Intermix Nation

  And Nazirah doesn’t offer.

  She doesn’t know how to explain this self-inflicted karma – this all-consuming guilt she feels all the time and the release that comes from the pain of getting beaten up. She can tell it’s wearing on him.

  “Give me a moment, Miss Nation,” Bilungi says, her voice muffled behind the curtain.

  Nazirah lies back on the hospital bed, gingerly touching her swollen cheek and bloody forehead. Her abdomen burns, and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth makes her queasy. From Cato’s worried looks, Nazirah knows she’s in bad shape.

  “You really should have come to see me about this earlier,” Bilungi says, characteristically ominous, behind the partition. Nazirah watches Bilungi’s silhouette through the sheer curtain as she tightly bandages someone’s shoulder with a roll of thick gauze. She finishes wrapping quickly, hands the person their shirt, and says they are free to go. Nazirah wishes she were so lucky.

  Bilungi appears from behind the partition, looking at Nazirah with her usual mixture of concern and derision. “That’s the fourth time this week,” she says, as if she doesn’t believe it. She walks over to Nazirah, inspecting her injuries methodically.

  “Well, we didn’t have class on Tuesday,” Nazirah says, trying to make light of the situation.

  Both Cato and Bilungi glare at her. Bilungi prods Nazirah’s abdomen, causing her to hiss in pain. “You have internal bleeding,” she says.

  Nazirah and Cato share a concerned look. Bilungi rifles through a cabinet, pulling out a muddy-looking vial of liquid. She hands it to Nazirah, who inspects its contents. It’s slightly chunky, like mud and grass in bloody water. She has gotten used to Bilungi’s odd range of concoctions and brews, but this is a first. “What is it?”

  “Drink it and I’ll tell you.”

  Bilungi is a coy old bitch.

  “What if I’m allergic?”

  “Then you die.”

  Closing her eyes, Nazirah tips the vial back, gagging as the muddy liquid slides down her throat. Swallowing and grimacing, she thrusts the vial back into Bilungi’s hands. Almost immediately, she feels relief spreading across her abdomen, like tiny warm hands stitching her insides back together.

  “That’s incredible,” Nazirah says, “and incredibly disgusting. What was it?”

  “Just silt, some holy water from the River Syx, and chicken blood.”

  Nazirah holds back another gag. “Oh, is that all?” she snips.

  “And, of course, some embezzled MEDIcine.”

  “MEDIcine?”

  “Medicine from Mediah. It’s extremely expensive.”

  “And you don’t think that maybe, just maybe, I only needed to take that last ingredient?”

  “No,” she says. Bilungi disposes of the empty vial and Nazirah bites her tongue. She wonders if the MEDIcine has come from one of Adamek’s connections. Bilungi picks up the jar of healing salve, needle, and thread that Nazirah is much more familiar with. Bilungi looks up at Cato, as if just realizing he is still there. “That will be all, Mr. Caal,” she says firmly, nodding towards the door. Cato is about to protest, but Bilungi cuts him off. “Miss Nation is greatly in need of rest and I need to address her wounds. The faster she is allowed to heal, the faster you can see her again.”

  Cato looks like he’s thinking about arguing, but from the look on Bilungi’s face, knows it will be pointless. He leans over and gives Nazirah a gentle kiss on her uninjured cheek. She smiles up at him lazily, head a bit foggy from MEDIcine and chicken blood. “I’ll see you later, Irri,” he says, before leaving.

  Bilungi goes to work immediately, stitching up the cut above Nazirah’s eye expertly. She is beginning to apply the healing salve on Nazirah’s cheek when someone storms into the room. It is Nikolaus, and he is pissed.

  “Nazirah, what is wrong with you?” Nikolaus yells, towering over the hospital bed.

  Bilungi’s lips narrow into a thin line as she continues applying the salve to Nazirah’s cheek. She clearly doesn’t want Nikolaus agitating her patient, but she doesn’t say anything to stop him. Bilungi is probably wondering the same thing herself, since Nazirah has visited her almost every day for weeks.

