22. Hatred (Patreon)

No, no, no. NO! Aloe agonized in the confines of her mind. It can’t be. It can’t be. The sultanzade’s words echoed in the scribe’s mind, “vitality to flow free from the body” she had said. No… She almost whimpered. It was hard to hold her mask. This had been a fatal blow. One that Fatima hadn’t even needed to try to land. That’s… Against her will, Aloe’s breathing became rugged. She’s describing Infusion…

She could tolerate that they tortured her body, that they destroyed it, but… The vital arts were hers. The imperials couldn’t have them, couldn’t know about them. Aloe had correlated Nurture with Infusion before, but up to her knowledge, they could only use internal infusions, not external ones.

Oh… Realization struck her with the unbridled fury of nature. They’ve known since the beginning. The scribe tried her best to keep her mask upright. That’s what the sultanah’s blood is, it’s an external infusion… Her thoughts wandered to the miraculous blood of the sultans, the so-called birthright of the imperial family, and what made the Qiraji Desert a habitable and farmable place when it should be a hostile death trap.

A fleeting thought taunted her to shift into charm, so she could control her expressions better, but the scribe shot it down instantly with malice. Not only there wasn’t time, but if she hadn’t fallen to the ground by now, that would do it. Acuity would have to do.

Keep the composure, Aloe. Don’t show weakness. Strength is not needed, just don’t show weakness. She repeated to herself in a maddened mantra.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet, scribe.” Fatima cut through her thoughts, her voice an executioner’s sword. No tip, only edge.

“I…” Think your words, you are talking with a sultanzade. She reminded herself. “The sheer possibilities of such stance have overwhelmed me.”

“Really?” Fatima slumped forward. Both of them sat on the opposite sides of a ground-level coffee table. The sultanzade wore a traditional party Ydazi dress. White with golden contours, and exposed midriff and waist. Only a face mask was left to make her into a belly dancer. “What are the applications you have thought about?”

Trap. Her enhanced senses urged her caution. “Mostly what we pondered yesternight, princess. Blood and swimming. But these exact words have lent me a new perspective.”

“Oh, might I hear it?” The woman’s interest was genuine.

“If the flowing stance truly allows to liberate the vitality from the body, would it not be possible to extend it to other items, perchance? For example, transfer the vitality into a weapon and make it tougher as if it had the defense stance?”

The scribe’s words were methodical. She didn’t outright reveal Infusion, but left room for the sultanzade to trip and reveal information she possessed about the flowing stance and Nurture. We both have lagoons in our knowledge. Me with stances, her with external infusions. No other sultanzade had a second stance, Aloe could feel it. This was a knowledge that only Aaliyah and she possessed. A piece of knowledge so secretive that she even doubted the sultanah had noticed it was now in her possession.

It was her trump card. One she had to be very protective about.

“Ah, you truly are an ingenious one. It seems your Nurture was truly bound by blood.” Fatima mused. That was not my intention, but if you want to fall into your own misunderstandings, I am more than happy to play into them. “Indeed, the flowing stance has many applications. So many in fact, that they make it a stance as complex as all the other once combined.”

“That sounds… appalling,” Aloe added neutrally, more of an icebreaker than an actual meaningful interaction.

“Quite,” The sultanzade nodded. “So much so that I am not qualified to teach you about it. Only older sultanzade or my mother have gotten a hang of the stance. And even then, I fear we have seen but a sand layer of this quarry.” 

Meaning you think there are stone and gemstones to still be found. Aloe kept those words to herself, considering them too revealing of her knowledge. Instead, she opted for a more reserved question.

“You mean to say that the sultanah does not even know all about the flowing stance.” Her words may have been diplomatic, yet her acuity detected clear hostility in her own voice. An unplanned hostility. 

Her tongue sissed when thinking of that woman. Only Aloe would have believed herself capable of controlling her emotions that much when many others would have been cursing at the four winds by now.

Fatima smiled. Their eyes locked and the scribe noticed the predator glint in the princess’ eyes. She has noticed. “Mother is precisely in the process of finding more usages of the flowing stance. If she is not doing her queenly duties, then she is studying in one form or another. Though those forms tend to be quite… creative.”

Aloe perfectly knew what that creative she spoke was. What had been that night? A monarch using her imperial powers to claim a girl or a hidden study? She couldn’t tell. Nor that the difference mattered. She was grinding her teeth nonetheless.

