Oruka: City of Walls

Chapter 5 - The Color of Envy

I S M E - In Love with a Hildemoer Sister

It had been seven years since she first stumbled through House Zinnia's doors, soaked to the bone and trailing behind Doctor Habir like a stray kitten. Seven years since she last felt the violent pangs of hunger, or had to scratch and gouge at those who saw her as less than human. The night she was brought in, Madam Protea, proprietress of House Zinnia and Fourth Siren of Oruka's underworld, declared her a good luck charm. It was raining for the first time in a long, long while, and one of the mistress's best Blossoms had just died at the hands of a particularly nasty client. There was no official justice in the city for workers of the night, but Sirens didn't wear their ruthless reputations lightly. The world was cruel, so the mistresses of the Fourth Ring and their carnal ilk swore to be a hundred times crueler.

Isme's first task was simple: make her predecessor's murderer pay. There were no stipulations other than to do it alone. It was a test, and until she could prove her worth, she was not yet considered one of House Zinnia's own. She would be afforded no affiliation, and therefore no protection.

Isme had never been more ready for anything in her short, woe-begotten life.

In her homeland of Jardrunia, where leaves grew as big as your head and the air was so hot and sticky you could taste it, every child learned the art of giving and taking, of balance amongst all things. By the time a Jardrunian was old enough to bear children of her own, she knew which plants could ease the pains of her monthly flow or terminate an unwanted pregnancy. And some of these concoctions, if used on men, could inflict all manner of chaos and suffering.

Plant life was rather pitiful in the Fourth Ring, but there was no shortage of variety within the Second. There, Isme had her pick of greenhouses to choose from. She canvassed the area for a couple of nights, hiding the dismal sight of herself behind elegant archways and potted trees, before settling on a large nursery specializing in tropical flora.

Malnourished from months of solitude and hardship, the child had no trouble blending in with the cleaning staff. She spent a day studying their routine, then slipped in from behind as they began their shift the next morning. Her pinched face and bowed frame mirrored theirs with unintended ease. Inside the adjoined research facility, she stole the smallest uniform she could find, its fabric so bland and grey it rendered her completely nondescript. As the real staff fanned out to begin their usual duties, Isme slinked away on her own with a broom and dustpan. She located the greenhouse entrance easily enough, and the moment she stepped inside, found herself hit with the warm, sweet scent of home.

Her heart twisted with longing. This greenhouse doubled as an avian sanctuary, wet air punctuated by all manner of tropical bird calls. Isme stood there, dumbstruck, as precious minutes trickled by. She let the familiar sounds, smells, and colors seep through her defenses. It had been too long. She hadn't even realized how numb she'd grown.

Isme could feel her resolve crumbling. She didn't want to be here. To be sneaking into buildings or poisoning aristocratic murderers, trapped in a city that was too loud and crowded and filled with danger around every corner. She wanted to be with her tribe, singing their ancient songs by the fire and feeling the sun warmed bark of trees beneath her palms. She wanted to drink from a clear stream whenever she was thirsty. To eat rich, sweet fruit plucked straight from a vine.

She wanted to go home.

But home was leagues and leagues away, as was her family. And there was a job to be done.

The girl squared her shoulders, her will crashing back down in a cold wave of reality. If she was to have any hope of getting back home, she would have to complete not only this task, but every one thereafter assigned by her new mistress. May as well get used to it now.