"Nadia? Anyone in there?" Krishel's voice breaks into my thoughts as he taps my foot.
I glance down from the tree I've been perched in since arriving home from Viry Prep. The very tree I cut my face on all those years ago.
"Mot would have a fit if she knew you were up here," Krishel says, grabbing the limb and hoisting himself up beside me. He calls Mother and Father by the shortened Mot and Otz, but I've never deemed them worthy of the endearment. They hardly deserve the terms "Mother" and "Father".
"Her fits don't bother me." I lean against the tree trunk and pull one knee up to my chest.
He grunts in agreement, then squints at the roof of our house. "Looks like a couple of shingles are coming loose."
I glance at him, an eyebrow raised. "What's that you were saying about causing fits?"
Krishel shrugs and reaches for the branch above us, then leans as far back as he can. "Just noticing."
"Mhm." He and I both know he'll be on the roof tomorrow while Mother's at the farmers' market and Father is working the potato fields over in the Golby District.
He'll have to take care of it tomorrow, since the day after is the Kuzabn Selection day. Every year, the Kuzabn parade through town, selecting recruits from children sixteen and over for the city's protection unit. With my features, I never stood the risk of being selected to the Kuzabn. My brother, however, lacks the Viry countenance. His hair is blonde and his eyes vibrant green, but he has a snub nose. His teeth crowd his mouth and his eyebrows are too dark and continue across the space between his eyes. "Holding hands" our mother calls it, as if his eyebrows are friends or lovers.
Krishel will leave to be trained as a warrior, and my life at home will become unbearable without any distractions from Father's wrath or Mother's overbearing nature. I wish, not for the first time, I could go with him.
Or even without him.
"Krishel? What if you didn't join the Kuzabn?"
He laughs. "No chance of that happening. You know Otz won't let me apply for the waiver."
I wave that aside, really considering it now. "But what if you didn't need a waiver? What if I joined instead?"
Krishel looks at me, all laughter gone from his expression. "You know you can't do that."
"Maybe I can. I'm not that high in the hierarchy."
Krishel doesn't change his position, his gaze steady.
"Seriously, though," I say, "what if they let me join instead of you?"
A flicker of hope crosses Krishel's green eyes before he squashes it with a shake of his head. "But your future would be ruined. No, we both have our paths set out for us."
I can't stop thinking about Janika, and her warning. Truthfully, if they Select me to the Kuzabn, it could be the best option for Krishel as well as me. He's always wanted to be a Trood; I've never wanted to be Viry.
"Don't try anything stupid, Nan." Krishel uses his nickname for me, from back when he couldn't pronounce my name. Either of them.
I swing both my legs down, scooting closer to him and taking his hand. "This could be the smartest move on my part."
He just looks at me a bit longer, then removes his hand from mine to pat my knee. "Whatever you say. Come on, dinner's probably ready."
Krishel jumps down then holds his hands up to help me. He keeps his arms around me once my feet are on the ground, hugging me. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you."
I smile at him. "Let me protect you for once."
*
Milo stops by for dinner, making the meal nearly unbearable for me. Father watches us closely, his features tight, as if it takes every ounce of energy not to reach across the table and slap me for some made-up transgression. I'm sure he's hoping to catch us holding hands.
Mother adores Milo; it's almost embarrassing how giddy she becomes when he's around. Milo is very handsome, and excellent with the Viry charm, but Mother behaves as if he is the first Viry she's ever encountered, or perhaps the most beautiful. He does have an infectious smile, though. And I do care for him, but I refuse to spend the remainder of my life birthing children and doing nothing meaningful.
Milo breaks into my musings by pressing my hand under the table. "Are you nervous for Krishel, about the Selection?"
I withdraw my hand, placing it beside my plate, and shake my head no. "He will be fine."
Milo smiles at me sadly, as if to humor my faith that my brother won't be Selected.
