The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2021

“Mistress, you should rest,” objected Bavira anxiously from where she stood by the porridge pot.

Feloa said, “Let her be. The work comforts her. She likes it best in the kitchen.”

It was true enough. Meklos could have hired a cook, but he preferred to be seen as a man so successful that his wife would never allow another woman’s hands to make food for him. Since it was bad luck for a husband to set foot in a wife’s kitchen, the kitchen had become her treasured domain. Her whole heart and attention could fall into the food. Batter to be mixed. Dough to be rolled out and braided. Rosebud cakes to be decorated. Savory pinwheels to be rolled up, sliced, and baked.

“Mother! What are you doing?”

Her eldest son appeared in the kitchen doorway. When little, Elilas and his brothers had spent plenty of time in the kitchen with her, but now that he would inherit the headship of the house, he hesitated, not wanting to bring ill luck to the home he’d lived in his whole life. His wife, Danis, pushed past him, easy with him as Asvi had never been with her own husband.

“Your mother wants everything done right with the food, just as she always has,” Danis said, coming to the table where Asvi was kneading dough. “Dear Mother, I am sorry to interrupt you. The priest-magistrate has come. You must attend him in the parlor for the ceremony of crossing.”

Asvi’s hands stilled, fingers laced through the comforting texture of dough.

“Oh,” she said in a low voice.

“I’ve sent a servant to the tea shop for a full tray, but you should have been in the parlor to greet him,” said Elilas with his usual hint of impatience.

Feloa had been making pancakes. She took the pan off the top of the stove and came over to the table with a damp cloth to pat flour off of Asvi’s face and wipe her hands clean. “I’ll finish the kneading, mistress.”

The ceremony had to follow its proper course.

Asvi took off her apron, then paused at the door. “Do the pancakes first. Bavira, bring the last tray of sesame dumplings for the priest.”

“Mother! He’s waiting!”

The parlor was a formal room used only for entertaining visitors and decorated to impress with lacquered chairs, embroidered couches, a polished side table, and a glass-fronted cupboard to display the delicate cups and saucers used for important guests. The priest-magistrate was standing with hands folded behind his back, studying her husband’s collection of precious demon eyes, hard gleaming spheres like gemstones. To hold one in your hand could kill you, but each of these was encased in a net of silver thread to confine and dampen its toxic magic.

“Your Honor,” said her son.

The man’s cold and forbidding presence was leavened by a warm baritone voice. “Widow Meklos, may you follow your husband in peace as you followed your father in obedience and follow after your sons with a nurturing heart to care for their needs.”

She inclined her head, glad she did not have to speak. What was there to say? The words were part of the rite once used in the old country when a widow was drugged and buried alongside her dead husband. Who was a woman, after all, except through the men who recognized her as part of their lives? Asvi, daughter of Hinan. Asvi, sister of Astyan, Nerlas, Tohilos, Elyan, and Belek. Asvi, wife of Meklos. Asvi, mother of Elilas, Vesterilos, and Posyon.

The priest went upstairs with her son to examine the body. Once he was out of the parlor, she went to the cupboard and took out cups for the men.

Danis came in, carrying the tray of sesame dumplings. “Dear Mother, will you not sit down? I’ll set out the tea things . . . ah, here is the tea.”

A servant hurried in carrying a covered tray, which he set down on the side table next to the dumplings.

“Thank you, Herel,” Danis said graciously.

He touched fingers to his forehead, ear, and heart, and left the parlor. With the practiced movements of a woman who has had the leisure, as a girl, to learn such niceties, Danis set the cups on saucers and the saucers on a tray painted with flowers. Then she tipped the lid of the heavy teapot just enough to inhale the scent with a satisfied nod.

“Feloa will bring up hot pancakes when they return, but don’t expect the priest-magistrate to eat any,” Danis went on, watching Asvi with a wary eye as if expecting her to collapse at any instant. “We can eat them once he’s gone. We’re not required to starve!”

“Will you promise to keep Feloa on, Danis?” said Asvi in a low voice.

“Keep her on?”

“Households often turn out older women who are servants and hire in younger ones.”

“Such a course is advised as a matter of economy. A younger worker can get more done. An older worker should return to her family to rest.”

“She has no male kin. She was never able to marry and have sons. She’s served me well all these years. I would not want to see her forced—” The thought caught in her throat like a bone that could not be swallowed.

Danis nodded with a sober expression, never one to pretend she did not understand an uncomfortable truth. “You want me to promise we will not turn her out and force her to take the long walk.”