A Call for Brighter Days: Aeriel Trilogy #2

Ashwin emerged from the bedroom minutes after Simani and Vikram had settled into their usual spots on the sofa. Simani wore a long, purple tie-dye dress, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Vik stuck to his trusty flannel and jeans.

Sri, their son, had already been recruited as assistant engineer by Hiya. He was helping her embellish the airplane Ashwin had completed moments ago. Spray cans littered the sitting room floor and splotches of orange and yellow paint stained the children’s faces.

By the time he stepped out into the sitting room, Ashwin’s hair was dyed black and pulled into a long braid, interlaced with an appropriately bright purple ribbon. His feather cloak had been replaced by a loose cotton tunic paired with mismatched trousers. Dark lenses obscured his silver eyes.

A welcoming smile appeared on his lips when his gaze landed on the newcomers.

“Ruban didn’t tell me you were coming over,” he said, moving forward to greet them. “I’d have brought the special Zainian chocolates Sri ordered last time, if I’d known.”

“Ruban didn’t tell us you’d be here, either.” Vikram glanced over at Ruban, smirking. “But somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“Probably because you’re familiar with his featherbrained habit of barging in where he’s not invited,” Ruban muttered. “I had no idea he was planning a visit, either.”

“Not exactly a planner, our Ashwin.” Vikram clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. “Which might’ve been a problem, if he was any less of a chef. We’d have postponed dinner, if we knew you’d be here tonight.”

“Desserts!” Hiya and Sri yelled as one. Jumping to their feet, they flung themselves at Ashwin, who plucked both of them easily off the ground.

Ruban bit back the urge to snap at him. No human his size would find it that easy to support the full weight of two feisty pre-teens. Sometimes, it was like Ashwin wasn’t even trying anymore.

Ruban wasn’t deluded enough to think he could persuade Hiya to go to bed with both Ashwin and Sri in the house. Sighing, he settled down beside Simani to catch up with his friends, leaving Ashwin to be bothered by the children in the kitchen. A few hours of baby-sitting service was the least the Aeriel could offer, in return for all the trouble he caused.

Less than two hours later, an apron-clad Ashwin stepped out of the kitchen with a tray in each hand. Sri and Hiya followed him out, each carrying a small tray set with three steaming mugs. The rich aroma of dark chocolate hit Ruban’s nostrils before he’d had the chance to wonder at the children’s mesmerized expressions. He was half surprised Hiya hadn’t begun drooling yet.

Soon, the coffee table was overflowing with platters of rasmalai, shahi tukda, and jalebi. Tendrils of smoke rose from the six steaming mugs of hot chocolate that sat at the center of the table, surrounded by a variety of sweets and desserts. Ruban wondered where Ashwin had found the ingredients for such an elaborate spread. Last he checked, there’d only been enough milk in the fridge for two cups of coffee.

He shook his head, watching the kids attack the food with gusto, followed shortly by the adults. The dessert was far more elaborate than the dinner they’d had earlier that evening.

“Planning to eat us out of house and home, are you Ashwin?” Ruban asked, as he swallowed a jalebi and added two slices of shahi tukda to his plate. “I have a feeling you’ve used up the whole month’s supply of sugar in a day.”

“You know,” Vikram took an appreciative sip of his hot chocolate. “Anybody else would be flattered to have a Zainian nobleman acting as their personal chef.”

Ruban bit back the retort that sprung to his lips. What would Vikram say if he knew that it wasn’t a Zainian aristocrat but the prince of Vaan who had just fried his jalebis?

“I’m sure Ruban thinks it’s all part of a Zainian conspiracy to kill us with diabetes,” Simani grinned, nibbling on a rasmalai. “Although, as far as coup d’etats go, I can think of worse ways to go about it.”

“If only my mission was something as exciting as that,” Ashwin laughed. “If I must come clean, my superiors want me to look into the activities of the Vandran feather mafia. They’ve been smuggling Aeriel feathers into Zaini for a few months now. Apparently, it’s wreaking all kinds of havoc on the economy. Feather prices are falling like never before, government revenue has stagnated. Zaini wants to ensure that the Vandran government is doing everything it can to put an end to the mafia’s activities on both sides of the border.”

“If it’s any consolation, it’s not just the Zainian economy that’s taken a blow.” Simani frowned, helping herself to another rasmalai. “Qawirsin has flooded the black market with Aeriel feathers. It’s not like they have to worry about civilian casualties or minimizing collateral damage during Hunts. The Hunter Corps can’t keep up with their numbers. And with the government no longer the only major source of Aeriel feathers,” she shrugged. “Believe me, the IAW is as desperate to neutralize the mafia as our friends in Zaini, if not more.”

“Qawirsin?” Ashwin leaned forward, gazing at Simani with wide, guileless eyes. “Is that not the gang that’s been branding dead Aeriels? It’s stirred some…curiosity in Zaini.”

“The more morbid the news, the faster it travels.” Vikram rubbed wearily at his eyes.

“It’s just a stunt. Crude flexing…to establish dominance over the other gangs operating in the area. The Qawirsin started it, but they certainly aren’t the only ones doing it anymore.” Simani sighed. “Plus, it gets the media’s attention. Makes the Hunter Corps look weak and ineffective. And the public likes it. Vigilante justice. After all, the only thing better than a dead Aeriel is a dead Aeriel that’s been branded, dismembered, and humiliated.”

“Until they get caught in the crossfire,” Vikram scoffed. “Then they remember that the constitution exists for a reason.”