[Closed] For the Lark

[Aurelie Steerpike]

When Aremu said it so plainly, that it wasn't right, Aurelie was struck by some strange impulse to tell him that he was wrong. Even though she agreed, and hadn't she just said so? It wasn't right, it really wasn't. Even still, there was a part of her that balked at him saying so. Kinder, she thought desperately, than leaving her out on the street. Safer than keeping her at home. Diablerie, her heart whispered and froze her in place. That fear still wrapped around her, tied tightly because she couldn't see the shape of it. She didn't know what she was capable of, and this terrified her.

"I used to think it was," she admitted softly instead. Now? Now Aurelie didn't know what she thought. She didn't think it was right, but she didn't think it was wholly wrong, either. Didn’t being here keep them just a little safer? Or at least keep others safe from them. Not all diableries were dangerous, but enough were. How did you know? How did you live with not knowing? She wanted to ask, suddenly--what about...? The words stuck in her throat, she was so afraid of the answer. Whatever it might be.

Aurelie let all her breath out in one tired rush. She slouched back against the bench, not noticing until she did so how tightly she'd held her spine. Each joint let go in sequence until she was comfortably molded up against the cold iron lattice. The press of it against her back was solid, comforting. Absently she picked at a little flake of the paint. Chips stuck under her nails where she hadn’t quite bitten them to the quick.

"I wish I could say that too," Aurelie agreed. There was something exhausting hearing it from someone else's mouth. That constant refrain in the back of her mind seemed to wear her down when it was shaped into sounds in the air. Aremu was older than her and had seen more of the world than she ever would besides; if he agreed with her, it must be truer than she'd hoped.

But didn't she know this, when even her own sister wouldn't hear it? Ana, the only person in all the world who loved her, and Aurelie knew that she would see her as a broken child forever. No matter what Professor Moore did or didn't find inside them. Aurelie sighed again. Let it go, move on. There was no point in dwelling on it for long.

"They're good with k-kofi, too, I think. The cookies. I'm not sure, but... they should be. If I... remember correctly. What that's like." The change of subject was abrupt and without grace. Aurelie just didn't know what else to say on the matter, and she wasn't inclined to figure it out. Cookie pairings were at least in her field of expertise. She looked at Aremu and smiled a lopsided little smile..

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

I used to think it was, Aurelie said. Before what, Aremu wanted to ask. Before Uzoji? He felt an ache somewhere in his chest; he wondered. Before what?

Why? He wanted to ask that too. What about it seems right? What is safe, here, for you, in this place? Was it only that freedom was too abstract, once, or perhaps that it is still now? What was it which seemed worth trading? Safety? For you, or for everyone else? He wondered what the shape of Aurelie’s diablerie was. It was not an uncommon thing to ask, among imbali; it was intimate, yes, but it was done, amongst close friends, lovers; like asking someone about anything which was personal, private.

Aremu had never been able to say. He could count those he had told willingly, deliberately, on the fingers he had left. There were some others who knew, but whom he had not told; he knew. Was it that it was out of his control? He did not think so; he thought that – perhaps, if it was not so intrusive, if it was not such a violation, that he might have been able to talk about it. He was not sure. He could remember, intimate and strange, his quiet confession to Tom in the dark of night many years ago; he could remember the fear he had felt, seeing Tom again afterwards; he could remember the touch of gentle, strong hands on his back, of bare arms holding him close. He thought he understood now what Tom had meant; he knew now that he had not understood, then.

Aurelie looked smaller than usual, picking at the paint, downcast. Aremu did not know if it would have been better to keep quiet on the subject; perhaps he should not have spoken. He was not sorry for her to change the subject, even so abruptly.

Aremu looked down at the little handkerchief of cookies. He smiled at Aurelie, and took it in his hand; he settled it back on his lap once more, carefully unwrapping the cookies, and took another one in his fingers. He paused, studying it intently, and looked up at Aurelie with a faintly serious nod. Aremu took another little bite of the cookie, and chewed, thoughtfully, pausing as if to contemplate the question.

“Yes,” he agreed, after a few moments. He took another small bite, carefully, from the side of it, and then finished the jam and the rest of the sweet, spicy dough with a little smile. “I think they would be.”

