Aitsulilla and Orineimu
"I can undress myself," Orialu said. "But can you have a clean version of this – " She pulled at her own sweaty, rain-damp clothes. " – ready for me when I'm done?"
The bath attendant stepped back and left her to undress. Perhaps Orialu might have needed her help if she'd just come from a session at court, or from some Opaline City theater. But Orialu had been sparring, and so she had no complex folds or delicate chains to undo, no costly fabrics that must be carefully removed and stored away; she had a shirt, pants, and sandals. She let them all fall to the floor of the changing room in a careless pile, then stepped out into the baths proper, naked save for the patch covering the hollow socket that had once been her left eye. And Ai Naa's anchor in its case, of course, but that didn't count. That was part of her. Besides, I'm carrying it, not wearing it.
There were only a few people using the baths at this time of day, but Orialu knew more would come soon. Afternoon was just tipping over into evening, and evening was when most people came to bathe. Orialu felt the gazes of those already bathing keenly as she walked over to the thin sheets of water that poured smoothly from carved spouts set high on the red-and-purple tiled walls. It wasn't her body they stared at – after all, everyone on this side of the baths was naked – but the scrapes and blossoming bruises painting it. Go ahead and stare. Orialu felt the corners of her mouth twitch up into a smile. So unbecoming of Lady Orisai's heir, right? Scandalous, even. It was all she could do not to laugh. Go ahead, say something. Any of you!
None did. Whether it was because they feared her mother's name or the spear she carried, Orialu didn't know, nor did it particularly matter at that moment. She found an unclaimed space under the shower-falls, picked the closest to scentless she could find from the soaps offered by the dispensers, and set to work rinsing the sweat and traces of dried blood from her skin. Scandalizing everyone with a bodyful of bruises was fun; scandalizing everyone by polluting the water in the shared baths would have just been disgusting.
Orialu stepped out from under the water, twisted her wet hair into a coil, and clipped it up behind her head, then picked up Ai Naa's anchor-case and went over to the bathing pools. Her muscles were begging her for a long soak in the hot end, which of course was where most of the other bathers were, too. Cool water for the morning bath, warm for the evening. Every Ilisaf grandmother and elder aunt insisted that it was best for one's skin, part of the recipe for beauty. I'll be telling my own granddaughters the same thing someday, if Mother has her way. The thought filled Orialu with cold revulsion. She quietly pressed the hard edge of the spear case into the bruise growing along one thigh and let the pain pull her back to the present.
Get out of your head and into the fucking bath already, Orialu told herself. Her eye scanned the pools again. Early as it was, even the so-called busy end of the baths wasn't too densely crowded, and there was plenty of space for Orialu to slip in and soak in unaccompanied silence. She nearly chose just such a space, until her eye fell on cousin Aitsulilla.
As Orialu stepped into the water beside her cousin, Aitsulilla raised one delicate brow. Like the rest of the hair on her head, it was a properly ilisaafi shade of darkest magenta. So much of Aitsulilla was so much more properly ilisaafi than Orialu: the elegant oval of her face, the green of her eyes, the smooth straightness of her hair. Her star-marks were a tinted few degrees blue from the true Ilisaf pink by the genes of her Icarian bridefather, but that was still worlds closer than Orialu's pure Tauhrelil turquoise glow.
Yet Orialu was House Ilisaf's heir, and Aitsulilla, thanks to her father's gender, would only inherit if Orialu and her sister Orineimu both set aside their own claims to the Throne Refulgent. And even then, she'd have to fight for it. Plenty of our elders might prefer a female-line descendant from further up the family tree, a proper Ori-something, instead of poor male-descended Aitsulilla. Who was two years older than Orialu and would be galled to know Orialu was thinking of her this way; as far as Orialu was concerned, that only made it funnier. So sorry, cousin. Take it up with Mother if you must. She was the one born female, so it's her fault I get to inherit instead of you.
Orialu set down Ai Naa's anchor-case beside the bath, then sank into the water next to Aitsulilla with a long sigh. Her muscles throbbed as they drank in the heat; it was as if she could feel them relaxing one red fiber at a time. For a moment, she just sat with her eye closed and soaked, submerged to the neck, her head tipped back against the rim of the bath.
"Must you bring that thing here, as well?"
