by G. R. Lyons
“Here,” Jase said with a sigh. He went through the stack, separating them out by doctor, handing four to Leni, one to Quinn, and placing two before himself while the rest of the stack piled up in front of Graeden on the counter. “Let's take these home and see what we can do with them.”
Quinn and Leni groaned, but took the folders and headed toward the door. Jase grabbed his own files and his medical kit and started to follow them.
“You coming, Grae?”
Graeden stared down at the stack of files between his hands, shaking his head at the waste.
“No,” he said. “This is one time I'm not taking my work home with me. I'll finish them here.”
Jase nodded. “I'll save you some dinner.”
The three left, Zhadeyn shortly following them with the files that had been written that day, leaving Graeden alone in the room. He clenched his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down before he went through the nonsense of trying to re-justify essential treatments.
He read each red-inked denial, shaking his head over the pathetic legal excuses used to keep people from receiving the treatments they needed, and rewrote his justifications, all the while wondering which were a waste of time and which might actually be implemented quickly enough to save lives and limbs. A few, he was certain, were already dead, and he couldn't even begin to fathom the paperwork nightmare it would entail, trying to match up a months-old file to a patient who no longer existed.
When he finished, it was thoroughly dark outside the window, and Graeden stifled a yawn as he capped his pen and flexed his aching fingers, slapping shut the last file and setting it aside. He turned to close up his medical kit, and saw Zhadeyn shuffle back into the room, carrying a covered bowl.
“You're still here, too?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I went home and came back,” she said. “I brought dinner, in case you were still here.”
“Oh, thank you but…I was just about to leave.”
Zhadeyn nodded, then hesitantly set the bowl down and reached for the stack of files instead. She turned toward the door, bending forward slightly, her brow furrowed in pain.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I'm fine,” she said, nodding noncommittally and continuing toward the door.
“Zhadeyn, wait,” he said, moving to her side and looking down at her. “Are you sure? You look pale.”
“I'll be alright,” she murmured and turned away again.
“Zhadeyn–”
“It's just…women's trouble,” she whispered, blushing.
“Oh.” Graeden hesitated a moment, then took the files out of her arms and set them aside. “Come here. I've got something that might help.”
She followed hesitantly as he went to his medical kit and dug through the contents.
“Lower back?” he asked, and she nodded, looking down at her hands. He pulled a small jar out of his bag and spun off the lid. “Here, let's try this. Turn around.”
She hesitated, then did as he asked, slowly turning until her back was to him. Graeden gathered up her hair, still damp from a recent shower, and gently laid it over her right shoulder, then brushed his fingers over her right hip, where the end of her wrap was tucked in.
“May I?” he whispered, not trusting his voice to be any stronger.
Zhadeyn hesitated again, but nodded, and rested her hand on her left shoulder to hold the wrap in place while Graeden pulled the end free of her waistband and let it hang loose, leaving her entire back exposed.
He swiped a dollop of cream out of the jar and traced his fingers across her lower back, right above the waistband of her skirt.
He cleared his throat. “It's going to feel alternately hot and cold. That's normal, just so you know.”
Zhadeyn nodded slightly and held very still.
Resting his fingertips on her hips, Graeden used his thumbs to massage the cream into her skin, watching as she slowly managed to straighten up as the pain faded.
She shivered.
“You alright?”
“Cold,” she said, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice rather than pain. “It's strange.”
Graeden kept massaging, and shuffled closer to her, asking, “And now?”
Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, and she whispered, “Warming.”
Graeden closed his eyes and moved in closer so they were almost touching, wondering if she could feel the racing of his heart even with an inch of space between them. He took a deep breath through his nose and held it, stirred by the natural, clean scent of her.
Simple. Real. Normal. Not covered in a cloying disaster of powders and paints, hair sprays and perfumes.
Just like her.
Graeden tore himself away and spun around, pacing the room with a hand pressed to his forehead.
“Dr. Graeden?”
He stopped, took a deep breath, and looked over at Zhadeyn. She stood facing him, her long hair still covering her right shoulder while her hand still held the wrap in place on her left. She quickly lowered her gaze when he looked at her face, a now-familiar expression of worry crossing her features.
“Gods, I wish you wouldn't do that,” he blurted out. She flinched and took a half step back, so he added, “You won't get in trouble for looking at me.”
Zhadeyn shook her head. “It isn't right.”
“Not where I come from.”
She looked down at the floor, then slowly lifted her gaze until their eyes met. Graeden studied her face, seeing neither fear nor desire there—yet, somehow, a combination of both, an expression he couldn't quite define.
The face so similar yet the expressions so different, and it just made him want her even more.
Zhadeyn looked away, breaking the moment and pulling Graeden out of his memories. She quickly tucked the end of her wrap back into her skirts and gathered up the completed files on the counter. She hurried toward the door, then stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and disappeared from the room.
