the untangling of knots. Each time, Rauna would apologize. Her polite speech and accent was vaguely familiar. Very unlike the old maid, who was a Prian native and didn’t bother with formalities like Miss or Master.

“Rauna,” Zara asked, “where are you from?”

Rauna hesitated, but answered, “East Dhariya, Miss.”

A poor sub-city neighboring the capital. Millions of slaves and cheap laborers from all sectors of Dhariya were often forced into Darhai to train and work for wealthy merchants and those of noble lineage. Zara remembered now, hearing Rauna’s people speak many years prior, on that one family trip down into the city.

“You can call me Zara.”

“No can do, Miss.” Rauna shook her head rapidly and continued kneading Zara’s scalp. “No can do.”

Zara sighed, turning her face toward the other woman. “Not even when we’re alone?”

Tight-lipped, Rauna faced Zara’s head forward again. She poured water down the untangled locks and prepared to lather in more soap.

Zara normally bathed herself, but sometimes, she was grateful for the help when it came to her hair. It was long, and her bouts of depression took a toll on it when she delayed washing. The old maid would gripe at Zara for her sloppiness, and was in no way gentle about tugging the knots out like Rauna was.

“How did my parents find you?” Zara asked. “Are you new to Pria?”

“Yes, Miss. I arrived in a caravan from Bazant City over a month ago. Master Zahir bought me in the morning market.” She smiled. “He is a good man. He freed me from the cruelties of servitude. He pays me fair. I can live a good life here, I believe, under your family’s care.”

Ironic how this family’s lower class servant could be living in better conditions than their own daughter. Zara smiled wanly when Rauna fumbled with the washcloth. She had to have been the cheapest bid at that slave market.

“I’m glad you have found a home here,” Zara told her as nicely as her sullen mood would let her.

Rauna gave her a courteous, happy nod. “Yes, Miss. I am glad as well.”

Zara closed her eyes, allowing Rauna to wash off the soap from her hair.

“Rauna…”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Um, my parents have guests tonight, don’t they?”

“Yes. They arrived late last night. Has Mistress Leyli not mentioned it to you this morning?” She poured water over Zara’s face, rinsing away leftover suds. “You may open your eyes now, Miss.”

“Last night?” Zara murmured, vision bleary. She wiped the excess water away with her hands.“No. My mother hardly speaks to me.”

“Well, it was quite the surprise for us all. I was in such a rush to make the right accommodations for them. Master was very pleased to see his eldest son again.”

Zara jolted, causing the tub’s water to splash. “Wait…Naz is here?!”

Rauna startled at Zara’s loud tone. “Is something the matter, Miss?”

Zara’s mouth hung open, her wide eyes staring at Rauna like she had grown an extra set of teeth. “Naz is here?” she repeated.

“His wife as well.”

And Ma hadn’t said anything. She just tossed my breakfast and left the room in a hurry this morning.

“What’s wrong, Miss?” Rauna asked, worried. “Have I done something?”

“N-No. You just surprised me is all.” Zara smiled, though it was strained. “I’m surprised to hear that….my brother has come to visit.”

Rauna grinned. “I hear Mister Nazeer’s been away from home for quite some time. He’s quite accomplished, isn’t he?”

“Sure,” Zara replied, weakly.

Why is here?

“He came in time to attend the memorial. Word about it has spread across regions by now I’m sure.”

Zara swallowed. She suddenly felt very cold in the lukewarm bath.

“And then there’s the engagement party later this week for…I believe it was for your cousin?” Rauna huffed. “I sure have a lot to prepare until—”

“Wait wait wait,” Zara interrupted. “Engagement party? That’s still happening?” She’d assumed the gathering had been canceled due to everything that’s happened recently. Or, at the very least, it was no longer going to be held in this house.

“It was delayed, but your parents and aunt are determined to bring some joy back into this home.”

“Which day is the party?”

“Day 6. Mistress is sewing you a dress.” Rauna gave her a smile. Her teeth were a bit crooked, Zara noticed. “I believe that is the other reason for Mister Nazeer’s homecoming. He was invited to attend.”