  “I guess you’re back, then,” Nazirah replies.

  Nikolaus has been away with Aldrik, Lord Grigori, and Adamek for over a week, on some impromptu reconnaissance mission in Osen. Nazirah didn’t find out he was leaving until after he was already gone.

  Nikolaus rubs his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. He clearly doesn’t want to deal with this right now. “Cut it out,” he says. “This is my job. Sometimes I have to leave at a moment’s notice, especially now, when everything is starting to fall into place. God, you look like crap.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Nikolaus is pale and is limping slightly. Nazirah doesn’t know exactly what happens during these recon missions, but for Nikolaus to get hurt, they must be seriously dangerous.

  Seeing the clear panic on her face, Nikolaus walks closer to her, making sure not to limp. He sits down beside her on the bed, taking her hands gently.

  “I’ll just put this away.” Bilungi quickly finishes applying the salve and leaves them to speak privately.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he says calmly. “I have a good team.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Nazirah can tell something is bothering him. No doubt it’s her.

  “When did you get back?”

  “Last night,” he continues. “And imagine my delight when Mather Grum cornered me in the hallway, ranting about how, for the last two weeks, you’ve refused to participate in any of his training sessions.” Nikolaus shoots her a curious look and Nazirah stares out the window. “He says that you’re making a fool of him and a mockery of his class. He says that you just stand there, allowing yourself to get beaten up, without trying to protect yourself.”

  “He says a lot.”

  “Nazirah,” Nikolaus warns, “I’m worried about you. I’m really worried.”

  She looks into his eyes, finds deep sadness there.

  “I’m pleased that you’ve started attending classes more and that you’re being somewhat proactive,” he continues, “but you need to be able to fight. It’s unlike you to shy away from something like this. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I just can’t do it, Niko.”

  “Is it Grum?” he asks. “Is it your classmates? Are they picking on you or something? Do you want me to –”

  “No it’s nothing like that,” she interrupts, shaking her head.

  Nikolaus doesn’t seem convinced. “Look, I get that you’re small,” he says, trying to understand. “And that’s fine. You can’t help that; you’re built like Riva.”

  “I’m not weak, Niko,” Nazirah says, through gritted teeth. “I just can’t do it.”

  “Why not, Nazirah?” he asks, pleading with her now. “Let me in! Tell me what you’re feeling!”

  “That’s just it,” she mumbles. “I don’t feel anything, anymore.”

  The partition curtain slides open, revealing Adamek buttoning up the top of his shirt. Nazirah looks at him, bewildered. Again, he has been here the entire time? He has heard everything? He must have stayed deliberately … it can’t take that long to button a shirt. Nazirah is annoyed, but she’s secretly grateful to no longer be the sole focus of Nikolaus’s attention. She hasn’t seen Adamek in weeks, not since the night he and Cato almost got into a fistfight. His left shoulder is bandaged heavily under his shirt, but his face is completely healed.

  “Morgen,” Nikolaus greets him swiftly. “Taking care of that shoulder?”

  Adamek nods, raising an eyebrow at Nazirah. She must really look like crap. A second later, he’s gone, out the door, greeting Bilungi as he leaves.

  “What a jerk,” Nazirah huffs. How Niko could act so civil with him, go on missions with him, is completely beyond her.

  “You’re truly unbelievable.”

  Is Niko actually defending hi
m? Not only is Nazirah supposed to magically accept Adamek’s amnesty and tolerate his presence, now she has to also rejoice whenever he walks into the room? Her brother is a real piece of work.

  “Thank you,” she snaps.

  “Do you know what happened to his shoulder?” Niko asks quietly, taking a steadying breath. “We’ve spent the last week on the Oseni border, spying on Medi training camps. Near the end of the mission, we got caught, in a real bad way.”

  “I don’t want to hear this!” she cries, covering her ears.

  “You have to hear this!” he says, pulling her hands away. “I almost died, Nazirah! Morgen saved me. He got shot in the shoulder and stitched himself up on the battlefield, for God’s sake! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “That’s gross.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “And what is the point?”

