Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mother was crying. Mother never cried, never, no matter what happened or what any of them did. And yet she was, tears leaving streaks in the powder coating her face that she always spent so long carefully applying.

“You can’t do this, Zaheer! You can’t throw everything away like this!”

She never screamed, either. She could snap at servants, or raise her voice to cut off one of Zaheer’s tangents, but not scream. That was their father’s domain.

As if able to hear her thoughts, Father took over, voice deep and rough and impossibly loud, the kind of tone that could bring the entire palace to its knees in an instant.

"Drop the act, boy! I have tolerated your insolence long enough. You step out of that door and you will no longer have a place in this family, do you understand?"

Zaheer didn't seem affected at all, his face remaining just as serious and neutral as it was when he announced he was leaving. He showed no signs of hesitation, not even a brief pause to think whether he truly wanted to leave his family behind forever.

"That's alright, I don't want to be a part of this family. I found someone closer to a father than you had ever been to me."

The vein in Father's forehead looked like it would burst any second as he went off on another rant. Aiza fought the urge to squeeze her eyes shut. She tuned the yelling out as best as she could, hands bunching up the silk fabric of her dress. Mother would surely reprimand her for the creases later.

"You two!" 

A shiver ran down Aiza's spine. Why? Just why did he have to turn his attention to them?

"What do you think of what your brother is doing?"

What was the point of asking them? Were they supposed to plead with him to stay? When had Zaheer ever listened to anything either of them had ever told him? He refused to listen to even Father, why would he listen to his sisters? 

"Answer me, Summiya!"

Summiya didn't flinch back, didn't even blink at the shouting directed right at her. Nor did her eyes stray to Zaheer even once. She kept looking straight on, head held high, not a single crack in her porcelain mask, her voice scarily even.

"If he leaves, he is no brother of mine."

Not even the slightest hint of emotion at the prospect of never seeing their brother again.

Then again… what else did she expect from prissy, perfect, passive Summiya? 

Zaheer visibly didn’t care, and why would he? Summiya was never anything to him but a proxy of their mother. Father seemed satisfied with that answer. Mother kept on crying.

Of course… that meant it was her turn.

“And you, Aiza?”

She didn’t dare lift her head to meet her father’s eyes. It took everything in her not to hide behind Summiya to avoid his intense gaze drilling through her skull.

What can she say? She was always taught to imitate her perfect sister in every way, but how can she just renounce Zaheer like that? And for what? 

‘For betraying the family. There’s nothing more important than upholding the family status. If he wants to leave, he deserves to be cast out. You know this, Aiza, just say it.’

“Aiza, I asked you a question!”

Her breathing caught, the words dying at the back of her mouth before she could even form them. Against every instinct of self preservation, she glanced at Zaheer out of the corner of her eye.

He wasn’t even looking at her.

They were never close, they were barely even allowed to exist in each other’s vicinity, but… was she not still his sister? Was he not hoping that her answer would be different from Summiya’s?

Maybe he already wrote her off as the poor mimicry of Summiya she had always been. Maybe he already imagined the stuttered, choked up echo of their older sister’s cold, unfeeling verdict. 

Or maybe Zaheer knew she was too scared of their father to say anything but what he wanted to hear.

“I’m waiting, Aiza!”

She had to say something, anything. Preferably something that would make Father happy, but also… something with a subtle hint to Zaheer that she wouldn’t be glad to see him gone. That she wasn’t renouncing him. That he’d still be her brother if he wanted to be.

She was never one for subtlety. She couldn’t possibly pull it off.

Summiya would have managed, if she cared enough. She doesn’t. She never cared about anything but being the perfect daughter. Something Aiza could never be. 

“Aiza!” 

She opened her mouth but no words came out. Father was losing his patience, but she couldn’t say anything no matter how hard she tried, as if something was physically restricting her vocal chords.

She can’t even follow a simple order, one Summiya obeyed immediately without as much as batting an eye. She will surely be punished for this, if not by Father, who rarely bothered wasting his valuable time on his daughters, then by Mother, who could be no less harsh.

It could be prevented. All she had to do was say what was expected of her. That was it. That was all she had to do.

Why was it so impossible?

“Aiza!”

Say something! Please!

‘I can’t.’

Say what Summiya did. Say you agree with her. Anything!

‘I can’t say what Summiya did. I don’t want to do what Summiya did. I want him to still be my brother.’

Nothing you can say will stop him.

‘I don’t want to stop him. I want to–’

“Aiza!”

“Lady Aiza!”

She shoots up in bed, gasping for air as the remains of her dream fade away. Whoever just had a hand on her shoulder jumps back, letting out a small squeak of surprise.

Aiza struggles to catch her breath as she looks around. She’s in her bedroom, alone but for the person who woke her up, not cowering next to her sister in the grand hall as Father demanded she…

She realises how tightly she’s gripping her satin sheets. Maybe that was what she felt when she bunched up her dress in her dream.

A dream. Just a dream. Just her mind playing back the worst day of her life in vivid detail for what seemed like the thousandth time. 

When will it stop? Were two and a half years not enough for her to finally move on?

Everyone else seemed to have.

With a long exhale, she releases the fabric of her bedding. She raises a hand to brush away the bangs that stuck to the sweat on her forehead and turns to meet the still slightly startled hazel eyes staring at her with concern.

“Bad dream, Lady Aiza?”

“Something like that…” Aiza averts her gaze, but only for a moment. She doesn’t want to keep dwelling on her nightmare. Not when she’s run through that same scenario countless times over and over again in her head.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Jia.”

“Nonsense, My Lady,” the maid smiles, a little awkward, and drops into a shallow bow. “I should not have touched you while attempting to wake you up, my apologies. Normally I wouldn’t have dared, especially not this early, but…”

A cold sense of dread starts brewing somewhere deep in Aiza’s stomach. Judging by the still soft light shining in through the window, it was indeed at least an hour too early for her to be woken up.

“But?” she prompts.

“But the Lord and Lady have requested you for breakfast as soon as possible,” Jia finishes. By the look in her eyes, Aiza suspects that she knows the reason, or at least has a good guess as to what it is.

If Aiza had any time to lounge around, she would have absolutely tried asking Jia about it, fighting through countless excuses of “Gossip is most improper, Lady Aiza” and “I’d never dare suspect anything, My Lady” to get to the truth, but today, it seems, she’ll have to speed through her morning routine if she doesn’t want to keep her parents waiting. No time for questions.

Oh well. She’ll find out soon enough anyway.

She throws off the blanket and climbs out of bed. “Has my bath been run yet?”

Ideally, she would have skipped it and made it to breakfast even earlier than she was expected to, but judging by how easily her nightgown stuck to her skin in places… the nightmare had done a number on her. She really could use a rinse.

“Of course, My Lady!” 

What follows is a blur of bathing, drying, dressing, hair brushing and makeup applying until she finally looks presentable enough to appear in front of her parents. She doesn’t have to do any of it herself, having a dozen servants waiting on her hand and foot, but the general rush of the morning still leaves her with an unpleasant heaviness in her bones. At least it helps tune out the bad feeling regarding what awaits her at breakfast from earlier.

Before she knows it, she’s being escorted down a hallway to the dining room, and every step gets harder and harder, as if her legs were gradually being filled with lead. To distract herself, she looks up to examine the decorations on the walls, as if they hadn’t remained mostly unchanged for as long as she could remember, but it has the exact opposite effect as she had managed to pick the worst possible section of hallway wall to look at.

On the wall hang portraits of her and Summiya, evenly spaced apart, painted three years ago shortly after her fourteenth birthday. No one ever speaks of it – in fact, she’s not sure how many people are even aware. A big portion of the staff were replaced two years ago, Father suspecting anyone and everyone of filling his son’s head with those rebellious thoughts that led to him leaving – but the portraits have been moved, shifted around ever so slightly. And there used to be a third.

Summiya’s used to hang in the middle, Aiza’s on her right and Zaheer’s on her left. After he ran away, Summiya’s was moved further left to fill the empty space. What was done with Zaheer’s portrait, Aiza doesn’t know. Most likely Father ordered it to be destroyed. Maybe it was used as kindling for the fire in the sitting room the night after the portrait was removed. 

However, some part of Aiza deeply hopes that somehow, it was preserved. She isn’t sure why, she knows she’s not supposed to mourn that rotten traitor, but… to have it so carelessly destroyed feels impossibly wrong.

Much sooner than she’d like, she finds herself in front of large, wooden double doors. Two servants on either side open their respective halves simultaneously, a third announcing her name. As if her parents weren’t aware of who was coming. She was the last remaining child still living at home, after all. 

She approaches the long table, her designated seat right in the middle of it, with her parents at either end. Before, Zaheer and Summiya were sat at equal points between her and them, balancing out the table’s length. Now, though, she might as well be a tiny island separated from two continents by a vast, never ending, silent ocean. Nothing but the sound of clinking cutlery to fill the air at every meal.

It’s no wonder she orders her food to be served to her chambers whenever she is permitted to. At least then she can chat with the maids as she eats rather than endure the deafening silence of being sat between her parents.

