Lanna rolled her eyes. There he was again. How long would he keep this up?

She lifted her basket of laundry higher on her hip and placed her feet with care as she climbed the muddy riverbank. Another tub of scrubbing awaited at the hut. She had no time for a persistent male. Her rejection should have been the end.

Lanna picked her way up the slick slope and admired the terraces above her on either side of the valley. The rice grew well. Green had taken over to such an extent that she could hardly see any mud. Imperial people didn't know what a blessing it was to be able to grow food rather than need to hunt for it. Did they ever know hunger here?

Her family took pride in farming even though they didn't own any land. Though even if they had coin nothing would change – Southerners were barred from land ownership. If she married, however, that could change.

Lanna huffed and tossed her head to move some stray curls from her eyes. The basket, heavy with water-soaked bedding, made her arms complain.

Regardless, she couldn't show weakness while that annoying boy watched. She glanced at the blue sky. In the distance clouds hung, black and gloomy. The hot day indicated the dry season would soon be upon them. She wasn't sure how she would cope with more heat.

Hemil stood at the top of the rise, pruning the peach trees, but Lanna wasn't fooled. That was an activity for the late dry season, when the sap in the tree was low, but the peaches had only fallen last month, and the trees wouldn't blossom again until the next rainy season.

The matchmaker had been incensed at Lanna's flat refusal to accept Hemil's offer. Called her a foolish brat – at least that was how Lanna had translated it. Mika had been upset also but remained on good terms with Lanna.

Yet Lanna hadn't reckoned on how stubborn Hemil would be. She became suspicious when she had chance meetings with him nearly every day. She had never seen him so frequently before his proposal. He had offered a sincere apology many times, once in the centre of the village during the market, providing a wonderful spectacle.

Lanna cursed and marched straight past Hemil with only a nod, but she should have known he wouldn't let her walk by without some acknowledgement.

'Fine day, is it not, Lanna?' he called out. He turned from his pointless task and dropped the shears, which she noted were rusted shut. Her lips quirked up despite her affronted pride.

'It is,' she responded. 'As it was the day before and the day before that when you asked me.'

He hesitated, dark eyes darting over her. She steadied herself, ready for what he would try next to tempt her to relent.

'You seem to enjoy the laundry.' He narrowed his eyes. 'I wager because it lets you spend time alone. It must be very cramped in your hut.'

Ah, so pointing out her poor accommodation was the tactic? Well, he'd left her an easy opening she would happily exploit. She wouldn't even have to be rude.

'Yes, time alone. I do so value it.' She gave him a gleeful look, taking no small amount of delight in goading him. 'So you'll appreciate that you're intruding and I have much to do.' Her Imperial had improved over the previous month.

Lanna turned but not before she saw his face fall. She winced. Why would he not move on?

Mika shared every detail of the matchmaker's further visits to her household. Girls in other villages were available. None would turn him down. Some wouldn't even bother to meet him before the marriage.

Lanna shook her head. The Empire was moons touched, not her. She walked down the main street, her muscles straining, acid stinging in her upper arms and shoulders.

Hemil followed several paces behind. People nodded to Lanna in greeting as she passed. All were known to her: every man, woman, child. She knew their names, their family names, where they lived; in some cases, she had eaten in their homes. A reward for aiding them with planting or repairs.

Village Eight-Nine-Two had started to feel like a home. She had been part of it for only four months, yet she felt safe.

Underfoot came a rut where she'd expected road and she misstepped. Lanna stumbled forward and clung to her basket, then made a confused noise as her burden inexplicably became lighter.

Without a word, her admirer had taken a handle of the basket for himself. She frowned, bristling. Lanna had seen couples walk through the village and been puzzled by the habit of the man taking a burden from the woman. Was it to show his strength and consideration? Did it not also belittle his partner? A wife could carry a child but not a sack of rice?

But Hemil didn't take the burden from her. He kept hold of his handle, sharing the load. Lanna looked at the basket held between them, then back at the boy.

'If you will...'

She missed the last part of his sentence but guessed his intention. He'd asked if she would let him help.

Something in the pit of her stomach warmed and a tension she had no name for drew across her chest. Lanna answered with action and started walking. He kept up with her strides. He may not be built like a Clansman, but neither was he weak. Hemil wore short sleeves, affording her a view of the cords and muscles standing out under his sun-browned skin. A lifetime of farm work had left his long-fingered hands as scarred and rough as hers.

