Chapter 8
Kovan
Tasapracticallyboundsupto Noten to tell him she can fix his stove—abruptly freezing several steps away but continuing to chatter cheerfully—and my chest squeezes to see it.
I love seeing her happy, and she is effusive with it. She issoeasily fulfilled by being able to help people with her work.
That she has been so miserable here is damning.
Noten tells her to go right in, as his husband Ichike—feminine name but masculine pronouns, I make a mental note—is there watching his sister’s children.
Tasa brightens further at the prospect of seeing the children that Noten wryly calls “the terrors,” which makes me freeze longenough that I don’t protest when she tells me she’ll stop by the awful old woman’s house and meet me there.
Sages never partner. We never have children. The temple doesn’t want to risk our distraction with such emotional attachments.
So I’ve never considered whether I would want children, because I never had the option.
But if I don’t return to the temple—if I stay with Tasa, and ifshewould want, with me—
Too much; too fast. That’s a consideration for after I have made Tasa’s world safe for her.
But it’s somewhat startling to realize that I am excited to consider the prospect.
Excited by what the world might offerme, rather than the other way around.
By the time I’ve returned to the present moment, Tasa is off, and Noten is watching me warily.
He’s recognized me as a danger. True, certainly, though I wonder whom he thinks I’m a dangerto.
I break the silence, crossing to him. “Your stove will not malfunction again.”
Noten’s eyes narrow. “You seem awfully sure.”
“I am.”
Wonder of wonders, given that I have tried a magical working like no one has before under unprecedented circumstances.
But I do not say things I don’t mean.
“I asked Ichike to put together some fresh fruit for her,” Noten says carefully. “I think it’s been a while since anyone’s given her that, since no one is willing to let food to go to waste now. But if you’re staying with her, perhaps you can remind her of it?”
Anger surges again. That people know Tasa enough to anticipate her habits but not to let her make her own choices. That this man has noticed the problem but not done anything to address it.
Tasa asked me to cut them slack. Their lives have been destroyed.
But in this case, I don’t believe heeding her will ultimately make her happy, so I am not going to.
Am I just as bad as everyone else? Not respecting her decisions?
But no: Tasa doesn’t get to decide my choices any more than these people should decide hers.
I did ask what I could do for her. But specifically I wanted to decrease my burden on her, and it is also not Tasa’s responsibility to decide that for me.
I do not need my decisions made for me any more than Tasa does, and she—and Zan—is the one who called me to account on that. If I want to help, it is onmedecide what I can and will offer, not her.
“I imagine that Tasa will appreciate your consideration,” I reply, making it abundantly clear with my tone that I do not. “But she is not a child. She is doing work, not charity. A functional stove in your circumstances is worth more than food, and you know it.
“So when your stove continues to function, the next time we come through, you will talk to her close by, not like she has a disease. And you will include coin in her payment, soshecan choose for herself. Do we understand each other?”