  “In the past few weeks, Adamek has proven countless times that he deserves to be here. He has risked his life for us, has helped our medical team, has given us detailed information and contacts.…” Niko trails off, looking out the window before refocusing on Nazirah. “The Medis, vicious though they are, are much more advanced than we. They have technology we could never even dream of, would not think could possibly exist. Without his help, we would have no chance of winning this.”

  Nazirah crosses her arms. “Doesn’t mean I have to like him,” she argues. “And since when do you call him that?”

  “What?”

  “That.”

  “… Adamek?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s his name, isn’t it?” asks Niko gently. “And no, you don’t have to like him. Contrary to what you may think, I’m not asking you to. But at least try to be civil, okay? Try to understand someone besides yourself, for once.”

  “We have nothing in common.”

  “Do you know that the Chancellor has renounced him? Has called him a brainwashed blood traitor? There’s a huge bounty on his head. His father wants him dead.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “People can change, Nazirah.”

  And don’t you forget it.

  “Not him,” she whispers.

  They stare sadly at each other, brother and sister at perpetual odds. Bilungi clears her throat from the far side of the room, indicating to Nikolaus that it’s time for him to go. He gets up to leave, but stops, speaking to Nazirah but facing the door. “Nazirah, I don’t know exactly why you’re against everything that I do,” he says. “I blame myself for a lot of the mess we’re in, but you’re the only family I have left. Our time, after hundreds of years of oppression, is finally coming. I don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m not sure why you’re refusing to fight, but I will get to the bottom of it. I need you to try … for me.”

  Nazirah is finally alone. She watches the open door for a moment and then lays her head on the hospital bed. She stares at the ceiling. Nikolaus is right, for once. She can’t keep doing this to herself. And he doesn’t deserve any more pain, especially caused by her. She will try. For Niko, she will try. She doesn’t know if it will work, but it’s worth a shot. Nazirah doesn’t want to die, but she isn’t sure she wants to live like this, either.

  Chapter Seven

  A day later, it’s the blessed weekend, and Nazirah doesn’t have to worry about combat training for forty-eight glorious hours. She sleeps in on Saturday, letting her body fully heal. She doesn’t get out of bed until the sun is high in the sky. Rested and rejuvenated, Nazirah takes a long run outside. She lies in the overgrown meadow for a while. It’s nearly fall, but the Eridian heat never falters.

  Nazirah meets up with Cato and the others for dinner, in unusually high spirits. Cato tells her that he and Taj have stolen some tequilux from Aldrik’s private stash, and that they plan to throw a party on the boys’ floor tonight. Nazirah promises to come, but says she has some work that she needs to do first. No one questions her, not even Cato, because Nazirah has had so many extra assignments due lately. And she’s not lying to them … not exactly.

  Nazirah does have work to do.

  Late that night, Nazirah puts on black sweatpants. She laces up her old tennis shoes and throws on a worn jersey top. Pulling her hair into a high ponytail, Nazirah looks at her reflection in the mirror. She is surprised and encouraged to see the determination on her face.

  On Riva’s face.

  There are traces of her old self, but they are concealed by new stitches and bruises.

  Quietly, Nazirah exits her room and tiptoes downstairs. She pauses, listening to the raucous sounds coming from the boys’ floor. She smiles a little, wishing she could join the fun.

  There will be time for that later.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, Nazirah pulls open the door to the basement. She walks with determination down the hallway. Eventually, she turns into a room she has been in only once before, during the brief tour Nikolaus gave her first week here.

  The workout room is old, musty, and reeks of sweat, but will suit Nazirah’s purpose just fine. There are the dummy she knows Cato likes to practice knife throwing on, the weights Taj has told her about, and even the mats that Lumi uses for stretching. Her friends have all made a concentrated effort to improve their combat skills. Now it’s Nazirah’s turn to catch up.

  If she could find a way to actually hit something.

