Cina didn’t seem to notice Zara’s quiet mood at all for the past two and a half hours. When Zara found her in the courtyard, she’d been gobbling down food and wine, laughing with one of the tabla musicians as she danced to his beats. She had greeted Zara with a welcoming smile, commenting on the hilarity of the weather turning dark when it was so close to the summer season.

The mean mother and her posse from earlier were long gone. Zahir was too, as he was clearly unable to keep up with both managing the party and maintaining a short leash on his daughter. Zara was free for now. Cina made jokes about putting that “stupid little girl” in her place, but Zara was too distracted to laugh along properly. Not that Cina cared; she was drunk.

Cina’s stark blue eyes were overshadowed by dilated black pupils. It reminded her of Naz. Had they been like that the entire time? Was she just noticing this now? Or was it just her drunken state? It didn’t seem right.

Zara willed herself to shake it off; her creep of a brother had obviously disturbed her to the point where she was seeing things. But as time wore on, Zara sensed something wrong. There was definitely a change in her friend and a change in her older brother—no, both her brothers. Because when they saw Rowan again, approaching the side of the house where the women stood concealed by a small tree, his face held the same bizarre expression, pupils significantly enlarged.

Shia followed behind Rowan, tired and a bit lagging in step. The skies were still gray but not as bad as earlier. The guests were worried that it would suddenly begin to rain, or worse, hail, but it did not. The clouds remained where they were, thinning, but stagnant.

“Where have you two been up to?” Cina asked them.

Rowan shrugged. “Here and there. They brought out more drinks over at the parlor so…” His voice slurred.

“Yes, same situation in the courtyard. We got our henna done before meeting up with my parents.” Cina lifted one of Zara’s hands along with hers to show their designs off.

In Zara’s other hand held a bottle of wine. She did not understand why she hadn’t just started drinking from the very beginning of this stupid party.

“Zara almost strangled one of the bitchiest guests here, by the way.” Cina cackled with glee at the boys’ piqued interests.

As she explained the situation, Zara drank and only hummed affirmatively when Shia said, “Really? You almost did that? Damn. Well, she would have deserved it. Wish I had been there to see it.”

“That’s what I was saying! I really wished her brother hadn’t stopped it when he did.”

Rowan kicked at the grass in restless silence.

“Thankfully there was no rain after all,” Zara said, changing the subject.

“Hm. Strange skies, truly though,” Shia remarked.

“Where are your parents now, Cina?” Rowan asked. “How are they doing?”

Cina blinked hard, thought for a second, and then remembered. “Oh! Right. I sent them up to your, uh, other brother’s old bedroom? Right Zara? Anyway, my father needed a bit of a rest. He’s still recovering, from his head, but doing much better.”

“I’m glad he is,” He stole a glance at Zara before asking, “Will they be heading out, then?”

“They might leave soon, but I can stay longer,” Cina replied.

“You wouldn’t want to miss the show,” Shia said. “I saw some of the dancers rehearsing steps and lines. I think it will be fun. Like a comedy.”

“I like that one dancer with the really wide hips,” Rowan said. He leaned his head back to stare at the clouds, grinning dumbly. “You know the one Shia?”

Shia snickered. “Don’t ask me.”

Cina rolled her eyes. “Or I may just leave with my parents now. If you plan on talking filth.”

Rowan snapped his attention back on her. “I won’t talk.”

She smirked.

“I think they’re going to start soon,” Shia said. “Better get it over with should it begin to rain.”

Cina snorted. “Good luck getting the older people to gather up right now. Some of them are deep into debating their stupid politics.”

Shia scoffed. “Like my parents, I’m sure.”

“And mine,” Zara murmured, clutching the wine bottle like a life rock. “Because what else would there be to speak about.” She chuckled sardonically. “I’m sure half of what they say is about me. They make sure to let everyone know whose side they stand on. Let me give you a clue. It is not mine.”

Shia smiled sympathetically at her. He nodded to her bottle. “Can I have some of that?”

Zara regarded him for a good minute. He’d grown taller, just maybe an slight inch more over Rowan. He would be a tall man. He’d shaved his mustache, giving him a clean and clear facial appearance that made him handsomely youthful. Likely his mother made him shave it off, as Leyli did with Rowan whenever he disregarded the small growth of a patchy disgusting goatee. His brown hair was let loose, the wavy curls neatly combed out. He wore a long tan suit with red square patterns and plain slim-fit pants.

