Well, it’s been a year and a half since I wrote anything. This isn’t much of anything and it’s very rough, but I’ve been reading up a storm in the last year or so, so I finally had a few words to give. Now I will go away for another year and a half.
House Business
Sometimes, a time out is needed for everyone.
Ykassa extracts the final clasp from her elaborate construct of braids and groans as the heavy coils fall down her back. She tosses the hairpin onto the table and closes her eyes, arching her neck to ease the pain of tension suddenly released. She presses fingertips firmly at the nape of her neck, then massages upwards along her scalp. A breeze carries the smell of warmed oils and spices and sharp, crisp greens, followed by a faint hint of engine grease and chypre. The latter scent brings a wistful sigh from her lips and she relaxes while her fingers loosen braids.
Her quiet murmurs of relief are interrupted when the datapad emits a cascade of melodious but insistent beeps. Tapping the screen, she reviews the messages and sighs heavily at the prospect of another unsatisfactory -- and apparently unending -- evening of polite political maneuvers. She notes the time, then taps out a reply. A bitter smile twists at her lips as she re-ties the vest's fasteners at her neck. When her parents turned over House affairs to her, she never expected to lose so many hours to conversations about nothing, but the game is anything but direct. With resignation, Ykassa gathers her long hair together and prepares herself to face another social engagement without the buffer of her husband. (Not for the first time, nor the last, does she wish Copero were closer to Csaus, or that Nirathi wasn't so in demand at the shipyards. She feels briefly guilty about the latter thought.)
"Frazil!", she hisses as her signet ring entangles in a half-undone plait and pulls. Eyes watering at the sharp pain, she wriggles her finger free and contemplates the metal woven into a snarl of her deep, grey hair. She unexpectedly feels a sharp pang of loneliness.
"T'amma?" Ykassa feels more than hears her son's voice as it vibrates against her leg. "T'amma!" Tiny hands grip her thighs, then the fabric of her skirt, tugging insistently. "Up!"
A small frown of irritation creases her forehead before her face smooths into a gentle smile. She looks down at the small child at her side. Delightful freckles -- from her side of the family -- dance across Helon'ikyr'inrokini's round cheeks but his lips are pressed thinly together. He points at her, his face dark and serious. "Up, T'amma."
Ykassa bends to pick up Nikyri. Her lower back twinges as the extra weight she's finally showing resists the effort. She sweeps Nikyri's mop of hair off his forehead to see his bright red eyes. Nikyri smiles when he sees he has her full attention, his grin sudden and bright like a crescent moon. "T'appa," he simply states and bounces his little body into hers for a fierce hug. Ykassa chuckles and kisses the top of his head. "I miss him, too, my love."
The datapad emits another series of beeps. "Especially now," she growls.
Settling herself down on the bright window seat, Ykassa distractedly flips through new messages while Nikyri fidgets in her arms, tugging at her thick hair. A quiet sound draws Ykassa's attention to the doorway. She glances up and waves dismissal at the hovering nanny. The young lad relaxes and bobs his head nervously then disappears down the hallway.
Ykassa turns her attention back to her son, shading her eyes from the shimmering lakes reflecting the late afternoon sun. Nikyri is silhouetted, so she doesn't see at first what he's holding until he places her ring in her hand. Delighted, Ykassa wraps him up in a hug, murmuring surprise about his cleverness. She touches her son lightly on his forehead, then chest.
"Tonight is just for us, my sisuk."
Ykassa taps on the datapad again, this time wiping her evening calendar clear.