But they explicitly summoned her today. There is no getting out of this one.

She stands behind her seat, hands clasped together in front of her.

“Good morning Father, Mother,” she bows to each of them in turn, waits for them to acknowledge her with nods and for Father to motion for her to sit down. He does and she obeys, sitting exactly as she was taught, legs folded beneath her, back ramrod straight, every last fold in her skirt smoothed out. 

Mother gives her a scrutinizing once-over, nods in satisfaction and rings a bell. Food is immediately brought out, but knowing that her presence was likely required not simply because her parents decided to have a family meal for once, Aiza suddenly finds herself completely lacking in appetite.

She breathes out to calm her nerves. Being in the presence of both her parents was never pleasant, but it had gotten much worse in recent years. Every moment spent with them felt like she was permanently stuck waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

But at least when something was actually the matter, they never put off bringing it up. Blunt, straightforward and to the point, perhaps their only redeeming qualities. Aiza doesn’t know what she’d do if she had to try to guess whether or not her parents were angry with her every time. With her track record, she’d be doing a lot of guessing…

She is not to start eating before Father does, she knows, but when she glances over at him, he shows no signs of even intending to reach for his chopsticks. Instead, he looks at Mother and nods.

Something tells her she is about to find out exactly what she was summoned for.

“Aiza,” Mother calls, her voice as even and clear as always. Aiza bites the inside of her cheek to stop her thoughts from running a mile a minute and turns to her.

“Yes, Mother?”

“We have called you here to tell you the most wonderful news,” she says, her face softening. A hint of a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. Aiza swears she’s seen this particular expression before, but only once. For the life of her she cannot remember when.

Luckily, her mother once again decides to forgo trying to build suspense, so she doesn’t have to spend long wracking her brain for it. 

“Yesterday evening, we finally secured a good match for you!”

Suddenly, Aiza understands what it means when a book describes someone feeling as if their heart had just sunk. Along with it, all her other insides grow cold.

That’s when she had seen that expression before. It was exactly the same situation, an early breakfast with her parents, the only difference was that Summiya was there, sat between Aiza and Mother, emphasising just how empty the spot closer to Father where Zaheer used to sit was. Mother had smiled then too, announcing that after the year long delay – she conveniently left out just what caused said delay, though Aiza didn’t miss Father’s hand curling onto a fist – a husband was found for then-eighteen-year-old Summiya.

Summiya mirrored Mother then, lighting up as much as the seemingly permanent neutrality of her face permitted. The marrying age is sixteen, after all. She was falling behind her social circle and although she never said anything, knowing full well their parents had bigger things to worry about in the wake of Zaheer’s rebellion, Aiza could tell that she was scared she’d end up an old maid.

How one could be considering an ‘old’ anything as a teenager, Aiza would never understand. She knew better than to ask, though. Not that it mattered anymore, because Summiya was soon to be married, to a very handsome young man, the only son of a wealthy family, no less. The best possible match for the perfect eldest daughter.

( “If only the Earth Queen had a son…” )

Aiza would never score someone like that.

Not that she wanted to, but… she couldn’t exactly say that, could she?

She realises that Mother hadn’t continued speaking and was instead looking at her expectantly. Aiza forces a small smile.

“That is wonderful news, Mother. May… may I ask who I am to marry?”

She doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want to even think about it. She had tried not to for the longest time, though for the past year, ever since Summiya’s betrothal, she’s been way too aware that her time must be coming as well. She’s seventeen. It was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

But asking means Mother will provide an answer, giving Aiza more time to think, to process what she just heard, to push down the urge to scream her refusal as if anyone would listen to her. Asking too many questions is frowned upon too, everyone has always chastised her for her incessant curiosity, but perhaps since Mother seems to be in good spirits, she’d be willing to humour her. 

“You remember Lord Kabir, don’t you?”

Once again, she is expected to answer. So much for time to think. And one of the worst possible questions, too. She is awful with names, all the endless lords and ladies of her parents’ social circles seemed the same to her, only difference being how outwardly they flaunted their wealth. 

This one name does spark something in her memory, though. 

“Lord Kabir is the owner of the crystal mines south of here, is he not?” she responds carefully, trying to gauge her mother’s reaction in time to possibly change her answer. 

To her relief, Mother nods, obviously pleased. It wouldn’t do for Aiza not to know who her future father-in-law is, would it?

The mere thought of having a father-in-law makes her nauseous.

“Yes. His second son has recently finished his basic education with flawless results, and is aiming for furthering his studies rather than pursuing a military career. Of course, he is not due to inherit the crystal mines…” Mother trails off for a mere moment, but even that split second of silence is more than enough. 

A second son is not an heir. His brother will always come before him in every matter. A second son will likely get some portion of the mines, but not nearly enough to match the level of wealth and prestige she knows her parents were always trying to secure for their children. They succeeded with Summiya, but in Aiza’s humble opinion, one out of three is quite an awful score. 

“But he is an intelligent, ambitious and charming young man, from what I was told. Likely he will make quite a name for himself in politics. Perhaps he will even end up serving at court,” she finishes, looking rather pleased at the prospect. She always was obsessed with trying to get at least one of her children into the Earth Queen’s court, hard as it was to compete for the chance with Ba Sing Se nobility.

Aiza’s future husband was decidedly not a Ba Sing Se noble. No matter how good of a politician he’d end up being, it’s rather unlikely he’d work for the Queen directly. The most he could hope for was the position of governor in some small town.

A second son for a second daughter. All things considered, including Mother’s poorly hidden disappointment, they were an even match.

Aiza nods, but doesn’t have it in herself to even attempt to look delighted. She was never good at pretending anyway.

“Has a date been decided on yet?” she dares risk one more question. The reminder of just who Aiza is due to marry put a noticeable damper on Mother’s mood. She’ll have to tread carefully.

That makes Mother perk up slightly. “The Autumn Equinox. An auspicious date, and a rather beautiful time of year, don’t you think?”

The Autumn Equinox? But that is just over a month away! She thought she’d have more time. Summiya’s betrothal was announced three months before her wedding, the ceremony held on the Winter Solstice, Mother insisting that marrying on such a day would bring good fortune regardless of whether they were Water Tribe or not. And it had not even been a year since then! 

They’re rushing because she’s fallen behind, Aiza realises. Both her and Summiya had, due to the disaster that followed Zaheer’s disappearance, their father too enraged to think of anything else even for a moment for months after the fact. The girl closest to Aiza in age out of the ones that formed her social circle had gotten married a month after she turned sixteen, the others following suit. Aiza spent the bigger part of that year unable to get married, not until Summiya did, and Mother simply hadn’t managed to arrange anything before she turned seventeen.

If how frantic and rushing Mother is now is anything to go by, Aiza being unwed must be the latest topic of gossip among the noble women. Something to be rectified immediately.

But what did it matter when the wedding would be held once the engagement is announced? As long as everyone important is aware that Aiza is a desirable bride, that she is due to marry soon and there is nothing wrong with her, surely it’d be possible to hold off a little?

“But why so soon, Mother?”

The question escapes her mouth before can stop it.

Mother presses her lips together into a thin line, gaze hardening.

She messed up.

Suddenly, Father clears his throat. It's the first noise she’s heard from him all morning.

“Enough questions, Aiza. You should be concerned with familiarising yourself with what is required to be a good bride and wife, the rest will all be taken care of. Do you understand?”

His voice is calm, but it does nothing to soothe her nerves. It reminds her of a calm that comes before a storm.

“Yes, Father. My apologies.”

“Good. Now let’s eat,” Father gestures at the table. “Before the food gets cold.”

Neither Aiza nor her mother dare argue.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of movement and Aiza barely manages to process any of it, her head spinning with the news too fast for her to be able to focus on anything else. She vaguely recalls measurements being taken by the seamstresses for her wedding gown, sitting through several long lectures about what it means to be a proper wife that she suspects she will have to listen to every day from now on, and writing a letter to Summiya announcing her engagement, Mother dictating every word.

It is very late in the evening when she finally gets to return to her room, and if she didn't have half a dozen servants to help her get ready for bed, she might have flopped down and fallen asleep right in her fancy robes.

She sits in front of her mirror, idly watching the maids flutter around her room, lighting candles and arranging pillows. Eventually, all of them file out, all except one, who mutters an excuse about needing to fluff the pillows one more time. As soon as the door closes behind the second to last maid, Jia drops her act.

She walks over to Aiza and gestures to a comb sitting on her vanity table.

"May I, My Lady?"

Aiza nods, not looking up. The question is all but a formality at this point, this has long since become routine. Still, Jia asks every time, and every time Aiza agrees.

Jia picks up the comb and begins slowly brushing through Aiza's hair. It has already been brushed, of course, when her hair was let down before she changed into her nightgown, but Jia does it anyway. Aiza sighs and slightly leans into the gentle touch.

Her hair was always yet another thing for her to be chastised over. It's not perfectly straight like Summiya's, but also not a wiry mess like Zaheer's. Hers is somewhere in between, a little soft and fluffy, a little wavy with a slight curl on the ends, and absolutely impossible to keep neat. 