Orialu didn't begrudge Aitsulilla the remark; if she hadn't broken the silence, Orialu would have eventually done it herself. Each of them enjoyed needling the other far too much to stay quiet for long.
"You're wearing your anchor," Orialu shot back. Even the anchor of Aitsulilla's paired spirit, a slender golden chain, was more properly ilisaafi than Orialu's spear. But my spear belonged to House Ilisaf for thousands of years before Ai Naa claimed it, and your chain was only made for you fourteen years ago. "Why should I abandon mine?" Orialu went on, and grinned. "Not afraid of a little wood and metal, are you, cousin?"
"Hardly," said Aitsulilla, convincingly enough, but Orialu knew that if she so much as feigned at opening the anchor-case, Aitsulilla would stiffen and shy away. Like everyone else in this family. Ai Naa saw it differently, and told her so by bleeding an image into her mind: a prey animal, frozen in fear.
No. Orialu forced the image away. Not her. Not family. Not human. Despite the heat of the bath, fear touched a momentary cold finger to her spine. She'd fed her beloved not even two weeks ago. Our spear lesson must have stirred him up again, Orialu told herself. My blood is still cooling down, that's all. I just need to…
" – Cousin?"
Fuck. Aitsulilla had been saying something, and Orialu had missed it entirely.
"Sorry," Orialu drawled, eye closed. "The water just feels so good. I forgot to pay attention to whatever you were saying to me." It wasn't fully a lie. The bath did feel incredible. She had forgotten to keep paying attention to her cousin.
"I was saying," Aitsulilla repeated, with a peevishness that made Orialu want to smile, "that since you love spears so very much, surely you must have an opinion on which Spear they'll pick to serve your father his fate upon the Court."
You're an idiot for thinking you could escape it, even for an hour or two. Her father was husband to the head of House Ilisaf; of course his execution was on the minds and tongues of all the family. But Orialu knew the ways of her mother's court well; anything she said or did that hinted at weakness could become a weapon in Aitsulilla's hands later on. There was no way she could show her cousin any of what she'd shown earlier to Syata Kuur.
"Nuremid," said Orialu at once. Aitsulilla laughed. "No, only playing. I'd say Seket, but he already led the arrest, and did you see the interview he gave after?" Aitsulilla didn't answer. "Did you?" Orialu repeated.
"Yes," Aitsulilla said; Orialu could almost hear the cloaked annoyance in her voice. Second Spear Seket was her favorite among the seven. Orialu knew it, and Aitsulilla knew that Orialu knew, which was exactly why Orialu enjoyed making her admit it out loud.
"So?" she pressed. "Didn't he seem a little off to you? Whenever he talked, I kept thinking of – a cracked mirror, or something."
"He did seem…brittle," Aitsulilla admitted.
Aitsulilla could tell because, like almost every woman on Tei Ura and most of the men, she wanted the Second Spear, and so watched him whenever she got the chance. Orialu could tell because she followed all seven of the Spears on principle. That, and both my parents are close with Seket…or were, anyway. I suppose only Mother is, now.
"Brittle, yeah!" Orialu said, smacking the surface of the water with one hand. Aitsulilla frowned sharply as droplets spattered her face. "That's it! Like he'd break if they pushed him too far. Now, I don't know what Seket saw in Father's lab any more than you do – I've tried to find out, believe me – but the way he trailed off, when they asked? It had to be bad. Bad enough to make our oh-so-polished Second Spear lose his train of thought on camera…so I don't think it's going to be him. Do you?"
"Perhaps not," Aitsulilla said after chewing on it a moment, deliberately not-looking at Orialu's grin as she spoke. "Go on, then, and tell me who you think they will use. I know it's what you want to do."
"Well, bloodroyals hardly ever get sent to die on the Court, right? So I thought they'd want to make an example of Father, seeing as it's such a rare opportunity." Orialu moved her head as if to toss back her hair, remembering only too late that it was all clipped up behind her head. "That's why I thought Irimias, at first. The Sunspinner and his wires – all the Court analysts say his way is the most painful of the seven, right? But then – " Orialu tapped one sharp-nailed finger against her own temple. Aitsulilla looked tired. "Then I thought, hey, Orialu, what's the Court going to consider first, blood or bloodroyalty? If a son of House Tauhrelil who's married to the head of House Ilisaf gets sent to the Court, would they really use the Fourth Spear to kill him? Or would they send the First?"
