We originally had Ren patterning not only Grey, but Alinka as well, earlier on in the same scene. It was a way to put some focus on Ren’s case of Ethnic Imposter Syndrome and also build up her relationship with Alinka, while laying some groundwork for the tension around Alinka trying to survive as a widow with two small children, and whether she might leave Nadežra (and Grey) to return to her own people. And we liked the result . . . but beefing up Ren’s relationship with Andrejek and the Stadnem Anduske caused us to add the scene where he gets relocated to a new safehouse and Ren patterns him there, and boy howdy was that Too Many Patterns for One Chapter. Since Alinka’s was by far the least load-bearing of the three, it got removed — which opened us up to realizing that we could do the earlier part of Six Candles in Grey’s perspective rather than Ren’s, thereby adding depth to their interactions. On the whole it was a win, but we still like this quiet bit of empathy between the two women.
***
“Forgive me,” Alinka said, returning downstairs after she’d finally coaxed her son from a bawling tantrum to an exhausted doze. “I think another tooth comes in. We’d hoped there would be a pause before the next, but…” She did her best to smooth the hair fraying out of her braids, quickly replaiting the wedding ribbon Jagyi had tugged crooked.
Yvieny, who’d taken her role to keep Arenza entertained very seriously, spoke around the saliva-wet head of her Elsivin doll. “I still have more teeth. Uncle Grey said I have twice as many teeth as other little girls.”
“Your uncle exaggerates because he has felt every one of them. But if on your doll you chew, you’ll wear them away and have none at all. Go play on the stoop.”
“But I want to hear your pattern!” The doll’s head popped free, and Yvieny’s face began to darken like Jagyi’s.
“Patterns are private,” Arenza said, ignoring the fact that they were done on street corners all the time. In desperation, she added, “But if you go outside, for you I will draw a card later.”
Bribery, it seemed, would get her everywhere. “Okay!” Yvieny chirped, brightening like the sun, and ran outside.
Alinka sank down with an exhausted sigh. “Thank you. I hope no customer interrupts us next.”
Her words trailed off as she spoke. Arenza knew that look: it was a woman remembering she needed customers, because she needed money. Which, on the heels of having shoved a dress that could pay Alinka’s rent for a month under the eaves of a roof for safekeeping, made Ren feel even more uncomfortable.
“I almost forgot.” Digging in the pocket tucked under her panel sash, Alinka pulled out a small egg of carved wood, the sort that could be twisted open to reveal a hollow interior. “My Kolya made these for me to sell. The salve inside will calm your sleep, if under your eyes you rub it. May I see the Face and not the Mask.” She placed it in front of Arenza, then said, less confidently, “I hope it’s enough.”
“The deities value the heart, not coin,” Arenza said, hoping it sounded right. Her time with Idusza had scraped the rust off her Vraszenian, but she still had to camouflage the occasional stumble, in speech and in action.
To help disguise such gaps, she did the reading formally, complete with opening prayers. “Kiraly, bless my hands with grace to lay the pattern true. Anoškin, bless my mind with light to know the Faces and the Masks. Varadi, bless my eyes to see the pattern as it truly lies. Dvornik, bless my tongue with words to speak of what I know. Meszaros, bless my heart with warmth to guide all those who seek my aid. Stretsko, bless my soul with strength to bear the burden of this task.” All the ancestors of the clans, and then the last one — the clan that was gone. “Ižranyi, favored daughter of Ažerais, bless me with your insight, that I may honor my ancestors and the wisdom of those who have gone before.”
She dealt the cards into three rows, starting closest to herself and ending in front of Alinka, then turned over the bottom row, right then left then center. Alinka’s past, the good and the ill of it, and that which was neither.
All three were easy enough to read, with the good being Alinka’s marriage to Kolya and the ill his death. Between them lay Orin and Orasz: two-faced behavior. Vargo, she thought, though she didn’t say it.