Thinking of her siblings brings her mind back to the source of her turmoil.

She meets Jia's eyes in the mirror.

"I'm getting married."

Jia halts her movements for a mere moment before continuing.

"So I've heard."

Aiza lets her shoulders drop, huffing out air in a very unladylike manner. "You knew, didn't you? You were looking at me funny this morning."

"I... had my suspicions, My Lady, nothing more," Jia mutters, as if anybody was around to overhear. "There were whispers in the servants' quarters that last night, whoever served the Lord and Lady wine heard them discussing a marriage contract."

A marriage contract. Of course. Aiza wasn't the most well versed in the bureaucratic side of things, but she knew enough to guess what the contract would entail. Among quite a few other things, a bride price.

Lord Kabir would pay a hefty sum of money in exchange for her marrying his son. Not as big as he probably did for his eldest, but something significant nonetheless.

A price can be put on goods and services, not on people. It shouldn't be put on people. She shouldn't have a price attached to her name like a painting at an auction, given away to the highest bidder.

In her world, she is nothing more than an object that can be bought and sold.

Jia is looking at her with concern, waiting for her to say something. But what can she say? The only things that come to mind are ones she'd be punished for if anyone but Jia heard her say them.

"I don't want to get–"

"I'm not a thing to be–"

"I wish I was born a–"

She sits up straighter, the movement so unexpected that Jia flinches and almost drops the comb. Before she can apologise, Aiza holds up a hand.

Obediently, Jia places the comb back on the table and bows.

As she leans over, a quick whisper escapes Aiza's lips. "When I move into my husband's palace, I shall take you with me. My marriage would be unbearable any other way."

Those two sentences contain all the things she will never be able to say. Ones she doesn't even dare think about. Jia doesn't respond, knowing Aiza doesn't want her to, but Aiza is sure she understands anyway.

"Go now, the others will be wondering how long you can possibly fluff pillows for."

Jia visibly holds back a smile.

"Of course. Good night, Lady Aiza."

Aiza nods, but thinks of one last thing just before Jia reaches the door.

"Oh, and Jia?"

She turns.

"Yes?"

"Maybe don't be so quick to announce that the servants gossip about their masters next time, alright?" She can't help but smile, playfully arching an eyebrow.

Jia blushes, the colour easily visible on her light brown skin even in the muted candlelight. "I'll... keep that in mind, My Lady. Rest well."

And with that, she is gone, leaving Aiza alone with her thoughts. Her loud, overwhelming thoughts, flying in circles around her head like vultures waiting to feast on her brain, combined with images of wedding gowns and marriage contracts and– and...

And baby cribs. For a wedding isn't the only thing awaiting her in the near future.

Aiza barely sleeps that night.

The Autumn Equinox approaches much, much faster than Aiza would have preferred, and before she knows it, the fateful date is less than a week away. With each passing day, the constant feeling of dread in Aiza’s gut only grows stronger and stronger, until it gets so bad that it is now impossible for her to focus on anything else but how much she wishes for more time before her wedding.

Or better yet, for the wedding to not occur at all. But she cannot say that, not to anyone, not even to Jia, because saying it out loud would be acknowledging everything she’s been refusing to think about, lest it drive her to do something drastic. Saying it out loud would make it real.

Why can’t she be more like Summiya? Silent and obedient, never a toe out of line, not showing for a second that she was nervous or scared or resistant to her engagement. Knowing her, she probably wasn’t feeling any of that at all. 

Knowing her, she probably wasn’t feeling anything .

Maybe if she was more like Summiya, this whole thing would be easier.

Maybe if she was more like Summiya, her parents would be more satisfied with the match they managed to score for her. If she was more like Summiya, they wouldn’t have had to settle for a second son.

(But it could be worse. So, so much worse.

She may not be anything like Summiya, but at least she is nothing like Zaheer. 

At least, as far as her parents are concerned, as they’re fortunately not privy to the traitorous thoughts relentlessly running through her head.)

What makes everything even worse is that her fiancé isn’t the only one being settled for. The birth order of daughters may not be quite as important, but it’s a well-known fact in their community that she is far from the desirable bride her sister was. Her future in-laws would never have agreed to the arrangement if all the best girls weren’t aiming for first sons only.

She isn’t allowed to meet the guy she is due to marry until the wedding, for reasons that were not explained to her but likely have something to do with ensuring her purity, but she did get to meet Lord Kabir and his wife. Though… ‘meet’ is a strong word. As per tradition, the two of them visited her parents’ palace to talk over wedding plans, and it was Aiza’s job to serve them tea so they could ensure she’d be able to properly take care of their son once she becomes his wife. 

It all seems rather silly to her. She’s a noble with countless servants working at her beck and call, it will never be her job to serve tea to anyone. But customs dictate that she must demonstrate her good upbringing in this way and not any other, and who is she to argue with what was decided centuries ago?

At least Summiya had to deal with the same thing. Aiza can only imagine her face when she was told of this tradition. Summiya, always entitled and self important, who spent her life barely acknowledging the maids and servants except for when giving an order, now expected to wait on someone else’s hand and foot? It must have been priceless.

But of course, she managed to pass even that test with ease, and Himman’s parents were absolutely delighted by her. Aiza didn’t do too bad either, but her clumsiness did show through more than once and Mother very openly glared at her for it. 

Still, the wedding wasn’t called off, so either she did manage to impress them somehow, or they too realised that she would never actually have to serve their son tea and thus her shaky hands were something that could be overlooked. Either way, Aiza was still on track to become their daughter-in-law.

Summiya arrives at their parents’ palace three days before the Equinox, as is customary, with her husband in tow. She and Aiza may not have ever been particularly close – though a lot closer than either of them had been with Zaheer – but getting to see her for the first time in months is still an unexpected comfort. Her princess dresses may have been switched out for more regal robes, hair brushed back into one tight bun instead of the two that used to emphasise the uncanny symmetry of her face, and makeup done in a way that made her look much more mature than her nineteen years… but underneath all that, she is still Aiza’s big sister, and perhaps the only person in the entire world who could possibly understand what she’s going through right now.

So when she lowers herself into a bow and proclaims “How wonderful it is to see you again, dear sister!”, just like she was taught to, she finds that for the first time in a month, she isn’t lying.

“And you too, beloved sister of mine,” Summiya responds in kind, though her voice is, of course, just as painfully neutral as it always was, and even Aiza can’t quite tell if there’s even a hint of real joy at the reunion in those words, or if she’s simply rattling off a memorised phrase. With more desperation than she has ever felt, Aiza hopes it is the former.

As she straightens back up, it takes all of her effort to force her eyes to return to Summiya’s face, rather than lingering on her slightly but still visibly distended stomach.

Her own lower belly brews with a sickening uneasiness, a twisted mockery of her sister’s pregnancy.

How long until said uneasiness is replaced with a child, too?

Himman greets her as well, calls her a sister like he’s supposed to, but while she actively tried to search for at least a little care in Summiya’s words, she simply coldly returns his, calls him a brother, accepts his congratulations for her upcoming marriage that she knows he gave only because it’s part of the scripted song and dance they’re made to do – forget writing a letter, she isn’t allowed to even talk to her sister using her own words – under her parents’ watchful and scrutinising eyes.

She and Himman are nothing to each other, and being siblings-in-law doesn’t change that. This is the first proper conversation they have ever had, if it can even be called that, given that not a single genuine word was exchanged. And when she’s married, she will be regarded by her husband’s brother in exactly the same apathetic way.

Guess that’s what happens when you’re made to marry a total stranger. 

Summiya accompanies her for most of the day, and while Aiza is happy to see her, she’s not sure if it’s more a blessing or a curse. After all, Summiya has always been yet another person constantly judging her for not being able to meet the standards Summiya herself had set, and seeing her pay impossibly close attention to every word Aiza utters as she’s made to recite what she will have to say during the ceremony for the hundredth time – especially as she messes up yet again – makes her cheeks burn so scorching hot she swears it’s visible through the powder covering her face.

She bets Summiya had not messed up even once while she was learning the same things less than a year ago. Summiya never messes up. How could Aiza ever hope to live up to someone who was quite literally born perfect?

Regardless, she does her best to mask her frustration and tries again, putting care and effort into remembering every word because while messing up here carries very little consequences, if she stumbles over her vows during the wedding itself… 

She cannot bring herself to finish that thought. 

The rest of her lessons are bearable and she’s reprimanded way less, because as much as she despises to even think of her upcoming marriage, she still put in her best effort to learn everything she has to know to be as perfect of a bride and wife as she can possible be, just like Father ordered her to. Even Summiya looked mildly impressed when she recited the seven virtues without even blinking. A part of her is even starting to like these lessons and the purely theoretical knowledge they give her. As ceremony rehearsals have shown, she’s completely useless at putting anything to practice.

(Of course… even as she tries her best to master everything she is taught, she is fully aware there is still one last lesson ahead of her. One she tries not to think about but knows is coming anyway. By tradition, on the eve of the ceremony, she will be told of what awaits her on her wedding night.

