“Would you stop pouting about it? What’s even the issue?”
Nifemi stood in front of Illarion, hands on her hips. And although Kaifen couldn’t see her face behind her hair, he had the distinct impression that Illarion was on the receiving end of one of her looks. He knew it well; nose wrinkled, lips pursed, eyebrows stern. The realization that that expression wasn’t unique to him was almost magical.
“We’re in Yangshe? You know, the place where some people can just tell if you’re lying?” He glowered up at her, half sulk half glower. Nifemi wasn’t having any of it. She met his eyes and Kaifen sat up a bit straighter, trying to see whatever was playing out between them.
Michil cleared his throat, and when Kaifen looked at him, he had his eyebrows raised. He was either judging him for watching them or amused by it, but either way he’d noticed it. He was being more obvious than he thought.
When Kaifen turned back to their stare down Nifemi was turned around, hands on the back of her head as a desperately angry growl escaped her. Her eyes stopped on Kaifen, and he remembered how it felt to be a child, sneaking around and listening in to meetings he wasn’t supposed to.
He readied some kind of defence against her accusations of staring, but found all of them useless when Nifemi’s eyes turned pleading.
“He’s being ridiculous, right?”
“Oh, absolutely.” The words were out before they even fully registered.
“I am not being ridiculous,” Illarion hissed. All eyes, now including Michil’s, turned onto him. For a second he looked much like a mouse, all wide eyes and telltale nervousness, before he soured. Nostrils floated he looked to Michil. “It’s them that’s ridiculous, yeah? The Yangese?”
Michil threw his hands up. “Don’t drag me into this!”
“Traitor.”
“What did you think would happen?” Nifemi sounded more tired than angry. Kaifen was with her on this one, he couldn’t understand it either. “You’re from Zalizinch—why not just say that?”
Illarion, for once, surprised everyone by not saying anything. He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back so that his legs stretched out far enough to touch the edge of the carpet.
Nifemi was still appealing to Kaifen for assistance. “What’s that thing your always saying to Saoirse?” The name slapped him. He’d been trying hard not to think about him. Kaifen forced himself not to look at the floor, but his shoulders did pull in. Nifemi’s eyes flickered to the movement, but she pretended to ignore it.
Kaifen thanked her for that.
“To say things with pride?”
Kaifen pulled his sleeves over his hands. He nodded.
“Mind telling that to him?”
Illarion scoffed a laugh. He leaned back in his chair, looked at the sunset through the window. Kaifen couldn’t tell if he was glaring, or simply squinting wth the sun in his eyes. The lighting turned all of him peach.
“I do say things with pride.” That was true. It was one of his few redeeming qualities. “But I don’t know what’s so prideful about coming from Zalizinch.”
The air in the room was arid and stuffed, as if all the dust who had lived there undisturbed for many moons had finally grown tired of their visitors. Nifemi was still pleading with Kaifen, her eyes screaming help me. He pressed his lips together and looked away from her.
“You know.” He fiddled with his sleeve. “He does have a point.”
The room was still once more, nothing but dust floating through sunbeams. Then, slowly, Michil leaned over the table to hold his head in his hands. Nifemi followed suit, burying her face in her hands and letting out another angry groan.
And Illarion, still looking out the window, did what Kaifen could only describe as a pout. He sighed. “Why do you only agree with me when it’s insulting?”