"Krishel may not be pretty to look at, but the Kuzabn don't care about that, do they, boy?" Father spears a chunk of steak and chews with relish. "Just look at those muscles. Yeah, they'll want you alright."
Krishel glances at me before lowering his gaze. He mumbles, "yes, sir."
Father knows as well as I do that Krishel loves helping around the house, repairing things, working with his hands. He's a natural Trood, adept with a hammer and nails, and he doesn't mind sweat.
"There are other sectors that pay fairly well," I say without thinking.
Father's knife clatters onto his plate. He doesn't speak at first, just glares at me. I can feel heat rushing to my cheeks, my heart pounding a bit faster than it had a moment ago, but I stare right back. Everyone else has suddenly become very interested in their meals.
"That so?" Father finally bites out. "Tell me, girl, since you're so good with numbers, how many children are in this family?"
I know where he's headed and I feel stupid for saying anything at all. Which was his intent, I'm sure. I drop my gaze and run my thumb and forefinger around the rim of my plate, ignoring him with as much nonchalance as I can muster.
His fist slams to the table, making his plate and flatware jump. "Dammit, you answer me when I question you, princess."
I had been ready to concede, but the sarcastic pet name tightens my jaw. Instead, I glare back at him in silence.
"Nadia," Milo says, his voice hushed but firm, "answer your father, please."
I press my lips together against the words that want to spill out, he's not my father, swallow them, then wait an extra beat, just because I can.
"There are two children here."
Father leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. I'd love to scratch that smirk off his sagging face. "And what does the Law say?"
I pick up my fork and press the tines into the fleshy part of my palm until it hurts. Then I tap the end of it against the tabletop twice and set it back down. I fold my hands in front of me.
"The Law states that each household must produce at least one Kuzabn recruit within three years of its eldest non-Viry turning sixteen. Failure to do so could result in imprisonment or even death. Special waivers from the Krasne Pravitko may only be issued for families in which every child possesses qualities of the Viryavati, or in which the non-Viry children possess superior skill sets useful to a different sector. No other exceptions are to be made."
When I finish, I give Father my sweetest fake smile and bat my eyelashes at him. It's dangerous, taunting him in such a way, but he would never strike me in front of Milo—not that I think Milo would do anything to defend me—and besides, if all goes well, I could be leaving here the day after tomorrow.
Before he leaves, Milo pulls me aside to tell me he's disappointed in my behavior at dinner.
"It's not respectful, and that concerns me for our future."
So I nod. "You're right. You deserve a wife who would never talk back."
He looks relieved. "I know you feel that way. I'm just glad to hear it."
Father goes to meet his buddies at the local pub, so I don't have to worry about backlash, at least not right away. Still, I say goodnight early to give myself time to barricade my door against any drunken punishment when he returns.
"You really shouldn't provoke your father like that, honey." Mother rubs my arm. "Goodnight, then."
Typical, no discussion, no chance for me to express my thoughts on the matter.
Krishel follows me to my room. "You were pretty brave to stand up to him like that tonight. It was pointless, but brave."
I grin. "I just don't want them giving you grief when you don't join the Kuzabn."
"I don't know, Nadia. It's risky even thinking about you going with them instead of me. And you're so tiny." He pats me on the head, even though I come up past his shoulder. "Otz is right; I'm the one with muscles. I would feel awful if something happened to you because you weren't strong enough."
If anyone else had said it, I might have been offended, but coming from Krishel, I know his intentions are pure. "That's why they're training us. A lot of people will have even less experience than me."
"But you know what they say." Krishel's eyes are wide. "Fail Kuzabn Initiation and you're marked either weak or disloyal. I don't want you to end up an Infirmid."
Infirmids are the bottom of the societal hierarchy, and work menial jobs for next to no pay.
I laugh off his concern. "You forget, I might be smaller, but I'm much more aggressive than you are."
Krishel nods. "You might be right. Well, get some rest. If you change your mind in the morning, I'll understand. Really."
I hug my baby brother, then wish him goodnight.
We both know I'm not changing my mind.
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