Chapter Twenty-Four Complicated History
Chapter Twenty-Four
Complicated History
Hasan realized Poppy was right about one thing: He didn’t know how she’d been raised.
He’d lived with the gods all his life, and though he knew the Welkish position that it was heresy to follow them, the people in his life hadn’t taken it seriously.
Poppy, however, hadn’t had that option. He couldn’t begin to guess at her upbringing, and she was unwilling to share it with him.
But there was one other person in the safe house who could shed some light on her past for him.
Hasan knew that before Samina had come to him seeking employment, before she burned down the orphanage she had spent two years in, she had lived on the Sutherland estate, where her mother had worked as a servant.
She might be able to tell him more about Poppy as a child.
He found her inside, recovering in one of his mother’s spare bedrooms. When he asked about Poppy’s early years, her whole body tensed, like a bird ready to take flight.
“Yes. I knew Poppy as a girl,” Samina answered tersely, twisting the bedsheets in her fists. “We were friends.”
Hasan sensed a complicated history there, but he knew Samina too well to demand the story from her. He lifted a stool from the corner of the room and put it down beside her, settling in patiently.
“Things were different, when we were children.” She sighed.
“My mother was her nanny, but Poppy never treated us like we were beneath her, or tried to pull rank. When she was scared or hurt, I remember she would find my mother in the servants’ quarters instead of going to the duchess.
Most of the Welkish kids wouldn’t play nice with her, so she sought me out instead.
We were . . . close. She was the closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had. ”
How different this child Poppy was, he mused, comparing her to the lofty lady who had sneered down at him even as her own wrists had been chained together.
Was her pride something she had learned at that Welkish college?
Or was it a callus, something that she’d grown to protect her from the friction of being jammed into a world in which she had no place?
Samina continued her story, interrupting Hasan’s thoughts.
“My mother thought it was important for Poppy to know the stories of the gods. When Poppy came seeking comfort, she used to tell her the old epics. Poppy loved them, believe it or not. But when her father found out, he fired my mother. I will never forget how he came all the way to the servants’ quarters to shout at her.
He threatened to have her exposed as an unnatural, but it was an empty threat—he didn’t actually know that she herself was daivyakt. ”
He frowned. “Poppy doesn’t seem to remember any of those stories about the gods.”
Samina shrugged. “She was six, and her father likely bulldozed right over those stories with some more rubbish about the Founder. Either way, life moved on. As you know, my mother never found comfortable employment in a household again. She passed away after a factory accident. I became desperate. My mother had moved to the city from her village years ago, and I didn’t have the means to go back safely—especially with my half brother.
I couldn’t write home for help; my aunts and uncles were as illiterate as I was.
I turned to the only person I thought could help me. ”
“Poppy,” Hasan said.
Samina’s face darkened. “I told you, she was the closest thing I’d ever had to a sister.
I had no one else to reach out to. I waited outside the gates of her house, hoping for some scraps from her table, something to bring home to my brother that I hadn’t fished out of the trash.
She looked . . . different. Stiff, not the curious and adventurous person I remembered.
But she still gave me the emerald necklace off her own neck, encouraged me to pawn it for money. ”
“That must have kept you well fed for some time.” Even if it had been small, the pendant alone would have bought Samina and her brother enough rice for three weeks.
“In theory, it might have.” Samina picked at the edge of her cast. “But the police came to arrest me just two days later. For stealing from the viceroy. My brother and I got sent to a state-run orphanage. You know how that ended.”
Hasan did. Samina didn’t often speak of her time in the orphanage, but she didn’t need to. He had heard enough stories from survivors over the years. “So you think what? That Poppy turned you in?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” she demanded. “They found me so quickly. More than likely, her parents gave her hell for losing that necklace, and it would have been much easier to point the finger at me than to tell the truth.”
“You didn’t ask her?”
She turned away. “I don’t need to ask. I already know.”
He turned that new information over in his mind, adding it to what he already knew of the woman he’d agreed to champion.
Poppy had been humble once, comfortable among the company of her own, sharing whatever she had with them.
A promising sign that she had not always been so aloof among Virians.
So what had changed? He wanted to know Poppy’s side of the story—but she was too angry to speak to him.
Samina had given him context, but whatever event had made Poppy who she was today had clearly happened after Samina had left the Sutherland estate.
“Why all the questions?” Samina asked. “This seems like an absurd amount of interest in a hostage.”
Hasan ran a hand through his hair. “She’s daivyakt,” he said. “With an affinity for water. But she seems unable to summon any daivyakhi.”
She sucked in a shocked breath, then winced, clutching her ribs. “Explain,” she wheezed.
Quickly, he summarized the situation: Richard and Poppy’s power struggle, the bargain he’d struck with Poppy, and the events of the morning. “She doesn’t know the first thing about any of the gods,” he said. “Something is holding her back, and I don’t know what.”
Samina scoffed. “She was raised by Welks, Hasan. The emperor is supposed to represent the Founder on earth, and her adoptive father is literally his cousin. Do you think they were taking her to see village performances of the epics? He had her shipped to Welkland to put as much distance as possible between her and this country. When I was in the orphanage, they beat us for speaking Virian. At night, we were forced to say our prayers to the Founder, else we weren’t allowed to eat supper.
They did everything in their power to make us forget who we were.
I doubt Poppy Sutherland’s education looked any different from mine.
The only thing they would have taught her at that fancy overseas college is prejudice and self-hatred.
