The Red of the Writing

Five | Maliha

"Ronak Sarrow! I swear to Tavono, if you don't get over here right this moment-"

Before I can finish the threat, Ronak's familiar dark curls poke around the corner. His smile is sheepish. "Here, sis! No need to turn your swords on me."

"Considering how long it took you to get your bottom over here? Maybe there is."

Ronak dashes across the kitchen, pretending to hide behind Mama, who laughs at our antics. "Ronak, listen to your sister." She doesn't lift her head from the talroot she's chopping, even as she addresses him. "And Maliha, keep the sword-fighting to his training sessions, please."

What a pity. I try not to sigh. "Yes, Mama." Honestly, you break just three bowls in a friendly indoor sword fight, and nobody trusts you anymore?

My brother shoots me a smug grin, still partially hidden behind Mama's body. In response, I narrow my eyes at him. His own fly wide open, and I struggle to swallow my laughter.

"You're in charge of setting the table, Roo." I incline my head towards the table, which lays bare. He makes a face at the nickname, but moves to comply.

For a few moments, everything is peaceful. The only sounds are the clinks of plates, bowls, and utensils being placed, the repeated thud of the knife making contact with the cutting board, and the soft sizzling of the already-chopped sorifel I'm stirring over the kitchen fireplace.

And then, the doorbell rings.

I'm instantly on alert. Few people dare to venture out at this time of evening, so close to curfew. Those who do hardly ever have good intentions.

"I'll get it!" The last bowl all but falls out of Ronak's hands into its correct place as he eagerly bounds around the table and towards the door.

I stretch my hand towards him, half-rising from my spot on the floor, as though I could stop him from across the room. "Ronak, wait-"

But it's too late. The hinges of our front door groan as my little brother yanks it open.

I push myself to my feet, my blood running cold. My mind whirs, trying to figure out who would be visiting us right now.

A suitor? Unlikely, but possible.

Alexios, maybe? He better not be.

But the only other option is-

No.

Surging forward, I shift my hand so it rests just inside my dress pocket, looking natural. My fingers barely brush the handle of my knife.

Right as I turn the corner, bringing Ronak back into my line of sight, he slams the door shut. I stop abruptly, my chest loosening as my mind registers no visible danger.

My brother spins around, looking utterly unsurprised to find me behind him. He clutches something in his hand - something rectangular and beige and familiar.

My heart stops.

Ronak holds the envelope out to me, his previous energy gone. "It's for you."

To an extent, he understands what these letters mean. He knows who they come from, and what's in them. The fact that I couldn't protect him from that knowledge will forever be one of my biggest regrets.

But Ronak doesn't know how each one makes me want to scream, or cry, or both. He doesn't know how each one steals another little bit of my soul.

And he will never know, not if I have something to say about it.

My hands remain steady as I take the envelope from him and open it, sliding the folded letter out. I school my face as I open the letter, keeping it blank as I read the words.

Once I'm done, I fold it back up, stuffing it in my other pocket. The letter is surprising, especially its timing, but I learnt to stop expecting any reasoning or explanation a long time ago.

Ronak still stands in front of me. His eyes scrutinize me, watching for some emotion that won't be there.

"Are you going to do it?" He asks, finally.

"What do you think?"

"Don't." He steps closer, tone pleading. "Please, Mal, it's not worth it."

I swallow. "We talked about this. I have to."

He sighs. "I'm not going to convince you, am I?" His voice is quiet, resigned, infused with fear. It makes him sound far older than his fifteen years.

I want to close my eyes, block my ears, anything to help me ignore the fact that I put that there. "I'm sorry."

But we both know I'm not.

Something is burning. Logically, I know that the smoke I'm smelling is from the sorifel, which burns unless stirred continuously. But, right now, it just smells like my brother's disappointment.

Without another word, Ronak turns around, walking back towards the kitchen, where my mother tries to salvage our dinner.

I stare after him, feet rooted to the ground. Once he vanishes from my sight, I squeeze my eyes shut. Three seconds. Three seconds to get yourself together.

One. I breathe in. The seal on every beige letter I've received flashes into my mind.

Two. I picture the writing on the envelope, the elegant letters spelling out our address. A power play, to let me know who's in charge.

Three. I hear an echo of Ronak's laughter, taste a hint of my mother's talroot soup on my tongue. A few loose hairs fly up as I exhale heavily.

I have to do this. Maybe my actions will hurt my family now. Maybe they will hurt them forever, but that is still infinitely better than the alternative.

It doesn't matter, what these letters do to me. Because there is nothing I wouldn't do, no line I wouldn't cross, for my family.

If this is the price I have to pay?

So be it.

* * * * *

Current word count: 6017

Dang, I need to pick up the pace if I hope to finish this novella. Sorry it took me so long to finish this - I got pretty sick late last week, so I spent the first half of my spring break recovering from that. Thankfully, I'm Covid negative. Little victories! :)

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! If you have any theories, please let me know! I'd love to see how close you come to the truth. :)