“There are many foods which are eaten with kofi, traditionally,” Aremu said, thoughtfully. “Some are very spicy – there is a crisp which is made from corn, and eaten with cream or yogurt. There is also a sweetbread made of flour and dates, which I like very much. It is not so different in taste from this, I think. Another thing which is eaten is a pastry called dzutan. It has many thin layers of sweetened dough, and between them there is chopped nuts, and a sweet syrup which holds it together.”

“I have never made it,” Aremu admitted, with a little grin at Aurelie. “Even to master the making of the dough, they say, takes a lifetime.” He dusted the crumbs from his fingers, looking down at the cookies. "It can be made with many different nuts - one popular one is macadamia, although in Mugroba we call it tsug."

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Graceless as her subject change had been, Aremu accepted it with good humor and Aurelie was grateful for it. The seriousness with which he took his next bite made her laugh, just a little. Although, would she have done it any less gravely? It was an important consideration, the pairing of drinks and desserts. Aurelie was pleased he agreed with her assessment--she hadn't been sure, really, as it had been a few years and hardly the most ideal of circumstances when she had tried it.

The topic arched to other foods that went well with kofi. Aurelie listened, her attention rapt. She tried to commit to memory the unfamiliar names--dzutan, tsug (though she knew macadamia). What were they like? Aurelie did her best to imagine, but it was so hard to even begin to guess at flavors she'd never had. A dough that took a lifetime to master! Aurelie's face rose and fell, thinking on it. The idea pleased her, and made her itch to try. But if it was so difficult, it was surely the sort of thing one couldn't learn even from books (if she could get such a thing). Let alone for her, someone who had never had it at all.

"That--dzu...tan?" Aurelie pronounced the word as carefully as she could, although even to her own ears she had not succeeded perfectly. "It's a shame I--well. I would like to try it. Although," she added with a sort of daydreamy hum, "I must confess I have never cared much for macadamia nuts. Still."

Something to add to the daydream, she felt. Her shop had expanded, just a little, to afford her the luxury of travel. A tour, she thought with a private sort of smile, of desserts of the world. Yes, she would add that to it for sure. She thought of restricting it to only a few countries, but, well. Since none of it was real--surely she was allowed to be as ridiculous as she wanted? Nobody would ever know, after all.

"What about... what about made with it? Kofi I mean. Er, that is--well. I have only, er, had it the once but I--I thought about it. At the time. Not that I'll, ah, get much chance to... to experiment. I do get to, from time to time," she added a little shyly. It felt like she was trying to boast, a little, and about something so small. Still, she was no small bit pleased to be allowed to do things like that. Not everyone was. Aurelie didn't take it as any great sign of her skill or of a special degree of trust placed in her, not in any large way. Just a nod, and she was grateful. She had worked hard, she reminded herself fiercely, to get it. To grasp a place for herself here.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I don't mean to--Nurse always used to say that I would make my mother cry, going on about cooking the way I do. She let me help, sometimes. W-when my parents weren't home." It was usually just the two of them, just her and Nurse and the staff. Unless her sister was home, of course. Then Mother and Father would stay, and Ana would play with her. It was less lonely, when Ana came home. Aurelie smiled a little, thinking of her Nurse sternly making her swear to keep their baking adventures a secret. She wondered where the woman was now--home, with her own family? Or taking care of another child, like she had been? Aurelie held the thought for a moment, then put it away.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

Aurelie had relaxed, a little; she was smiling again, and some of the ease had come back to her face. Aremu realized, abruptly, that he had done the same. He had not known how tense he was until he had relaxed; there were muscles in his back and shoulders aching, now, sore after days of steady tension, even with what relaxation he had managed.

“Dzutan,” Aremu said again, a little slower, with a grin for Aurelie. He did not expect her to be able to pronounce it; it was a rare Middle Kingdomer who could get close to Mugrobi on the first try. The only one he had heard manage an accent was Niccolette; she had had years to practice, and these days she spoke Mugrobi as well as a native of Thul Ka, or nearly so. It was rather a different case.

“You can find it with pistachio as well,” Aremu said; there was something to his tone that was almost teasing, just on the edge of it. “Or walnut, or almond.”

Aremu thought longingly of the tsug trees in the islands; it was the thick of macadamia season now, though it was a long, slow harvest. Every day, the workers would be wandering through the trees with baskets, scooping up heavy round nuts and beginning the long process of shelling, drying and roasting them. When he had left, not a week ago, it had been their best harvest yet, the trees coming steadily into the fullness of their years. It was a joy and an ache. He did not defend the nuts to Aurelie; to each their own.

