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Shianni’s fingers were sore from washing floors all week. They hurt as she scrubbed the Larren kids clean, hurt as she braided their hair and tied ribbons and did up buttons. She stopped to rub her fingers when she could, but there was never enough time to massage out the ache.
After two hours of work, all nine Larren children were in their Sunday best, ready for Chantry. Every child in the house lined up in birth order to present themselves to the Larrens for inspection. At 12 years old, Shianni stood between 10-year-old Marcus and 12-year-old Tilly.
Tilly Larren was wearing Shianni’s hair ribbons. Again.
“Those were a birthday gift from my uncle,” Shianni hissed.
Tilly smirked. “I don’t see your name on them.”
“Give them back, now.”
Tilly called to Mrs. Larren, “Mama, Shianni’s being mean to me!”
Mrs. Larren stopped inspecting the little kids’ cleanliness to loom over Shianni, her storm cloud temper bursting. “And on the Maker’s day! Miss Tabris, over to the wall!”
“But she’s wearing my ribbons!”
Mrs. Larren grabbed her arm and shoved her against the far wall near the kitchen. Shianni knew this wall well. Her heart hammered as she faced the familiar warped wood, and sweat gathered on her back and armpits.
“There’s a special place in the Void for disobedient children.” The cane hissed. Shianni flinched, but the cane hit a chair leg instead of her. “The Chant says a learned child is a blessing to the Maker.” Mrs. Larren swished the cane in the air near Shianni’s head. Shianni gulped, though her mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow. “Let this be a lesson on obedience and honesty, Miss Tabris.” Mrs. Larren sounded almost sad. “Yet another lesson.”
“I’m not being dishonest! They’re my ribbons!”
This time, the cane hissed and struck the backs of her thighs. She gasped, though she tried not to. She fixed her stare at a knot in the wood. Mrs. Larren must be angrier than usual this morning; Shianni got six strikes instead of the usual three. Tears streamed down Shianni’s face when the caning finished.
Mrs. Larren’s voice sounded from far away. “Shianni?”
She bit down on another protest, though it made her stomach hurt. “I’m—I’m sorry for being disobedient and being mean to Tilly.” She sniffled, wiped her tears away, and thought I’m not sorry and I hope you drop dead, you bony bitch.
Mr. Larren opened the door. “What’s taking so bloody long? Could we not get to Chantry on time for once?” He glowered at Mrs. Larren while she finished examining hands and the backs of necks for any dirt. Mr. Larren turned his glower to Shianni. “What’s this? Stop your belly-aching, girl. If we’re late because of you....”
“I’ll clean her up,” her cousin Soris said quickly from his spot with the 16-year-old Larrens. “We’ll join you on the way, sir.”
Mr. Larren grunted, and Mrs. Larren herded the nine Larrens out. Their upstairs neighbours, the Torrels, sounded on the stairs. Mr. Larren hated being later to Chantry than the Torrels; from the way his lips pursed, he’d probably be angry all day.
Before Tilly disappeared out the door, she stuck her tongue out at Shianni.
Shianni’s hands made fists before she could recite the chants the sisters taught her to help curb her temper. “I’m going to kill her!” She kept crying, now angry instead of hurting.
Soris crouched down, handing her a handkerchief. “You’ll get the ribbons back.”
“I didn’t get my comb or my shoes back!” She blew her nose.
He sighed. His breath smelled like the mint he and the older Larrens chewed to hide the smell of beer on their breath. Since the Larrens had taken them in, his breath often smelled like mint. “Remember what we talked about? Just pretend this is a bad thing happening to someone else.”
She wiped her eyes and dabbed at her nose again. “It doesn’t work for me. I’m not like you. I can’t close a door in my mind. I hate this! I hate everything!”
If only Mama were still alive. Everything would’ve been great then. Shianni would’ve lived in Waterton, a small fishing village, instead of Denerim. She wished she’d known how good she had it. She'd gone to sleep to Mama’s lullabies; played in the waves and poked at tide pools; woven nets with Mama and their neighbours, laughing and joking.