Her best guess is that the lesson is held so late in order to keep the bride pure and clean for as long as possible. She’s not entirely sure what the point is, she knows what sex is and how babies are made, it was all explained to her when she bled for the first time. Maybe the content would be different, less what will occur and more… how. Perhaps instructions on what is expected of her, how she’s supposed to behave, what she’s meant to do. How best to… please her future husband properly.

The nausea that became a near constant companion of hers over the last few weeks overcomes her once again. She really is none too eager to find out just what the lesson will entail, or what will occur once the time comes for her to put that knowledge to good use.)

In the afternoon, the last adjustments are made to her wedding gown. She spots a hint of a smile on Summiya’s face as she compliments both it and her, saying that she will make a stunning bride. Aiza forces herself to smile back. Not that she doesn’t believe it, she may not look anything like Summiya but she still knows she’s beautiful, but she’s been wearing the silk robes for only about fifteen minutes as the seamstress finishes off a seam on her waist and her shoulders already hurt from the sheer weight of the thing. The layers upon layers of fabric are impossibly heavy and she has no idea how she will manage to wear it for the entire ceremony.

At least afterwards, she will not have to wait long for it to be loosened from her body.

‘Stop that! You’re just making yourself feel worse.’

She looks at Summiya again and suddenly remembers that the gown isn’t all there is to the traditional wedding outfit.

“Was the headpiece heavy?” she asks. She clearly recalls the one Summiya wore on her wedding day. It was beautiful, encrusted with pearls and gold and precious stones, rubies hanging off it in symmetrical rows with a larger one resting in the centre of her forehead, just above her eyebrows. Somehow, it never occurred to her before that she’d have to wear one too. It didn’t look like the easiest thing to carry around.

Summiya looks surprised at the question, and slightly tilts her head as she thinks. “The jewels certainly weighed it down quite a bit, yes. And my hair was brushed back rather tightly as well. Not the most pleasant, I will admit, but it was more than worth it when I got to see myself in the mirror that day.”

Aiza remembers that moment as well. She had been in the room, being dressed in a gown of her own as the sister of the bride, when Summiya was allowed to take a look at herself after her clothes, hair, headpiece and makeup were all sorted. Her lips – coated in a vibrant red – remained closed, only the corners slightly pulled up in a barely visible smile, but her eyes widened as she stared at herself in obvious awe. At that moment, she looked positively radiant.

Will Aiza look that way too in three days’ time? She hopes so. She really, really does.

“But taking it off and undoing your hair after the ceremony will be one of the most relieving things you’ll have ever felt,” Summiya finishes with a gentle laugh. Somehow, that doesn’t sound reassuring at all.

About a week ago, she overheard a conversation Mother was having with someone, discussing what they were going to do with Aiza’s unruly hair. It’s hard enough to style on a normal day, how in the world were they gonna get it as sleek, elegant and perfect as it should be for her wedding day? 

They came to the conclusion that using heat to straighten it the night before the ceremony would be the best, quickest and most effective course of action. Aiza isn’t quite sure what the point of that is. If Mother needs her to have straight hair, she should have began straightening it when Aiza was a child like she did with Summiya, instead of a day before her wedding for the sole purpose of making one singular hairstyle more manageable. Not like she’s gonna waste time maintaining it after she’s no longer under her parents’ control.

Her husband would have full right to demand that of her, though. 

She subtly digs her nails into the palm of her hand.

Enough.

Summiya is still looking at her, waiting for some kind of response. Aiza gives her a small smile. 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Dinner is as quiet of an affair as ever, even with the addition of Summiya and Himman, except for Mother spending a good five minutes going on and on about which foods Summiya should and shouldn’t eat to ensure the health of the child growing inside her. No matter that Summiya is four months along and is likely already aware of what she has to avoid. Her mother-in-law definitely gave her the same talk at some point.

Aiza herself will most likely end up on the receiving end if it as well in only a few short months, or however long it takes for her husband to get her pregnant. Her stomach turns. And she was just getting her appetite back…

Fortunately, Father puts a stop to Mother’s nagging soon enough, apparently also not in the mood to hear about the risks of eating soft cheese while pregnant, and the rest of the meal passes in silence, for which Aiza is eternally grateful. 

Once they’re all excused from the table, Aiza decides there’s no better opportunity to do what she’s been meaning to ever since she was first told of her engagement – talk privately with the one person who could possibly understand her, without all those formalities and proper etiquette getting in the way. Summiya isn’t the most compassionate person around, but who else could Aiza talk to? Not Jia, who is unmarried, and certainly not Mother. 

Summiya’s old room, just a little ways down the corridor from Aiza’s, has been prepared for her and Himman’s stay, so after dinner they head in the same direction. Aiza pauses by her own door as the two of them continue onward, and, after a few seconds of deliberation, plucks up the courage to call out.

“Summiya?”

She pauses, turning around to face her. Himman stops too, looking mildly annoyed.

“Yes, Aiza?”

Aiza is only two years younger than both of them, and yet can’t help but feel like a small child when both of them stare at her like that.

“I was wondering if… maybe we could talk? I’d like to ask you for some advice,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even.

Summiya’s expression softens. “Of course.”

She gestures at Himman to go on. He measures her with a strange look but nods, a little terse, and walks off. Aiza doesn’t miss how Summiya purses her lips just a little tighter.

She opens the door to her room and lets Summiya enter first, following soon after. There are no maids inside to usher out, thankfully, and that, along with the soft, dim light of the candles, makes Aiza relax as she leans back against the closed door. 

Her sister lowers herself onto the bed with a tired exhale, one hand immediately moving to rest on top of her stomach. Aiza winces a little but tries her best to offer Summiya a sympathetic smile.

“Is it… difficult? The pregnancy?” she asks. She was only two when Zaheer was born, she doesn’t remember what it was like for Mother.

Summiya hums. “It can be rather tiring if I’m up on my feet all day, but not too bad overall. Though my mother-in-law says that’s because it’s still too early for the child to start kicking. I will not be getting any peace once they do, according to her.”

“I see.” Is all Aiza can really say without her brain forcing images of her own future pregnancy upon her. She really, really doesn’t want to think about that any earlier than she absolutely has to.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Summiya changes topic. Aiza slumps even more against the door.

Not even Jia, easily the person Aiza trusts the most, has heard the full extent of Aiza’s worries before. Aiza isn’t quite sure she can manage saying it out loud, especially to someone as judgemental as Summiya. How could she possibly confess to not wanting to do the very thing she was raised for? Confess it to Summiya, no less, who was practically glowing for the entirety of the three months leading up to her wedding?

But she can’t just not say anything after she specifically asked Summiya to her room. She has to come up with something.

“You know…” she begins, voice slightly shaky. “Everything?”

To her surprise, Summiya hides a chuckle behind her hand. “Wedding jitters?”

She may have an air of regality and superiority around her at all times, even now when no one else is around, but it’s as if one layer of her mask has slipped off, allowing her to behave just a little less like an authority figure and more like a caring older sister. The tension seeps out of Aiza’s frame.

“…Something like that.”

Summiya smiles and pats the spot next to her, taking one of Aiza’s hands in hers – soft, delicate and perfectly manicured, as always – once she sits down.

“Talk to me, dear sister. What’s troubling you?”

Aiza forcibly exhales and drops her head onto Summiya’s shoulder. Summiya stiffens, but allows it. 

“How… how did you do it?” Aiza whispers, quiet and unsure. “How did you… get married, just like that, just because our parents told you to?”

Summiya's brows furrow. “I got married because that is my duty to our family. I always knew that one day, our parents would arrange a marriage for me. And the same goes for you.”

She’s right. Aiza remembers being five years old and having her hair brushed by Mother, her ears filled with sweet promises of a bright future, a happy life with a wealthy and handsome husband. And yet… she still never fully realised that she would indeed have to get married one day. It always seemed so impossibly far away…

But all of that is besides the point.

“That's not what I meant, " she grumbles.  "How did you marry Himman when you didn’t even know him? Weren’t you worried about marrying a stranger?”

Summiya looks at her incredulously, like she's never heard something quite so outrageous before.

“Himman wasn’t a stranger. He was my fiancé, the perfect match picked for me out of a long list of candidates." Of course. Summiya never passed up the opportunity to flaunt just how many wealthy and noble families wanted her to marry their sons. She wasn't declared the most desired bride of her generation for nothing. Meanwhile, it took Mother months to secure even a second son for Aiza…

"I trusted our parents’ judgement in selecting a good husband for me. Why would I be worried?" She shrugs and lightly shakes her head. Just how can she be so nonchalant about this?

“But you had never met him before your wedding!" Aiza reiterates.  "You knew absolutely nothing about him, about what he’s like as a person, whether you’d get along or not. Didn’t that worry you?”

One corner of Summiya‘s lips gets almost imperceptibly tighter. She seems to be reaching the end of her patience. 