“Made with it?” Aremu raised his eyebrows, lightly, thinking.

Before he could answer, Aurelie had interrupted herself to apologize, fumbling over her words. Aremu frowned, faintly, watching her. He was quiet, not quite sure what to say; he eased back. There was, he thought, a great deal tangled up in that, not unfamiliar.

“I am enjoying discussing it with you,” Aremu said, simply. He smiled at Aurelie. “One of the most elegant galdori I know is a surprisingly good cook.” And rather uncreative, he did not add. There were other adjectives, naturally, one could use to describe Niccolette as well – and certainly he had seen her less than elegant, although rarely less than self-possessed. But it was not a lie; he meant the words as he had spoken them.

“Uzoji used to cook too,” Aremu said, with a little grin. “He would always overwork his dough,” there was a faint smugness to his tone, fond and familiar. “But he would use coffee grounds, sometimes,” Aremu said, “for seasoning meat or fish.” Long flights had led to creativity; they had, all of them, learned to experiment - except, perhaps, Niccolette, who had instead memorized recipes which could be made with very few ingredients.

“I have also seen it used to make jelly,” Aremu grinned. “But you would not find this in Mugroba, I think.” They had, he remembered, been thoroughly appalled when Willie had attempted it, not the least because the resulting dessert had been gritty and grainy. Niccolette had been the only one to refuse to touch it; Chibugo had spat his mouthful back onto his plate.

“How would you use it?” He asked Aurelie. “In baking?” He glanced down at the cookies, considering, and smiled back at her.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Dzutan, he'd repeated for her, and she tried again. Perhaps she had gotten a little closer than before? It was hard for her to tell, but she thought she might have done. A heat rose to her face at what she thought just might be teasing. If it was, it was likely good-natured. Probably. Friends, she'd heard, did that. She certainly tried, a little, sometimes. With some people. Aurelie had very little experience with friends, but it seemed like a thing one did. Pistachio, though--she liked those. Did they have it, at a shop around here...? Certainly there were enough students and faculty from abroad to warrant such a shop? Of course, if there was, it was likely in the Stacks, and she would never find out. Even if she were sent on some kind of errand, it wasn't like she had the chance to linger. Or the coin to try. Still, she liked to think on it.

Aurelie smiled again, flustered and pleased to be told that Aremu enjoyed discussing it with her. It hadn't been an interest much encouraged in her as a child, and while it certainly was allowed now it wasn't like... It wasn't an interest, for most people around her. Cooking was drudgery, not pleasure. Certainly she couldn't fault most of her workmates for feeling that way, given the uninspired menus they were tasked with preparing for the students. Even that, though, she took a certain level of pride in. Whatever passed for pride in her, at least.

"My sister is the most elegant galdori I know, and I don't think she could cook her way out of a--a hatbox." Aurelie grinned at Aremu, thinking on it. No, her dazzling and beautiful sister wouldn't know a saucepan from a baking dish. There was an odd kind of comfort to be found in knowing something her sister didn't, something real. Useful, practical. "Unless she learned in Florne, I suppose, but--I can't imagine it. Steerpike women," she intoned in a fair imitation of her memory of her grandmother, "do not labor."

Aurelie's expression faltered a little then, but she brought it back up quickly enough. Thinking about using the grounds for seasoning meat or fish. Savory foods weren't a use she'd yet thought of. Not much, although she could imagine it would add something to stews. Something like where one would use a strong dark beer, although she never did that sort of cooking at Brunnhold. The staff had done it at h--the Steerpike estate though, and she was allowed to have some of it if Nurse allowed. They hadn't much cared for her, except Cook and Nurse. But they had cared for her well enough, and she had loved them, so she was lucky she supposed.

"I'm not really sure," she answered thoughtfully. Jelly sounded rather lovely, but that wasn't what she'd thought about. For a moment she sat quiet, biting her lip as she thought on it. It was hard to say, with so little chance to test her ideas out. Food that seemed quite nice in the mind didn't always work as well on the tongue, after all. "I should think--I would like to try it in... Well substitute for other wet ingredients, perhaps, in dishes that call for chocolate. Or," she added contemplatively, "in a rice souffle. I've made those, a few times, for special teas for faculty or guests. You can put all sorts of flavors into them. I don't suppose you've ever had one...?"