Soris probably wished his parents were alive all the time, too. Humans had killed his parents in one of the Alienage’s purges. Soris and Shianni had moved between orphanages and homes of relatives most of their lives, living at the whims of whoever had space for them. “We’re Tabris rejects,” Soris had snarled once late at night when his breath stank of beer.
Humans did lots of things for money—mostly because humans had money—but elves did lots of things for favours. It made Shianni’s head hurt to remember who owed what and why, but all she knew was the Tabrises owed the Larrens. Mrs. Larren’s sister had gotten Shianni a job as a scullery maid in Bann Alfstanna’s Denerim manor, and Soris was an apprentice cobbler under Mr. Larren. Shianni and Soris paid rent, kept house and minded the children while they stayed under the Larrens’s roof.
Soris squeezed her shoulder and smiled sadly. All of Soris’s smiles were sad or angry, these days. “I know it’s hard. Just keep practicing, and you’ll get better at it. Are you bleeding?”
She didn’t feel any blood dripping down her legs from the caning, and shook her head. They left the apartment, avoiding the broken stair on the way outside. She ground her teeth as her linen dress rubbed against the welts with each step. If there was one good thing about her hurting legs, her stupid hands didn’t hurt so much anymore.
Dawn was lightening the summer sky, providing just enough light to show families going to the various chantries in the Alienage. The temperature was pleasant now, but if today was anything like yesterday, they’d be sweating by the time they left Chantry services.
In the entrance square, the vhenadahl’s leaves whispered in a faint breeze. A sparrow twittered in its branches. A small, furry squirrel face popped into a gap between two branches then disappeared again. Auntie Adaia had a story about a special vhenadahl. Long ago in Llomerryn, a spirit of justice had taken over a vhenadahl and the tree had come to life to protect its people from a human purge. The spirit tree attacked all the humans and saved the elves. The spirit had left, saying it would come back if it was ever needed again. The Llomerryn Alienage had a special holiday for their vhenadahl where they made offerings and sang songs to it.
Soris said Auntie Adaia made that story up. “A tree became a spirit and the Chantry didn’t burn it down? Come on, that makes no sense.” When Shianni was little, she used to the run to their vhenadahl and hug it or talk to it, in case one day a spirit took it over as well. At age 12, Shianni was too old for baby games. Soris was probably right. But, still, it was a nice story.
Everyone said Auntie Adaia had met a sticky end. Shianni wasn’t sure what that meant. All she knew was she missed Auntie Adaia and her fun stories—and she certainly wasn’t the only one who missed her.
As they passed Uncle Cyrion’s house, Shianni left Soris’s side to knock on the door. Uncle and Kallian hadn’t been to Chantry much since Auntie Adaia died.
“We’ve got to catch up with the Larrens,” Soris grumbled.
Nobody answered. She knocked again. “Charity’s part of the Chant of Light. Who needs charity more than them?”
“When we’re caned again, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“They always leave us alone for a bit when they see us with the family. Especially Uncle.” Mr. Larren didn’t like anyone, and even he liked Cyrion Tabris. “He works as hard as a donkey and he’s as humble as a hound,” she’d overheard him say once.
Soris sighed heavily but didn’t try to stop her.
Shianni tried the door handle. The door was unlocked. She opened it and stepped into the one-room house. Nobody had lit a candle or opened the shutters. The place smelled sour, like some food had gone bad. An uncut loaf of poppy-seed bread sat on the kitchen counter.
Uncle Cyrion was out of bed, sitting at the small dining table in sweat-stained nightclothes. He turned to Shianni as the door opened and looked at her for a long moment. “Shianni. Soris.”
“Good morning,” Shianni said.
“Oh. The sun’s up already?”
“It’s almost time for Chantry, Uncle.”
“Chantry?”
“Yeah, it’s Sunday. We should all sit together, like old times!”
“Oh...um....” He was shaking his head.
As they talked, Soris went to the cupboards and started checking them, taking out anything rotted or moldy and throwing it in the trash barrel outside. “I’ll cut you and Kallian some bread in a moment.”
Cyrion mumbled, “Oh, I don’t want anything. Have some yourselves. I’ll just...I’ll stay here today.”
