[Closed, Memory] If Not the Arrival

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Vortas 26 2718, Morning | Side Garden

The note might have been too bold. Bold, and embarrassing to write, rendered as it had been in her clumsy, painstaking handwriting. Was she allowed to make requests like this, even? Aurelie wasn't sure. Mr. Ibutatu had left a few clippings for her, in a little metal box by her bench in the garden. (That she had come to think of it as "her" bench was absurd, yet she did it all the same.) Each one had been precious to her, especially the ones from sources outside of Anaxas--one or two, she knew, had come from Bastia. These she couldn't have gotten herself under even the most ideal of circumstances. Perhaps she should have left well enough alone, but she wanted to give her thanks. And though she left the note in the tin, she hadn't wanted to deliver her message in it as well. It was the sort of thing best done in person, she felt.

The note had asked--or at least she hoped that it was clear, written communication being a weak skill--for him to wait and talk to her the next time he was at Brunnhold. If possible. Had she phrased it too much like a demand, and not a request? Oh, it was very nerve-wracking. At least when she made these sorts of mistakes in person, facial expressions and body language alerted her before she got too far. The kitchen girl wasn't even sure when, or if, he would come again. That made arranging anything rather difficult. She had tried to say when, precisely, she tended to be available, but she couldn't make promises and felt guilty about the thought that Uzoji might be waiting because of her selfish desire to show some gratitude.

Though it had been a fairly dry morning, for Vortas, it was brisk at this hour and she didn't trust the weather to hold. Autumn could be volatile, her luck poor. She knew that it would be the day she didn't expect the sky to open up and pour down on her that it would do so. She had no idea when or if the state of the weather would matter, of course. Maybe it wouldn't be today. Maybe it wouldn't be this month, or even this season. Aurelie still kept an eye out for their signal, a handkerchief tied to the branches of a tree outside. Truthfully, though she knew he would only come but rarely, she checked every day. It was nice, having something to look forward to. She would have to thank him for that, too. She checked so frequently that this time she almost missed it--Aurelie was too used to looking for something and seeing nothing. But no! There it was, catching her eye. She wondered if he would have waited, like she had asked.

As soon as she got the chance, the girl made some excuse and slipped away from her usual gaggle of young women. They were all of them blessedly free from a specific responsibility, if only for a little while. If her voice had held the tremor of a lie, nobody had paid her much mind. After all, what could she possibly be doing to warrant anything like suspicion? Aurelie Steerpike was simply not the trouble-making type. Nobody, including herself, could ever imagine her having secrets that were actually worth keeping.

It was difficult for her to not break into a run. For one thing, because the weather was somewhat cold and she disliked it terribly, though that wasn't all. The thought that she might be making her... friend? That didn't seem right. Just what should she think of Mr. Ibutatu as, then? Confusing, just like the rest of him. Whatever they were, she would be sorry to make him wait in the cold. Perhaps she should have suggested they meet inside, but the only place to find her there was the kitchen and that seemed terribly public. To want to meet in private was, of course, completely inappropriate, but her shyness about wanting to express herself overtook any other kind of shame she might have otherwise felt. This, too, was terribly baffling. Running would have been suspicious, however, so she settled for a sort of brisk, purposeful shuffling. The gait of a passive on an errand they needed completed as soon as possible. It wasn't too long before she came upon the little garden she often hid away at.

At this time of year, with the leaves turning colors and starting to fall away from the branches of the trees, it was not quite so private a spot as it was the rest of the time. Still, the general unpopularity of this specific bit of landscaping and the sort of odd location of the bench itself meant it was hard to accidentally stumble across. Not impossible, just difficult. Although, she had come to find some young (or not so young) couple had gotten there before her on more than one occasion.

"Oh, you're here after all...!" Aurelie clapped a hand over her mouth immediately after letting that slip. She had just been surprised to see him there, with as much anxiety as she had managed to work up on the way over. "Er--g-good morning, Mr. Ibutatu. Ah... Are you... well?" Shame stopped her dead in her tracks, though she did her best to smile as brightly as she could manage. It was always rudeness first with her, she thought mournfully.