Kolya’s death echoed into the present with Reeds Unbroken, speaking of Alinka struggling under the burden of grief, and The Mask of Chaos for the upheaval of her entire life. But Grey Serrado was there in The Liar’s Knot: the card of trust, and in the good position, it carried no hint that Alinka’s trust might be misplaced. Serrado would help his family without hesitation or question.
If Mama and I had someone like him, when our house burned . . .
It was poor form for a szorsa to choke up while reading a pattern. Arenza distracted herself by turning over the future row, but what she saw there drew out a sigh. “In the end, friendship and love may both help and hinder you. Your marriage-brother does what he can, but Ten Coins Sing, veiled . . . his generosity cannot cure all ills.”
Alinka’s head bowed, studying her hands instead of the cards, like a woman who already knew the truths they confirmed. “He is family . . . but one thread where there should be whole fabric. My kureč trades out of Przedžyn, far to the south. They come to Nadežra for the Great Dream only. And his kin…” Her eyes were dry as though there were no more tears to weep. “Grey is family, but he can have none of his own while he cares for mine. But what can I do? He won’t listen if I tell him to stop. And I have not the luxury to say it.”
Arenza doubted Serrado would have a family even if he weren’t caring for Alinka’s. Everything she’d seen of him said his work consumed his life; it left no room for much else.
That didn’t mean he didn’t want it. She’d seen how he was with his niece and nephew, caring for them in the absence of their father. It wasn’t the behavior of someone tolerating an unavoidable burden. She was used to seeing him has a hawk, but underneath the uniform was a man who cared deeply.
She laid her hand atop Alinka’s. “Friendship and love are powerful things . . . but when they hide the truth, they become ill as well as good. The Mask of Hollows, revealed, is a reminder to value immaterial things above the material. You must consider what is best for your children, and yourself.”
“You mean I should return to my kureč.” The heaviness in Alinka’s voice said she’d already weighed the costs. “But that would mean leaving Grey here alone.”
Where was his kureč? Ren didn’t know and couldn’t ask. “This is your pattern, not his. But perhaps that would be for the best. I think neither you nor he wishes to risk poisoning the love between you.”
The reading was done, but that didn’t mean she could leave. Her mother Ivrina had often sighed that being a szorsa was one part divination, six parts counsel. So Arenza stayed, listening to Alinka talk about the challenges she faced, trying to offer the advice and comfort of a woman who knew Vraszenian life very well . . . and feeling more of a fraud with every word she spoke.
A scrape from the stairs finally reminded them both of time’s passage: Jagyi, descending the stairs one-by-one on his bottom. “Awake already, my little bear? Are you hungry?” Alinka let him get all the way down before scooping him up and giving him the end of a carrot to gnaw on. Retying the panels of her sash so he could hang on her hip and leave her hands free, she turned to Arenza. “Let me feed you dinner as well, szorsa. To make up for my poor payment. I have southern spices here that you’ll find at no ostretta.”
Arenza was halfway through demurring when a deeper voice spoke from behind her. “Refusing hospitality? No, we cannot treat a szorsa thus, especially on Six Candles. You must stay.”
The day was cloudy enough that she hadn’t seen the light change when Serrado opened the door. Yvieny cannoned inside like a herald, while Jagyi babbled some half-intelligible words. “I expected you not tonight,” Alinka said.
He flipped his niece upside down, to her shrieks of delight. “My constables insisted they could do without me for one night. And, strangely, I believed them.” Yvieny, upside-down, insisted that Arenza had to stay so she could draw a card, and Serrado lowered her to the floor. “Perhaps after dinner, alča — assuming the szorsa scorns not our hospitality.”
Staying was foolish. Leaving would look suspicious, especially given the timing. Six Candles was a night to commemorate the loss of the Ižranyi, and szorsas were seen as the conduit for their lost spirits.
Trying not to look like she was caught between flood and fire, Arenza said, “I would be honored.”
The Vraszenian language flowed like a river for a little while after that, with Arenza telling half-remembered clan fables to keep the children occupied while Serrado and Alinka prepared dinner. His voice was deeper when he spoke their language, with a pleasant burr, and it called an ache into Ren’s chest. This was what Vraszenian family was like: a life she’d never known.