❖ ❖ ❖
                                     

It was its colour that gave the White Asraam its name. It was a construction of wood the same shade as milled rice, broken only by powder-grey columns that had been built into the walls and the silver clay tiles that curved and dipped between every level.

Like the academy asraam, it was difficult to tell how many levels exactly there were to the boarding house—so uneven and haphazard it looked from the outside, with its terraced roofs and balconies peeking out under extended eaves. The greatest difference was that it was much smaller than the academy asraam. It was not even a quarter its size, with its highest level only just rising above the trees.

Isla came upon it from the trees. She had circled around her grandmother's compound, squeezed through a weak break in the hedge maze and cut through the groves, guided only by that peep of silver clay tiles, until finally the trees thinned into the shrubs and stone pathways of the White Asraam's private gardens.

The bell tower was chiming for evening eight-bells when she crossed the ungated yard. Light flickered behind thin curtains; the higher levels still mostly dark but for a few windows here and there, but the ground floor was lit from head to tail. Even with the panel blinds shut, Isla could still make out the potted greeneries decorating the wooden porch that wrapped around the building.

She'd be having her evening meals with the rest of the early-bloomers. Perhaps she should wait, but any longer and it would be close to Rinju's bed time.

Isla faltered before the stepping stone that led up onto the porch. Stone lanterns sent her shadow dancing in all directions. Why was she bothering Rinju, anyway? She should be letting the girl enjoy her time with her friends, and the further away she was from Isla, the better. If all her plans came crashing down, they would be looking at every horse and stablehand that so much as breathed in Isla's direction.

The sound of scraping wood stopped her before she could turn back.

A woman peered out at her from the now open door, squinting in the darkness as light spilled around her. She was young still, with a long nose and thin eyebrows, her hair hidden beneath a round cap that hugged the top of her head. 'I thought I saw movement. What is a dhayang doing here at this time?'

'I've just come to check in on a friend.'

Her face softened. 'Well then, what are you still doing out there? Leave your slippers by the stone and come in. We have enough food to share. My name is Mistress Sasya. I'm their dance and song instructor.'

'Pardon me for the late intrusion, Mistress. I couldn't leave my duties earlier.' Isla stepped out of her shoes. The porch was cold and dusty, but Mistress Sasya pulled a pair of indoor slippers from the corridor for her to borrow. 'My name's Lilja. I came to Kathedra a long time ago with Rinju, so I like to see how she's doing now and then.'

'That's very kind of you. Not many of our girls have anyone checking in on them at all. Though for future reference, we prefer our guests to come knocking from the main entrance, not come sneaking from our side exit like a stray-snatcher.'

Isla grimaced at the comparison, but the woman had a point. She slipped into the indoor shoes—bright orange and feather-soft—and followed her inside.

The noise greeted them all at once. It came from the other side of the paper-thin walls that shaped the corridor: chatter, laughter, the occasional shout and gleeful scream, and a woman clapping above them all to quiet. There was no doorway or entry, but Mistress Sasya led her down the hallway and around the wall where it simply opened up to one side into a long room lined with rows of tables upon rush mats.

Girls talked as they dined—or, rather, dined as they talked—perhaps two, three dozen of them compared to the academy's thousands, and only four other women in the room supervising them all.

Rinju saw them before Mistress Sasya could even open her mouth. The young girl let out a joyful cry and leapt up from her cushion, ran down the dining hall, and threw herself around Isla. 'Did you come to have dinner with me?'

Isla chuckled, the heaviness in her chest lifting at Rinju's smile. 'If you have space at your table.'

Rinju as good as dragged her into the dining area, shoving her friends playfully to make room. There were three others, one of them clearly much younger than anyone else in the room. She could not have seen even ten summers yet, with her round cheeks and wide eyes and curly hair tied in two tails. 'This is Hanh.' Rinju started her introductions as she piled cushions around Isla to make her comfortable. 'And those two are Yu Tiên and Chanou. Everyone, this is my Elder I've told you about.'

'You're Elder Lilja?' The one named Yu Tiên leaned across the table, the tips of her hair hanging dangerously close over her soup bowl before Chanou brushed it back for her. 'Are you really a messenger for the Rajini Chei?'

Isla side-eyed Rinju, who only grinned at her. 'I suppose I am.'

'Do you get to travel a lot? I bet you've been all over Surikhand!'

Rinju sniffed. 'She's been further than that. Didn't you hear? She was even in Tsunai, helping Maharaj Kiet capture Rajini Dhvani!'

'Well, that isn't exactly how—' Her words were drowned by the three girls' crooning and incredulous protests. Isla sighed. Could she never escape Kiet's name? Was this to be her future, wherever she went? to have all her accomplishments tied right back to him?

Rinju slid her an empty plate and a bowl of lemon basil in cold water, all the while boasting about Kiet's capradon and how the maharaj himself rescued Isla on the tournament opening day some week ago. Her friends hung on to every word. Isla sighed, deciding to let Rinju have her moment. At least the early-bloomers were well fed, judging by the choice of delicacies spread on the table before them. Isla dipped her hand in the washing bowl before picking a double deep-fried wing off its platter.

'... and then he just scooped her up from under her feet and carried her, like a proper mahasuri and everything!'

That isn't how it happened, either. Isla did not even bother trying to correct her this time. The girls were having too much fun to sour their mood, anyway. Yu Tiên was alternating between gasping and giggling while Chanou beside her sighed dreamily.

'Just like a perri tale,' the latter whispered once Rinju was finished with her tale. She looked to be the oldest among Rinju and her friends; taller and leaner than the others, and her voice also less pitched. Later Isla would learn that she was almost fourteen—only two more years and she would be sent to wed her suitor.

It was hard to remember that many of these girls already had suitors. That some of them were even promised as gifts to one powerful highborn or the other. Isla's eyes roved across the room at the thought, and suddenly the sticky sauce bittered on her tongue.

This. She washed her hands in the bowl, crushing the lemon basil between her fingers. This is what I'm fighting for. Yes, she was putting so many lives at risk ... but many more were already at stake—would always remain at stake—if things did not change.

'I hope my intended will be as gallant as the maharaj,' Chanou continued, her smile wistful. 'Or that he'd save me from a wild tiger. Can you imagine anything more romantic?'

'All right.' Isla had had enough at last. She reached for the teapot and filled everyone's cups. 'I wouldn't call it romantic. A maharaj is raised to protect his people—Maharaj Kiet was simply performing his duties.'

Rinju did not look convinced, but Isla was spared from their further wheedling when a loud chiming interrupted from further along the hallway.

All chatter died but for a few oblivious heads. The instructors exchanged glances from across the room, but only one of them rose. She must be the asraam matron. While the other women wore white robes over their syarong, hers was a pale grey. She looked older, too, with sunspots across her cheeks and streaks of white in the low roll of hair peeking just beneath her cap.

'Are we having guests?' Someone asked just as she disappeared up the hallway.

'This late at night?'

☆ this chapter is dedicated to eyilojudith ☆

Video: Window Weather
Image: Top image—© yours truly; bottom left image—© Gustav Nordgren at ArtStation; bottom right image—original artist unknown

Hmm . . . who do you think the guest could be?

Map of the White Asraam was made with Dungeondraft. If you would like to see the full image, check it out through the external link or see the in-line comment!