[moralhazard]

Morning, 26 Vortas, 2718
Side Gardens

Uzoji had left Niccolette sleeping in bed; his wife was snoring softly, sprawled out across the middle of the bed with her face pressed against the pillow, her hair a tangled mess from the delicate braids she’d worn the night before. There was a smear of eyeliner on the pillowcase, and he could see a smudge of it on her cheek as well. She looked, Uzoji thought, beautiful; he could have sat and watched her for hours.

He knew it was not the sort of compliment he could offer her. She would scowl at him, even though she knew he would not say it if he did not mean it – perhaps throw a pillow, Uzoji thought, fondly. He buttoned up his shirt, and settled his cufflinks in his sleeves. He had little fear of the pillow actually hitting him, not unless she aimed to miss; her throwing aim was remarkably bad. Despite all the practice as she’d had, over the years, it had yet to improve.

But Uzoji could not quite resist brushing a hand over her hair, planting a soft kiss on her temple. Niccolette made a noise that, in anyone else, he might have called a snort, and rolled over, curling up on her side. Uzoji tugged the blanket up to cover her against the cold, took his heavy wool coat from the stand by the door, and shrugged it on as he left the room, wrapping a scarf around his neck, and sliding a wool hat onto his head.

It was a crisp, cloudy sort of day; the trees outside the hotel were shedding their leaves. Uzoji shivered, and tucked his hands into his coat pocket as he walked. They almost always spent most of Achtus and Ophus on the islands, and he was already looking forward to the trip; it would be blessedly welcome to be warm again. The winter storms on the islands could be unpleasant, but at least one was rarely cold. In any case, it was his plantation; he felt a certainly obligation to be there during the worst of it, whether he could really do anything or not. Aremu was certainly capable enough; he knew the other man did not need him there, not really, but he knew also that Aremu wanted him there. He was still grateful for that; he was still grateful for the imbala.

Uzoji left the handkerchief first, climbing a few branches in the tree to tie it to the branch he thought most visible from the window. The clippings he had left before had been taken, so he thought it must be visible enough. He went to the bench, and took out the little tin box from its hiding place; and, too, he took out the clippings from his coat pocket. He opened it, intending to deposit them and be on his way. Instead, he stopped.

There was a note. Uzoji raised his eyebrows, slowly, reading it over. Aurelie wanted him to wait for her, here, the next time he was in Brunnhold. She had mentioned the times she was most likely to be free. Uzoji took his pocketwatch out, checking it, and then slowly tucked it back away. Well enough, he thought; he’d intended to walk the grounds for a bit before joining Niccolette for breakfast. He knew her well enough to know she would sleep a while longer, and he did not begrudge her the rest; she had earned it.

So, Uzoji tucked the clippings into the box, set it on the bench beside him, and sat. He did not last long sitting; he rose, after a few moments, and paced, slowly, back and forth. Not even a month, he thought, until their seventh anniversary. Seven years; it was hard to imagine that it was seven years ago that he and Niccolette had sat on benches like this – this very bench, even – at Brunnhold, all hands and breathless mouths, full of enthusiasm. His plans had not, quite, gone as Uzoji had first imagined, but he knew there had been no other course for him, for any of them, and he did not begrudge any man, or woman, the right to make their own choices.

Uzoji glanced up at the sound of a voice from the entrance to the clearing. He grinned, looking at the passive across the scattering of dead leaves. She looked well, he thought, although he supposed the sudden flush of pink in her cheeks was embarrassment, rather than good spirits. The poor thing never managed not to look just a little anxious.

