Intermix Nation

“You don’t look so hot yourself,” Nazirahretorts, unfazed.

“Caal left in quite the rush.”

“I’ll tell him you miss him.”

“What happened?” he asks. “Didn’t feel likeputting out?”

His words are crude, but his tone isunusually lighthearted. Like he’s saying it just for the sake ofsaying it. Like he’s trying for some semblance of normalcy, whichwould be the two of them arguing. Nazirah briefly glances at Aldrikand Solomon, still quarrelling at the head of the table.

“No, he didn’t.”

Nazirah flips his words around in a boredvoice. She casually reaches for some yogurt. Adamek gets a raresmile on his face, cheeks dimpling. “He doesn’t know what he’smissing.”

Nazirah thinks she may have been better offeating in her room after all. She excuses herself from the table,rising swiftly. Adamek looks at her curiously. “I’m glad you’reokay,” she says before leaving.

#

Nazirah spends the day in her room, packingor reading on the balcony. She tries to stay occupied, keep herthoughts off of Cato. Although Nazirah hates to admit it, he isright about a lot. She is a tease, even when she doesn’t mean tobe. Nazirah knew how he felt, knew what buttons to press. She ledhim on with her silence, and Cato is understandably fed up. Nazirahknows she has hurt him. But he has hurt her too! His disgustingwords, the things he accused her of! She doesn’t know how they moveforward from here.

The night of the party, Nazirah hearspounding at her door. Opening it reveals three women wearingcrimson headscarves, clearly Solomon’s servants. Nazirah quicklyjumps aside as they schlep in an assortment of boxes, oils, andjewels.

“Hello,” the oldest woman, hunched over,says in a heavy accent. She’s as wide around the middle as she istall. “I Padmakali.” She points to a middle-aged woman beside her.“This my daughter, Padmalaya.” She then points to the youngest,rail thin girl. “Granddaughter, Padmini.”

“I’m Nazirah,” she says, knowing she willnever remember their names. “Nice to meet you … all.”

“Here.” Padmakali pushes Nazirah towards themiddle of the room.

“What are you doing?” Nazirah asks thegranddaughter.

“They are not speaking the language of you,”Padmakali tells her harshly. “Master Salaahi is asking that usarrange you.”

“For the party?”

Padmakali nods, says, “Strip.”

She looks at Nazirah expectantly, sausagefingers poised and waiting. Nazirah blushes red as dust, but pullsoff her clothes and hands them to Padmakali. Padmakali nods,noticing the amnesty pendant around Nazirah’s neck. She gesturesfor Nazirah to remove it as well, but Nazirah shakes her head.

“I’d rather keep it on, if that’s allright.”

“Is fine.”

Much to Nazirah’s chagrin, besidesoverseeing, large Padmakali is also responsible for waxing,lotioning, and oiling. “This is really … ow… u

“No sense,” Padmakali says, retrieving laceundergarments from one of the boxes. Nazirah yanks them on quickly,eager to wear something besides skin. “Master Salaahi is wantingyou have full luxury treatment.”

She forces Nazirah into a chair, barking ather daughter. Padmalaya hurries into the bathroom. She fills abasin of water, adding scented oils, then rushes back and beginsvigorously washing Nazirah’s hair, scrubbing and yanking andtugging. Padmini takes out a palette and several brushes,skillfully mixing Nazirah’s makeup.

Three generations of Padmas hover aroundNazirah like nesting dolls, relentless lotus flowers of birth andrebirth. Padmalaya curls Nazirah’s long hair slightly, braids someof it, lets the rest fall in thick copper waves down her back.Padmini applies the makeup, concentrating hard even with hergrandmother shouting in her ear. She straightens up, grabbingNazirah’s wrist and spraying it with perfume that makes Nazirahcough. Padmini glances at Nazirah’s arm strangely and sayssomething to her grandmother. Nazirah doesn’t need a translator tounderstand what she asks.

“No tattoo,” Nazirah says bluntly.“Intermix.”

