Star-Touched Stories by Roshani Chokshi

Author:Roshani Chokshi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2018-08-07T07:00:00+00:00

7

Zahril had taken with fever.

Aasha had caught her in the hallway that morning.

“Good reflexes,” said Zahril hoarsely.

Her attempt at sounding like an impartial mentor were thwarted by the sweat beading across her forehead.

“Why are you trying to turn this into an evaluation?” scolded Aasha. “You’re not well. Let me take care of you.”

Zahril grumbled. But Aasha ignored her. She half-carried, half-dragged her down the hall and back to her room. As she had observed from yesterday, she placed her hand against the wall, watching as a door shivered to life.

“You haven’t managed to fit an arena in here, have you?” asked Aasha.

“The thought had never occurred to me.”

“Well then I guess we can do a different kind of lesson for today.”

“Don’t lecture me,” said Zahril.

Aasha helped her to bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“We’ve already done sight, sound, and smell—”

“Taste,” said Zahril, tiredly. “There will be a glass tray in the kitchen. Bring it.”

Aasha nodded. As she took the stairs she called: “I’ll bring you tea too!”

Just as the door closed, Aasha heard a grumble of protest and faintly:

“Am I not in enough pain?”

* * *

Aasha piled a tray with cut persimmons, mugs of tea, and handfuls of mint leaves. She preferred mint in her tea. Zahril preferred mint as an extension of violence. When she wasn’t talking, she chewed down the stalks to a green pulp.

In the other pantry, Aasha found a second glass tray. It was heavy, weighed down by a number of unguents and bottles that had been welded to the metal. A few weeks ago, Aasha would have found it intolerably heavy. But her arms had grown stronger. They even looked different. There were callouses on the pads of her fingers from not noticing one of Zahril’s killing contraptions fast enough, and a couple of small welts on her wrists and palms from brushing against a hot pot from forgetting her cooking. A steady ache pulsed between her shoulder blades, along the curves of her waist and down her thighs. Soreness from muscles shedding their weakness.

Inside Zahril’s room, the lantern lights drifted across the ceiling. Zahril sat like an imperious queen, the pillows forming a mini-fortress. There was an armchair and a low table at her side where, Aasha realized, she was expected to sit. The moment she set down the glass tray, Zahril held out her hand.

“Tea?” asked Aasha.

Zahril just pushed out her hand a fraction farther.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” said Zahril once she had wrapped her hand around the mug. “I know people who chew the bitterest roots and eat the strangest things simply because they’ve grown accustomed to the taste.”

Aasha just shrugged. It was a thank you, and she knew it. What did strike her as strange was how Zahril said people.

There must have been a time when she hadn’t shut herself in this tower. Just looking around at the room, Aasha saw that half of the things here must not have been picked up at random … they must have been given.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.