Graeden stood there for a long while, just staring at the empty doorway, then gathered up his things and turned to leave, pausing at the sight of the bowl resting on the counter. He had no appetite at the moment, but he reached out and touched the bowl anyway—it was still warm—and a bittersweet smile crossed his face. She never would have done such a thing.
He walked home in the dark, oblivious to the guards watching him, too distracted by temptation and warnings battling one another in his mind.
By the time he woke the next morning, after a night filled with dreams of what might have been and what could be, Graeden knew that temptation was in a good position to win.
Chapter 16
“ONE HUNDRED twenty days.”
Graeden looked over at Leni, torn from his thoughts as they walked to the hospital.
“Thank the gods,” Jase sighed. “One month down.”
“Four to go,” Quinn added.
“Thank you for that,” Jase groaned, rolling his eyes.
“First thing I'm gonna do when I get home,” Leni began, “is find an Indisarian restaurant and eat until I puke.”
“That's disgusting,” Quinn muttered.
“No, actually, that sounds amazing,” Jase said, and gave a whimsical sigh. “Spicy food.” He sighed again. “Do you think we'll even remember what that is by the time we get back?”
“My parents would probably flip if they heard this,” Quinn added, “but I'd even kill for some broccoli or spinach right now.”
“Awww, did Quinny not eat his vegetables like a good boy?” Leni teased.
“Or coffee,” Jase added around a yawn.
They all came to a stop.
“Mmmm, coffee,” Leni sighed.
Graeden shook his head with a laugh as they resumed walking.
“What's so funny?” Jase asked.
“Oh, I'm just going to owe my grandfather an enormous apology when I get home,” he said.
“I never did understand why he was so obsessed with coffee and food until now.”
“How long did he live here?” Quinn asked.
“Thirty-something years, I think,” Graeden answered.
Leni visibly shuddered. “No thank you.”
They continued on, hearing Leni mutter repeatedly under his breath, “One hundred twenty days, one hundred twenty days…”
They reached the hospital and saw Zevic waiting for them, his usual false, bureaucratic smile on his face.
“Can't go by fast enough,” Graeden muttered, then almost came up short when he saw Zhadeyn hurry by, weighed down with a stack of files.
Or maybe not…
* * *
AT THE end of the day, the others were packing up to go home while Graeden was still hurrying through his paperwork, having to go back and add details and make corrections on almost every single report he'd written that day. He'd just been too distracted to properly focus on the excessive paperwork that had to pass through his hands.
Every time Zhadeyn had come into the room, he practically forgot where he was and what he was doing.
Jase and the others went home, Graeden promising he'd be right along once he finished with one last file, and dug through the stack to find the one he needed. There'd been a patient in the middle of the day who needed a particular dosage of medication for his blood condition, any deviation from which could prove fatal, and Graeden had an unnerving suspicion that he'd written it down wrong.
He went through the stack three times, but it wasn't there, and he knew exactly where he had to go to find it.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Don't go there, Grae, he thought. Don't do it. You know what'll happen if you do.
Graeden pressed his hands down on the counter and hung his head, closing his eyes, thinking, But I can't just leave this until tomorrow. It might be too late.
He looked toward the door, warring with temptation and necessity.
Alright. He took a deep breath. You'll go over there, get the file, and go home. Simple. Quick. Done. Don't look at her, don't talk to her, just do what you need to do and get out of there.
Graeden capped his pen and gathered up his medical kit, holding his breath as he walked out the door.
* * *
ZEVIC WENT straight to Zhadeyn's apartment and let himself in without knocking. He heard a gasp and looked up to see her backing away into the kitchen.
He slammed the door shut behind himself and followed her, shoving her back against the counter as he glared at her.
“You are running out of time,” he growled.
“I'm sorry,” she gasped, flinching away from him. “I'm trying, I–”
“I don't see you trying! I'll bet you haven't even offered him the knife yet, have you?”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, watching her cower.
“I did offer him the knife,” she insisted in a meek whisper, “but it almost seemed to terrify him. I'm not sure what else to do.”
“Well, try harder!” Zevic growled, spinning away from her and throwing his hands up as he paced the small room. “I know these Agori men have different standards when it comes to relations between the sexes, but for gods' sakes, Zhadeyn! They've been here a month and you still haven't managed it!”
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, shifting away from him. “I'm trying, I swear, I just–”
“Obviously you're not trying hard enough,” he said, taking a step toward her. “Do I need to remind you again what will happen if you fail?”
Zhadeyn stifled a cry and shook her head, backing up another step. Zevic closed the distance between them and grabbed her by the shoulders, tightening his grip until she gasped in pain.
“You know the Elders have given me free license to punish you,” he said, shoving her back against the counter again. “Sister or not, I will fuck you raw and then slit your throat if you don't do what you're supposed to do.” He paused, and looked at her with a sneer. “You still don't even really know what that means, do you?” He gathered up her skirts and ran a hand up the inside of her thigh. “You got lucky in that Collision. Got away before he could bed you. Though I must say it's an absolute disgrace for you to still be unwed at your age. Well, you'll learn soon enough, whether by me or by one of them.” He dropped her skirts and leaned in close. “Now, tomorrow, I expect you to try harder, or I swear I'll–”
A knock at the front door interrupted him, and Zevic glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. He whirled back on Zhadeyn and glared at her.