"What are you talking about?"
Bathwater lapped against the tiles as Orialu and Aitsulilla both startled at the new voice. Though she recognized it, Orialu turned to look all the same.
Even her own little sister looked more ilisaafi than Orialu did. Like Orialu, Orineimu had inherited their father's gray eyes and, at eleven, was already starting to show his sharp cheekbones. Unlike Orialu, she'd also inherited their mother's straight, sleek dark-magenta hair and pink star-marks. I was their test case, Orialu had always told her sister, jokingly, but I came out too tauhreliili. You, Neimu, you're just what Mother wanted.
"Alu," Orineimu said now, slipping into the water next to her sister and peering at her bruises, "are you alright?"
"Fine, fine," Orialu said breezily, waving one hand. "Syata Kuur just got the best of me today, that's all."
Orineimu was still looking at Orialu's bruises. "Will those go away in time for…?"
“Finish your sentences, Neimu,” Orialu said casually, but inside a familiar sense of unease rippled through her. In time for what? Don’t tell me I… “Trailing off all coy like that is what boys do.”
Orineimu made a face at that, but it only lasted an instant before she remembered herself and reordered her features.
"Mother wants us both with her when she holds court tomorrow," Orineimu started again. "She's going to give a statement about Father, remember?"
"Oh – " Fuck me, Orialu nearly said, as the bottom of her stomach dropped out. " – of course," she finished aloud. "That's why I made sure to take a lesson with Syata Kuur today, to clear my head beforehand and all. A little spear therapeutics, yeah?"
No doubt a reminder about tomorrow's court appearance was already buzzing on her handport, which was lying abandoned – somewhere. Probably in my room. Again. And I bet it's full of frantic "don't forget about this" texts from poor Rahelai. Orialu never meant to ignore the aide who managed her and Orineimu's schedules, but it tended to happen when she kept forgetting her port. She never meant to do that, either, but she kept on forgetting anyway, no matter how hard she tried to be better about it.
You're so lucky your baby sister reminded you. Orialu's fists clenched beneath the water. Tawret's blood, an eleven-year-old is better than you at remembering these things. Why don't you just step aside and let Neimu inherit?
The warm, humid air of the baths pressed in hot and close, crowding her nose with the scents of a dozen different soaps and oils. The heat of the bathwater, so relaxing a moment ago, was suddenly intolerable. Orialu's heart began to race. Before she could stop herself, she splashed noisily to her feet. She turned it into a long stretch, ignoring the aches her muscles raised in protest. The gazes of her cousin and sister were weighing on her back, to say nothing of everyone else also using the baths; better to push through the pain than let anyone see her perturbed.
Orialu turned around to face Orineimu, who looked startled, and Aitsulilla, who looked annoyed to have gotten more water splashed in her face. Behind them, by the edge of the pool, waited Ai Naa's anchor-case. Somehow, looking at it made it easier for Orialu to breathe.
"I really should go practice what I'm going to say tomorrow," she said to both of them. After I think of what to say in the first place. "And start some cold compresses…" She looked down at her collarbone, her thigh, her ribs, her arm. "…well, everywhere."
“Will the bruises really go away that fast?” Orineimu said. A faint line of worry creased her brow. Backwards, Orialu thought, it’s all backwards. You’re the older sister, you should be worrying about her.
"No," said Orialu, "but that's what torcs are for, and arm cuffs, and silksleeves, drapes, skin creams, pearlpowder – the stylists will make it work, don't worry! Mother will have blood of them if they don't."
"But still…" Orineimu looked hesitant. "Mother won't be happy."
"Oh, when is Mother ever happy with me?" Orialu said, and grinned. "Trust me, Neimu. I may be a hot-headed idiot, but I know how to make the cameras like me. Even Aitsulilla can admit that much, can't you, cousin?" She stepped out of the bath and picked up Ai Naa's anchor case, then crouched down beside and just behind Aitsulilla, again ignoring the pain in her muscles to do it.
"Try and make her smile while I'm gone," Orialu murmured into her cousin's ear. "Please? Everything with Father, just – she needs it."
For a moment, there was nothing. Then Aitsulilla gave a minute nod that Orialu felt more than she saw.
Orialu straightened, let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, and finally turned to leave.