The hazel part of his eyes looked more prominent than the slowly-expanding yet unabnormal black pupil, which comforted Zara for a reason she couldn’t describe. Maybe it was because she’d been spending these last few hours facing people who looked like they stepped right out of a fever dream: Naz, Cina, even Rowan.

Shia was still definitely tipsy, however. Zara could tell because she was in the same state.

She handed him the bottle and he took a sip. “Hm. It’s good. Sweet,” he commented.

“Are you sure you should be drinking anymore?” she asked.

“Are you?”

She smiled. His smirking grin reminded her of Emran. She attempted to retrieve the bottle again, but he held it out of reach, taking another generous gulp from it instead.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Rowan was telling Cina. “I caught some of the conversation out in the field. It’s just boring talk about the Kingdom’s next heir.”

“Ah, little Princess Yana,” Cina said with a dreamy sigh. “Have you seen her portraits before? Last year they came in to the art gallery in town and she was around five years of age back then? Even at that age, her dress and jewels were to die for. It must be so nice to have an abundance of wealth like that. She will be stunning when she is older, you’ll see.”

“You’re rambling on about some little girl you don’t even know and who cares nothing for folks like us. It’s just because she’s royalty she’s so pretty,” Rowan assured. “Don’t pout. You don’t have to worry about looking good, you already do. You have great taste in fashion, naturally. That’s more than we can say for any dumb princess out there.”

“You’re just trying to flatter me,” Cina teased.

Rowan shrugged, sheepishly. “Maybe I am.”

“It’s working! My, the flower’s made your tongue slippy. What a smooth talker you’ve suddenly become.” She laughed as he blushed and playfully tapped her on the head.

“Cina,” Shia scolded in jest. He was still hogging Zara’s bottle. “You play too much.”

Cina lifted her shoulders in a comical shrug.

The groom’s father and Zahir appeared from the courtyard. Guests began trickling out behind them.

“Come,” Varun’s father said to the group of four, joyfully. “The show is starting now. We are letting everyone know. We want to enjoy it before the skies turn for the worse.”

Zahir frowned at Zara. “Zara, go let the guests inside know if they would care to join. Both upstairs and down.”

“Have Rowan help, Baba,” Naz said, making an unexpected appearance by their side and startling them all. He smiled that same cunning-like smile that looked absolutely pleasant to anyone who didn’t know him.

“Oh shit,” Cina gasped. She quickly and self-consciously adjusted the front curls of her hair. It seemed Cina was still taken with the man in front of her, even though he had a scarred face. “You’re the-the brother? The older brother?” She giggled. “I’ve heard a bit about you.”

Naz turned to Cina, boldly taking her hand. “I suppose from my brother and sister here. And not very good things I presume.” He laughed. “I see he’s fond of you.”

Rowan shoved Naz away from her. Cina cackled.

Zahir yanked Rowan back. “Watch what you are doing in public,” he snarled. He was lucky the groom’s father was already leading the courtyard guests far ahead.

“No fighting with me,” Naz said, clucking is tongue. “Haven’t I been through enough?”

“No,” Rowan muttered.

“Be careful,” Zahir hissed quietly. “Or I’ll lock you in the shed this time.”

Rowan’s eyes automatically glanced to the far, far end of the property, where the crappy shed still stood, reminding him and Zara of that one horrific night. He looked at Zara, then turned away with a quivering lip. He followed the crowd, leaving his friends behind. Zahir walked after him.

Zara remained still. The flashing images of her father dragging her across the harsh ground and Rowan coming to her rescue was making her feel faint. Shia gently put a hand on her shoulder, and she balanced out. She hadn’t realized she’d become unsteady.

Naz snickered. “I’d better head over there too. My wife awaits me with a good seat.” He gave Cina a mock bow and practically skipped away.

Cina watching him with a disappointed face. “He’s married?”

“I didn’t tell you?” Zara slurred. She didn’t feel well. She could throw up.

Shia still had his warm hand resting on her shoulder.

“I’ll help you retrieve the guests in your house,” he said. “My parents were in there too.”

“I’ll come too,” Cina said. “My parents may want to go home. If that is the case, I must see them out.” She let out a low burp and staggered toward the house.

“Thank you,” Zara told the boy next to her, and let him guide her with his hand now moved down to her lower back.

