CHAPTER 19 — The Sennight Gift
STEPHANIE
I’m dragged to the kitchen, where Joktepitha excitedly starts to clap, eyeing Ulda and announcing, “We’ve got her here. Let’s celebrate!”
My eyes meaningfully dart to Ulda, because this is hardly the time—
But Namak?ga steps in front of me, catching my gaze, giving me a speaking look.
Ah, okay. We’re trying to get Ulda’s mind off of… sadder things.
Joktepitha pulls me to the sink, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. She sees the conclusion I’ve come to and widens her smile.
And I see it’s a manufactured one. Under it is a grimness I can relate to. Her eyes silently beg, Go along with this, please.
I glance back at Ulda.
She looks tired and drawn, but she’s watching me with determination, the set of her shoulders stoic as she bounces Opkug with gentle affection. The woman is made of some strong stuff.
I suck in a breath and blow it out slowly, facing Joktepitha. “All right. Tell me what’s going on. Ulda said something about lunch, but then we’re suddenly celebrating whatever we’re celebrating? Speaking of, what are we celebrating? This feels very bait and switch.”
“I’ll heat the water,” Namak?ga offers, ignoring my questions.
Joktepitha adjusts Crushosh where he’s strapped to her chest, and then she smiles for real as she squeezes my wrist lightly. “It’s better to show you. Wait here, I’ll be back faster than you can quench a broadsword!”
“I don’t know how long it takes to quench a broadsword,” I complain just for the sake of it.
“Roarg will teach you,” Ulda assures, offering this without any of her usual snap or bite.
Namak?ga snorts. “As if Roarg hasn’t already been teaching her.” She shoots me a smirk that manages to be affectionate, which is still so weird considering the topic of conversation. “He’s been downright tireless in showing you everything about his sword.”
Joktepitha cackles at this on her dash to the door. She jerks it open with a tusked grin, tossing me a stay motion before she rushes out.
“Sketchyyy…” I grumble.
Namak?ga is bent low, raking the water pot’s coals, turning them all red and waking them enough to catch the fresh logs with a healthy curtain of flames. When she straightens, she starts to rub her stomach. But then she snatches her hand down guiltily.
Ulda, eyes swollen but still sharp, doesn’t miss it. “Don’t be stupid.” She starts mashing something unappetizing to feed to Opkug.
Namak?ga licks between her tusks and nods. She puts her hand back on her belly and resumes rubbing the life still safely tucked away there.
“So,” I start, hoping to grasp at something less serious. I’m grateful Joktepitha has activated some plan, even if whatever she’s doing is setting off all my mental alarms. No matter what she has planned, it’s bound to be less painful than this. “Fill me in on what’s going on.”
Ulda sheds the light. “We are counting tonight as a sennight of your days with us,” she explains, voice calm as she waggles a spoon in front of Opkug’s face. “It’s tradition to celebrate this day with a sister gift.”
“What’s a sister gift?” I ask, and gesture to Namak?ga who is setting out eggs, carrots, potatoes, mutton, and homemade mayo. I like wherever she’s going with this, because it’s all the ingredients for a good Russian olivye salad. “Whatever you’re making,” I offer, “I can help.”
“You can sit,” she informs me. And she takes a chair from the table and drags it to me where I’m standing at the sink.
I frown at it, then at her, wondering why I’m in time out at the sink.
Suspicion coloring my movements, I slowly plop down, watching her and Ulda. “What’s Joktepitha doing?”
“Collecting your gift from Roarg,” Namak?ga replies, setting eggs in a pot for boiling. “He’s a whitesmith on the side, as you may have guessed from your tres?s.”
I squint at her. “A whitesmith?”
“A smith of tin or silver or gold,” Ulda says. “It’s lighter, more delicate work. Roarg is just as skilled at the jeweler’s bench as he is his anvil,” she brags without sounding like she’s bragging. She swipes a cloth over Opkug’s messy mouth and gives her a small smile.
Joktepitha flounces back inside singing, “I’ve got it!”
Crushosh, strapped to his crazy mother, looks as bewildered as I feel.
“Got what?” I ask.
She sends me a grin. “Your surprise.”
“And that would be?” I mutter dubiously. “You know what? It doesn’t matter, I don’t want it—”
Ulda’s big hand comes down on my shoulder out of nowhere, locking me in my seat. “It’s tradition.”
Namak?ga moves to the sink and starts washing her hands. “Joktepitha, get the grain alcohol. Stephanie’s skin is softer than a brat’s. She’s sure to need disinfectant.”
“Ummmmm…” My gaze jumps from Ulda’s restraining hand to Namak?ga, to a still-grinning Joktepitha. “W-why do we need disinfectant?”
Joktepitha bounces up to me, making Crushosh giggle. She opens her hand, showing me a little square of linen cloth.
My body relaxes. “Oh. What’s that?”
With flourish, she flips open the cloth, revealing a silver crescent and a tiny flat-backed post made of metal.
“And… what’s that?” I ask, squinting at it.
“Your new nose ring!” Joktepitha announces.
“A nostril stud too,” Ulda adds. “With a gemstone.”
My eyes go round and I try to shoot to my feet—but I can’t because Ulda’s hand might as well be a two-thousand-pound tree limb. I can’t budge her. “Umm, NO. No, no, no—no piercings. No nose piercings!”
Joktepitha’s smile falls. “But you need a sennight gift, and you don’t have any ornamentation.”
“Because I don’t want any ornamentation,” I tell her. My eyes slice to Namak?ga, who’s frowning at me, drying her hands on a cloth. “I like my nose just the way it is: not pierced. I don’t mean to hurt anybody’s feelings, but no thanks.”
Ulda’s hand leaves my shoulder, and I slump in relief.
“What about earrings?” Joktepitha wheedles, raising her voice to be heard as she sweeps past us, heading for the great room so she can put Crushosh in his preferred playpen.
“Even if I wanted earrings, I have this strong aversion to dying of an infection,” I call back. “I don’t know about you, but converting a kitchen into a body art station sounds a little dodgy, right?”
I turn to Namak?ga and Ulda for support and find them staring at me with slightly crushed expressions.
That Ulda is looking genuinely sadder makes me wince.
And when I glance at the doorway, Joktepitha is there, giving me puppy dog eyes. “When we visit town, you’ll seem plain compared to most wives.”
I gesture incredulously to my face. “Plain? Even though I’m wearing all this?”
Joktepitha acts like she doesn’t even hear me. “And we…” She darts a swift look at Ulda, then back to me. “It would be a joy to gift you with these in proper sisterhood.”
“Plus,” Namak?ga adds like it will sweeten the pot, “it will make Roarg so happy to see you wearing the jewelry he crafted.”
Ulda, rubbing Opkug’s back, emits a rude snort. “That’s a polite way of saying he’ll plow her into the bed when he sees her in nothing but the nose jewelry he’s made for her.” She smiles, shaking her head.
After watching her cry alone and feeling very, very helpless while she did it, seeing Ulda smile tips the scales for me. I groan and throw up my hands. “I am such a pushover!”
They all cheer.
***
Turns out, I can put my foot down. The nose ring gets nixed.
The diamond nostril stud, however, does not. Five minutes and one Tarzan-worthy (but higher-pitched) scream later, and Ulda admonishes, “Don’t touch it, you soft-head! It will be tender. Here. Daub some koekje cream on it.”