“For tonight,” you said. “We stay here.”
A strange thing happens when one speaks aloud: words take on their own meaning. They move in through the listener’s ears and make themselves home, decorating their meaning with whatever memories they find lying around. And you did not want Shizuru and Itsuki to leave you just yet.
So as you broke down—as your shoulders shook with the force of your tears, as your breath came to you in shallow gulps and gasps—I held you.
“These are the finest rooms in the palace,” you choked out. I put a finger to your lips to try to stop you from forcing yourself to talk. You batted my hand away. You fought to sit upright, but you were too dizzy to keep up for long. “My uncle picked them out himself.”
Your tears soaked my deel. I ran my hands through your hair. I took a deep breath of your perfume, hoping I might siphon some of your sorrows away. But it did not help. Nothing helped.
Though you opened your trembling mouth, you could speak no more. So I rocked you back and forth for what seemed an hour. When the servants came with my bed, I pointed to an unoccupied corner of the room and dismissed them, rather than let them see you.
So I lay with you that night until you fell asleep. I did not bother changing out of my deel. When Grandmother Sky’s golden eye peeked in on us, you were turned toward me, your head nuzzled against my chest.
I woke before you. Hunters wake before dawn as a force of habit. As a lotus petal floating on placid water, so you floated on the bedsheets. Your dress spread out around you, your hair a black fan against white. No traces of worry, no traces of sorrow. Only peace remained on your features.
Looking at you in the morning light, Shizuka, watching you sleep—it is like cresting a hill and finding a valley sprawling before you, full of flowers, teeming with life and colors you cannot name. I was awestruck.
And in the back of my mind, I wondered when your hairline got so bright, when your lips became bows, when the Daughter herself painted spring onto your cheeks.
I touched your cheek, and I immediately disturbed your sacred slumber. Your eyes fluttered open. Dawn cast them gold.
“Shefali?” you muttered.
I sat up quick as I could, hoping you were too sleepy to notice I was gawking. Why was I gawking? I knit my brows together; why? Why was I so fascinated by your face?
You lurched up and rubbed at your eyes. “What time is it?”
I held up two fists, one finger raised on the first and two on the second.
“The first hour of Second Bell?” you said. You pulled the covers over your head. “What are you doing awake?”
I shrugged. You could not see me, but I shrugged.
“You are a fool,” you said. “A fool who needs her rest. Go back to bed, Shefali. We will have to go to court today.”
The idea of spending even more time mired in etiquette and propriety was less appealing than riding for ten days straight with no saddle and no time for breaks—but you needed me. So I swallowed up my discomfort, my trepidation, and I thought of how miserable you’d be if you had to go alone.
A bit past Second Bell, servants woke us. They gathered around you like moths to a flame. A dozen hands undressed you, and redressed you. One girl carried the white dress away; another brought in a vibrant blue gown. Peacock feathers adorned the collar and sleeves. The back and train bore iridescent paint in gold and green and black. One of the girls held a tray of crushed gems properly treated; you dipped your fingers in sapphires.
I was fascinated by it. Every one of them had a different job, and they all set about doing them at the same time. Like worms making silk, like women weaving. Your face they painted pale white; on the back of your neck, two sharp blue points; on your forehead, gold leaf shaped into a peacock feather.
By the time they finished with you, the Shizuka I grew up with was gone. In her place was a young empress. In her place stood the Daughter made flesh. In her place, the image of spring; in her place, the Sky in all her splendor.
The servants surrounded you and bowed. You held one hand up and dismissed them.
“Now that my armor is ready,” you said, “I suppose we will have to face my uncle.” You fixed me with your amber eyes. “You will keep me company?”
I was in the same deel I wore yesterday—the one my grandmother made me, embroidered with colorful shapes. I hadn’t bathed in a week, at least. My hair was greasy, my braid a knotted mess. I smelled like horses and rotten milk.
But you wanted me to go with you to see the Emperor.
I flapped my deel’s collar.
You came closer. With your shining fingers, you reached for my braid. “You rode all the way from the steppes,” you said. “If anyone chides you, they will deal with me.” You smoothed my deel. “Besides,” you said, “this is a very fine coat.”
My cheeks flushed. I cleared my throat and nodded. It was then that I noticed you weren’t wearing your sword. I touched the wide belt around your waist, then touched my scabbard.
You covered my hand with your own. “If I wear my mother’s blade,” you said, “people will think it’s an invitation. And I don’t mean to get blood on this dress.”
Temurin accompanied us on the way to the throne room. So did half a dozen Imperial Guard, who did not speak to you. As mist in the morning, they appeared behind us. You paid them no mind, but I found myself glancing at them. Sharp, crescent blades crowned their pikes. When did those come into style? And why did they need to carry them inside the palace, when a sword would do? No blackbloods wandered the Imperial Halls; no demons.
“Barsalai,” said Temurin, eyes darting behind her. “These men have been standing outside Barsatoq’s door all night.”
I crooked a brow. “And you, too?”
Temurin frowned. “That’s not the point. They were waiting for her to leave. Six men to guard a single girl? Six men in full armor, with pikes indoors? I do not like it. This is not an honor guard.”
*
ONE OF THE guards spoke, rattling his pike as he did. “All conversations in the Imperial Palace must be conducted in Hokkaran, as the gods intended.”
He must not have known very much about us, if he thought that was intimidating.
“The gods are not stopping us,” you said briskly. “I see no reason for a tall boy in armor to stop us, either. You will cease interrupting my companions.”
You did not look at them as you spoke. Instead, you kept right on walking, your shoulders back and your head held high.
“O-Shizuka-shon, we are under strict orders—”
“Your orders do not concern me,” you said. “Your manners do.”
If the guard had anything more to say, he bit his tongue.