You cannot ask for blessings when you secretly fear being cursed. ”
An idea bloomed in Hasan’s mind, blotting out the rest of his thoughts. “Fair enough,” he said distantly. “Thank you, Samina.” He stood to go.
“Hasan,” Samina called. He paused, turning in the doorway. “Don’t tell her I’m here, please.”
He studied Samina’s face, not understanding the rationale behind her request. Nonetheless, he inclined his head. “You have my word.”
· · ·
After the morning’s humiliation, Poppy spent the rest of the day in her room with a chair wedged under the doorknob, refusing to open the door for anyone. This house was full of criminals; if one of them wanted to come in, they could break the door down themselves.
She lay on the bed, reflecting deeply. Catherine would have called it sulking, but Poppy felt she had earned the right to sulk.
It wasn’t every day that your ancestral gods rejected your prayers.
She dwelled on a past that wasn’t the past, imagining her life if she had grown up in a house like this one, raised by her birth parents.
What future had they imagined, when they pressed their hands to her mother’s swollen belly?
She didn’t even know the name they had given her.
Who could she have been, if not Poppy Sutherland?
By the time the sun began to set, her mood had not improved from her hours of introspection. Her empty stomach did nothing to help. When Hasan came to announce that dinner was ready, she no longer had the willpower to shut him out.
She followed Hasan downstairs, but he walked straight past the kitchen, toward the rear doors. “What about dinner?” she protested.
“We’re dining outside tonight.” His lips curved up slightly. “Trust me. You’ll see.”
She sighed but trailed after him. When they stepped out onto the patio, she froze.
The backyard had been transformed. Two tents with mosquito-net walls had been set up in front of a low wooden stage. Instruments lay in the grass in front of the stage beside the firepit, which, despite the heat, had been lit. Its flames cast a warm glow on the stage, illuminating it.
“What’s all this?” she asked.
“You’ll see.” Hasan smiled. “Eat first.”
That was one instruction she was more than happy to obey. He led her into one of the tents. Harithi was already inside, sitting on a cushion in front of her thali, propped up on a serving tray. Poppy sat beside Hasan on a cushion of her own, mouth watering at the silver plate in front of her.
Dhal, mutton curry, mashed eggplant, potato bhaji, coconut chutney, and several other items filled the small metal bowls that ringed the rotis stacked in the center of the plate.
Poppy paused; they had not provided a spoon with this thali.
With the exception of tea sandwiches, the Hawk had declared eating without cutlery incredibly ill-mannered.
She had whacked the backs of Poppy’s fingers with her cane when she caught her picking up food with her bare hands, determined to beat “the savage” out of her.
Instinctively, she flexed her fingers, recalling nights of knuckles so raw they bled.
“What’s wrong?” Hasan asked, picking up on her hesitation.
“I don’t have a spoon,” she whispered.
Misunderstanding, he replied, “You don’t need one. You can rip off a piece of the roti and use it to scoop your food. See?” He demonstrated for her, tearing a strip of roti and picking up some of his own potato bhaji. Instead of eating it himself, he offered it to her.
She reached for it, then curled her fingers back into her palm. “Isn’t it rude?”
Hasan’s expression shifted, some of the easiness melting away.
“Miss Sutherland, I understand that you were raised among Welkish nobility, and so all you know of being Virian is what they taught you. But let me make one thing clear: Our culture and traditions are not rude. Our way of life is no less valid or civil just because it hasn’t gotten the imperial stamp of approval. ”
Poppy blinked, stunned by his lecture. She hadn’t meant to cause offense—though now she could see how her question had appeared demeaning.
She opened her mouth to explain, then shut it with a snap.
Why would he care about what she’d gone through at Thornhaven?
It would probably sound like excuses to him anyway.
She snatched the food from his fingertips wordlessly and put it in her mouth.
She finished the rest of her dinner without speaking. Harithi and Hasan exchanged a long, loaded glance, but otherwise remained silent. In stark contrast to the tension, Rohini and the widows chatted merrily in the other tent.
When dinner was finished, one of the widows went into the kitchen and brought out finger bowls of lemon-scented water. The sun had gone down fully, the lawn now illuminated by the bonfire at the foot of the stage.
A group of people emerged from a coarse curtain set up behind the stage. Some walked around to collect the instruments; others, dressed in colorful costumes, assumed positions on the stage.
“Are we going to see a play?” Poppy asked, forgetting her pique. She hadn’t seen a play in ages.
“Not just any play,” Hasan said. “Remember how I said that when the Welks banned our gods, we found other ways to tell their stories? These performers are from the local village, Sanivali. They know dozens, if not a hundred, of the songs and dances that honor our gods. Normally, they perform at festivals or on auspicious dates, but I asked them to come here tonight for you.”
“Me?” she asked. “Why?”
“Because,” Hasan said, his mouth twitching into a small smile, “I’m a terrible teacher.
You might not have had the same upbringing as me, but I want you to have a connection to our gods.
A real one, not the lies that you were fed.
Poppy, I realize that your only exposure to our culture and faith must have been negative.
But it’s not too late to build positive associations.
The only way to lose is to give up. And I’m not giving up. ”
Her throat tightened. Though she knew he’d done it only because he needed her powers for their bargain, her chest warmed at the effort he must have gone to in order to organize this evening for her.
She didn’t know how to show him her gratitude without also revealing her vulnerability, so instead she said, “Who said anything about giving up?”
Harithi cleared her throat. “Play’s starting.”
Sure enough, the drummers in front began to strike their instruments, setting a slow pulse.
“What song did you choose?” Harithi asked Hasan.
“‘Savana and Altan,’” he answered.