She nods in understanding and says their word for it, writing it alongside mine.
“No share Oljin,” I say firmly, grammar be damned. “Understand?”
Saana laughs again, covering her mouth in amusement. “Yes. Oljin no share Rose. Rose no share Oljin. Understand, Jara and Alara.”
I grin, feeling giddy. Whatever those words mean, they means us, him and me and nobody else. “Yes, good, beautiful,” I tell her, pointing to the words on our makeshift dictionary in case my pronunciation is bad.
“Beautiful,” she agrees, patting my hand. Then she takes the feather pencil and paper away from me, placing them on a wicker bench just out of reach. “Rest now.”
I do my best, but my eyes pop open the second the sun rises because I’m so excited to work on our dictionary. By the time Oljin returns a few days later, tired and covered with dust from his long journey, we’ve filled a half-dozen scrolls with Irran–English translations.
I want to run to him where he’s silhouetted in the doorway and jump into his arms, but I settle for standing up from my bed to greet him. He sucks in a breath, barely greeting Saana on his way across the room to me, where he folds me in his arms, his expression disbelieving.
Saana wipes her hands and, using the excuse of braxa chores, ducks out of the house to give us a moment of privacy. We stand there a minute, grinning stupidly at each other.
“My beautiful Rose, standing on two feet,” he says, cupping my jaw with dusty fingers, tipping my face up to his.
“My beautiful Oljin, with two dirty hands,” I tease, blinking back happy tears, but inevitably a few trickle down my cheeks.
He dips his head to kiss them away, one by one. Then he brushes his lips against mine, stroking the seam with his tongue until they part for him. My knees go even weaker than they already were at the hot insistence of his mouth. I stumble forward slightly, but he catches me under the elbows, drawing back from our kiss with a crooked smile.
“You learned so many words while I was gone, your mouth tastes Irran.”
I laugh and show him the basket of scrolls we’ve accumulated so far. His jaw drops when he sees what Saana and I have done, which makes my smile stretch so wide, my cheeks ache. “I was busy.”
“I’m glad you did not spend your hours apart from me crying.” He kisses me again, swift and deep. Then he sits down on my bed and pulls me onto his lap so we can look through the scrolls at the same time.
He and I read the lists of words, correcting each other’s pronunciations and adding notes, and it makes me realize how much I’ve learned. Writing the words down really helped me retain them, and I’m starting to have an instinct for the language so I can figure meaningsout from context.
He’s picking up some English words, too, although it makes more sense for me to learn his language than him to learn mine, since I’m the only one who speaks it here. Both of us are so engaged in the language exchange that we don’t notice Saana’s return until she brings us a tray of food and sits down nearby to share a meal with us.
After I crawl out of his lap and he washes the travel dust from his hands, Oljin digs into the meal she’s prepared with the ferocity of someone who’s just run a marathon. “Alioth smile on you,” he says between bites. “The food is delicious.”
“No trouble. I had to eat, too,” she shoots back.
“Thank you,” he insists. “For the food. For your home. For your help.”
“Thank you,” I echo, unable to vocalize all the reasons I appreciate her because I don’t know all the words yet. Saana flushes bright blue with happiness even as she waves our gratitude away. Someday I’ll learn the words so I can tell her. I owe them both so much.
Chapter 12
Oljin
Saana prods my side while I scrub the bowls and pots from lastmeal. “Where is Pravil? I told you to bring him back with you.”
I grimace. I knew she was going to scold me for this. “Unfortunately, you won’t be seeing much of him now that he’s the chief advisor to a Jara.”
“Oh, you didn’t! Pravil? Really?” Saana’s skin is a skirmish of pigment. Her happiness and pride at her son achieving such an elevated rank fights with her fear and dismay at my unconventional choice. I’m sure the rest of my people will have the same reaction that I’ve chosen an outlander, but I know he’s the right one to advise me.
“He’s the only one I trust. I’ve asked him to make the necessary arrangements while I can’t be there.”
He won’t be doing it as a Jara’s advisor usually would, with officious scrolls and the support of the palace. He’ll be doing it his way: assessing the loyalty of the guards as they fight in the pits. Watching the schemes of the priests when they think no one is looking. Staying friendly with my brother and listening to his ramblings when Chanísh, drunk and sated in a pleasure lounge, is more likely to reveal his plans.
“He will be loyal to you until his ghost meets the goddess,” Saana says quietly. “For all his other faults, that I can promise.”
I dry the last bowl and put it away on the shelf. “Will you come with us to the cliffs to witness our joining?”
“I can’t leave the herd,” she says with an apologetic shrug. “That’s outland life. Bring your greenlings to see me when you have them, if you’re not too busy to visit an old female.”