“No, I wasn’t,” she says firmly. “I was told he was a good man from a good family, very handsome and showing great promise in continuing his father’s business, and that was enough for me. We have our entire lives to get to know each other properly. Besides, Father had met him and clearly approved, otherwise I wouldn’t be here right now.”

She caresses her belly, looking down at it with something almost resembling fondness. Aiza averts her eyes and clenches her jaw. 

“I’d much rather get to know someone before I’m bound to him for life,” she forces out through gritted teeth.

“Aiza!”

“What?” she shoots back. “Don’t tell me you’re perfectly happy with how this system works! You didn’t even get to see Himman before it was time for you to swear yourself to him! How can you marry someone without at least knowing what he looks like?”

The storybooks she used to get so engrossed in as a child often stressed that appearances don’t matter, it’s what’s on the inside that counts. She recalls countless tales of people being transformed into something monstrous by the Spirits and the only way the curse could be broken is if somebody truly loved them. It's a nice sentiment, even has some semblance of truth to it, but she would still prefer to know what she’s getting herself into.

She wouldn’t be able to back out even if he wasn’t her type – she hadn’t been around men enough to even have a type – but it still would be nice to know beforehand.

Summiya’s hands bunch up the fabric of her robes before she slowly exhales and almost obsessively smoothes them out.

“I didn’t know what he looked like, yes, but meeting his parents and serving them tea let me take note of their facial features, which gave me a good idea of what I should expect,” she speaks slowly, as if thinking Aiza not smart enough to understand this simple concept. “When I saw him for the first time, I immediately recognised his mother’s eyes and his father’s strong jaw, and wasn’t blindsided. Maybe you should have done that too, if you’re so worried about his appearance.”

Maybe she should have. Why didn’t she think of that? It seems so obvious in retrospect… but then again, she was too busy trying her hardest not to drop the damn tray to pay attention to his mother’s eye colour. And it is very much possible that he doesn’t look like either of his parents at all, and more like some grandparent, so there's a chance that wouldn’t help her in the least.

But Summiya is visibly reaching the end of her rope with Aiza, so maybe it would be for the best to just smile, nod and agree. She’d rather not be a source of stress for her sister, not any more than she already was growing up. Isn’t one supposed to avoid stress during pregnancy?

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Summiya. I’m just… very, very nervous about it all. Everything was arranged so fast…”

Redirecting the conversation to something else seems to be the best thing she can do now. Something… not quite so challenging of society at large. Maybe that will convince Summiya to stay and talk to her a little longer. Aiza really doesn’t want to be alone now.

Jia had once told her that when she still lived at home, she would sleep in one big pile with all her siblings and cousins every night, and that she misses it deeply now that she’s made to sleep alone in a small cot in the servants’ quarters. The idea seemed very uncomfortable to Aiza when she first heard it – she always had a bed and room of her own – but now… she’s slowly starting to get it. Maybe sleeping curled up next to Summiya would ward off the wedding-themed nightmares that visit her more and more frequently as the dreaded date approaches. 

Not like Summiya, for whom Aiza’s head on her shoulder was already too much contact, would ever allow that, but it’s a nice thought.

Summiya reaches over and tucks a curl behind Aiza’s ear, her fingers slipping to her jaw and gently tilting up her chin.

“Oh, Aiza… trust me, I know. My own wedding happened rather quickly, and you got even less time to prepare.”

A quarter of a year wasn’t exactly quick, in Aiza’s opinion, but she doesn’t interrupt. 

Her sister pauses, gaze drifting off for a fraction of a second before returning to Aiza’s eyes.

“I… was nervous too, very much so,” she admits. Aiza blinks in surprise. Acknowledging her faults wasn’t something Summiya ever did. As far as anyone was concerned, Summiya was perfect with nothing to confess. And yet… here she was, doing exactly that. “But I knew that our parents wanted the best for me and so it was my duty to do everything in my power to make sure their effort paid off. And they want the best for you as well, dear sister. Everything they do is to ensure our security and happiness, and we should be grateful for that.”

For some reason, those words don’t bring her the comfort and assurance they would have once, when she was a little girl still believing in true love, unaware that her marriage would be arranged and she wouldn’t even get to see her future husband before the wedding. She’s not so naive anymore, Summiya’s empty platitudes have no effect.

The words tumble out before she can stop them.

“Are you happy, Summiya?”

Summiya removes her hand from Aiza’s face, visibly taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

Some part of Aiza understands that she will regret saying what’s lingering on the tip of her tongue, but she cannot bear to back down now. If she does, she will never get the chance to speak her mind again. Her thoughts and opinions will get buried beneath heavy robes and layers of makeup and endless rules, never to see the light of day again.

Even if she wanted to stop, she wouldn’t. Not this time. Damn the consequences. 

“You said our parents arranged marriages for us to ensure our happiness,” she elaborates, stabbing into Summiya with an intense gaze, not letting her look away or avoid the question. “So are you happy being married to a man who doesn’t love you?”

Summiya’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth to retaliate, but no sound follows.

A tense silence hangs between them. For once, Summiya is at a loss for words, her endless reprimands nowhere to be found. And all it took was one question about her true feelings.

What a sad life she must be living, if she cannot even say if she’s happy or not.

“…What does love have to do with anything?” Summiya eventually forces out.

Aiza persists. “You didn’t answer my question,” 

Summiya clenches her jaw, closing her eyes to avoid Aiza’s burning stare. “Love… is the content of children’s stories that you should have stopped reading a long time ago. Do you think our parents married out of love? Or any of our grandparents?”

She stops, giving Aiza time to shake her head. It’s useless to pretend that there was ever any love between Lord Jusamah and Lady Sunat. Their marriage too was arranged, and while they made it work and are civil with each other – unless Father flies into one of his rages – Aiza had never seen them share a single instance of affection.

Is that the kind of future that awaits her, too?

Summiya continues. “Love is irrelevant. With Himman, I can rest easy knowing that my future, and the future of however many children we will have together, is secure. I am perfectly content with my life, and if that’s what happiness is, then yes, I am happy. Does that answer your question?”

The venom in her words and glare in her eyes almost make Aiza recoil. But while Summiya may have managed to pull together an answer, a fire has been lit somewhere deep inside Aiza, and it’s only growing stronger by the minute. Summiya speaks in carefully controlled, thought out, perfectly constructed lies, and Aiza wants to get to the truth.

To do that, she will have to shatter Summiya’s scarily calm and neutral exterior once and for all.

“So you’re content with your husband being a drunk and a brothel goer?”  

Summiya gasps in affront so loudly it seems exaggerated. “Aiza! Watch your words, you’re forgetting yourself!” 

“Am I?” Aiza challenges. “Or am I just telling you the truth you don’t want to hear?”

“What I don’t want to hear is this slander!” Summiya seethes, cracks appearing in her facade. 

Is she truly this oblivious to the rumours even the servants are aware about, or is she refusing to acknowledge them on purpose?

Aiza huffs. “Slander implies that what I’m saying isn’t the truth.”

Summiya harshly bites into her lip and, as she breathes out, reels the temper she must have inherited from Father back in. So she’s determined to remain calm about this. Fine.

“First of all, Himman isn’t a drunk–” she begins, but Aiza cuts her off, paying no mind to the rules of etiquette drilled into her for years. 

“He is and everyone knows it! People have been saying it for years!” Aiza exclaims, and immediately predicts Summiya’s question before it is voiced. “A few of the girls I know have brothers his age. They say he used to blow his entire allowance on whores and alcohol and would get his friends to cover for him when he was off at brothels. It was the only thing they’d talk about after it was announced you were engaged to him.”

She searches Summiya’s face for any kind of reaction but comes up short. Perhaps a different approach is in order. She tries reaching for Summiya’s hand, but Summiya pulls away as if Aiza’s touch burned. Still, Aiza continues, a little calmer now.

“You’ve seen how many glasses he had at dinner. Does he drink like that at home too?”

Perhaps… there is a reason Summiya is so resistant to talking about this. Perhaps she is way too aware of how much Himman drinks. Just what is she hiding under all those layers of powder?

Aiza doesn’t want to even go there, not even in her mind.

Summiya catches on to her train of thought. “I'm not sure what you’ve gotten into your head, but Himman has never done anything improper. Yes, he does enjoy a glass or two at dinner, but he is not a drunk,” she speaks calmly, but her voice is impossibly tense, containing a hidden edge. Her gaze darkens. 

“I don’t know what he got up to before our marriage, but he is loyal to me, and I will not hesitate to do away with any woman who dares welcome him into her bed,” she spits with more vitriol than Aiza had ever heard from her. She suddenly finds herself desperately hoping that those rumours are not true, if not for Summiya’s sake, then for the unfortunate girls Himman pays to keep him company. They deserve better than to be punished for what someone else chooses to do.

Try explaining that to Summiya, however.

Summiya regains her composure and regal expression, straightening her shoulders and regarding Aiza with a disapproving, condescending look.

She looks so much like Mother when she does that.

“Himman and I are as happy as we can be together,” she states. “But what matters above such things as happiness is the duty we have to our family. Our duty is to get married and produce heirs for our father’s fortune, so they can continue doing what he and our fathers-in-law and everyone who came before them did, for the sake of this country. Everybody has their own way of serving the Earth Kingdom, and this is ours. Do you understand?”