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

Aremu shook his head, faintly, grinning. “I doubt it. Bastians are even worse than Anaxi, or so I believe. The galdor I know,” he said, grinning, “is Bastian. She started out burning water, unable to tell salt and sugar apart.” There was an amused warmth in his voice. “Once,” Aremu said, cheerfully, “she set most of the kitchen on fire. It was something of a relief, as I didn’t have to try to eat what she’d cooked.”

Aremu still remembered it; he had heard Niccolette shriek from the kitchen. Uzoji had beaten him there, and Aremu had entered to Uzoji taming the fire with a quick static spell, his eyebrows half-singed, and Niccolette very insistent that putting water on it should have worked, and she did not in the least see why it had not. She had, eventually, been convinced not to try it again.

“But she learned,” Aremu said, quietly. “They can, in time.” He glanced sideways at Aurelie, edging back towards something serious, finding the thin line along the edge and holding, carefully. “If they have reason to.” He left it there, looking away.

Niccolette had learned. She had not only learned; she had worked at it, hard, for months. He had seen her, watching Ahura, writing down recipes with the same seriousness as she copied spells into her grimoire, studying them until she could make them one by one, in the islands or on the ship. He thought she enjoyed it now; he was almost sure she did. He had never asked, Aremu thought, slowly.

Had other lessons been as hard for her? Aremu could remember the first time she had looked at him – really looked at him – the first time they had conversed as crewmates. How much work had that taken? Had their friendship, for her, been as much effort as learning to make curried chickpeas?

“I think it’d be quite nice with chocolate,” Aremu agreed, pleased. He glanced down at the cookies. “Have you made these with chocolate in the center?” He asked, picking up another cookie and nibbling at it. “Perhaps – I don’t know if some coffee could be added to the dough. You would need to reduce the spices, perhaps. Or – if chocolate could be added to the dough itself, with coffee…” Aremu frowned, thoughtfully. “Although I am not so sure what jam would be best, then. Something a little sweeter, maybe? To cut the bitterness.” He grinned at Aurelie, and finished the cookie; he offered her another one as well.

“I haven’t had one,” Aremu said, then, shaking his head. A rice soufflé? He thought he knew what a soufflé was, but not one of rice. It seemed a bit odd to him; he couldn’t quite imagine it. “A soufflé is… with flour and eggs, isn’t it? It puffs up,” he gestured with his hand, fingers spreading outwards, his palm arching lightly. “What is a rice soufflé?”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Bastian--oh! There were many galdori, of course, and many of them yet that were Bastian, but Aurelie thought she might know who this one was. At least by name and something of a vague picture. Aurelie thought that it was likely that Aremu spoke of Niccolette. The woman who knew her sister, Uzoji's wife. Her image of Niccolette was incomplete, mostly based on the sort of woman she thought her sister would know, but it was all she had to go by really. Aurelie smiled a little wider--if that was the woman he spoke of, the woman who was friends with her sister, she couldn't imagine her beautiful sister had learned much about cooking at all.

They can, in time. If they have reason to. Aurelie nodded, just a slight gesture of acknowledgement. She didn't want to go there, not now, to that serious place again. Still, she thought on it. Would her sister learn? Could Ana learn to see her as anything other than the child she had left behind? Aurelie privately wasn't sure. If they have reason, he'd said. Ana... Aurelie couldn't imagine what reason Ana would have to change her mind about her, not at all. Maybe Ana was even right. She was brilliant, her sister, and beautiful, and everything Aurelie was not--maybe she knew better after all. She tried not to think on it, much.

"Yes! You can put anything in the center, really--the jam is just a favorite of mine," she confessed. "We made it at the end of the season." Aurelie thought about his suggestions. Coffee to the dough itself--could she grind it fine enough? Well, of course she could, the other spices were after all. She turned the idea over in her mind. Yes, both added to the dough, and she would need to adjust the spices... Would the color of the coffee and the chocolate make it hard to tell if the dough itself had cooked through? Dark doughs did this, after all. Aurelie took the cookie he offered her and bit into it thoughtfully, so wrapped up in her imagining that she forgot to put a hand out to catch the crumbs. They fell from her mouth and to her lap, unheeded.

Aurelie only noticed she had dropped crumbs over her lap when Aremu asked her about the souffle. "Bells and chimes!" She muttered the near-swear under her breath, embarrassed. Maybe the estimation of her as a child wasn't so off after all. Hard to insist she was a woman grown when she'd covered her lap with cookie crumbs, really.