“But let us stop talking about that woman, she puts a rancid taste on the sweets.” I couldn’t agree more. The scribe left it unsaid and simply nodded. “Talking about sweets, please help yourself.” Fatima opened her arms at the treat-filled table.

Aloe extended her arms forward, but her body being as petite as it was and her torso immobilized because otherwise, it would put a strain on her waist, she found herself unable to even reach the corners of the table. 

“Uhm…” The scribe blushed. A partially controlled gesture. “I fear I am unable to partake in your offering.”

“I have expressed it before, scribe.” Fatima stood up. “There is too much fear in your body. People like us do not fear. They seize.”

The princess approached her, basically jumping on top of her as she positioned Aloe’s palanquin between her legs. She drew her upper body closer to the scribe, their eyes locking. Dark green against shining emerald.

“Tell me, Aloe.” The sultanzade’s voice was sharp like blades, yet also welcoming like an embrace. “Do you want to be seized?” There was hate in Fatima’s voice. But the hate wasn’t directed at Aloe. If I didn’t know better, I would say the hate is directed towards herself. “Do you want to be seized again?”

That last word changed everything.

A single word made all the difference in the world.

A simple adverb denoting repetition.

Her mind visualized a second time.

“No.” Aloe’s voice was pure hatred. Her eyes blossomed with acuity, reading the enhanced ones of sultanzade.

That woman in front of her wasn’t an ally. She knew it deep in her bones. The princess would sell her if she saw it beneficial. But the same could be said for her. They were only in a partnership for the gains and nothing else.

But they shared something else besides profits.

And that was hatred.

Pure, unadulterated hatred.

All directed at the same objective.

Fatima’s gaze was stern, partially understanding. As if it was pondering what she had in front of her. An enemy or a kindred soul? Neither. They both knew. They hadn’t spoked their desires between the two, but they knew their goals didn’t match. They were but the enemy of the enemy. Not friends, yet not without merits.

Aloe embraced that. That look was something she was more comfortable with, something she could recognize with more ease than kinship. The look of an unsatisfied customer, the look of someone who looked down at you because they considered you innately inferior.

At some point, the scribe found herself smiling.

A grotesque smile that no lady should ever wear.

Luckily for her, she was but a filthy commoner. No noble blood ran in her veins, only a toy for the imperials to play with. But also unbound by their rules. And a banker loved loopholes. Maybe a disgrace to her training, but it was a tool she was willing to use.

The princess smiled back at her, yet hers was kinder. As if she thrived in a toxic environment like the fairytale flowers of swamps. An oasis in the desert, a pearl amidst putrefaction.

Fatima’s lips twisted in a way that wasn’t humanly possible.

Nor that she was a human.

A pearl amidst putrefaction may be beautiful, but it was as toxic as the ecosystem it nurtured on.

“Now,” The princess’ arm disappeared out of the scribe’s field of view, and as she was expecting the worst considering the path the hand had taken, Aloe was surprised to find Fatima’s hand back with a glazed pastry. 

The imperial took a bite out of it and savored it. Her eyes lit up with joy and her cheeks gained a pink touch of delight. She swallowed down the contents with a deep sound. Her ajar meaty lips let out a vague moan. Fatima pressed the pastry on Aloe’s lips.

“Huh?” The scribe groaned out of stupefaction.

“Do you fear you no longer can partake in this offering?” The woman’s sultry voice was more obvious than a half-naked woman before a red lantern.

There was a lust in that interaction, one that raised many alarms in the scribe’s mind. Whether it was all an act or a true interest, one couldn’t deny that the beautiful woman before her was but a paragon of rotten deviancy if she behaved like this when she had those thoughts of shared blood.

But the message behind those words was even more clear to Aloe.

She wouldn’t turn away, not any longer.

Without uttering a single word, the petite woman took the whole pastry in her mouth. Even the bitten part. Even the fingers of the princess holding it. She didn’t leave a crumb behind.

In silence, she finished the whole pastry. Eating it with the same viciousness the sultanzade had first shown, swallowing it all down in a single go. The two women locked eyes and the small one who was being pressed down licked her lips in pure superiority. It didn’t matter that the woman on top of her was twice as big and she herself was prone and handicapped.

“No,” Aloe muttered a single word. A word with a lot of meaning and answers.

Sugar had never tasted sweeter.