“Right…”

“Oh! Miss, please stand up.”

Confused at Rauna’s alarming tone, Zara quickly stood. Warmth trickled down her thigh, and she understood Rauna’s dismay as soon as she looked down at the water.

Rauna stood from the stool and held Zara’s hand steady. “You’ve started menstruation. I’ll finish washing you off here.” She nudged at the stool, indicating Zara step out of the tub and sit on it. She moved the fresh water bucket closer to the stool as well.

“That’s okay. You’ve done enough. I can wash myself from here—”

“Miss, I was instructed to clean and dress you tonight. There’s no need for you to do anything yourself.”

Zara awkwardly stepped out, mindful of where she was dripping.

“I can clean that up later,” Rauna assured. “Come.”

Zara sat on the stool. Rauna moved the wet hair aside and began washing Zara’s back.

“You smell so much better already, Miss,”she murmured. “I was worried about you earlier, to be quite honest. What caused you to shut yourself away like that?”

Zara did not answer. Rauna shifted over so she could study Zara’s face. She ran her fingers over Zara’s brow, upper lip, and chin.

“You could do with a threading as well,” she said. “I’ll see to it after we’re done here.”

Zara nodded, though her heart sank. She didn’t feel like attending the evening meal. She didn’t want to see anyone. She wasn’t ready to see Naz. She realized, as the first of many cramps hit her stomach, that she may be better off in confinement after all.

Her body was fresh. Her face was plucked. Her hair shone, the smooth tresses brushed and tied back in a simple braided bun at the crown of her head. She wore a black gown with gold geometric stitching around the neckline and flowing sleeves. Rauna had made her pretty, but none of this had given her any confidence. She was the last to enter the dining room. Everybody was already seated and talking.

The room turned quiet upon her arrival. Zara’s stomach flipped at the sight of the man sitting beside her father.

He’s here. It’s really him.

She had not seen Naz in so long that she had practically forgotten his face. He was a striking young man in a suit; his neat, caramel hair had grown passed his ears and his face resembled their mother’s so much—smart and defined. Zara somewhat remembered his cheeks to be more puffed out, but that had clearly gone with age, or exercise, or both. His facial hair was professionally cut and groomed—well, everything about his appearance was professional and well-to-do. Anybody who didn’t know this family wouldn’t be able to tell that this man was Zara’s sibling.

Seated next to Naz was a woman one could name “a radiant light.” She was slim and beautiful, her skin a deep golden glow under the chandelier. The cool draft in the room seemed of no bother to her; she wore a silk, sleeveless gold blouse and skirt adorned with red jewels. Her ripply brunette hair was styled up at the base of her slender neck. Her doll-like eyes were shadowed and lined with makeup, and her lips were plump and red to match her jewels and the small bindi on her forehead. This woman was Naz’s wife, and she looked like an aristocrat. Her ruby earrings and necklace must have cost a fortune. Zara wondered whether it was handed down from her family, or if Naz had actually bought them for her.

The pretty wife regarded Zara with a cool gaze.

Naz chuckled deeply. “Is this really Zara?” he asked Zahir.

Zahir cleared his throat. “Yes. Zara, sit down.” He nodded to the empty chair on his left, beside Rowan. Leyli was situated at the opposite head of the table tonight, directly across her husband who remained at his usual spot.

Zara, without speaking a word or acknowledging Naz at all, moved into her seat. Her chair scraped, and she cringed.

Rowan shifted his chair a centimeter away from Zara; there wasn’t much space to move anywhere but if there were, Rowan would probably be happy to be at an even greater distance from her. He looked uncomfortable and miserable. Part of Zara wished she could ask him what the hell the matter was—and what had happened to their relationship. It was getting better, but now it was worse than what it used to be.

Zara studied him from the corner of her eye. He wore a printed maroon vest with a white shirt underneath. The sleeves were slightly wrinkled. His unruly hair was oiled and tied back in a knot, but the frizz was rebelling against it all. His face was a mix of pigmented pimple scars and raised spots, and while his brows have been plucked a bit, the skin around them were pink and sore.

