2404 Rab 31, Briss

Nelnifa closed her hands into fists, knowing she would start fiddling her fingers more if she didn't. An empty glass of water sat on the dining table, a half-filled pitcher towering beside it. She glared balefully at the water, her synnavaim swirling in impatience beneath her skin. Magic wasn't something she was privy to associate with but her fingers had been itching to do something while she waited for her father to come home.

She sighed and pulled at the messy bun she had tied her hair a few minutes ago. If her father wouldn't appear by the doorframe for the next five minutes, she might as well braid her hair. Once her purple locks fell from the back of her head and hung to her hips, her fingers clamped into her hair and began moving deftly. Just like how she wove baskets and did her fisher knots, she drew and tucked her hair into neat arrays of what would be the braid. She knew quite a number of methods of braiding and, tonight, she settled for something complicated.

When she finished, a wince crept into her face as she rolled her shoulders more than once. Oh, damn. She always forgot how her muscles would get tired of being raised for too long. Shouldn't have tried the more complex style. It's not like her father knew the difference between braids. And she wasn't waiting for him to compare hairstyles.

Nelnifa pursed her lips and slid off her chair, closing her hands around the pitcher and trudging to the nearby sink in the kitchen. Their house wasn't that big but it wasn't small, either. Despite being made of salvia trunks and void of a stone floor, it was enough to house five people without them bumping into each other on their way in and out of the rooms. Oh, yeah, it has enough space for a lot of rooms, too.

The water from the faucet splashed into the pitcher just as the front door squeaked open. The Potentate strode inside, wiping the sweat off his hairline with his palm. "Father!" Nelnifa was about to burst forward and greet him but remembered the water. She yanked the faucet's knob closed, leaving the pitcher on the sink as she tramped to the living room. "How was the journey?"

Her father sat on the couch, throwing a satchel-full of parchment work beside him. "Tiring, as usual," he said with a heavy sigh. "How're your rounds today?"

Nelnifa pursed her lips and strode towards her father's side. With a grunt, she slid the satchel to one side to free up space next to her father. Then, she sank into the soft cushion before answering. "It's alright," she said, those two words her default whenever she didn't feel like talking.

Silence enveloped them. Her father glanced at her from his periphery, his face betraying his emotion. He didn't know what to do with her and her inability to hold a conversation. Well, Nelnifa had gotten used to those looks all her life. It wasn't like she knew how to fix herself either.

"Listen, father, um," she scratched her chin before forcing her hands to stay still against her knees. "Can I ask you something?"

Her father raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure," he said, switching to the lesser known dialect called Qirela. He only does that when he's either really tired or he wants to talk about things he wants to keep a secret. "What is it?"

Nelnifa closed her eyes and tried to recall all the Qirela she spoke. It's always a challenge to get used to one spoken language and switching so many times tends to overwhelm her. Thankfully, her father only knew Qirela, Desrela, the official dialect of Desara, and the common Keijula shared by all the fairies in their island, Umazure.

"I was hoping you could tell me why Desara is under Lantegian control in the first place," Nelnifa said. If she had understood then, maybe she wouldn't have made such a careless mistake which brought forth this whole protesting mess. "I mean, if you are allowed within your oath to disclose it."

The Potentate blinked then shook his head and smiled. "I keep forgetting you're not a flower-child anymore," he said, scratching his forehead with his thumb. "But I'm not bound by oath to keep it a secret."

Nelnifa exhaled. That's a huge relief. Her father cleared his throat. "We're not doing all that well as a territory," he said. "That's why Lanteglos has to step in and support us. Of course, their help doesn't come for free, so now, we pay for it with our freedom. Is this connected to what happened the other day? The...freedom movement?"

"Am I supposed to be putting my attention elsewhere?" Nelnifa said.

The humor in her tone flew past her father's understanding. "Don't think too much into it," he said. "I heard you already talked to the Marshals and they're doing their best in looking into these movements. You've done enough."

Nelnifa shook her head. "I have to give the people some kind of explanation why we had to be under Imperial control," she said. "It's my fault they're looking at our family and our position for hope. I have to be able to clean up my own messes."

"What are you planning?" came her father's question. It wasn't hostile but it sent Nelnifa's gut churning.

"I'm...going to find the reason why Desara is not performing well," Nelnifa said. The sentiment clicked as soon as her father said it was Lanteglos' only reason in taking hold of most of Desaran matters, including who gets to sit on the Potentate's place and where Desara's resources would go. There has to be a reason why despite all the hard work the water sprites had been doing, they couldn't seem to prove themselves capable of indepence after all these years.

Nelnifa inclined her head to one side. "There has to be something in the records, right? The inventories? The livelihood areas?" she said, the words spilling out of her mouths like an agitated colony of cata-cata. "I can review all of them and spot some inconsistencies and even point out spots for improvements. I-It could just be some sort of policy change or—"

"Nifa," her father's hands gripped her shoulders so suddenly her world whirled a little. "You have to know what kind of danger you're wading into before jumping headfirst into it. Promise me that."

Nelnifa gulped, a bitter taste suddenly coating the ends of her tongue. "Do you know something about it, father?" she asked. "You wouldn't have warned me if you had no idea."

Her father's hand slipped from her shoulders. "No, it's...how do I put it," he scratched the side of his face. "These matters that our territory has, it's probably rooted in deeper issues and you might uncover things that would put you in danger. Consider it as a father's instinct. I wouldn't want you to get hurt, Nifa."

She bit her lip, meeting her father's gaze for the first time since he came home and sat on the couch. A familiar glint shone in her father's eyes—one she knew all too well.

"Well, I'm off to bed," the Potentate said, dragging himself up the couch and turning his head from side to side to stretch his neck. "You should, too, if you want to get an early start with your duties tomorrow. Where's your next set of rounds going to start?"

Nelnifa flashed her father the most genuine smile she could muster so late into the night. "Orayta, again," she said. "I'll check up on the fisherfolk for my Rab report on them. I'm also running late so I need to do it as soon as possible."

Her father bobbed his head. "Yeah," he said, switching back to Desrela. "Get some rest."

She returned her father's gesture and he took it as a sign to turn away and terminate the conversation. Her eyes followed his lanky form move around the house, disappearing into the room in front of the one her brothers shared. Her mother was probably inside, already passed out. After all, the Consort has an appointment with the traders in Aresving tomorrow. It would be one hell of a long journey so her mother could be catching on all the sleep she could.

The darkness from outside their windows propped open by salvia poles poked at the false peace Nelnifa had acquired from talking to her father. Nothing had changed. If anything, it added more shroud over one of Desara's innate mysteries.

She didn't even know who to trust now. Because if she could trust her instincts regarding the glint she gleaned from her father's eyes, she could conclude one thing.

The Potentate just lied to her.