"Oh, er! Yes! It's mostly the same, but one adds ground rice to it instead of flour. I don't make them often, really--they have to be served immediately, or they sink back down... And then it might as well just be a pudding! Which is," she said thoughtfully, "still quite nice, of course. You can add all kinds of things to it, but you have to be careful with the sugar... Too much and it will be too heavy. And then we're back to regular pudding." The talk of souffle had again absorbed her, but she paused to check that she wasn't being too excruciatingly dull.

"Er, I hope it isn't too--is the woman you mentioned... Mrs. Ibutatu? Oh! Er, he--Mr. Ibutatu, that is--mentioned, a few times, er-- she knows my sister, I believe. I've never asked Ana--that's my sister, Lilliana--about it, ah, since... since she... Yes. Er. I am just--curious. I-I've never met her." Aurelie looked down again. Why had she even asked? What did it matter? She was just, well, curious. She wanted to know. They seemed to be... friends, the lady and Aremu, and Aurelie wondered a little at it. Bastia, she knew, was no kinder to those like her than Anaxas. She thought of Lilliana, and she thought of the woman she imagined as Niccolette, and she wondered.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

Aremu listened, curiously, to the discussion of the soufflé. The trick of making foods as light and puffy as possible he felt was more of an Middle Kingdom preoccupation – or, at least, one which Anaxi and Bastians seemed to feel strongly about. Then again, he supposed, it was not so different when puffing up a flatbread on stovetop; one needed to move quickly and decisively. And, of course, one did not wish to overknead the dough for any flatbread.

Not so different, Aremu thought, uncomfortably, in the end.

He was conscious of Aurelie watching him; there was a pinched, worried look creeping in beneath the smile, as though she wasn’t sure if she had miss-stepped, somewhere, and the conversation had suddenly grown dull. He smiled to reassure her.

“A balancing act, I think,” Aremu said, thoughtfully. There were a few crumbs on him as well, one caught in the collar of his coat, and another few sprinkled on his lap; it was hard, in the end, to eat and catch both with one hand. “To add to it, without weighing it down,” he smiled at Aurelie once more.

Aremu had not been able to remember, not quite, if Uzoji had said whether he had mentioned Niccolette to Aurelie. Uzoji had promised him that his friendship with the young passive was only that – a friendship – and though Aremu had never suspected him of lying, after meeting the young passive he was reassured that neither had there been significant omissions. Aurelie was not the type of woman that Uzoji had favored; Aremu knew enough of his friend’s proclivities to know that.

“Yes,” Aremu said. “Niccolette Ibutatu,” he could not quite help frowning at the name. He did not think she did, even these days, but there was a weight to it, to those words that she and Uzoji had chosen together, strung together, made together – the weight of them was left only on Niccolette. He did not know if they were crushing her, or if she was learning to bear up beneath them; he did not know what would become of them – of her – in time. There were moments when she seemed herself; there were moments, still, when she seemed as if she, too, had perished in the fiery explosion. There were moments when she seemed to becoming someone else entirely.

It was hard, Aremu thought, to know what to make of her pain, to know how to help her. He knew that, in truth, he could not, not in the ways that mattered most. There was comfort he could offer, and strength too, but only so much. He did what he could, gladly and without hesitation; the rest, she had to take on herself.

This task of Uzoji’s, coming to deliver the clippings to Aurelie, Aremu had taken for himself. He had not so much as mentioned it to Niccolette, because he had not known – because he had not wished her to think what he had thought, long ago, when he had first learned that Uzoji had made friends with a passive of Brunnhold.

“I believe she does know your sister,” Aremu said, thoughtfully; he did not think he had kept the heavier thoughts from his face, in the end. He had tried, at least, a little bit. “I have never met her.” He looked at Aurelie with a faint smile. “What is it you wish to know?” Aremu asked.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

So she had been right! The lady Aremu had mentioned was Niccolette after all. Aurelie was pleased that she had been right about something, although the pleasure left her quickly enough. A frown had crossed her new friend's face when he said her name. Aurelie wasn't quite sure why. Should she not have asked? Truly, she'd meant nothing by the question, just idle curiosity about someone she'd never met but knew so many people she had. A stray thread that wove things together. Maybe her curiosity was unwarranted or unwanted, or she'd rediscovered her knack for stepping in places she ought not to. She was a widow now, Niccolette, a fact that took Aurelie a little too long to reconcile.