“I can't read who's out there, so that must be one of them,” he whispered quickly. “You behave, alright?”
He shook her hard and she nodded, flinching away from him as he let her go and went to answer the door.
* * *
GRAEDEN HEARD a low but fierce conversation as he approached the door, the voice cutting off abruptly when he knocked. There was a moment of silence, then firm footsteps before the door was roughly yanked open.
“Oh, Dr. Graeden,” Zevic said, putting on a smile that was obviously fake. “Can I help you?”
Graeden looked around and checked the street signs, making sure he had the right address. “I was looking for Zhadeyn. She had a patient file I needed to go over. But I must be at the wrong–”
“No, no, this is her apartment,” Zevic said, standing aside. “Come on in.”
Graeden nodded his thanks, keeping his face carefully blank as he stepped inside.
“Have a seat,” Zevic offered, and Graeden sat down in one of the worn and faded chairs around the dining table. “Zhadeyn!”
She stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, her eyes trained on the floor.
“You have some files for Dr. Graeden?”
She looked puzzled, so Graeden cleared his throat and muttered, “Just one from today, in particular, that I need to see, if you could bring them out.”
Zhadeyn nodded and turned away in a hurry.
“And bring us a drink!” Zevic called after her.
Zevic sat across from him and waited silently until Zhadeyn returned, placing a steaming glass of water in front of each of them. Before she could leave, Zevic grabbed her by the arm and steered her around to face him. He took hold of her jaw and scrutinized her appearance.
“Your face is dirty,” he spat, and pushed her aside. “Go wash yourself.”
Zhadeyn ducked her head and hurried from the room.
Graeden picked up his glass, blew on it, and tested the temperature, grimacing as he swallowed.
“Gods, I don't see how you can stand drinking hot water all the time,” he muttered.
Zevic shrugged. “It's that, or death. Don't tell me you Agori actually drink your water cold!”
Graeden nodded. “Of course. Right out of the tap. That's normal over there.”
“Strange,” Zevic muttered, shaking his head and gulping down his drink.
Graeden sipped carefully and glanced around the room, wondering what Zevic was doing there but not in the least inclined to ask. He was determined to get this over with and get out as soon as possible.
Zevic set his glass down and shoved it to one side, the glass clinking against the box that Zhadeyn had once offered Graeden.
“What is that?” Graeden blurted, and immediately regretted the question.
“What is what?”
Graeden hesitated, then pointed at the box.
“Oh,” Zevic said, and Graeden thought a strange, almost devious expression crossed the man's face before he put on a pleasant smile and answered, “That's Zhadeyn's marriage blade.”
Graeden blinked. “I'm sorry, what? Marriage blade?”
Zevic nodded. “Been sitting there idle all these years. It used to be that women were assigned to a husband, but when so many of our men died in the last Collision, and the Elders had to start putting women to work, the women started getting all these ideas, like choosing their own husbands and whatnot. Absolute nonsense, of course, but
there wasn't much the Elders could do about it short of killing them all, and they couldn't very well do that. We need the women as breeders. So, the Elders made a concession, that a woman could choose her husband by offering him a blade to show she was willing to serve him. Willing to be his property.”
Graeden eyed the blade suspiciously and asked, “You're not worried about them turning violent?”
“Pfff, please,” Zevic scoffed. “The worst they could do would be to kill themselves. A woman lashing out at a man is the fastest way to get herself beaten to death. Of course, she could simply put the blade in her own chest, but for the most part, our women are conditioned to know that their purpose is to serve their husbands and bear children, for the greater good of Tanas. Now, Zhadeyn–” Zevic cut off with a laugh. “She was supposed to be married when she was younger, but the last Collision put a stop to that. Since then, no man would touch her. Cursed, they said. But, time goes on. I have it on good authority that Elder Lacnoshi's son is expected to come here any day now to claim her as his fifth wife.”
“Claim her?” Graeden asked. “So she's chosen him?”
“Gods, no!” Zevic barked a laugh. “Women are weak. Any man who wanted her could simply come here and take her, overpower her, whether she wanted it or not. She's running out of time to start doing her duty, and the Elder's son no longer has any wives young enough to bear him children. So, she'll have to turn over her blade to him and do as he says.” He paused, a strange smile on his face. “Unless someone else claims her first.”
Graeden clenched his hands into fists in his lap. “You can do that? Just…grab a woman and call her your property? They're human beings!”
Zevic shook his head. “Women are lesser. Good for nothing more than warming a husband's bed and bearing children. Oh, and feeding him, of course. She'll learn her place, soon enough.” Zevic rose and headed for the door. “Make sure she gets you that file,” he called over his shoulder. “And give her a sound beating if she doesn't.”