Zara shouldn’t compare them—she knew she shouldn’t because this was exactly the reason Rowan was always so irritable about that man—but he and Naz were worlds apart and always would be. Naz was accomplished and handsome. There was no telling what Rowan would be, but even if he grew out of his awkward face and body, he would still probably not be as good as Naz. It did not seem possible. They did not seem related if they stood together on their own. It was only due to Leyli’s presence that one could tell that these young men were her kin—Zara could see hints of their mother in both brothers, but Naz especially.

Naz stared at her, amused. It was that condescending glare that reminded Zara why she disliked him, even though he was practically a stranger to her.

“You’re so quiet, sister,” Naz commented. His voice was much deeper than Zara remembered. “No utter of a ‘hello’ to me or my wife. Have you lost your tongue?”

Leyli frowned. “Zara, you haven’t seen Naz since you two were so young. And he’s brought your sister-in-law. How could you be so rude?”

Zahir cleared his throat. Zara avoided her father’s smoldering eyes.

“Very rude,” Naz agreed.

He was right, though, annoying as this was. It was rude to ignore him when they haven’t seen each other in so long. He was still her brother, and three years her elder too. This was also Zara’s first time seeing the wife he married five years ago; she hadn’t been allowed to attend the wedding ceremony—Naz’s personal request at the time.

But Zara was already under the impression that this woman didn’t like her. She raised a perfect brow at Zara like she was beneath her. Naz waited, expectantly, smirking mouth purposely apparent.

Zara couldn’t speak. She just couldn’t; it was like she really had lost her tongue. She winced as her stomach cramped for the twentieth time today, and panicked when her fingers warmed—a sign she was losing control of herself, therefore risking her power going awry. She silently inhaled, taking care not to make her agitation too obvious, and exhaled through her nose, telling herself that all she had to do was say one word.

“Hello,” she choked out.

Naz laughed. “She speaks! Wow. You sound different.”

“So do you,” she muttered.

Leyli chuckled. “That’s only natural with age. Can you believe this? All of us together again. Oh, I wish it could always be like this.”

“Ma, you know that’s unreal,” Naz said, while Leyli tried not to look too deflated by his reply. “By the way, Zara, you’re the only one here who hasn’t met my wife at all, have you?”

I wasn’t allowed at your wedding. What the fuck do you think?

At least the warmth in her hand had abated and she was able to smile calmly at the wife.

“No, I have not,” Zara said.

Naz placed his hand around the wife’s waist. “This is Sonya. Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Sure,” Zara answered flatly.

Sonya narrowed her eyes at Zara, ever-so-slightly.

“Yes,” Zara changed her answer immediately. “She’s very pretty.”

“Like she belongs on the stage!” Naz exclaimed proudly. “Or better yet, her own throne!” He brought her hand up to his lips and gave it a peck.

Sonya smiled at him and spoke for the first time since Zara arrived. “You are over exaggerating.”

Even her voice was pretty—the perfect pitch between too high and too deep for a woman.

Zahir laughed. “Oh, let him. It’s a husband’s duty to shower his wife with affection, is it not?” He winked at Leyli, who giggled in return.

Zara wanted to tune the conversation out now. She examined the table setting instead. Her mother had chosen the fancy set for tonight—shiny silver plates, elegant napkins, and impeccably clean wine glasses with not a single spot of a dried on water stain. Floral decor lined the middle of the table along with candles, though enough space was left for the food to be spread out. The smell of roast wafted from the kitchen. Zara wished she were more hungry, but her appetite hadn’t been very strong as of late.

Rowan pinched the edge of his napkin in silence, seemingly waiting for the night to be over with. Zara tuned back in just in time to catch Naz talking about his client’s young son showing interest in the architectural design field, and that he was Rowan’s age. Rowan tensed, his fingers dropping the napkin as Naz zeroed in on him.