In her mind, Niccolette Ibutatu was marked as "a friend of her sister"--except, had Ana ever even mentioned to the lady that she had a sister? She probably hadn't mentioned it to, well, anyone really. Who would talk about their passive sister? In polite company? Aurelie only existed here, behind these walls. Outside of them, she was nothing at all to anyone.

Or maybe it was something else entirely. Aurelie had thought at the outset how things might look, that there might be something to wonder at. But Aurelie was--she might as well be a dog, or a lamp. The scandal of keeping her company, surely, was that she was a passive and nothing else. Hardly even keeping her company, really. A strange sort of friendship, that was all. What did that look like, to other people? The thoughts that made their way to Aremu's face told her nothing.

"N-nothing in particular, I just, er, well. I was just curious. Because--because I've never met her, and. I'm sorry, should I not have..." Aurelie trailed off. What did she want to know? Only part of it was that she wanted to round out the image of this person often mentioned and never met. You're friends, aren't you? she wanted to ask. Was that hard?

Aurelie thought of her sister, the few times she'd seen her of late. Although Ana had said Aurelie could call on her whenever she needed, the girl never had. Not even once. The shape of the need that her sister could fill eluded her. What she wanted, perhaps, was to be her friend again. Like they had been as children, almost, except--except they weren't children. Not either of them. And there was an undercurrent to Ana that Aurelie no longer understood and frightened her.

What was she hoping for? That the friendship between Aremu and Niccolette had some kind of magic key that would help her figure out what to do about her sister? Niccolette was not her sister, and she was not Aremu, and there was nothing anyone else could say that would change anything if Aurelie herself couldn't figure it out.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask, er. She's always--sounded like she might be a little like my sister so I-- I don't know. I'm sorry." Stupid, stupid, stupid. "I, uh, hope she's doing well. Er. As well as... Sorry."

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 10 Dentis, 2719
A Garden Bench, Brunnhold Campus

Whatever it was Aurelie wanted to say, she could not seem to ask it. Aremu watched her, quiet, and looked half-away when she expressed her hope that Niccolette was doing well, and tucked into it a small, careful apology. That, he would not answer with words, although he knew his face have him well away.

They were married seven years, he might have said. Just more. He loved her for nearly nine. He broke an engagement for her; he broke with his family for her. They had a love that, I think, made them like one person, in the best way. They were both flawed, nonetheless. And now? He could almost feel the heavy weight of her field washed with sadness, as if by memory he could conjure the thick, bright mona into the air around him. He couldn’t help a slight shiver.

Aremu glanced back at Aurelie. Her sister’s friend, he thought, slowly, leaving behind the familiar thoughts.

“It was hard, at first,” Aremu said, carefully. “For both of us.” He was quiet, thinking of what he might say, looking away at the green trees, with their dapplings of yellow leaves.

“They met at Brunnhold,” Aremu said. “I suspect I was the first imbala Niccolette ever spoke to, outside of...” he offered Aurelie a faint, crooked smile, leaving it unspoken but understood between them. “She did not care for it.”

“Neither did I,” Aremu said, frankly. He had come from the shipyards to join Uzoji on the Eqe Aqawe; they had spoken of it, the two of them. Uzoji has urged him to patience, to understanding. Aremu had understood, perhaps, but he could not like it, not in the least. She had not spoken to him directly, not as one would a man, for months; she had spoken about him as if he had no mind to call his own.

“It took time,” Aremu said, “and circumstance. We flew together, and we were a small crew, then.” I saved her life, he didn’t say, and she mine. “We are friends now,” Aremu said. “For our own sakes, and not only Uzoji’s. She does not understand, and perhaps she never will, but she trusts me.”

More or less work that the chickpeas? Aremu couldn’t say. But he smiled, faintly, thinking of the heat with which Niccolette did her best to defend him, and then a little wider, thinking of her scoldings; thinking too, worried and touched both, of the letter she had sent him, and the word please that she had scrawled above the signature.

I don’t know your sister, Aremu could have said. I don’t know what it can be like, between you. I don’t know my brother either; it has been eighteen years since I last saw him. He left it there, instead, but he smiled a little more at Aurelie. She could ask, if she wanted, he thought. He had said what he felt he had the right to; if there were places he could go, he would not.