  Nazirah walks past a rack of boxing gloves and some throwing knives. She sits down at a bench. She ties her sneakers and then reties them. No one else is here, because really, who would want to train on a Saturday night?

  But solitude is exactly what Nazirah has been hoping for. She briefly considered asking Cato to help her train – she knows he would have eagerly volunteered. But this is one fear Nazirah must face alone.

  “Animals.”

  Nazirah wrinkles her nose at the sweaty rags and towels piled around her. She isn’t the tidiest person, but really, this is ridiculous. Nazirah has no idea how Lumi even walks through the door, the princess that she is.

  Satisfied she won’t fall out of her shoes, Nazirah steps over a rag pile and stands under a small window high in the wall. She struggles with the latch, jumping a little and eventually reaching it on her tiptoes. Nazirah cracks the window open, hoping for wind or rain or hurricane to wash the rancid odors away.

  Nazirah spots some protection tape lying on a nearby bench. She picks it up, attempts to tape her fingers like Cato has done for her countless times in class. Nazirah holds up one complete hand and scrutinizes it. It looks more like the hand of a mummy than anything else, but it will have to do.

  Taping the other hand, Nazirah hums an Eridian melody. It’s off-beat and out of tune, but it fills the silence.

  Nazirah does what she thinks is some preliminary stretching, trying to drag out warming up for as long as possible. Rolling her shoulders, Nazirah decides she’s as ready as she’s going to get.

  Then the clapping starts, and her good mood flies right out the open window.

  Adamek leans against the punching bag in the far corner of the room. He wears a white wife-beater that prominently displays both of his black tattoo sleeves in their entirety. His left shoulder is still bandaged. His face is slightly flushed from working out and a pair of boxing gloves hangs from his neck.

  “That was quite the little show,” he says.

  “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

  “I didn’t realize Grum was teaching recruits how to bandage opponents to death,” he shoots back. “It doesn’t seem very efficient.”

  Nazirah flushes in anger, looking at her overly taped hands. Even from here she can see that his are done the right way. Her first instinct is to run and her eyes dart to the door. But she is no coward! Where is the Nazirah Nation who jumped off the cliffs of Rafu? Where is the Nazirah Nation who tried to beat up bullies twice her size? Where is that girl, who was once so fearless, and is now so scared and lost? And all because of this boy, who is probably expecting her to run anyway. br />
  Nazirah is tired of running.

  “Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” she says. She meets his gaze evenly, cocking her head.

  Adamek’s eyes darken. Two could play this game. “Yes, I would,” he says.

  Adamek steps away from the punching bag, giving her full access to it. Nazirah straightens her shoulders in defiance and cautiously approaches it, keeping an eye on him the entire time. They haven’t been alone since the day she met him in the prison. She feels out of sorts in his presence, apart from the obvious reasons. He is always just there, just watching. Like he’s trying to figure out what makes her tick; like she’s his pet project.

  Nazirah stands before the punching bag. She breathes deeply, zoning Adamek out, trying to remember the reason she came here in the first place. She can’t back down now. She can’t let Niko down. She has to figure out how to fight without freezing up. She has to figure out how to channel this guilt.

  Hit it. Hit it. Hit it.

  Her muscles lock. She sighs in frustration, resting her head against the bag and closing her eyes. She clenches her jaw, willing the images of Riva and Kasimir away. She opens her eyes, breathing hard. It’s just a bag, she thinks. It’s just a bag.

  But suddenly, it’s not just a bag anymore. Nazirah imagines that it’s something entirely different … someone entirely different.

  Just hit it.

  And she does.

  Her fist slams into the bag with a dull thud. It hurts her wrist and the bag barely moves an inch, but Nazirah wants to cry with joy. She hits it again, harder this time – and again and again. She feels a hand firmly grip her back, correcting her posture. And another, repositioning her arm. Nazirah whirls around, her heart pounding out of its ribcage.

  “Don’t fucking touch me!”

  Adamek is only a foot away. The gloves that were hanging around his neck are gone. He stares at the stitches above her eyebrow and at her bruised face. “I think you could use a few pointers,” he says.