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There are times when she hates how foreign Carthak is. She hates it that it's so sophisticated and intellectual, and yet it's so backward at the same time.
She thinks that Kaddar should change it, fix it, but then she realizes that he is a man, and probably doesn't even know that there is anything wrong with his country.
But she had thought he would understand when she tried to talk to him, and later, after she retreats in defeat, she flings herself down on her bed bitterly. It had been too much to hope for, after all.
"Will anything change? Ever?" Kalasin asks him that night, hating how piteous her voice sounds.
Kaddar spears a strawberry, absentmindedly. "I doubt it."
"Oh." Won't you try, a little harder? For me?
"This nation's ways of life are thousands of years old. They can't be changed in a year or ten." Kaddar pauses. "It wouldn't be wise."
Kalasin looks up at him. "If you could change it, would you?"
"Yes."
"You're a horrible liar, you know that?"
Kaddar tries to coax her into eating her strawberry. "Kalasin—"
She stands, pushing her plate away. "It's all right. I'm not hungry. Really," she adds, seeing the doubt on his face.
Kalasin leaves the room, shutting the door behind her softly, and goes to sit on the window seat. She waits for him to come back and fetch her. He doesn't. It doesn't surprise her, really, but it hurts more than she had expected it to.
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