She pulled away from him, a bit stiff. “I’m working to end this repressive regime.” There was no missing her disapproval that Cillian was not.
As he walked with Azhra toward the market, Cillian was struck by how changed In’La was becoming, and how swiftly. He’d never heard of a public movement for anything, let alone against the Meer. Azhra was right; In’La had become strange. Traditional roles were being abandoned: unmarried women walked in the streets unaccompanied by a chaperone and without the veil; a couple such as Jin and Zea raised a child together without the blessing of matrimony.
Opportunities for work were expanding with the new mechanizations and new means to power them, but the living a person could make was growing dearer— alyanis bought less with each passing day. Ume’s status had kept her out of the circuit of common folk to a large degree. When had this change come, and what had spurred such anger toward the Meer?
Azhra was quiet beside him.
“You’ve had a child,” he said after a bit. “May I ask why you still wear the veil?”
“Because it is my privilege. No man has unveiled me. I am not a married woman. The veil says my body is my own.”
“I wear the veil as well,” he confided. “When I’m in courtesan dress. I always wanted to, even as a small child.”
Azhra glanced at him. “I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to be a woman. You’re born to the ruling sex, yet you give up your power. I would give anything to be a man. I hate being a woman.” The depth of feeling with which she declared this saddened him.
“I have far more power as Ume than I do as Cillian. Ume is a truer expression of who I am. I feel like I’m faking it when I dress as a man.”
Azhra considered this, pulling her wrap closer as the breeze picked up. “And Cree—she seems to have more power, as well. I thought it was her access to masculine privilege. But maybe it’s something else. Maybe dressing that way feels truer for her.”
The wind had turned cold, and Cillian put his hands in his pockets with a shrug. “I don’t know why anyone else dresses against their sex. I only know why I do.”
Their paths were about to diverge, and Azhra paused. “Cillian, be careful of the Meer. His real magic is his power over you. He’ll consume you.”
“You weren’t a willing consort, Azhra. You said yourself you had no power. It’s not that way with MeerAlya. Your Meer took what he wanted from you. It’s only natural you’d hate him.”
Her dark blue eyes were depthless with longing as she shook her head. “I loved him.” Azhra turned away toward the market.
Chapter Seven
Before investigating the chaos still apparent in the Garden, Ume changed upstairs in her apartments, kicking off the masculine boots in favor of her black slippers and throwing on the red silk pants and a plain black tunic belted at the hip with a string of onyx teardrops. A red chiffon scarf, artfully draped and tucked into her chignon, served as a veil.
She made her way through the lingering crowds unnoticed; there were courtesans and streets girls enough that her presence was commonplace. A group of templars stood across the street from the Salver & Chalice speaking in hushed tones with their heads together. Nesre was not among them. Ume couldn’t afford to wait for him to seek her out. It was highly irregular for a courtesan to solicit a patron, but Ume had never shied from the irregular when it was called for.
With the lengths of her scarf drawn around her shoulders, she approached the templars, her arms crossed against the wind. Her reputation preceded her, and they bowed their respect and ceased their conversation.
“My lords.” She inclined her head. “The esteemed Templar Nesre asked me to meet him here, but in all the tumult we’ve missed each another. Could you possibly carry a message to him? Or do you know where I might find him?”
They exchanged glances of some significance.
An older
As he walked with Azhra toward the market, Cillian was struck by how changed In’La was becoming, and how swiftly. He’d never heard of a public movement for anything, let alone against the Meer. Azhra was right; In’La had become strange. Traditional roles were being abandoned: unmarried women walked in the streets unaccompanied by a chaperone and without the veil; a couple such as Jin and Zea raised a child together without the blessing of matrimony.
Opportunities for work were expanding with the new mechanizations and new means to power them, but the living a person could make was growing dearer— alyanis bought less with each passing day. Ume’s status had kept her out of the circuit of common folk to a large degree. When had this change come, and what had spurred such anger toward the Meer?
Azhra was quiet beside him.
“You’ve had a child,” he said after a bit. “May I ask why you still wear the veil?”
“Because it is my privilege. No man has unveiled me. I am not a married woman. The veil says my body is my own.”
“I wear the veil as well,” he confided. “When I’m in courtesan dress. I always wanted to, even as a small child.”
Azhra glanced at him. “I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to be a woman. You’re born to the ruling sex, yet you give up your power. I would give anything to be a man. I hate being a woman.” The depth of feeling with which she declared this saddened him.
“I have far more power as Ume than I do as Cillian. Ume is a truer expression of who I am. I feel like I’m faking it when I dress as a man.”
Azhra considered this, pulling her wrap closer as the breeze picked up. “And Cree—she seems to have more power, as well. I thought it was her access to masculine privilege. But maybe it’s something else. Maybe dressing that way feels truer for her.”
The wind had turned cold, and Cillian put his hands in his pockets with a shrug. “I don’t know why anyone else dresses against their sex. I only know why I do.”
Their paths were about to diverge, and Azhra paused. “Cillian, be careful of the Meer. His real magic is his power over you. He’ll consume you.”
“You weren’t a willing consort, Azhra. You said yourself you had no power. It’s not that way with MeerAlya. Your Meer took what he wanted from you. It’s only natural you’d hate him.”
Her dark blue eyes were depthless with longing as she shook her head. “I loved him.” Azhra turned away toward the market.
Chapter Seven
Before investigating the chaos still apparent in the Garden, Ume changed upstairs in her apartments, kicking off the masculine boots in favor of her black slippers and throwing on the red silk pants and a plain black tunic belted at the hip with a string of onyx teardrops. A red chiffon scarf, artfully draped and tucked into her chignon, served as a veil.
She made her way through the lingering crowds unnoticed; there were courtesans and streets girls enough that her presence was commonplace. A group of templars stood across the street from the Salver & Chalice speaking in hushed tones with their heads together. Nesre was not among them. Ume couldn’t afford to wait for him to seek her out. It was highly irregular for a courtesan to solicit a patron, but Ume had never shied from the irregular when it was called for.
With the lengths of her scarf drawn around her shoulders, she approached the templars, her arms crossed against the wind. Her reputation preceded her, and they bowed their respect and ceased their conversation.
“My lords.” She inclined her head. “The esteemed Templar Nesre asked me to meet him here, but in all the tumult we’ve missed each another. Could you possibly carry a message to him? Or do you know where I might find him?”
They exchanged glances of some significance.
An older
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