Shianni and Soris shared a look: they had to go to Chantry with Uncle Cyrion if they didn’t want aching thighs for a week. Going to Chantry with only Kallian wasn’t the same. Mrs. Larren called her a “delinquent.” Soris explained that meant she was a bad kid. They’d probably get the cane just for being seen with her.
Uncle wouldn’t go to Chantry without Kallian, though, so Shianni hurried to Kallian’s bed. Her 14-year-old cousin was still under the covers of her bunk bed. She was a really light sleeper—she had to be awake. Shianni’s stuffed mabari, Mr. Barks, lay on the floor at the foot of her bed.
Uncle Cyrion had brought Mr. Barks to Shianni when he came to collect her from Waterton after the cough took Mama. Six-year-old Shianni had whispered all her secrets into Mr. Barks’ ear: that she was scared the cough would follow her, that she hated Andraste for not protecting Mama, that she wished she was back home. Uncle Cyrion and Auntie Adaia had tried hardest of all the family to look after her, but they were busy working and weren’t around much. Mr. Barks was always there, always listening. When Auntie Adaia died, she’d given Mr. Barks back to her uncle and cousin, hoping he might help them the way he’d helped her—and also to stop the Larren children from tearing him apart. They’d already ripped off his tail.
She knew it was a little kid thing to do, but she patted Mr. Barks on the head before putting him on the bed and shaking Kallian’s shoulder.
With a long sigh, Kallian poked her head out of the covers. Auntie Adaia had come from Rivain, so Kallian didn’t look like most Tabrises. Her skin and eyes were dark brown and her hair was black, while most Tabrises had pale skin and red hair like Shianni. Right now, Kallian’s eyes were red, and snot dribbled from her nose. “I’m not going.”
Shianni hugged her cousin, squeezing tight. She didn’t know what to say. People had said lots of things to her when Mama died. The Chantry sisters told her the Maker had His reasons for taking Mama, that it wasn’t a mortal’s place to know His plan. The older kids at the orphanage said there was no point in crying—everyone had dead parents, and Shianni wasn't special. Uncle Cyrion said it was okay to be sad, that Mama would live inside her always.
Even Uncle Cyrion's words, kind as they were, hadn't always helped Shianni feel better. How could she help her cousin?
Shianni decided to say the truth: “I miss her, too." A pang started in her stomach. Auntie Adaia had been a mercenary who travelled everywhere in Thedas. She’d had a big smile and a big laugh. Not a lot of people in the Alienage had liked her, but Auntie never cared what they thought.
Kallian sniffled. “I’m so tired of crying.”
“Coming to Chantry will help, Kallian,” Soris said. He’d cleaned up the cupboards and was now cutting bread. “The Maker might give you His peace.”
Kallian gave a small smile. “It’s more likely Sister Arannea will give us her farts,” she whispered to Shianni, who giggled. Kallian was rude but funny.
Kallian wiped her eyes. Shianni glanced at Uncle Cyrion. He was staring at his hands as if no one was here. When Shianni had cried on the way to Denerim, Uncle Cyrion had held her and stroked her hair. His own daughter was feeling just as awful. Why didn’t he help her?
Something weird was on Uncle’s bed: a shirt and some scarves that looked like they belonged to Auntie Adaia. “Are you giving away Auntie’s clothes?”
Kallian winced. Uncle looked confused. It took him a few moments to realize what she was talking about.
“They still smell like her,” he said softly.
“He sleeps next to them like he hopes he’ll go to sleep and she’ll be in them next morning,” Kallian said, glaring at her father. “It’s so creepy.”
Cyrion didn’t react. Kallian was sometimes rude and not funny. Usually, Uncle at least asked her to be polite. But now it was like he didn’t hear her.
Soris laid out plates of bread on the table. There wasn’t any jam or butter, but bread was more than the Larrens had given them for breakfast. Her stomach burbled and squeaked. Shianni tugged Kallian out of bed until she grumbled and stood up, revealing sweat-stained nightclothes. Then Shianni ran for her plate. She started to sit down at the table until the pain in her welts made her stand.
“Everything okay?” Kallian asked.
“She’s fine,” Soris said, shooting Shianni a look that said ‘shut it.’ “Just a bit sore from being crouched down all day at work.”