“Good morning, Miss Steerpike,” Uzoji said, cheerful and friendly. “Quite well, yes. And you?”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Despite the rudeness of her request, her greeting, the hour and the chill, Mr. Ibutatu smiled when he saw her. Aurelie had been a little concerned--well, very concerned--that she had overstepped some line she was unsure of by asking something that felt even more like a favor than just putting bits of paper for her in a box when he had the time and inclination. But he was friendly--was always friendly to her, which was very odd. Like she was a person, and not an unfortunately person-shaped table lamp. Aurelie relaxed and smiled back, some of the tension draining out of the lines of her shoulders.

"I... uhm, yes, I'm well. As well as--oh." She had unthinkingly begun a joke about how well she could possibly be, given everything. That would sound...not right, she thought. Improperly honest. There was a line, she felt, between being straightforward and being overly forthcoming. Sadly she had never really learned to navigate it well. That was the sort of joke she could make to another of her kind. Maybe--her jokes rarely went over well. No matter the audience.

Aurelie shifted her weight back and forth on her feet a little uncomfortably. Dead leaves crunched beneath her feet. Abstractly she thought the sound was satisfying, though it didn't help her current situation. It seemed abrupt, to just launch into her thanks with no further preamble. At the same time, she wasn't really used to make idle conversation. What did one say? How did it begin? She thought desperately to her childhood, trying to summon up something her mother or sister would have said to a visitor. Nothing came to her; the memories of a child weren't particularly useful to the girl as an adult. How terribly unfair.

"Do you, er, have long? I just wanted to--I don't mean to keep you, sir. Ah. Hmm. Do you--do you have to climb up that tree yourself, for the--oh." Aurelie let her stuttering come to a halt, realizing she was blathering on, again. Why even the slightest of nervousness made her carry on this way, she did not know. It was, frankly, unseemly. Aurelie took a deep breath, straightened her posture slightly, and tried again.

"I just wanted to--to say thank you, for the--I know it's a small thing, but I'm grateful for the... the clippings. Especially--especially the ones I couldn't even think of getting myself and... Er. Well. I don't know why you would bother but... but thank you. Uhm. I suppose that was all I really... I could have written this down but. Er. Well it's really a surprise you could read my handwriting at all, isn't it? Uhm. Sorry." Aurelie bit her lip to keep her mouth shut, but she did try to form it into something like a smile.

[moralhazard]

Morning, 26 Vortas, 2718
Side Gardens

Aurelie’s face brightened in a smile, although whatever it was she had meant to say faltered and trailed off. Uzoji waited, patient, while the girl shifted back and forth, making the dead leaves crackle beneath her feet.

As well as? He wondered; not hard to imagine the sort of thing she might say. It’s not like this in Mugroba, he thought. We know, there, that you can do more than this. We know what you lack, yes, but also what you don’t. As well as could be, he thought. He imagined she did not want to sound ungrateful; Uzoji was not naive enough to think she would converse with many galdori. He felt a little twinge of pity, that she had been made to think such subterfuge was necessary, b it then, he supposed, there was nothing in her to be stained by lies.

Uzoji’s eyebrows lifted faintly when Aurelie asked if he had long. He might have started to answer, but she changed course, quickly, to ask about the tree. Uzoji grinned at the question, amused; he’d always liked climbing trees. He’d never been able to keep up with Aremu as a boy; and, now, during their last trip to the islands, Aremu had beaten him again. He hadn’t even been able to pretend not to be glad.

“I’ve a little time,” Uzoji said, thinking with a smile of Niccolette asleep in bed. “And I do climb the tree, yes,” Uzoji added, encouragingly, his grin returning, even brighter and more boyish than before.

Aurelie found her way to her point then; she thanked him, and tripped over her words, and thanked him again, and then stumbled back over them again, and apologized, and finally trailed off in favor of an anxious smile.

“I am glad to be able to do it,” Uzoji said, simply. Glad was a simple word for it, but an honest one. He was not so naive nor such a fool as to think this some grand gesture; it was just that the currents of life had brought them together once, twice, three times, and Uzoji had never been one to ignore Hulali’s way. It was something he could do, and so he did, and he took pleasure in the idea that it was helpful.