They reached her hut and Lanna thanked the ancestors for small mercies: none of her family were near. Rolling her shoulders, she set the basket against the bamboo wall.

'Thank you.' Her words came out stilted and she combed her curls from her face, irritated that they were sticking to her forehead.

Hemil gave her a dazzling smile. 'It was my pleasure, Lanna.'

That warm feeling in her stomach returned so she redoubled her efforts to be polite and indifferent. Spinning, she turned to the suds-filled tub of clothing left to soak.

Lanna knelt and plunged her hands into the water, but her gaze shot upward when a second pair of hands joined hers. Hemil didn't even look at her. He turned his attention to the laundry, focusing on rubbing the fabric. She said nothing. He had asked to help, or at least she thought he had. Perhaps that meant more than carrying?

The silence stretched, broken only by the splash of water. Hemil scrubbed the clothing with unnecessary vigour, and the fabric rubbed his hands raw and red. Lanna couldn't keep her face straight. A few times when he bent over the scrubbing board, she smirked at the crown of his head. They finished the task without a single word.

She found it endearing that he tried so hard, yet she couldn't fathom why. Others waited for his attention. Lanna stood and dragged the basket of clean bedding to a rope strung between the hut and a nearby tree, and pegged the washing onto it to dry. Hemil again helped, grabbing his own armful of wet fabric. He flashed her another smile.

Shaking her head, Lanna bent to retrieve the basket when she felt a vicious stab of pain in her head. She tried to warn him, but her tongue refused to work. Then everything slipped away. Hemil, the laundry, the village. All was roaring darkness.

***

Lanna's eyes opened. She found herself on the ground, but arms clutched her to a chest and a panicked heart hammered under her ear.

'Someone, help!'

She wanted to tell him not to worry, that it always looked worse than it was. She would be well after some sleep. Then there were other voices, a confused and jagged jumble of speech. Lanna couldn't focus long enough to translate. Her mind swirled with shock and fatigue. Soon it would pull her into darkness again.

Someone lifted her, and a hushed voice whispered, the words soft, attempting to reassure her as she twitched with the aftermath of her seizure.

It always hurt when people worried. Guilt that she caused those around her pain tore at the edges of her unravelling thoughts. Her back rested upon a mat, hands slipping from her legs and shoulders. She sighed, giving up the fight to stay awake.

***

Shadows crowded the corners of the hut when she opened her eyes once more. She could hear the crackle of the firepit and the green scent of tea filled her nostrils. Drowsy, she listened to Freya speak in broken Imperial.

'Lanna born with falling sickness. She healthy most of the time, but sometimes she collapse and shake.'

'There's... no cure?'

Silence followed Hemil's question. Liquid bubbled somewhere, punctuating the emptiness.

'After a fit, she be exhausted – need to rest,' her mother whispered. 'There is no pattern. Nothing we know that starts it.'

Lanna wondered what Hemil thought of her now. Would he give up? Her illness was no longer a secret: Lanna of the Clans was a weak woman. Imperfect and destined to be a burden. Her heart ached, as it always did after a fit. The curse of her illness pressed on her mind, splintering the beginnings of her quiet confidence. In the Empire they had helped her grow, shown her she could rely on herself and be accepted. Now? Her brittle new life fractured before her still-closed eyes.

'One reason for leaving homeland was for Lanna. Things were not desperate there. Could have stayed.' Freya sighed over the clatter of horn cups.

'Lanna was due to be made a woman last freeze. Given rights of an adult. The elders decided delay. They say she need grow up more.'

Hemil said nothing but Lanna could hear the slight slurp as he sipped tea.

'This not unusual,' Freya continued. 'Most women told "no" first time they put forward. For Lanna, sparing pride. We begged them to not say truth. Wait until she older, stronger to hear decision.'

Hemil seemed to put things together the same moment Lanna did.

'They didn't want her to have a family?'

'She could pass sickness to children,' Freya confirmed. 'The sick are burden. Price of survival is sacrifice. She made unfit to be mother when ten.'