Then she goes again, talking down to Aiza as if she were a child. She’s heard the duty talk countless times, she doesn’t need it repeated for the millionth time. What she needs, and what no one could ever give her, is an explanation as to why Summiya, who had always dreamed of getting married, alone producing heirs isn’t enough. Why does Aiza have to be married too? Wouldn't it easier if Father’s fortune could go to one person instead of being split among his future grandchildren? isn’t there anything else Aiza can do to serve the Earth Kingdom?

“But what if I don’t want that?” She finds herself saying, one last attempt to get Summiya to understand. Why is it so damn hard? Why won’t anyone listen to what Aiza has to say? “What if I don’t want to marry someone I don’t know and have his children? What if I don’t want to marry and have children at all?”

That… that really is the truth of the matter, isn’t it? It was never about knowing or not knowing what her husband looks like, never about wedding jitters, never about anything she tried so hard to write what she was feeling off on.

No matter what changes were made to the traditions. No matter if she got to spend every single day of the past month getting to know her fiancé. No matter if the wedding was two years away instead of two days. She would still feel this way.

She doesn’t want to get married. At all. And she can't imagine anything worse than having to birth children of her own.

Admitting that out loud might just be the most traitorous thing she had ever said. If anyone but Summiya was around to hear…

No. She doesn’t care who hears. Let them all hear. Let them all know. And let them all come up with a good answer for her as to who decided that this is the life she has to live.

She refuses to let Summiya cut in to once again go on her long spiel about duty and sacrifice. She’s heard enough. 

She jumps up from the bed, the adrenaline from finally saying what’s been quietly simmering in the back of her mind for Spirits know how long pumping through her veins, making it impossible to remain seated.

“Why do I have to live according to some ancient customs?” She barely holds herself back from yelling. “What about what I want? Just because I was born a girl, I’m considered nothing more than Father’s property, made to be sold off to a stranger. I have no control over anything in my life, I might as well not even be a person! How the fuck is that fair?”

She’s crying now, she belatedly realises when her vision starts blurring. She furiously wipes at her eyes, but the tears just keep coming. Why now? She was never a crier, but for whatever reason, she just can’t stop.

Tears slide down her cheeks as she looks at Summiya, burning just as hot as the fire of rage within her.

“It’s not fair,” she mutters, hating herself for sounding so childish. “Why does it have to be like this? Why is my life not my own to live?”

Summiya doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even reprimand her for her language – does she truly have nothing to say that isn’t “that’s just how things are done?” – instead staring at Aiza with her usual blank expression. 

Why does nothing Aiza say move her in any way? She looked so much more… alive… when angry at the implication of Himman being unfaithful. Her fury was almost terrifying, and yet speaking to her was by far more bearable when she let herself actually feel human emotions.

What was Aiza thinking, trying to confess her hatred for how this system works to the one person who is perfectly satisfied with it? Summiya lucked out with her looks, smarts and docile personality, earning herself a handsome, rich husband, and now she gets to reap all of the rewards. The same cannot be said about most others, Aiza included, but why should Summiya care? This system got her the happily ever after she was promised, how could she ever oppose it? How could she ever understand those who do?

Aiza’s gaze drops to Summiya’s stomach.

“I hope your child isn’t a girl,” she says, barely above a whisper. “They deserve so much better than a life spent as nothing but a pretty, emotionless thing on display.”

The “just like you, Summiya” goes unspoken, but they’re both aware of it anyway. Summiya sucks in a breath, slowly raising herself from the bed.

The next thing Aiza registers is the sound of skin slapping against skin, followed immediately by stinging pain on her right cheek.

Summiya had hit her.

Nobody had ever hit her. 

It’s… not too painful, Summiya definitely didn’t use full force as to not leave a mark and ruin Aiza’s face before her wedding. But the pulsating, burning sensation is very unpleasant. She brings up a hand to cup her cheek and stares at her fuming sister with wide eyes.

Summiya herself looks a bit shaken by what she had just done, but quickly pulls herself together. Her face darkens and she looks at Aiza with an enraged, withering glare.

It looks familiar, but she can’t place it.

“That is enough! I’ve tried being patient and calm as I explained everything to you but clearly it isn’t working. You have no idea what you’re talking about, Aiza. It doesn’t matter what you want or don’t want. All that matters is that this is what you have to do, what you were born to do.”

Every word feels like another slap to the face. Aiza tenses up, desperately wanting to run, to hide somewhere, to not have to be on the receiving end of Summiya’s ire. She really pushed too far this time. Why did she have to go there? Why couldn’t she just shut up and do as she's told? Everyone else does with no complaint, why can’t she? What is wrong with her?

She doesn’t have the option to rebel. She never did. She doesn’t even have it in herself to take a stand and follow through with it, folding the moment she’s faced with the slightest opposition.

She is weak. She’s nothing like who she would have liked to be. Nothing like–

A chill runs down her spine. She realises why Summiya’s glare is so familiar to her.

She has Zaheer’s eyes. In turn, he has Father’s. Father had glared exactly the same way on the day Zaheer left.

Summiya always looked the most like Mother out of all of them, but right now, Aiza can see no one but Father in her face.

“You don't have a choice in this matter,” Summiya continues, voice getting louder and firmer. “You will behave, attend and pay attention in all your lessons, and in two days’ time you will marry Lord Kabir’s son and make Mother and Father proud. Do I make myself clear?”

Aiza wants to argue, to say no, she will not give in that easily, she will not let herself be treated this way! She won’t get married, she won’t! They can’t force her to! She wants to have a say in what happens to her, to live her life the way she wants to live it, not the way her father or husband or old customs say! How in the world is that too much to ask for?

…But she can’t. She doesn’t have what it takes. How would she ever say any of what she said tonight to Father and Mother, when a single glare from Summiya rattles her so? 

All she’s good for in ranting in the privacy of her bedchambers, not to actually change anything about her life.

She has no choice but to agree.

“…Yes, Summiya.”

She bows her head, closing her eyes to attempt to hold back the tears pooling in them. There she goes, crying again…

Summiya steps closer and lifts her chin with a soft, almost tender touch. When Aiza meets her eyes, the look in them is cold, detached, but with a single spark of genuine concern. She clings to it as if it was a lifeline. 

“You were always such a sweet, obedient girl. Keep being that way, alright? Get some rest, I promise things will work out. The nerves are making you act this way, it will all settle once you get married,” Summiya says, voice once again calm and even, the exact opposite of what it was barely a minute ago.

Aiza wonders if Summiya herself believes what she is saying. Regardless, she nods. She doesn’t have it in her to fight anymore.

Summiya nods back, satisfied, and leans in to press a quick kiss to her forehead, smoothing out her bangs afterwards. Then, she turns to leave.

Just as she reaches the door, she glances at Aiza out of the corner of her eye. 

“And… keep these thoughts to yourself if you must think them, Aiza.” Her voice takes on a much darker tone. “Or you’ll end up like Zaheer.”

And with that, Summiya storms out, leaving Aiza in stunned silence. If she had any less self control, she likely would have slammed the door shut behind her.

The last sentence she said plays on a loop in Aiza’s mind.

End up like Zaheer.

Like what? Far away from their awful family? Free to do whatever he wants with no one to control him? Not being at risk of their parents forcing him into a marriage?

Though who was she kidding? He was never at risk for that in the first place. He was born a boy, his worth was never defined based on how good of a spouse he would make. He was supposed to make Father proud by achieving a high ranking position in politics or the military, not through producing heirs. Oh, Mother would surely find a beautiful, well-behaved noble girl for him to marry and expect him to father a child or two, but even that would not be a death sentence. He would not be the one carrying or birthing those children, nor the one to raise them. 

Not a bad life, all in all. And most importantly, he would actually have control over it. And once Father passed, Zaheer would be the one to inherit his fortune. He might as well have been in line to inherit the world. 

And yet Zaheer still left. Because he could. He was allowed to go out unsupervised, giving him the chance to meet whoever he did who convinced him to leave. And That Day, he just walked out, no guards ordered to stop him. Of course, once it became clear he wasn’t simply going through a rebellious phase and truly wouldn’t come back, Father had almost completely lost it with rage and the whole town suffered the consequences. Countless resources were put into searching for Zaheer, and yet, he still was never found.

If Aiza had declared she was leaving one day… it would not go even half as smoothly for her. Chances are she’d be locked up right up until it was time to marry her off, and her husband would be told to keep her under watch at all times too, just in case. And even if somehow she did manage to go, how far would she really make it on her own?

She’d never be able to do what Zaheer did. 

She wishes she could leave as easily as he had left.

She wishes she was born a boy.

The thought pierces through her mind, lodging itself deep inside her brain and not disappearing no matter how hard she tries to shake it off. It fills out, gains more shape as she thinks it over, turning from a brief, passing wish into a fully formed idea that spreads through her body as an unscratchable itch. 

