Another family member to meet. I considered “accidentally” losing her. But remembering the hostile glares that I had received from some of my cousins, I stayed with Nutty. When I caught up to her, I grabbed her arm.
“Wait,” I panted. “I want to know why so many Zaltanas frown at me. Is it the blood smell?”
“No. Everyone knows Leif can see gloom and doom in everything. He’s always looking for attention.” She gestured at me. “Most of them think you’re not really a Zaltana, but a spy from Ixia.”
“You’re joking right?” I asked. “They don’t really believe I’m a spy.”
Nutty nodded. Her ponytails, one on each side of her head, bobbed in contrast to her serious face. “That’s the gossip. Although, no one would dare breathe a word of that to Aunt Perl or Uncle Esau.”
“Why would they think such a thing?”
Her light brown eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe my stupidity. “Look at your clothes.” She gestured at my black pants and white shirt. “We all know northerners are forced to wear uniforms. They say if you were truly from the south, you wouldn’t want to wear pants ever again.”
I glanced at Nutty’s orange skirt. The hem was tucked up into her brown fur belt and she wore a pair of short yellow pants underneath.
Ignoring my stare, she said, “And you carry a weapon.”
That much was true. I had my bow with me in case I found a place to practice, but, so far, the only space big enough had been the common room and that was always too crowded. Now was probably not the best time to tell Nutty about the switchblade strapped to my thigh.
“Who’s been saying these things?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Different people.”
I waited. The silence drove the information out of her.
“Leif’s telling everyone that you don’t feel right to him. He says he would know his own sister.” She fidgeted with her sleeve, rolling up the bright cotton fabric. “Sitians are always worried that the Commander will attack us someday, and we think northern spies are gathering information on our ability to defend ourselves. Even though Leif tends to overreact, his magic is strong, so almost everyone believes you’re a spy.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I was going to wait and see.” She looked down at her bare feet. They were tanned and callused.
Another reason I stood out among the Zaltanas. I still wore my leather boots.
“That’s very smart,” I said.
“Do you think so?”
“Yes.”
Nutty smiled. Her light brown eyes lit up. I noticed a sprinkle of freckles across her small nose. She continued to lead the way to my mother.
As I followed, I thought about the accusations that I was an Ixian spy. I wasn’t a spy, but I couldn’t say that I was a true southerner, either. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to be called a Sitian. My reasons for being in the south were twofold: to avoid being executed and to learn how to use my magic. Meeting my family had been a bonus, and I wasn’t going to let some petty rumors ruin my time here. I decided to ignore any more sidelong glances for now.
There was no ignoring my mother’s fury, though, when Nutty and I reached her residence. Every muscle in her thin arms and long neck was pulled taut. Waves of unspoken anger pulsed from the petite woman.
“Where have you been?” she demanded.
“Well, I saw Irys off, and then…” The explanation seemed weak in the face of her outrage, so I stopped.
“You’ve been gone from me for fourteen years, and we have only two weeks together before you go again. How could you be so selfish?” Without warning she crumpled into a chair as if all her energy had been pulled from her.
“I’m sorry…” I started.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that your speech and manners are so foreign. And your father’s back and anxious to see you. Leif’s been driving me crazy, and I don’t want my daughter to leave here feeling like she’s still a stranger.”
I hugged myself, feeling guilty and inadequate. She was asking for a great deal; I was sure to fail her in some way.
“Your father wanted to wake you in the middle of the night. I made him wait, and he’s been searching the homestead all morning,” Perl explained. “I finally sent him upstairs with something to do.” She swung her arms wide. “You’ll have to forgive us if we go too fast for you. Your arrival was so unexpected and I should have insisted you stay with us last night, but Irys warned us not to smother you.” She took a deep breath. “But it’s killing me. All I want to do is wrap you in my arms.” Instead, her arms dropped into her lap, resting on the blue-and-white fabric of her sleeveless dress.
I couldn’t reply. Irys had been right; I needed time before I would feel comfortable with the whole family dynamic, but I could also empathize with my mother. Each day, I missed Valek more than the day before. Losing a child had to be much worse.
Standing by the door, Nutty pulled at her ponytails. My mother seemed to realize she was there. “Nutty, can you fetch Yelena’s things from the guest quarters and bring them here?”
“Sure thing, Aunt Perl. I’ll have them here faster than a curari bat can paralyze a valmur.” In a flash of orange, Nutty was gone.
“You can stay in our extra room.” My mother pressed her hand to her throat. “It’s your room actually.”
My room. It sounded so normal. I had never had a place of my own before. I tried to imagine how I might have decorated it and made it my own, but I came up with a blank. My life in Ixia hadn’t included special items such as toys, gifts or art. I stifled a bark of laughter. My only private room had been my dungeon cell.
Perl jumped from her seat. “Yelena, please sit down. I’ll get us some lunch. You have no meat on your bones.” As she hurried away, she called toward the ceiling, “Esau, Yelena’s here. Come down for tea.”
Alone, I glanced around the sitting area. The warm air smelled faintly of apples. The couch and two armchairs appeared to be made from ropes woven together, yet they were hard to the touch. The furniture was unlike the other Zaltana chairs I had seen, which were constructed with branches and sticks tied together.
I settled into an armchair; the red leaf-patterned cushions crunched under my weight, and I wondered what had been stuffed inside them. My gaze lingered on a black wooden bowl on a small glass-topped table in front of the couch. The bowl looked to be hand carved. I tried to relax, which worked until I saw a long counter against the back wall.
Stretching across the length of the countertop was a series of odd-shaped bottles connected by loops of tubes. Unlit candles sat under some of the containers. The configuration reminded me of Reyad’s lab. The memory of his collection of glass jars and metal instruments unnerved me. Visions of being chained to a bed while Reyad searched for the perfect torture device caused sweat to roll down my neck and my heart to squeeze. I berated myself for my overactive imagination. It was ridiculous that a similar contraption could make me recoil after two years.
I forced myself closer. Amber liquid pooled in a few bottles. I picked up one and swirled the contents. A strong apple scent filled my nose. The memory of swinging and laughter floated into my mind. The image disappeared when I focused on it. Frustrated, I set the bottle down.
The shelves behind the table were lined with rows of more bottles. The contraption looked like a still for making alcohol. Perhaps the liquid was an apple brandy like General Rasmussen’s of Military District 7 in Ixia.
I heard my mother return, and turned around. She held a tray full of cut fruit, berries and some tea. Placing the lunch on the small table before the couch, she gestured for me to join her.
“Found my distillery, I see,” she said as if every Zaltana had one in their living room. “Smell anything familiar?”