If Lanna hadn't been so tired, she would have screamed. They had lied to her. Regardless of their good intentions the falsehood stung. Her stomach shrank and her head spun. She tossed her head to the side, fitful and twitching. The speakers paused and lowered their voices, perhaps fearing they disturbed her.

'That is lunacy,' Hemil muttered. 'Lanna would be an attentive and loyal parent.'

Hemil left soon after. Once her family slept, Lanna allowed her tears to fall in the quiet of the predawn. So much effort spent to prove herself worthy to those stern women. All those tasks to show how responsible she could be. Had the elders laughed? Or had they regretted that they would have to destroy her hopes? Yet the truth was that none of her feelings mattered. Survival was sacrifice. In the end, the elders couldn't risk her weakness spreading.

Should she feel ashamed or elated that she was part of the reason her family had left? They loved her enough to leave, yet they had taken such a risk for her. It was something to ponder when her tears were dry, and her head didn't throb like an infected organ.

Hemil returned as the sun rose, the roosters in full voice as he scratched at the bamboo door. Lanna could sit up. Alric's gentle hands lifted her so her back rested against the wall and he smoothed a blanket over her lap. Imperfect she may be, but her pride wouldn't let her remain on the floor. Her father understood that and she squeezed his hand before he withdrew, a small smile on her lips.

They may have lied, but that didn't diminish her love for them.

Freya opened the door and Lanna wrinkled her nose. Her hair was in knots and she was still wearing her tunic from the previous day. The cloth hung off her left shoulder. She blinked, eyes gritty and slow to focus as the morning streamed into the dim interior.

'Stay,' Freya ordered the shadow of the young man outlined in the doorway. 'Have food.'

Hemil bowed and entered. His gaze swept over Lanna and he gave her the smallest of smiles, though his dark eyes remained sombre. Smudges under his sockets indicated he hadn't slept much. He sat at the edge of the firepit, opposite Lanna, then turned to speak to Freya.

'How is sh—'

'I'm sick, not deaf.'

Durrick covered a smirk under his hand, most interested in his porridge, blond hair falling over his face to hide his amusement.

'Daughter...' Alric's voice rumbled a warning, even though his eyes glinted with the same humour that infected his side-son.

Lanna took a shuddering breath. 'I'm fine. Th-Thank you for y-yesterday.' Her tongue felt leaden. She cursed in Southern and tried to drag a shaking hand through her matted hair, only to get her fingers tangled.

Hemil watched her from across the fire, an eyebrow quirking upward at her struggles.

'You should have told me you were ill.' His soft words made her pause. Was this the moment he told her of his disgust? If so, why come to her home at all?

'How can I take care of you if you don't tell me what you need from me?'

Lanna's mouth dropped open, her fingers still lost in the snarl of curls on her scalp. Her back was pressed against the wall, wooden staves biting into her shoulder blades, and her breath hitched as she inhaled, her nostrils widening, throat tightening.

Hemil folded his hands into the undyed cotton sleeves of his work tunic and gave her a stern look. 'Things shall change.' Then he bowed, bending from the waist, black hair falling over serious eyes. His chin almost touched his knees. 'Forgive me if anything I did made you—'

'It wasn't you,' she cut in with a croak. 'It just happens. I'll be back to work tomorrow.'

He straightened then rubbed the back of his neck. 'About that.' He glanced at her smirking family. 'I asked my brother to cover my duties today.' He glanced back to her. 'I'm needed here, if your family will allow me to stay?'

'So thoughtful,' her mother gushed, a smile as broad as the Blacklands stretched over her face. Freya stood and her thick braid hung over her shoulder to tickle Lanna's face as she bent to whisper to her in Southern. 'This will let us work. I like this one, Lanna. Give him half a chance and see if he grabs it.'

Alric rolled his eyes and tugged at Freya's shoulder before he ushered Durrick out the hut. Freya gave Lanna a wink before closing the bamboo door shut with a snap that set Lanna's ears ringing.

Hemil set about her home as if it were his own. He filled the cooking pot with water and swung the heavy iron container over embers that still glowed bright from breakfast.

Lanna watched him bank the fire, and the flames leapt to lick at the metal vessel. From a pocket in his robe, Hemil pulled a cloth bag and tipped what looked like bark strips into the water. His eyes slid in her direction to meet her curious gaze.