Shianni’s stomach felt full even though she was still chewing her first mouthful of bread. She hated lying to family, but Soris was kinda right to lie. Even if they told the family about the canings and theft, what could the Tabrises do? The Tabrises owed the Larrens. And if the Larrens kicked them out, maybe the next place would be worse.
Kallian looked between Soris and Shianni as she ate her bread, her gaze lingering on their faces. Kallian was good at learning people’s secrets.
“After Chantry, let’s stop by the market, Uncle,” Soris said. “We can pick up some jam. How does that sound?”
Uncle Cyrion shook his head. He hadn’t touched his bread. “I’m too tired. I’ll go later.”
“You could even try going to work, Papa,” Kallian said lightly. “Unless this is your plan for us to downsize? You get fired and we move someplace smaller?”
Shianni clenched her jaw. How could Kallian talk about moving like it was nothing? She’d lived in one house all her life. Uncle Cyrion’s house was small but the perfect size for only three or four people. Most houses had loads of people in them, sleeping on couches, chairs or the floor. If Shianni ever got money like Uncle Cyrion had, she’d make sure every orphan got their own house where no one could take their stuff.
“Kallian,” Soris said in the same disappointed way Uncle Cyrion did when she was being rude.
Kallian nodded to her father, who was staring at his plate. “He’s not even listening. I could say anything. Papa, I’m pregnant.” He didn’t respond. “See?”
“If we get to Chantry, I’ll bring him to his work after,” Soris said.
“I’ll come with.” Kallian frowned. “I meant to get him outside yesterday, but I forgot, I guess. What’s so important about us being at Chantry today? Nobody really cares.”
“That’s not true,” Soris said. “The sisters and mothers ask about you all the time.”
Kallian rolled her eyes. “To make sure I’m not ‘going down a bad road.’ I might’ve heard that lecture once or twice. I’ll skip, thanks.”
Shianni shot Soris a desperate look. He was only here because she’d stopped to talk. Her stomach clenched at the thought of him getting caned because of her.
“Please, Kallian?” She squeezed her cousin’s hand and widened her eyes pleadingly. Kallian had always called Shianni her favourite cousin. “Just come with us and bring Uncle. It’s probably going to be boring, but...won’t it be nice to see everybody? And it’ll be good. For all of us!”
Kallian held her gaze, looked between her and Soris a few times, then nodded. “Well, if you insist. I’ll get Papa ready...hopefully.”
All her breath left her in a woosh. “Thanks.”
Kallian gave her a quick hug and tweaked her nose. “I should take notes on those puppy-dog eyes of yours, kid.”
Shianni and Soris cleaned up quickly as Kallian spoke to Cyrion. He didn’t respond much to talking, but when she pulled him over to his dresser and selected some clothes, he didn't protest, either.
Kallian sat on her bed and patted her lap. “C’mon, Shianni—I can braid your hair.”
Sitting on the chantry pews would be difficult enough with the raw stripes on her legs. “No thanks.”
“We don’t really have time,” Soris said quickly.
Kallian shrugged and grabbed her comb.
Shianni didn’t realize how tense she was until her jaw and shoulders relaxed when Uncle Cyrion and Kallian were both dressed, hair brushed and faces cleaned. It wasn't enough to go to Chantry—you had to go to Chantry looking perfect or the whole Alienage would talk. For all the sermons about humility, most elves used Sunday morning services as a way to show off.
The Tabrises stepped outside. Kallian locked the door. They hadn’t taken up too much time. The day was only just starting to warm up. They could still make most of the service. Cyrion sighed heavily, as if just stepping outside was tiring. It took Kallian on one side and Soris on the other to move him forward.
After a few moments, Kallian dropped back to walk beside Shianni. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” Kallian leaned down and whispered, “Does Mr. or Mrs. Larren need a snake in their drawers?”
Shianni giggled. It would be kind of nice to see them scared instead of angry at her and Soris. “Um, maybe.” Her smiled dimmed—talking about pranks was fun, but thinking about what came after the prank wasn’t. “But it’s no big deal. I just get mouthy and sometimes they swat me, that’s all.”