The last of the party guests were out the front door. Her bangles clinked down her arm as he ran his fingers over her henna designed palms, then the tight knot of the black thread. She’d failed to keep it hidden. His fingers were warm on her wrist. They were in the upstairs hall. He stood close by her, a bit too close for comfort. Zara focused on the thumb running smoothly along the thread. It kept her from wanting to hurl or faint.

“What is this?” Shia asked with a lazy smile.

The wine had been getting to him. The empty bottle had been abandoned in the dining room. They had taken turns sharing sips and giggling as they ushered guests outside. Being met with mostly disgusted glances, Zara’s only highlight of the evening so far was Shia rudely telling said guests to “move away quickly” and “this isn’t your home, don’t make such a face.” Greeting Shia’s parents was pleasant as usual. They’ve always been nice to Zara, and even now that hadn’t changed.

“Nothing,” she answered, leaning her head against the wall. She chuckled. “Just a stupid string.”

“You tied it on yourself then?”

“No. My aunt did.”

“Your skin, though; it looks a little red under it.”

“It was itching earlier. While I was trying to eat.” She giggled.

“Is the string itchy?”

“No. Auntie put..uhh…dunked it in chili oil. I think.” She burst into laughter. Ridiculous.

“Huh?”

“She dipped it into red chili oil. Maybe that is what is causing the reaction?”

“….Why would she do that?” The grip on her wrist tightened, though his voice spoke low and gentle.

“Hmm…I’m not sure?” She may have been tipsy, but she hadn’t gone stupid. She wasn’t telling him the truth.

“Don’t lie. I know this type of superstition. Why would she put such a thing around you Zara?”

Zara tried pulling her hand away without success.

Shia did not relent. “This has to do with what people are saying about you, doesn’t it? And your family believes it too?”

“Is that what Rowan told you?” She blinked slow. The hall was dark and Shia’s face was fuzzy.

He did not answer her then.

“He hates me, you know it. So much that it’s caused him to become like an—an idiot.”

“That’s not exactly why,” Shia muttered.

“What does it matter? Everyone feels the same about me as he does. Naz, Baba, Noina Auntie, even Ma.”

“I don’t.”

“…Please let go of me.”

“Zara…”

She couldn’t help but start giggling all over again for nothing. He’d approached her close enough for his face to be near hers, and before she could move away, his teeth were on her wrist.

“What are you doing?!” she exclaimed, jumping back.

She was still shackled to his grip. He bit at the thread until it was weak enough to rip off and drift across the floor.

He finally set her free. Zara stood back against the wall, panting and shaking. The red spot on her wrist where she had felt his mouth—concealed again by her bangles—tingled.

“Fuck your aunt,” he said. “Fuck your brothers. Fuck all of them.”

Zara narrowed her eyes, nervously. “My brothers? Both? Rowan is your best friend.”

“That does not make him less of a fool.”

“What is the matter with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why don’t you believe what they all believe? Huh? I can’t understand it. You weren’t even there when it all happened. What would you know? Hm? What if I am what they say I am?”

“Zara, why are you angry with me? I have my own thoughts on the matter. I am on your side.”

“Why would you be? Why would anyone be?”

“You are not what they say!”

“But what if I am? If I was, you wouldn’t be so kind to me, would you? Hm?”

Shia struggled to respond.

Zara clucked her tongue, amused and dismayed. “Oh you don’t know what to think, you poor naive boy.”

Shia’s mouth twisted, hurt. “I’m…no. I’m not a boy,” he claimed, weakly. “I’m not a child.”

“You and my brother are—”

“I’m not like him!”

“—the same age. You may not be a child to the world anymore, but you are much younger than me.” She hiccupped and laughed bitterly. “You are sweeter than Rowan and the other stupid shits he spends time with. But…it is what it is.”

Shia’s lip trembled, his expression angry and saddened at once.

Zara was never this honest, mainly because she hardly ever spoke on a regular day. But this was not a regular day. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this stupidly bold. It did not make her feel good like she thought it would. Her chest was hollow of feeling, and a coldness swept over her head, grayer than the clouds fogging up the sky.

“Shia,” she moaned out, but trailed off, uncertain of herself. She was sorry she had said anything.

“We should get to the field, so we don’t miss the show,” Shia stated blandly.

“…Okay.”

“Can you walk properly?” His voice was devoid of any emotion.

Zara staggered to him. In the end, the boy had to help. He proved to be more tolerant to alcohol. He kept his grip on her arm to steady her, at a distance.

A cup of aromatic black tea was placed in front of her. Steaming pitchers have just been brought out on trays to accommodate guests who needed it. Jars of cream and sugar were also being shared among the guests.

