Work Text:
Tali Yul-Ghashar had lived in Kerch for ten years, now. He’d fled Shu Han with his father — a Fabrikator — back when the rumours of Grisha disappearances had been an all-time high. They’d picked Kerch as Tali already had a good grasp of the language, following his job as a trader on the coast.
It had been a nice enough life, in this tiny Kerch hamlet just outside Lij. Farming was hard work, but Tali quite enjoyed the peace and quiet, after his previous life on the bustling docks and trade markets of Shu Han. The only thing that he really missed from his homeland were the spices. The Kerch were notoriously reluctant to season their food: to them, spices were merely a gift from Ghezen, to covet and trade and get rich from, while they ate their bland cuisine and enjoyed being rich in money, if not in palate.
Today, however, Tali had returned from his half-yearly visit to Ketterdam, along with a chest full of fresh Shu spices, and he busied himself making tsuivan. His father, dead three long years’ now, had loved the spiced, stir-fried noodles, and Tali smiled as he worked, fond memories of his father flooding his mind. He threw open the windows as soon as the oil heated up in the pan, letting the fresh air in and any lingering smoke out.
The food, when it was finished, smelled delicious. Tali was just serving himself, mouth watering in anticipation, when a knock came at the door. He paused, then put his bowl down with a small frown. There was no-one in the area except two other farms, and no regular deliveries or services came around this time of the evening.
When he opened the door, Tali found himself face-to-face with a Suli girl in her mid-twenties, her bronze skin glowing in the evening light, her brown eyes luminous and hopeful. Her feet were bare on the dusty ground beneath her linen trousers. She was heavily pregnant, and clasped a small bowl to her enormous belly. It was Inej Rietveld, one of his neighbours.
Tali had met the Rietvelds briefly, when they first moved into the farmhouse that had stood empty ever since Tali had moved to Kerch. The couple kept to themselves, and had moved from Ketterdam. Tali’s initial thought back then was how oddly matched they were as a pair. Kazpar Rietveld was as Kerch as they came; pale skin, sombre expression, sober merchant clothes. He was tall, with a shock of dark hair, and carried a cane that made Tali look twice, wondering how he was going to keep a working farm going if he couldn’t walk properly.
In comparison, Inej Rietveld was tiny, with her dark skin and hair, her sparking eyes and generous smile, and the bright, patterned material of her shirt. Tali had taken an immediate liking to the young woman, who would have been about the age of any children of his own, had he ever settled down to have them.
Inej was still as tiny as he remembered from then, with the exception of that enormous belly.
‘I’m so sorry to disturb you at dinner time,’ Inej said now, her voice earnest and her gaze apologetic. ‘I realise it’s incredibly rude, and that we barely know each other, but…’ she trailed off, looking down bashfully at her stomach. She must be mere weeks from giving birth, if not days. Her fingers tightened around the bowl she held. ‘It’s just I was thinking about making dinner, and nothing was at all appealing, and Kaz is still out on the farm, and then I opened the window…’ she looked up again. ‘Whatever you’re cooking smells so good. I haven’t had fresh spices for months.’ Slowly she uncurled her hands from her stomach, sheepishly holding out her empty bowl. ‘I was wondering… if you had enough, of course… could I maybe — could I have some?’
She looked so hopeful, and so eager, Tali couldn’t help smiling. He’d made plenty of food — always did, even though it was just him, now. He held his hand out for the bowl, and Inej’s eyes lit up in delight as she passed it to him.
‘Want to come in and wait while I dish up?’ Tali asked, opening the door wide for her. He probably imagined it, but for a split second, it almost seemed like a look of terror chased across Inej’s kind face. He blinked in surprise, but then she was smiling once more.
‘I wouldn’t want to impose,’ she said with an easy laugh. ‘Especially as I’m already stealing your supper!’
He really didn’t mind, but something in that possibly-imagined look on her face made Tali hold off insisting. He smiled back instead. ‘Won’t be a moment!’ he said cheerily, as he hurried off to his kitchen. He quickly ladled a generous serving into her small bowl, paused, and then opened a high cupboard, rummaging around and pulling out a lidded ramekin. He ladled a second helping into that, pressing the lid securely in place, and took both back to the doorway.
Inej was waiting patiently, her eyes closed and her head turned very slightly to the setting sun, so the golden glow of twilight washed over her skin. She turned when she heard him return, and her eyes widened in surprise as he held out her bowl and the ramekin.
‘Oh, Mister Yul-Ghashar, really, you needn’t sacrifice your whole meal—’
‘Not at all,’ he said firmly, interrupting her with a smile. ‘I always make more than enough. It’s a real pleasure to be able to share Shu food with someone here — most people in Kerch can’t handle any kind of spice, it seems.’
Inej laughed at that, as she accepted the food from him. ‘Oh, absolutely. Kaz is the same — if it isn’t salt, he doesn’t want to know.’ She balanced the two containers against her enormous stomach and shifted her weight, ready to walk away. ‘Thank you again,’ she said, unable to hide the delight from her expression. ‘I really appreciate this.’
’Hey, I’m always happy to help out my neighbours. You or your husband ever need anything, Missus Rietveld, I’m here.’
He watched with a fond smile as Inej waddled away with her treasures, blooming belly leading the way back to the Rietveld place, then closed his door, his stomach rumbling hungrily for his own dinner.
It was several hours later, when the night had fully settled and Tali had turned the lamps in his living room up full, when he heard a second knock on his door. He put down the book of Shu poetry he’d been reading — his mother’s favourite poet, when she had been alive — and made his way to the door, unlocking it and opening it carefully.
A tall, vaguely-threatening figure loomed on his doorstep, dressed all in black with a lumpy package beneath one arm. For a second, Tali’s heart thumped in panic, but as he turned the oil lamp at the door up and the light cast the figure’s features into stark relief, he realised it was Inej’s husband, Kazpar. He leaned heavily on his sturdy wooden cane, and as he shifted his weight, the package under his arm gave a soft clink.
‘Mister Rietveld! What brings you here in the dark?’
Kazpar raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth quirking with the ghost of a smirk. He leaned his cane against Tali’s wall, and pulled open the package. ‘My wife told me you gave her dinner today. I’ve not seen her quite so content after eating for many months, now. I wanted to thank you for your kindness.’
Tali realised the package held two dark bottles of liquid, and he took them from Kazpar with a nod. ‘It really was no problem,’ he insisted. ‘I was glad to be able to help Missus Rietveld. It’s my understanding that women in her condition often have little control over what takes their appetite fancy.’
Kazpar definitely grinned then, although he quickly pulled his expression back to neutral. ‘Inej has always had a taste for hot food, but it seems the baby craves spice even more than their mother.’ He nodded to the bottles Tali now held. ‘It’s red apple cider, from our orchards.Thank you, Mister Yul-Ghashar.’
‘Please, Mister Rietveld, call me Tali.’
‘Kaz,’ Kazpar — Kaz — replied, and he gave Tali an almost-friendly nod, before disappearing back into the dark.