“What do you think of that, little brother?” Naz said, leering. “He’s young, like you, but already so much more ambitious. You should learn something from this. You know, Baba was telling me earlier how you’re just lazing by, causing trouble, spending time with good-for-nothing boys from less-than-distinguished families. I was already looking for apprenticeships at your age. I spent nights studying so I can excel in all subjects, because I knew exactly what I wanted. When I hear about you and how you lack the talent to do as I did, I get concerned. I mean, what are you possibly thinking of doing. You’re going to be a man someday, are you not?”

Rowan did not answer him. Did not even look his way.

“Hey.” Naz’s smile disappeared. His tone dropped, low and irate. “Have you lost your damn voice as well? What’s the matter here? It’s seems neither of my siblings have any social skills at all. Zara—” Zara flinched when he suddenly called her name. “—you haven’t asked me anything about myself—about where I’ve been or about what I’ve been doing all this time. You haven’t said a word to Sonya. She’s your sister now, and you won’t so much as look at her face. I’m not sure what your deal is, if it’s jealousy, or if you’ve simply become more recluse—maybe it’s both, though I’m certainly not surprised. Just disappointed that you let your poor attitude get this far. You haven’t shown interest in anything.

“And you—” He leaned over and snapped his fingers at Rowan, startling the boy to finally look up at him. “—wipe that nasty scowl off your face. Which reminds me to ask: do you even wash it properly? Do you need to be taught how to use a comb as well?”

Rowan grit his teeth, looking like he’d glare a hole into Naz’s head if he could.

“Shut up,” he growled.

“Rowan!” Leyli shouted.

“That’s okay, Ma,” Naz said. “At least I heard his voice, for what, the second time since I surprised him at the memorial last night?” He burst into cold laughter. “That was quite the scream, my little brother. I don’t mean to pick on you, but as Baba’s son, I was expecting more of an aspiring young man when I came home. I didn’t expect for you to turn out this way. So lanky and unremarkable. You’ve taken on the appearance of a common Darhai bum, almost.” He pouted mockingly.

Zahir, cheeks pink, was rubbing his temple muttering, “I believe I’ve mentioned the same.”

Rowan clenched his fists. His face and neck were very red.

“You haven’t been taking those dreaded vida petals have you?” Naz added, as a tactless joke. “I hear they can make one’s appearance, well, like yours? You seem so moody and out of sorts, little brother.” He and the wife chuckled rudely.

With a harsh scraping of his chair, Rowan jumped out of his seat just as Zahir banged his side of the table Rowan glared at Naz with fiery eyes. Naz stared back, with a challenging sneer. A long, awkward pause later, Rowan sat back down. His napkin slipped off the table and fell to the floor. Zara held her hand over her heart in disbelief. If their father hadn’t intervened just now, Rowan would have regretted the rest of his days living under this roof.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” he yelled, glancing from younger son to daughter. “BOTH of you!”

“Baba, with all due respect—” Naz kept talking. Zara wished he’d stop already. “—I expected more from them. I mean, we were all raised in the same household, by you. I was always on top of everything. I honored guests with you, humored them—remember those days? I was younger than Rowan. Yet, these two don’t seem to know how to socialize properly, with members of their own family. They have nothing going for them.” His eyes gleamed. “I understand that Zara’s….hopeless. But Rowan? What’s his excuse?”

Zahir continued to glare at his other children. “Zara. Rowan. Your brother is speaking to you. You haven’t seen each other in years. What is the matter with you? He’s family, yet you’re acting like he’s worse than a complete stranger. TALK, damn it!”

Rowan and Zara flinched at his booming voice. Sonya eyed them with amusement, and Zara couldn’t help but wonder, with Naz’s open commentary, how much the wife knew about this family. About Zara’s condition. What exactly had Naz told her?

Just then, Rauna appeared, carting in trays of food.

“Master Zahir, Mistress Leyli,” Rauna announced, a bit breathlessly. “I apologize for the wait. The meal is now ready.”

Zara sighed as Rauna began to serve out dishes of hen roast, boiled vegetables, round flatbread, and drinks. Naz smirked at Rowan when he begrudgingly bent down to pick up his dropped napkin from the floor. Sonya delicately adjusted hers on her lap, glancing away from Zara like she was as insignificant as the maid.

They had just been served their meal. The night was far from over yet.