Uzoji found his pockets with his hands, keeping them out of the cold, and looked across the clearing and down at the young girl. There was silence between them for a few moments, broken only by the faint distant rustling of the trees.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” Uzoji asked. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had expected; questions, maybe, or a request for a favor. Not, he thought, thanks, though he could understand - he could respect - that she felt the need to offer those too. “You can speak freely, if you like.” I should hope, he thought, you might begin to trust me, by now.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Climbing trees was an activity she had never been allowed, not even as a child who still didn't know what she was. Her mother didn't find it a dignified occupation of a young lady's time, and Nurse had agreed. Aurelie had been too timid a child for it, at any rate--even if it hadn't been forbidden to her she would not have done it. But she had seen other children--boys, mostly, children of the staff who lived at the Steerpike estate--at the activity from her window, from time to time. She had wondered, at the time and again now, what it would feel like to be the type of person who could do such a thing. Not just physically, as years of her labor at Brunnhold had likely given her muscle enough to do it, but in temperament as well. Were it anyone else, she would have thought it was an ill-fitting thing for galdori dignity, but the way Uzoji smiled after he said it made her think it fit after all.

Her thanks were greeted with an acknowledgement and then silence. Aurelie felt a little foolish then, that she had made him wait and take time out of his day for such a brief, trivial thing. In the quiet, she tried not to fill it up with nonsense and just listened to the sound of the leaves instead. How she would proceed, she didn't really know.

"Is that...?" The question startled her. He seemed to be expecting an answer, and Aurelie wasn't sure she had one. Had it been all that she had wanted to say? Mostly, yes. Or, more accurately, it was all she had thought she would say. In truth she had a lot of things she could ask. Personal questions, of varying degrees, as for all that they'd met three times before this and he was doing her this kindness she didn't really know him. And less personal questions too, brought on mostly by the idea that he might answer them.

"...Why are you-- that is, you've been very kind to me and I--" Aurelie broke off, her brow creased and her mouth pulled into a slight frown. She kept her eyes on the leaves on the ground, embarrassed. To be so direct she knew was pushing the bounds of politeness. Not pushing, actually. Breaking them entirely, rude in the lack of pretense. But it was the first thing that came to her mind and Lady save her but she couldn't keep her thoughts inside her head when they should be. Aurelie paused for a breath, then lifted her face to gather what little spine she had and continued.

"Why are you being so nice to me? Treating me like a-a person and not... not... A scrap." The last she said with no little venom, though the rest of the question was put with nothing but genuine curiosity. "I'm not--I'm not ungrateful, truly, I'm just... I don't understand."

There was no anger in her lack of understanding, or judgement in either direction. Aurelie didn't know why he was treating her this way, and for most of her time here she hadn't really questioned the way others treated her. Oh, to be sure, she didn't like it. But she didn't question it. It wasn't like she was a person, not really. Not properly one. It unnerved her to have come to think that perhaps the strange thing was not when she was regarded as a person, but rather the way they were all treated the rest of the time. The little scraps of news of her sister that he had brought to her had only put this itch under her skin that made her take notice of how truly small her world was, by design.

[moralhazard]

Morning, 26 Vortas, 2718
Side Gardens

Yet again, Uzoji thought, there was a spark of courage in Aurelie Steerpike. It had been her courage, as much as her plight, that had led him to want to be kind to her initially. He didn’t flinch or recoil at the word scrap; he’d long since grown used to hearing it in Anaxas. Even Niccolette had said it, although that had been a long time ago.

Now, he thought, she hated it even more than he did. He remembered, once, when Aremu had still been on the Eqe Aqawe, that Willie had called Aremu a scrap – casually, not with vehemence or hatred, but with the same easy tone in which he might have called him a passive, or an engineer, or a Mugrobi. He had thought Niccolette would attack him on the spot; she had flexed her field through the cockpit, sharp and bright and vicious and beautiful.

