The Wish of a Broken Heart

Kaliceo

Unhetáse 12th
Inqwé’gaelaō

Tejas

Dammịt! My dear sweet saho has been ducking everyone with the excuse of “his duties need tending before the ball.” Ana and I are stuck assisting Jananl and Janaka in greeting every. single. person who walks through our doors. They started arriving yesterday. Why can’t we just wait and greet them at meal times?

I should be used to this. I’ve been helping him for years when he needs to leave. Ancestors know we can’t count on Janaka without getting scrẹwed over. I know he’s going to try arranging a marriage for all three of us this weekend. I growl under my breath, and Miwt elbows me.

“Sorry, irritated.” I glare at Janaka and where Tavi should be beside Miwt. Huh. He looks subdued. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him… Is he sad? I stare curiously. He isn’t touching Miwt either. What did I miss?

My thoughts are interrupted by the smell of sweet water flowers and zah-zah fruit. There’s blood mixed with it. I repress the urge to growl as I struggle with my anger. What’s that about? I look around at the reveníre we haven’t greeted. No one can pass through without greeting us. We’ve even locked the servant’s entrance.

One dingy cloaked figure sticks out to me. It’s a tiny thing. Nothing can be seen under the heavy baggage and cloak. Their head is bent, level with the ground. That has to hurt, and that person is far too tiny to be hauling all of that. I gesture to one of our servants.

“Please, get some others and take care of those bags for that person.” He looks over, and his eyes bug out.

“Immediately sir.” He bows and salutes.

“I appreciate it.” I watch as three of our servants approach the figure and try to convince the shivering figure to give up the bags. It only takes a few moments, thankfully. Their body language, what little I can see, reads ‘exhaustion, frail, downtrodden.’ This cannot stand. Why am I feeling like this?

“Tej, what is it nanú?” Miwt whispers. I’m fidgeting and irritated.

“It feels like something is scratching under my skin, I’m feeling angry and irritated, I want to protect that servant, and I’m just… I don’t know Miwt. It’s really odd.” She looks at me. My eyes are riveted to that cloaked figure.

“Sáry, gently bring that servant up. Something is pressing, and we need to know.” I hear her ask Auntie.

“Be right back.” She winks and disappears. I’ll never understand how our neteru can do that. Magic, maybe? People step aside and form a path. Auntie is walking them up? What about her disappearing thing? “Sáry, she’s weak.”

The breeze blows my way, and I realize who this is. My hayati. Anger courses through me. The blood smell is her too. Who Hurt My Hayati?! I’ll … she’s shivering in fear. I reign in my anger. She needs me now. I step in front of her and gently whisper.

“You don’t need to be afraid. You are safe now and always will be from here on out. I’ll always protect you, my sweet...” She raises her head, the hood of her cloak falling backward. My delight is shadowed by pure rage. My hayati, my everything, the one I have been searching for, is covered in bruises. She quickly looks down and away.

She’s stunning. She’s a slender built álfrám and edlíduin. Possibly some kalí? Her skin that isn’t riddled in bruising is the palest I’ve ever seen. Her ears are tiny and slightly pointed. Her eyes are adorably large with long lashes. They’re sarit! It’s meant to be. Her nose is tiny, and luscious lips fit her slender face structure. Her arjun hair is long and braided to drape around her face gently. She’s tiny, a little over five chadá. Under the smell of blood is the sweet fruity-floral smell I love.