She can’t get married. She can’t. The marriage will bring her nothing but misery, she can feel it, the premonition overtaking all of her senses. She would rather die than go through with it. She will die if she does. By her own hand, if she must.

But maybe, just maybe, there’s a less drastic way out.

Maybe she can pass for a boy if she tries hard enough.

Her limbs fill with restlessness and suddenly, it’s as if they’re moving on their own, taking her over to her vanity table. She looks at herself in the mirror, really looks, taking note of every little facial feature.

Her right cheek is still slightly red from Summiya’s slap, but it doesn’t look like it will bruise. That’s good. 

Summiya… Aiza was never quite as feminine as her, taking more after their father in looks. A square jaw, a more prominent nose, a stronger brow. She is less curvy too, something she had always been jealous of Summiya over, but now… now she could use that to her advantage.

She doesn’t tear her eyes away from the mirror as her hand opens one of the drawers and pulls out a pair of scissors. She reaches up and undoes her bun, letting her dark curls fall onto her shoulders. They reach down to just below her chest.

Raising the scissors, she grasps a section and makes a cut a little above her chin before she can second guess herself. The strands fall to the floor, hitting her slippers. She pauses to stare at them.

“Stop it, there’s no time,” she whispers to herself and makes another cut.

There really isn’t. She doesn’t know where Summiya went after she left her room – she could have returned to her own chambers, or walked straight past them and gone to their parents to tell them everything Aiza had spilled to her. If Aiza gets caught now…

She speeds up, not even caring about making it even or pretty, she just needs the length gone. More hair falls, some getting caught in her robes and making the back of her neck itch, but she barely registers it. She cuts and cuts, and finally, all of her hair is at a similar, short length. She looks up at her reflection and her breath catches, hand almost dropping the scissors.

She looks so much like Zaheer.

If she didn’t know any better, if she wasn’t still wearing a dress… she really would think that he had suddenly appeared in front of her. That he had heard about her engagement and had come to take her away.

He might as well have.

A knock at the door interrupts her train of thought before she can come up with what to do next.

Her insides freeze as her head snaps in that direction. She was right, Summiya did tell, her parents did send for her, or even worse, showed up themselves, and they will see her now, her beautiful hair scattered in clumps all over the floor, no way to make the mess left on her head look in any way presentable before the wedding. Lord Kabir will surely call the whole thing off and then she’d be done for–

“Lady Aiza? It’s me.”

Relief hits her like a tidal wave. It’s just Jia. Not guards, not her parents, not Summiya. Just Jia. Coming in as always to brush out her hair. What a surprise she’s in for.

And as always, Jia doesn’t wait for her to answer before opening the door and slipping inside.

She turns and physically recoils at the sight of Aiza, her jaw dropping open. Aiza suddenly feels extremely self conscious.

Maybe she shouldn’t have to be. Maybe, out of everyone in this damn palace, Jia will be the one who understands her. 

“My Lady, what are you–”

Aiza shakes her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t get married. Not to Lord Kabir’s son, not to anyone else. My parents would never understand, they’d never listen to me. I have to leave, there’s no other way, but… but they’d find me if I still looked like myself. Like the girl they’d be searching for.”

She’s rambling, probably making very little sense, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t have time to explain properly. Jia still looks a little stunned, but breathes out and collects herself, suddenly looking a lot more serious than Aiza had ever seen her. She nods, crosses the room and grabs Aiza’s wrist, ignoring all the rules about how she can and can’t touch her Lady.

“Please, Lady Aiza, come with me. I know how to help.”

Aiza doesn’t bother asking or arguing, instead letting Jia pull her towards the door.

Jia opens it, looks both ways down the hallway, and hurries across it to the opposite wall where a painting of some landscape hangs, framed by curtains. Aiza furrows her brows in confusion, but then Jia moves the curtain out of the way to reveal a barely noticeable door, made out of the same material as the wall.

Aiza had slept in those bedchambers every night since she moved out of the nursery. How had she never noticed a door right opposite her own?

Once they enter and it closes behind them, leaving them in a poorly lit narrow hallway, Jia finally puts an end to her silent questions.

“It’s one of the entrances to the servants’ corridors. The palace is full of them,” she explains before pulling Aiza further along. So that’s why she rarely saw servants running around…

It’s not the easiest place to traverse, and Aiza is starting to feel more than a little claustrophobic as it seems like the dark, rough stone walls are actively closing in on her. Only the warmth of Jia’s hand holding hers keeps her grounded enough to keep moving. There are many twists and turns, several forks in the passageways and even flights of stairs. Jia navigates all of it expertly, even though she’s only been working in the palace for about two years.

Finally, after one last descent down a short flight of stairs, Jia opens another door and they emerge into… the laundry room. At least, it looks that way to her, as poorly as she can see in the dark. It’s currently empty of anyone apart from them, but baskets of crumpled clothing, rows of rope above their heads and a distinct smell of soap give away the room’s purpose.

Jia, somehow even more frantic than she is, lets go of her hand and heads towards the back of the room. Barely daring to breathe in fear of alerting anyone to their presence, Aiza follows. Jia reaches a table where washed, ironed and folded clothes are lined up in neat stacks, gives Aiza a once over, and reaches for one of the tunics.

A men’s tunic, Aiza notes.

Oh. Oh. So that’s what Jia meant by helping her. Aiza hadn’t even thought of where she’d get male clothing from. She’d never be able to refashion any of her own in time.

She was taught not to believe in the power of Spirits, but she still mentally thanks every last one she has ever heard of for sending her Jia. 

“Here, try these on,” Jia says, thrusting a tunic and a pair of pants – it’s hard to tell the colour in the dark, but most likely they’re both various shades of green – into her arms. ”I’m afraid I can’t get you new shoes, but your slippers look sturdy enough, they should serve you for some time.”

“Whose… whose clothes are these?” Aiza asks. The last thing she wants is for Jia to be accused of stealing.

Jia shrugs. “No one’s. Not really. The servants’ clothes are all issued, distributed at random by size after each laundry day. No one will notice a few sets missing, My Lady, I promise.”

That's reassuring enough for Aiza and she wastes no more time before undressing. Jia doesn’t bother looking away. She had helped Aiza bathe many times, there was no reason for either of them to be embarrassed at the thought of Jia seeing Aiza in her underwear.

The pants are slightly baggy, the legs having to be folded up a little at the bottom, but otherwise, they fit her well. Before she can try the tunic, however, Jia stops her.

“Hold on,” she says, and walks around her. “If you wish for people to think you’re a boy, Lady Aiza, your chest has to be flatter.”

Aiza nods. Of course. It seems so obvious now that Jia said it, but while she was frantically chopping at her hair, she didn’t even pause to think that doing that alone wouldn’t be enough to make a convincing disguise.

Jia gently undoes her bindings and reties them tighter, Aiza using her hands to flatten her chest as much as she can to help her along. She’s once again thankful that she’s not as curvy as Summiya, because the end result is better than she imagined it being. She’s not perfectly flat, but under loose enough clothes her breasts should not be noticeable.

She puts the tunic on and realises that it’s just baggy enough to do the job. That must be why Jia chose those pants for her as well. Always two steps ahead, that one.

“I really don’t deserve you, Jia,” she mutters as she watches the maid pull a sheet from one of the overhead ropes and spread it out on the floor. She rips it in half with relative ease – it must be for servants’ beds, and thus lower quality. Aiza can’t imagine it would have been even half as easy if Jia tried doing that with her satin bedding – and tosses extra clothing and the other half of the sheet into the middle. Once she’s done, she gathers all four corners together and ties the sheet into a makeshift bag.

She gets up, hands it to her and smiles. “The extra clothes should last you a while without needing to do laundry, and the sheet can be used for pretty much anything. I’d fashion chest bindings out of it if I were you, less effort than having to retie your own every time.”

Aiza looks down at the bag in her hands, then back at Jia. She feels tears pricking at her eyes. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

Jia raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I, My Lady?”

“Well…” Aiza bites her lip. “No one else in this whole palace would help me if they knew what I wanted to do. Everyone thinks this wedding is a good thing. Summiya even… slapped me when I tried to tell her I didn’t want to get married.”

She averts her gaze as Jia gasps, and feels her eyes on her cheek.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she rushes to assure her. “But… I’m sure you understand why I’m so surprised. You get paid to serve me, it’s in your best interests to make sure I stay, no?”

To her surprise, Jia laughs. A half broken, half watery laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. 

“You have a point, Lady Aiza, but I care about you much more than about getting paid,” she says, and Aiza feels something warm swell inside her. “Forgive me the forwardness, but I’ve seen how you’ve withered away since you got engaged, and something tells me it will only get worse after the wedding. I know that this was always meant to happen, you were always going to be married off someday, it’s what your purpose was all along…” she trails off, taking a deep breath.

“But I cannot in good conscience support anything that makes My Lady so unhappy, even if going against it is breaking every possible rule,” Jia straightens up, looks Aiza right in the eyes and speaks with clear confidence. “When I saw how sad you looked after the engagement was announced, I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to help you avoid it if that was something you wanted. You deserve better than the life your parents are forcing you into, Lady Aiza.”