Padmakali slaps Padmini’s arm, scolding her.Padmini looks away, abashed. Nazirah is reminded that even in theRed West, where intermix probably have the most freedom out of allthe territories, she is still considered subservient to everyoneelse. Nazirah touches her arm self-consciously.

“Most sorries, Nazirah,” Padmakali says.“Padmini is not of the badness. We are not often pamperingintermix.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I know she didn’tmean anything by it.”

Padmalaya pulls out Nazirah’s dress and thethree lotuses help her into it. It’s made entirely of scarlet lace,cinching at the waist and flowing freely around her feet. Longsleeves elegantly cuff the wrist. There’s a high neckline in front,while the back plunges open, stopping just above the base ofNazirah’s spine. It’s breathtaking and Nazirah knows it probablycost more than Kasimir made in his most productive yearscombined.

Padmini enviously hands Nazirah a pair ofnude heels. Nazirah slips them on, wobbling slightly. Clearlyimpressed with their handiwork, they push Nazirah towards thefloor-length mirror.

Nazirah spins happily in the dress, whippingit up behind her like a dust storm. “Thank you so much,” she tellsthem honestly. “It’s beautiful. I could never do it justice.”

Padmakali shakes her head, forcing Nazirahto really look at herself in the mirror. Her hair is styledsimilarly to Riva’s. Her skin is luminous, cheekbones prominent androsy from Padmini’s delicate touch. Her eyes are heavily lined withkohl, lashes long and thick, bringing out the natural flecks ofgold in her irises. Her lips are nude, full.

She is striking.

Nazirah sees it all, but none of it matters.What matters is she has never looked this much like Riva before inher life. She touches her face, speechless. Having her mother here,with her in this small way, means more to Nazirah than beauty evercould.

“I have grandson for you,” Padmakali saysseriously. Nazirah laughs, the tinkling of bells. From the finalbox, Padmini removes a large gold bangle. She slips it on Nazirah’sarm, right above the bracelet from her first trip to theDeathlands. It’s embellished with a dozen red suns, inlaid withrubies. Padmini says something to Nazirah, happily grabbing herwrist. “Padmini is saying you now are Deathlander too,” Padmakalitranslates. “You are having the red sun like us.”

Nazirah is touched by Padmini’s heartfeltwords. She begins tearing up, but Padmakali shouts at her “Not tobe ruining the makeup.” Nazirah hugs those three nesting dollstightly before they leave, feeling closer to them than she dreamedpossible when they first marched through her door. She walks to themirror again, tucking the pendant out of sight. Standing before themirror, she puts a slow hand up to her reflection. Nazirah tracesthe lines of her face, of Riva’s face, heart-shaped andhoney-eyed.

Nazirah finds herself in that mirror. Shemay look like Riva, but she is not Riva. She is not Kasimir. She isborn of them, but entirely her own.

She is Nazirah Nation reborn.

There is soft rapping at her door. Behind itis Olag, dressed in a suit with diamond studs in each ear. “You’relooking especially dapper tonight,” Nazirah says, taking Olag’sproffered arm. Nazirah doesn’t think he understands her, but Olagflashes the first real smile she’s seen him wear. Nazirah returnsthe smile, letting him lead her to the celebration.

#

The party is lively and intimate, likeSolomon promised. But it is nothing like Nazirah expected. For thepast two days, Nazirah assumed Solomon’s celebration would resembleVictoria’s gala. That party was luxurious and strange, uptight andstuffy. But this is the Deathlands, not Mediah.

She should have known better.

The first thing Nazirah notices is themusic. It is throbbing, pulsating, intoxicating. Cymbals crash.Camel leather guitars strum, vibrating deeply. Lutes serenade.Drums bang. Men play the cane flute, while women sing loudly.Partygoers everywhere chant in Deathlandic, crooning andrhythmically handclapping. They sway their hips, gyrating,alternating between sharp and flowing movements. Some people jumpacrobatically to the music in a circle. Veiled women with brightsaris and bare midriffs belly dance through the crowd. People smokehookah in a corner.