She blinked, her lips pressing together.
“Iamhuman,” I said. “I’m not ashamed that I am and I won’t apologize for what makes me feel comfortable.”
I sensed Arokan’s gaze but I held her eyes. Hukan reminded me of the seamstress I used to work for back at village. Hard as nails, that woman, and she constantly tested me at every turn with her sharp words and cranky attitude. I was used to criticism, just from people I was familiar with. One thing I did know, however, was that if I didn’t stand up for myself from the beginning, I would always be lesser in her eyes.
Hukan looked away first and my fingers twitched, relieved. She looked down at the pots, picked up a clear salve, and asked, “Do you wish to go first,Vorakkar?”
I blinked. Arokan would get markings that day too?
Arokan held out one wrist in reply, his irritation still evident. Hukan spread the salve just above his gold cuffs in a thick band, wrapped all the way around, waited a moment, then wiped it away.
Despite the slight tension in the tent, I was soon distracted by the process of tattooing. I watched as Hukan cleaned her needles and then dipped one in the gold, balancing the pot between two fingers with ease. Quickly, she jabbed the needle into Arokan’s flesh, re-dipped the needle, jabbed again, re-dipped, jabbed, re-dipped, jabbed. Over and over again until she had an outline of a wide band spanning the space above his cuff.
Though she was incredibly quick and talented with her needle, the process was slow, quiet, and tedious. But there was a mesmerizing beauty about it, a subtle art. It was apparent that Hukan had done this many times before.
Soon, one wrist was done. The tattoo was almost as wide and thick as his cuffs, one solid band of gleaming gold. It was beautiful and it made his skin shimmer in the light.
Arokan’s other wrist was done in the same slow, intricate process until the two tattoos were virtually identical.
His eyes met mine and he said, “Now you,kassikari.”
I didn’t show my hesitation when I reached my wrist across the table. I didn’t need to give Hukan any more reason to dislike me. With an almost clinical touch, she repeated the cleaning process, spreading the salve over my wrist.
She dipped the clean needle in the pot, but paused, looking up at Arokan before asking something in Dakkari.
“Rath Kitala,” he replied.
“Rath Kitala?” Hukan repeated slowly, her eyes narrowing.
“Lysi,” he replied, his brow quirking, as if challenging her, as if daring her to question him.
My own brow furrowed, watching the exchange, confused by it. Hukan’s lips pressed together again and then she made the first jab into my wrist, though it was aggressive.
Eyes widening at the sharp pain, I shot a look at Arokan, almost in betrayal. He hadn’t even flinched, hadn’t moved, during the whole process of his markings. I’d decided that it couldn’t hurtthatbadly.
It hurt like abitch. Though, I suspected, after Hukan’s second, third, fourth jab, that she was a little rougher with me than she’d been with Arokan. She certainly seemed to put more muscle into it.
Arokan’s lips quirked at my outraged expression, but he remained quiet, simply watching me.
Soon, a slim band began to take shape across my wrist. It wasn’t solid, like Arokan’s, nor was it nearly as wide, but it was in the same swirling design as the markings across his biceps, across his chest, across his shoulders.
Soon, she started work on a second band, about half an inch higher from the first, in the same design, though the pattern looked slightly different.
Though tears welled in my eyes at the shooting pain, I blinked them away, not wanting Hukan to see. It felt like I had something to prove to her, so I took pride in the fact that whenever she looked up at me with a searching gaze, my features were expressionless, my eyes dry.
Relief went through me when she released my wrist, wiping away some of the blood that welled and coating the gold in the clear salve.
It was only a momentary reprieve, however, because she gestured impatiently for my other wrist.
So, I gritted my teeth, sent a withering glare over to Arokan, and she began work on the next set of markings.
It seemed like hours later when it was done.
Once she released me, I felt shivery from the pain and my face was probably pale, but I looked down at my wrists, turning them to see every inch.
“They’re beautiful,” I said softly, looking up at Hukan.
She ignored me, simply cleaned and packed up her materials before redepositing them in her drawers.