“Drink this,” Shia murmured. “You’ll feel better.”

Next to Zara, Cina handed over the cream. “It’s cold,” she whined, holding her warm cup close to her. “I would have worn something else if I knew it would get cold.”

“There is no predicting the weather, dear,” her mother, Nima, told her. “It’s not so bad. You’ve been drinking too much, is all.”

Her husband sat on the quilt by her side. He had felt well enough to sit and watch the show, so they stayed. The man’s looks were similar to his nephew Emran, whereas Nima was an older, narrow-faced version of her daughter.

Zara stole a glance at Shia’s retreating back. He had walked off without another word to her.

“What’s gotten into him? I thought he would sit with us,” Cina said.

Zara disregarded the cream and sipped her tea raw. “I don’t know.”

“I thought Rowan would too. But I see him over there.”

Zara squinted at the direction Cina pointed to. The wind blew her frizzy hair across her face. She slapped it away. Across the other end of the field was Rowan and some other boys and girls Zara had never met. Shia was going there to join them.

There had been space for him next to her but…

Zara sipped her tea miserably. Cina might be complaining about the air, but the coolness of it would do wonders for Zara’s head. She didn’t mind it.

The field in front of Zara’s home was packed with over a hundred guests sitting on a variety of outdoor quilts, sipping tea or coffee and eating leftover plates of lemon butter rice, potatoes, and fried meats and veggies. The guest-of-honor’s table in the back had been abandoned. Dolly and Varun were now sitting in the biggest, most expensively embroidered quilt at the very front of everyone, with the best view of the stage and surrounded by all of their friends, family, and more platters and trays of steaming drinks than any other quilt had on them. Naz and Sonya sat happily among them too, alongside Zara’s parents. Where Zara sat was further off to the right and behind most people, where the viewing would be a bit angled, but fine—obviously not as good as the front. There was nothing to be done, as by the time she’d arrived here, every other quilt had been taken.

Zara’s stomach lurched at Sonya smiling at something Dolly said. For once, that exquisitely-dressed woman looked kind. But she was not kind, not to Zara. She could feel it. And soon the day would come where they’d be living under the same roof. Zara turned away with a hammering heart. It was all going to happen so fast, so sudden. She kept her attention up ahead.

The stage stood in front of them, proudly displaying its colorful drapes around the tent. Candles and oil lamps had been lit on it for illumination. The performers gathered and stepped on to the wooden platform, anklets jingling. Zara recognized the final performer up on stage to be Shyla. She looked beautiful and elegant in a simple red blouse and skirt. The other girls wore different colors as well. The male performers were dressed in white and shimmery silver. The musicians took their places to the side, off the stage.

“Ugh. Look who’s there,” Cina muttered.

Just as Zara’s headache had begun to repel, it came swarming back when she looked up ahead and saw the rude young mother bringing a small plate of sweets to an older gentleman who was holding her baby. The girl’s friends were there too. Zara figured that man had to be her husband. She rolled her eyes as the girl sat down with a giant smile on her face, laughing with the baby while loudly chatting with her friends.

Of course they happened to catch each other’s eye. The girl’s face twisted with scorn, and she immediately began whispering to her husband and friends. They all took turns giving not-so-subtle glances in Zara and Cina’s way.

The husband did not care much for subtlety, though. His dark glare was like a weight on Zara’s face.

“Bitch,” Cina whispered, glaring right back at him. “That’s the best she could do for a husband? He doesn’t look like a tall man at all. He’s just old and average. Heh. Of course.” She leaned toward Zara’s ear. “I know I’ve said this a lot already, but I really wish your brother hadn’t stopped you from choking the shit out of her.”

Zara let the rest of her tea burn down her throat. She was unnerved to be feeling the same way.

“It’s starting,” Nima said excitedly as the head performer—a male in silver—motioned for the crowd to quiet down. “Zara, would you like any more potatoes? We have plenty.”

“No thank you, Nima Auntie, I’m fine. I would like some coffee though.”

Nima flagged down a pitcher from a servant and poured Zara a cup. The aroma smelled delicious already. If anything could make her feel better, other than wine, it would be Pria’s local “liquid-gold” coffee.

“Me too please,” Cina said, holding out her cup.

While they sat sipping their coffees through the play’s introduction, comfortable and unaware, the sky dimmed as evening fell, the fogs swirled, and the witch doctor made his entrance through the unguarded gates.