Aremu, Uzoji remembered, had come to him to apologize. Uzoji had refused to allow it; he had told Aremu, quite firmly, that he and perhaps he alone, had nothing to apologize for.

“You are a person,” Uzoji said, firmly. He looked across the clearing at the little passive, and smiled. “I’m sorry it’s a daring opinion here in Anaxas.”

What, Uzoji wondered, was owed her? It had been nearly two years since he had first met Aurelie, two years since he had come across crying in the face of a lecture in an empty classroom, two years since she had refused his handkerchief with a straight back, and accepted a cup of kofi. Then, he had thought it wise not to tell her; then, perhaps, the memories of his disastrous attempts during his Brunnhold days had been sharper.

He still did not know if it was too much of a burden to place on the girl, but she had asked, and Uzoji would not offer her less than truth.

“I shall tell you,” Uzoji said, evenly, not looking away, “because I think you are quite strong, Miss Steerpike. In Mugroba, passives are not gated. My best friend as a boy was found to be one,” he held her gaze; his voice was soft, and gentle, and unyielding in its honesty. “He was a student at Thul’Amat, our university, with me and served as an engineer on the airship I captain for many years. If he wished to, he could be married by now.”

Uzoji inhaled, slow and deep, and exhaled, carefully. He sent calm out through his field, pulsing it gently into the world around them; he gentled the weight of the physical mona, and let the heat of the static mona be warm, and not bright. He smiled, thinking of Aremu still racing him up trees, and still winning. “He’s still my best friend today. He – and you – are as much of a person as I am. What you lack is not a sharp mind or a brave heart; it’s something deeper, something inside you which is missing, but it doesn’t keep you from being a person. It shouldn’t keep you locked in this place.”

Uzoji stopped then, and waited, looking across the grove at Aurelie. He was not sure what he expected; he thought, perhaps, she might turn and flee. He knew, too, that she might shout at him, angry; that she might wish to forget the knowing she had asked for. She had not known, he thought, what she would get. He could not regret giving it to her.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

There was something funny about hearing that adjective used to describe her. Both of them, really--"person" included in the category. "Strong" was not something Aurelie had ever been called, or ever considered herself. Was it strength to not know what else to do but continue forward? She doubted that very much. Sometimes the girl suspected that the only reason she so rarely fell apart was that she knew she would be the only one around to pick up the pieces. Might as well save herself the trouble.

Aurelie hadn't known what she thought his answer might be, when she had asked. She simply had wanted to know, because it puzzled her. Their meeting had been coincidence, brought on by a fleeting moment of weakness, but it would have been easy enough to ignore her forever after. Yet here they were standing, two years later. So she had wanted to understand, wanted to know. She just hadn't expected this.

To hear that passives were not gated in Mugroba wasn't the shock. Aurelie had long thought that the situation in Anaxas was possibly unique. Whether that was good or bad, she didn't know, but she didn't think that every university in Vita was staffed like Brunnhold was. Nor even was it that Uzoji's friend, his best friend he said, had attended the university there. While she idly thought about what she would have done were an education not denied to her, she couldn't help but feel her interests were distinctly less academic overall.

No, it was the word "married" that struck her the deepest blow, touching on something she had flinched away from thinking about. A foolish dream she'd long had buried in her heart, because it was too ludicrous for her to contemplate in even her most idle of hours. Even if she weren't here, in Brunnhold, even if her family had kept her at home--something she knew would not have been wise--that was something she couldn't have. Perhaps if she had been born as she should have been, it wouldn't have mattered as much to her. Certainly it seemed to not matter to her sister. But she was what she was and maybe it was the impossibility of it that had shaped her desire, her dream shameful in its futility. To be not just free from this place and the walls she hated but to--to be able to make herself the place, the home, the family she wanted so, so much--

And now she knew that it wasn't just what she was that kept this from her, but where she had been born. Aurelie felt the shock of it like she had been pitched headfirst into a winter pond.

