#niti

“Where is yours?” Niti doesn’t mean to make it sound so evil, but after so long that question inspires reflex instead of thoughtful response.

“I’m...”

“I see.” Before she can apologize, you somehow, discern her meaning, mistaking her unintentional cruelty for her usual sarcasm. “I am sorry for your loss. Was it recent?”

“No. Maata died a long time ago.”

There’s a pause as she thinks about it, remembering she doesn’t quite know when.

“I think.”

“You don’t know?” You don’t press hard, you aren’t nosy. Niti appreciates you’re more ranger than royalty, you know to mind your business. More than that, you respect her more than any lady she’s ever served. She didn’t have to make you treat her like an equal, you did so all on your own.

“I wasn’t there.”

You’re content to leave it there, understanding the pain of missing a mother’s last moments. Silence drifts between you before Niti answers what you won’t ask.

“Maata liked nice things. Silks, makeup, jewelry, rich foods. She bought as much as she could afford for us, which on a struggling merchant’s budget wasn’t much. But she’d tell me.” Niti reaches for you and pats your head like a mother would a child, “Mere lal when I am rich again you’ll never wear the same silk twice! We’ll make the Allmother turn red with jealousy! I’ll make them remember me.”

“Was she someone famous?”

Niti shrugs. “Somedays she was a princess, other days, a performer. Never could quite pin her down on the details.”

She doesn’t like the look of pity she sees forming in your eyes. She cuts across your silent condolence sharply. “Didn’t matter, I believed her anyway. Still do. She was a good mom. I never lacked. No matter how bad it got, how much money she lost in bad investments. I never lacked.”

Her mother tried to keep her desperation from her. When she fought with the loan sharks, she took great pains to hide the bruises under such flawless makeup that would indeed make Lady Frigga seem plain in comparison.

Her mother refused to succumb to hopelessness, convinced that, like her face, it could be painted over.

“What happened?”

“Bad investments turned into worse investments, turned into desperate investments. She sold me to the palace as a scullery girl.”

“Niti I’m...”

She smothers more of your malignant pity, annoyed you don’t fully understand. “Don’t be. I’m not. It was the best thing she could have done for me. If the money she made from me didn’t reverse her fortunes, the money I made would. It’s just good business.”

“And was it?”

“Yes.” Niti answers you in defiance of your skepticism that keeps trying to make her into some orphan sob story.

“It took a long time, but yeah, it was good business. When I came here, it took me two centuries to find a lady worth my service. I helped her climb, but she didn’t want to lift. So on and so forth. I could dance circles around those girls, none of them were worthy of the wealth handed to them just because of how they were born. Maata had more royalty in her manicured nails than they had in all their treasure vaults.

"I found her in a pauper’s grave,” she mumbles, more shamed than sad. “I’ll put her in marble.”