Chapter 8

The biggest problem with my ‘captivity' is boredom. I'm not generally allowed out of the house anyway and with what happened last night I don't want to go out. Which leaves me stuck with Khiara.

And Khiara is nice. Or nice enough. He's gruff and sometimes a bit huffy, but that's okay. I mean it's just him. He's taciturn and almost always serious. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him smile since I came under his roof. He's what my mom would call a worrier.

His attention is always on the future. What's next and how to handle that and the kind of person who is never happy with the right now. It's not a bad thing, really, because if for no other reason there is a lot to worry about. Too much.

He's extra tense right now which means he's stomping around the house. He's been carrying things around, moving them from place to place, grumbling, and more or less ignoring me completely. I've offered to help a few times but he brushes me off.

I've done all I can to put the house to rights myself. Putting everything that's unbroken back into it's proper place and such but that's been done for a while. Dilacs has been gone for at least a few hours and I can't keep my thoughts off of him.

I'm worried too. Worrying about Dilacs is easier than thinking about my own problems. It's not a matter of if they Maulavi will come to interrogate me again, but of when. They've made it more than clear they don't believe those of us who were captured are here by chance. An attempt on the Shaman's life followed by a riot is too much for it to be coincidence, at least in their eyes.

Khiara slams a ladder down just outside the kitchen area. He shakes it and it rattles loudly. I walk over to see if I can help, again. There is a bucket of what looks like mud on the floor and a box of tools next to it.

He rattles the ladder one more time, staring up at the crack in the ceiling as he does. He grunts with what I think is satisfaction, which fact confirmed by his nod. He steps back and sees me.

"Can I help?"

He frowns, pursing his lips, then exhales heavily.

"It would be nice if you would hand me those tools when I am on the ladder," he says pointing at the box.

"Sure," I say.

He nods then grabs the bucket and climbs the ladder. He balances the bucket on the top of the ladder and reaches a hand down.

"The flat tool, please," he says.

I spot what I think he wants and hand it to him. He nods then sets to work scooping the mud stuff into the crack in the ceiling.

"Oh, that's how that works," I say. "I thought you were going to get a mason or something."

He pauses, rolling his neck and shoulders, then looking down.

"So much damage out there they will not be able to get to this minor stuff for a long time," he says. "And I can do it myself and save them the trouble."

"That's very thoughtful."

"Huh," he grunts then resumes working.

I have literally nothing better to do so I stand there watching until my neck begins to ache from the strain of looking up for so long. He fills the crack, gets down, moves the ladder, and repeats the work.

I pull a chair over from the kitchen and sit down so I can watch with less strain on my neck. He works in silence but I catch him watching me anytime he thinks I'm not looking. I don't want to make him mad. No, that's not it. I don't want to hurt him. I know he has feelings for me, but I don't for him. Well, not the same feelings that he does. How do I deal with this? How do I let him down without letting him down?

"Gweneth?"

When he speaks it jerks me out of the spinning whirlpool my thoughts has sunk into. Startled I jump to a sitting position and look up at him blinking rapidly.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Could you please hand me that?" he is at the top of the ladder pointing at a tool.

It's clear this isn't the first time he asked and now I'm embarrassed. My cheeks flush and heat spreads over my chest as I stand and go to the toolbox.

"Yeah, of course," I say, getting the requested tool and handing it up to him.

He trades me the other one he had and takes it.

"Deep in thought?" he asks.

Yes. And yeah, it's all about you but not in the way I know you really want.

"Uh, sorry, yeah. I guess I was."

"It will all be fine," he says, his deep voice rumbling.

"Will it?" I ask, frowning.

Was it that clear what I was thinking on? Did he read my thoughts?

"Yes," he says. "I am certain of this."

He works over his head as he speaks. Scraping the mud stuff smooth. Where he has finished the ceiling looks whole again. I can see where the crack was because the repair stuff is a lighter color but that's the only indication of the work.

"How?" I ask, while admiring his handiwork.

"How? How what?"

"How can you be sure? What makes you certain?"

He runs the flat tool over the last section and then climbs down the ladder before he answers. He grabs the other tool out of my hand and goes into the kitchen where he begins cleaning them with the sand from the bowl set there for this specific purpose.

"If there is one thing I know for certain," he says. "It is that Tajss provides."

I don't know why but that makes me feel like it takes my breath away. I struggle to inhale and a pressure builds behind my eyes.

"Wha—what do you mean by that?" He pauses mid the work he is doing. His shoulders hunch over and he sighs heavily as he hangs his head. He doesn't turn around, staring down at the tools. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," he says, straightening up and squaring his shoulders then resuming the cleaning. "It is… nothing. Tajss provides. It is a thing we say."

"Oh," I say, watching him work. It feels as if he wants to say more and I sure don't feel like I really understand what he is thinking. The Zmaj say similar things, which is an interesting fact that I file away for a later report, but right now I'd like to know more. "What does it mean to you?"

He pauses again and clears his throat before resuming his work.

"Nothing of importance," he says.

"Khiara, uh, I'd really like to," I pause, licking my lips and steeling my resolve. He's never yelled at me or been directly angry with me, but I sure as heck have seen him do it to and with his brother. I don't want him to ever be that way to me. But this is a moment and I feel like I need to know. "I'd like to understand."

He puts the tools down and goes into the kitchen. He cleans his hands in the bowl of sand then brushes the sand off and back into the bowl. He turns around, crossing his arms over his chest. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly while staring at the floor. He shakes his head then turns and opens the cabinet. He gets out two glasses and the bottle of alcohol.

What can of worms did I just open?

Holding the glasses in two fingers he motions towards the table and I walk over to my seat. He pours us each a glass then sits himself. He picks up his glass, swirling the liquid and staring at it with a baleful glare.

"Do your people believe in fate?" he asks.

I buy some time by sipping my drink. A very tiny sip because I know how much this stuff burns. I've thought about this subject a lot but never come to a resolution for myself, much less something I can put into words. He waits, not looking directly at me, but staring into his glass.

"I, uhm, some do, yes," I say.

"And you?"

"I'm not sure."

It's as honest an answer as I have to give. He nods, slowly, then takes another drink and smacks his lips.

"I do," he says. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I don't think it's all set to the point of being foregone conclusions," he says in a musing tone. "We have control, but the threads are there. The pieces, if you will, and our fate is what we decide to do with them. The potential is there, for every person, to live their best life. Whether they do or not, though, is a matter of their choices. Hence, Tajss provides."

"Oh," I say and take another sip too. "That makes more sense, I guess."

He grunts, shrugs, and tilts his glass towards me. I raise my glass and clink it against his. We both drink, my tiny sip, his full gulp. Then he looks over the glass into my eyes.

Oh. Shit. He's going to ask…