'Firebloom bark. It'll ease your headache.'

Lanna shook her head, not quite taking this all in. Why had he come? What did he hope to gain? Her eyes fluttered closed.

***

A hand on her shoulder woke her from a light doze, and her gummy eyes opened with a sluggish flutter. Hemil crouched before her, holding a cup of tea that smelt sharp and acrid. He seemed so grave, his lips in a severe line.

'Lanna?'

She rubbed sticky deposits from her eyelids to cover her embarrassment. Why was she staring at him?

'Sorry.' She took the tea in her hands and he gave her a small smile of encouragement. Her chest tightened. She took a small sip of tea and gagged as the sour fluid made her eyes water. Unwilling to let the liquid win, she tilted her head back and gulped it down.

Hemil's warm chuckle made her chest constrict further. What was wrong with her? Angry with herself, she gave the cup back to him. 'My thanks.'

'Thank me by resting.'

Grumbling, she closed her eyes, the pain in her head fading to a dull ache. Whatever had been in the tea eased her muscles and soon lulled her back to sleep.

***

When she awoke again, she felt almost refreshed. No dragging ache in her shoulders or fuzz over her thoughts. Hemil sat cross-legged in the corner. He had a bamboo scroll on his lap and scratched marks into the wooden slats with a small knife, the tip of his tongue clamped between his lips.

She shifted, her hair snagging on the boards behind her head. Irritated, Lanna lifted a hand to yank at the strands, ignoring the tremor in her fingers.

There was the rasp of cotton cloth, then a coarse hand clasped her own. 'Let me.' Nimble fingers pulled her curls free then an arm snaked over her shoulders. Lanna stiffened, not knowing what to expect.

'I want to move you forward.'

'Why?' She looked up at him.

He met her suspicious expression with a warm smile. 'Don't be so prickly; I'm here to help.'

She narrowed her eyes and helped him shift her uncooperative body forward. Muscles pinched and burnt with the movement, and her head started to pound anew. Teeth set, she endured.

Hemil knelt behind her. Lanna's body twitched when she felt fingertips in her hair.

'I will untangle it,' he whispered, breath tickling the back of her neck. 'I have four sisters. I know what I'm doing.' A hand fell on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 'Do you trust me?'

She tipped her head down by way of an answer, allowing him better access to the unruly brown curls. 'All your sisters have straight hair,' she muttered at her chest.

'I am up to the challenge.' Hemil combed through her hair with practised confidence; she felt no pull on her scalp. While his chest brushed against her shoulders and back, she found his proximity reassuring rather than awkward. Her eyes fell half closed, her mind lulled to stillness.

'I didn't know you could read,' she whispered. Seeing him with a scroll didn't fit her image of him at all. Hemil the scholar? She wanted to laugh.

'I can't. No one here can. This village is too remote for a school. I was calculating tax.'

She furrowed her brow, not understanding.

'Tallying how much we owe as tribute. Coin and notes have no meaning so close to the Blacklands, so we pay our tithe in goods.'

Silence fell again; the words made no sense to her.

He folded a large curl round a finger and changed the subject. 'Your hair suits you.' He let more silence settle in after the compliment. 'Though I think I should tell you my youngest brother is quite intimidated by you. The giant woman from the south come to frown at us all.' His voice warmed with a half chuckle.

Lanna pouted. 'I'm not that bad.'

'No, but you're also far from even-tempered. My face remembers.'

'Sorry. You made me angry.'

'We all have our faults.' He went back to combing her hair. 'I pray every day that I will remain humble and honest, but it's difficult when your father owns half the valley.' His fingers paused. 'I regret I took your consent for granted.'

'I still shouldn't have punched you.' Her head hung lower, humiliation and disgrace churning in the pit of her belly. Brown curls, now perfect and smooth, hung over her face. Lanna heard him move and then he knelt before her, rough fingers under her chin, coaxing her head up. When her eyes met his, she didn't smile.

'If the fault is ours then so must the remedy be. What can we do, Lanna?'

She moistened her lips, her mind quite blank as his hand slid under her tight jaw.

'Lanna?' The fingers against her throat gave a slight tremble.

She swallowed. 'We could try to be friends?' The words in clipped Imperial distorted into each other as they left her lips in a rush.

'I'd like that,' he said with a small smile.