Kallian stopped walking. “They swat you enough that it hurts to sit?”
She shrugged. “I—I guess.” At her cousin’s angry frown, warmth filled her chest. She felt guilty for being so angry all the time. But if Kallian was angry for her, then she wasn't wrong to get upset. Someone finally understood her. “And one of the girls keeps taking my things, and Mrs. Larren won’t let me take my stuff back. It’s the worst!”
“Wait, what? Andraste’s ass, we’ve got to get you out of there!”
Soris’s shadow fell over the two of them. He glared between her and Kallian. “No, you don’t.” His voice was tight.
Shianni squirmed, her cheeks flushing. “Sorry, Soris.” Maybe she shouldn’t have told the truth.
“You can’t be serious,” Kallian snapped. “Everyone says the Larrens are good people. If we’d known they were like this, we never would’ve let you stay with them!”
“But we are with them,” Soris said, “and they’ve done a lot for us. We owe them. I’ll be a full cobbler soon, not just Mr. Larren’s apprentice, and then I’ll find us someplace else. It’s just a few more months, that’s all.” He jerked his head at Shianni. “It feels like forever to her because she’s just a kid.”
“I am not!”
“You guys shouldn’t have to suffer just to get a job.” Kallian crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s got to be another way.”
Suddenly, Soris laughed a cold, hard laugh that made Shianni's stomach sink. “You think Shianni losing some trinkets and a few bruises is suffering? Maker, you have no idea how the world works for most elves, do you? Not all of us are rich and spoiled like you!”
Kallian gasped. Soris seemed to realize he’d said something really mean. He glanced away, his cheeks pink. A mean part of Shianni noted, Even Soris has trouble pretending things are happening to someone else. He can't lecture me anymore! Ass.
Soris mumbled, “Let’s talk about this later, okay? Sorry I snapped.” Glancing behind him, he frowned. “Where’s Uncle?”
A few moments later, they found him; he’d turned around and was making his way back home. “You three all go to Chantry,” he murmured. “I’ll join you another time.”
“Come on, Uncle,” Soris said, gently steering him in the right direction. “Everyone’s waiting to see you.”
“I—I just—” his voice wavered “—I haven’t been to Chantry without Adaia in years....”
“Well, you’ve got us this time, Uncle. We’re here for you.”
Uncle Cyrion didn’t appear to care. He didn’t smile or ruffle Soris’s hair, like he had when she and Soris were young. He just nodded, looking uncertain. Would he ever smile like he used to?
Kallian and Shianni followed behind Uncle Cyrion and Soris. “I don’t think you’re spoiled,” Shianni whispered.
Kallian smiled distractedly. “I appreciate that, but...well, he’s not wrong. I don’t always realize how good I have it.”
“And Tilly didn’t just take trinkets. She took my ribbons! Uncle gave me those ribbons for my birthday! They match my eyes.”
Kallian nodded, lips pursed. After a moment, she said, “Okay, anything else you don’t want stolen, get it to me and I’ll look after it for you.”
“I don’t have much else,” she grumbled. Besides, most everything she had, she used daily. What good was Kallian having her shoes if she needed them to leave the Larrens’s apartment?
“Right. Okay. Papa and I....” Kallian paused, looked intently at her father, then sighed. “I’ll think of something. I’ve been working on some things Mama taught me. Maybe they’ll help me get your stuff back once you’re out of there, so the Larrens can’t blame anything on you.”
“What kind of things did Auntie teach you?”
“Oh, sneaking around and stuff.” Kallian probably meant more dangerous things than just sneaking around, but she continued talking before Shianni could press her. “Hmm, I wonder if I can sneak a tack onto the Larrens's pew next Sunday? Give them sore asses instead of you. That’ll be a good test.”
“They deserve 10 tacks. Or 20!”
Kallian held her hand and squeezed it. “Heh, good to know.”
The vhenadahl’s leaves waved in the summer sun as the Tabrises walked to Chantry. Maybe the tree would come to life someday and protect elves, like the one in Llomerryn. But for now, at least Shianni had her cousins looking out for her. She and Soris may be orphans, but they still had their family.