Third Time’s the Charm
It didn’t surprise Jovan Rogala much that the adoption official his lady Alissa had straight-up threatened didn’t show up for the third visit.
Instead, an unsmiling old lady knocked on the door, and though he offered her the first floor for her business, she demanded to climb the steep staircase to the classroom instead. With every labored step, he imagined his chances with the children floating down some drain. At least the old lady seemed pleased that he insisted the tutors sit with her as she interviewed the children.
As he paced around his office, a dozen versions of disaster raced through his thoughts. Tirsa could get into one of her angry moods and mouth off. Hopefully Haji got to sit with her -- the mesmer calmed Tirsa down like no one else in the house. Nijah might be so polite the adoption lady would wonder at her real happiness. Urwah, Urwah was quiet when he wasn’t around Mrs. Fiori, and Ashla’s best friend in the house was Payam, the bloody tiger. Explaining that might get fun.
He winced at the sudden realization that he wasn’t the favorite of any of them, not the four wards he meant to adopt, or the two already grown.
Then again. Nijah loved looking at the columns of numbers in the household ledger with him and Rosella. Urwah watched Jovan at dinner, and what his sponsor ate, the boy ate too. Tirsa was bloody exhausting sometimes, but running laps around their little garden calmed down that temper of hers. And Ashla - she still didn’t talk much, still didn’t express much, but when Jovan came home, she was always one of the first to the door.
A thump sounded from the classroom upstairs. He froze and waited, only for silence to follow. Thank gods. He raked both hands back through his thick hair and walked to the little statue of Grenth decorating his office window-sill.
“I know you do death,” he muttered to the image of the god. “But you’re my favorite anyway. You’re honest. No tricks.” He lit the small candle beside the statue and added, “You know I follow you. I send you souls. ...too often, maybe. Still. Let me have this.” A belated “please,” followed as he took up pacing again.
Half an hour later, the old lady’s measured progress down the stairs seemed to take ten years. “Thank you, we’ll let you know,” she said, with a tiny pat to his arm and not even a hint of a smile on her seamed face. He held the door open for her, watched her go, and tried to breathe again. It’d be what it would be. Nothing he could do about it now.
(( @rookmenagerie and @alissabryliss-fairfax for mentions and borrowed characters. <3 ))