"Oh." That was all she said at first, frozen in place. The presence of his field was suddenly cloying, though she didn't think he had meant it to be. She was close enough to feel it and it shaped her shock into something sharper. Aurelie was angry. She knew she shouldn't be, but one of her hands balled into a tight fist anyway. Her nails were bitten too short to dig into her palms. To say all that--to tell her this, and still declare that--

"And just what is it," she asked, the question cutting her lip as it tumbled from her mouth, "that you think we are missing, then?"

Aurelie couldn't be angry at the knowledge she had asked for, even though she hadn't known what it was she would be given. One might as well be angry at the sky for a flood, or lightning for a fire. It was what it was, and if it hurt her that had nothing to do with her personally. She knew he wasn't lying to her; there was no purpose in being angry with simply being told facts. She could be angry with hearing that even in a place where things were so very, very alien to her own home that she would still be found wanting in some intrinsic way. That someone else should confirm what she had feared to be true--she was missing something, and she didn't think it was just a field.

Aurelie brought her face up to look him in the eye, and it was hard and brittle before she turned away again. She took a breath in and out, trying to get herself under control. This wasn't--this wasn't right. She needed to get herself under control. Aurelie mumbled an apology but didn't look back up or relax the rigid set of her shoulders.

[moralhazard]

Morning, 26 Vortas, 2718
Side Gardens

Uzoji had seen the pain on Aurelie’s face; he could scarcely have missed it. It was the word married, he thought, that had done it, although it was hard to tell. It could well have been all of it, or any of it. He had known the risks when he spoke.

Aurelie’s hands clenched into small fists, and she challenged him, threw out a hot, angry question. Uzoji looked at her across the grove. It was tempting – he had not meant to be cruel, but neither could he lie to Aurelie about what she was. There was no sense in pretending that she had honor, that she could know truth. There could be no changing that she did not, and so Uzoji scarcely saw the point in dwelling on it. A man – or woman – could be good, could be worthwhile, without one. It was an obstacle to overcome, a burden to bear, and a heavy one at that, but it could be done, with enough strength and opportunity.

Uzoji did not begrudge Aurelie her anger. He thought it better than sadness, perhaps even better than resignation. He thought that spirit was for the best, all the same; he had placed upon her a heavy burden of knowledge. If anything, he was glad she was not cowed by it.

There was a falsehood within the question itself, but not one that she could know about, and, of course, there was nothing in her to be stained by lies. It was not what he thought; it was not a question of thinking. It was known; Aurelie did not have a soul, although of course that was not quite the right word in Estuan; still, Uzoji knew, it was the closest that could be found. No matter how brave Aurelie was, or what sort of potential she might have, there could be no changing that.

“It’s better to focus on what you do have,” Uzoji said, instead, gently. His field withdrew, slightly dampened in the air around him. It was a different sort of honesty, this, but no less so. He had met Aurelie’s gaze without flinching when she looked at him; she had turned away before he could answer. She had mumbled something beneath her breath, too, although he hadn’t been able to make out the words.

The autumn air was still around them; a leaf dropped from the tree, and fluttered gently past Uzoji, dry brown against a backdrop of yellow and orange, landing softly on the ground. “There is less in fall than there is in spring,” Uzoji said, glancing around, and turning back to Aurelie, “but both seasons have their own value.” It was not a traditional Mugrobi saying, of course – they did not have fall or spring – but Uzoji doubted that the more typical analogy about the dry and flooded banks of the Turga would resonate terribly well with the Brunnhold passive.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Count backwards from ten, she reminded herself, trying to reign in her temper. Or did she require a bigger number? Aurelie couldn't have said what about this that made her so angry, but Uzoji's gentle response made her anger flare up again rather than quiet it down. You came here because you were grateful. You are grateful. This is hardly the first time someone has spoken to you like this, like they know better. Aurelie wasn't used to having to master her own anger, rarely as it was prodded in this way, but she would manage. She had to manage.