Aiza… can’t put a name to the emotions swirling around in her heart. She’s afraid she’d cry again if she tried. Instead, she just nods and returns Jia’s smile.

Jia lights up a little, but her expression sombers again as she grabs Aiza’s hand. The sense of urgency returns to them both. 

“We have to get you out of here before anyone realises you’re gone.”

She pulls her back into the passageway they came from, and after a short rush through yet another section of the labyrinth, Jia pushes open a door and Aiza finally gets to take a breath of cool night air. 

Looking around, she realises that the area they entered isn’t surrounded by a wall, but rather a small fence one could easily get over. Just beyond it, she spots a trench.

“Waste disposal. Serves as enough of a deterrent that a wall isn’t necessary,” Jia explains with a laugh before she has the chance to ask, as if she could read her mind. Suddenly, Aiza isn’t too keen on getting near it, but realises she’ll have to if she wants to…

If she wants to run away.

Is she really doing this? Is it actually happening? It all feels unreal, like a dream, like one more second and she’ll wake up in her bed with only two full days left until her wedding.

She faces Jia again, who looks over her with… appreciation, almost. The moon is full and bright, the sky clear, providing ample lighting.

“Do I look like a boy?” Aiza finds herself asking.

“You do, My Lady,” Jia nods, and... is that a blush that just appeared on her cheeks? “It suits you.”

What… a strange thing to say. And what’s even stranger is that Aiza preens upon hearing it.

She doesn’t get to linger on it too much as Jia’s face once again becomes gravely serious.

“The forest behind that trench goes on for quite a while, and it’s free of most dangerous animals. I think it used to be a hunting ground a few generations ago, I’m not sure,” she shakes her head and waves a hand, as if to say ‘never mind’. “Stick to it and go as far out as you can. Avoid towns for the first few days, they’ll be searching the closest ones first. After that, be careful, don’t talk too much but don’t be so avoidant it looks suspicious. And make up a male name and some kind of backstory while you’re walking. And… oh, wait a moment…”

Aiza decides not to bother asking how in the world Jia knows all of that and is sure enough in the advice to tell her, instead watching on with curiosity as she rummages around in the pockets of her apron.

Before she knows it, a wad of cash is pressed into her palm.

“Jia, I can’t…” she begins, but Jia cuts her off.

“You can. You can’t go forever without needing to buy something. I’m not offering, I’m giving it to you, so don’t argue.” 

Jia had never spoken like that to her before, she was always demure and respectful when it came to her Lady, never quite this... direct, forceful, forgoing every honorific.

Well, Aiza supposes, she’s not exactly Jia’s Lady anymore, is she? And Jia is helping her out when no one else would dare, she deserves to be able to talk to Aiza in whatever way she wants.

“But what about your family? Don’t you need that money?” 

She knows that Jia is the eldest of three, both her siblings significantly younger than her, and that her aunts and uncles live in the same house so she’s providing for quite a few cousins as well. She’s not the only one bringing in money, but surely her contributions are too valuable to simply give away?

Jia gives her a tired smile. “I have more saved up, don’t worry, we’ll manage. You need it more. As long as you succeed in getting away from here, it will all be worth it.”

Aiza puts great care into pocketing the money, making sure it doesn’t crease. It’s too valuable of a gift to ruin.

“Thank you, Jia, for everything.”

She nods again. “It’s the least I can do. You deserve to be free. How is it that your family is richer than I can even imagine, and yet I’m the one with more freedom out of the two of us?”

All Aiza can do is shrug. How indeed? Jia is one of the breadwinners for her family, they rely on her, they would never force her into a marriage if it wasn’t something she wanted. Aiza is almost jealous.

“Now, don’t worry about a single thing. I’ll clean up your hair and put away your dress and cover up anything that might point to you running away. If luck is on our side, they’ll waste time searching the palace and the grounds first,” Jia rattles off, likely having realised that they were taking too long.

A sudden thought strikes Aiza, making her insides clench with worry. “What if someone finds out you were involved in helping me? What’ll happen to you then?”

Jia freezes, then smiles as if the whole situation couldn’t have disastrous consequences for her 

“I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll be as careful as I can possibly be, I promise.”

How can she be this calm about this? Doesn’t she know what could happen?

Right. She was hired only after Zaheer ran away. She didn’t witness what happened to many of the servants.

“You don’t get it!” she exclaims, trying to keep her voice down even through her worry. “My father is a dangerous man who you really don’t want to cross. He will do awful things to you if he finds out!”

Jia stares at her in silence as the weight of Aiza’s words settles over them both. The moments that pass before either of them does anything feel like an eternity, but eventually, Jia simply shakes her head.

“As long as they don’t find you, I don't care what happens to me.”

Aiza is overwhelmed with both shock and... something else, something intense but warm that makes her heart skip a beat. She has no idea what to say.

Well... except for one thing.

She reaches out and grasps Jia's hand between her own, squeezing with all her might.

"Come with me. Please."

"I can't," Jia immediately answers. "My family needs me. I can't leave them."

"You'll be of no use to your family if my father has you executed!" Aiza practically shouts, voice breaking on the last word. She cannot allow that to happen. She'd do whatever Father tells her, marry whomever she's ordered to and act every bit the obedient and dutiful wife until the end of her days, birth children and raise them to follow in their predecessors' footsteps, anything if it meant Jia would get to live.

If Jia is killed for helping Aiza escape, then nobody but Aiza herself would be to blame. She would never be able to forgive herself for it. If Jia comes with her, Aiza would be able to protect her. All she wants is for Jia to be safe from her father's wrath.

And yet, Jia still shakes her head once again. "If I go with you, everyone would know I was the one who helped you. What do you think will happen to my family then?"

Oh. That didn't even cross Aiza's mind. Of course, if the culprit is nowhere to be found, Father would surely find a different target to enact revenge upon, and she doesn't doubt for a second that Jia's family would face the brunt of it.

"My little brothers are only nine. What will become of them if my parents are imprisoned, or worse? And what of my aunts and uncles, and all their kids? I'd be putting them all in danger if I leave." Her voice is frantic and heavy with unshed tears. She meets Aiza's gaze, moonlight reflecting off the glossy shine of her hazel eyes.

"If it comes down to it... better me than them. I'm sorry."

Aiza feels as though something sharp was just driven into her heart, but she knows that ultimately, Jia is right. Just like Aiza herself would abandon all dreams of freedom to ensure Jia's safety, Jia would do the same for her family. She cannot hold that against her. The least she can do is make good use of the opportunity Jia provided her with tonight.

Reluctantly, she lets go of Jia's hand and averts her gaze. Silent, mutual understanding passes between them.

Aiza can't stay, not now that she's ruined her hair, and Jia can't go, not if she wants her family to be safe. They must part here and now and hope that against all odds, both of them will be alright. There is nothing else they can do.

If only it was possible to freeze time. If she could, Aiza would remain in this moment forever.

“You should probably be going now,” Jia says in a small voice after a short while. “And so should I. I should get to cleaning in case someone decides to check your room tonight.”

“Alright,” she responds, and slowly, hesitantly turns away, still not fully believing that she’s really doing this, really going this far. There is no turning back now. She passed the point of no return when she chose to cut her hair. The rush of getting everything ready kept her from thinking too much, but now anxiety is truly starting to brew in the pit of her stomach.

“Lady Aiza?”

She whirls right back. “Just Aiza, please.”

The title feels wrong, not even because she’s actively giving it up by choosing to abandon her family and run away, but because… Jia has done so much for her, both tonight and over the past two years. She is so, so much more than just a maid to her. Jia is a friend.

“Aiza,” Jia repeats with a small smile. She hesitates a little, but then steps towards her, lets out a shaky breath, and presses her lips to Aiza’s. Aiza swallows her gasp of surprise.

The touch… is warm. Warm, soft and so, so tender. Aiza finds herself closing her eyes and leaning into it, even though she has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never kissed anyone before but… she’s glad her first is with Jia, someone she knows and trusts. Someone she loves. Not a man she’d be seeing for the first time right before she’d have to kiss him.

Jia puts a hand on her shoulder, pulling her closer. Aiza's comes up to rest on Jia's waist.

It’s over way too quickly, Jia being the one who pulls back. Tears are forming in her eyes again. Aiza hates to be the reason that she's crying. If it were up to her, Jia would never cry again.

“Remember me,” she whispers against her lips, removes herself from Aiza's hold and quickly disappears back inside the palace.

Aiza feels glued to the spot by the sheer weight of the realisation that unless some miracle occurs, she will likely never see Jia again. She can never come back here, and as long as she is providing for her family, Jia cannot follow.

She blinks away the tears, presses the bag of clothes to her chest, spares one last glance at the only home she had ever known, and sets off. In fast strides, she crosses the yard, carefully ducks through an opening in the fence and jumps over the waste trench.

Only once does she hesitate, when she makes it to the tree line, but doesn’t dare look back again. She breathes in deeply, breaks into a sprint and disappears off into the night.