Still--to focus on what she had? What did it matter? What was it, precisely, that she could be said to have? No family, not anymore and never again, though she was never alone. No home, though she had a roof over her head. Not magic, unless it chose to come to her without her bidding and as like to do her and those around her harm as ever do any good. She didn't know what about it had suddenly become so intolerable, when this was true every day and it didn't bother her on most of them. Or at least if it did, she didn't think about it.

This wasn't what she'd come here for. She didn't want to--she had just wanted to say thank you, to... She didn't know what else. Maybe she just selfishly wanted someone to talk to her. Poor conversationalist as she proved to be.

"If you say so," she mumbled, the tension draining out of her shoulders and all her energy with it. She scrubbed a hand across her face, trying to will herself into a different frame of mind. The analogy still stuck in the back of her throat, though she didn't think it had been intended to. "Less". Well. That was true enough, she supposed. Less of her than other people. Aurelie took in a breath, held it, then slowly let it back out again. Her anger was still there, but she thought she could ignore it, if she tried.

"I'm--I'm sorry. I s-shouldn't have... Thank you for... er. Answering me, I suppose." The wind picked up a leaf from the tree overhead and carried away; Aurelie shivered, cold even in her long sleeves. She crunched another one miserably under her toe. The leaf broke apart into satisfying fragments, dry and flat. "That's all very... very different. Than here. I can hardly picture it."

[moralhazard]

Morning, 26 Vortas, 2718
Side Gardens

Uzoji was smiling, and there was nothing particularly different in his stance or his gaze, but he watched Aurelie carefully nonetheless. He was conscious of the tension in her, the tightness of her shoulders and her face, the way her hands had tightened further, rather than less. All the same, he thought he had made the right choice; there had been no good way of answering the question she had asked.

He had no fear her diablerie would erupt; he had been with Aremu too long and in too varied situations to think that the Anaxi fears of unbridled emotions in passives would spark a manifestation. There was so much, Uzoji thought, they did not understand. He regretted it on their behalf, and on Aurelie's as well; he wondered if she feared herself, her anger, her sadness.

Aurelie seemed to master the emotion; it left her, Uzoji thought, somehow smaller than before, drawn deeper into herself, as if trying to hide. Was it better to force her out, to precipitate the confrontation and let it erupt and clear between them? Or was it better to let her hide her anger away in her chest, buried deep.

There were those who did best keeping their anger inside, keeping it to themselves; it burned bright within them, and gave them strength. That strength, Uzoji thought, always came at a cost; it was like a flame, too hot to touch, or so hot that it would be cold against your skin, hot enough to burn.

And the rest? He thought of Niccolette, and her brightly burning anger; he thought of her throwing garbage at him, shouting, hurling plates against the wall, throwing wine. None of it scared him, not really. He knew her anger; he knew the lines between them, the ones they would never cross. Everything else could be forgiven; the circle knew, Uzoji thought wryly, that he had pushed that to its limit. The time she had scared him most was when he had let her simmer, when he hadn’t realized the depths of what lay beneath her still face. He knew what she had done, then; he had not understood it, at the time. Maybe he still did not; he hadn’t known her capable of it. He thought, now, that he should have never underestimated her; he should have known that there was very little his wife wasn’t capable of. He couldn’t quite help smiling to think of it.

Uzoji studied Aurelie, carefully, although it didn’t show on his face. What should he choose? The little passive stood in front of him, with her carefully relaxed shoulders and her anger nowhere to go but inside. He thought he knew what he saw; he thought he knew what to make of it. Uzoji made his choice, then; he followed his instinct, as always.

“I’m sure you can’t,” Uzoji said, smiling and deliberate. He let the words soften, let them emerge friendly and kind, with the slightest weight to them. He studied her, carefully, and kept going, merciless behind a gentle face. “No need to apologize,” He made the faintest sort of shrugging motion with his shoulders, just edging into dismissive.