“Yes,” I said.
And I pressed my lips to yours, speaking silent prayers. I held you until you fell asleep, and then I kept vigil for you. Against what? I did not know. But I was not going to let anything ruin your hallowed slumber.
In the morning we readied to travel. Half a day, it took us, but it felt like more in that heat. Oshiro in the summer was, at best, a little warm. The steppes were hotter. But the Southern Provinces? Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. My deel was damp in an hour. There was a thickness to the air here, like breathing underwater.
Maybe it was all the vegetation. Xian-Lai was green as far as the eye could see. And not a Hokkaran green either, bright and bracing. This was a dark color, near black in places. Where Fujino boasted tall trees and mountains, here the trees weren’t much taller than a man might be, and everything was … wet.
Yes, after two hours of riding, it rained. And I do not mean to say it rained a little, as it does on the steppes. This was not a fine mist, nor was it the gentle pitter-patter we enjoyed in Oshiro.
I felt as if I, personally, had upset Grandmother Sky. There is no other way to explain the amount of water she poured down on us that day. Had she burst open the largest cloud she could find? Was she attempting to water her garden, and instead, she watered the earth itself? Was she filling her rice pot with water?
I do not know, Shizuka, I do not know. But there is no reason any place should ever experience that much rain. It got in everything. Even inside my saddlebags! My deel, already wet, flopped against my skin like old leather. You were doing your best to guide your horse with your knees and hold my old deel above your head to keep the rain out. It wasn’t working very well on either count.
By the time we spotted the Bronze Palace, I’d seen enough water to last ten lifetimes. I was swaying in the saddle from the frustration of it all. We didn’t see rain for months on the steppes, and now I knew why! The damned Southern Provinces hoarded it!
But then I caught sight of it.
The Burqila clan banner, hanging from the outside of the palace.
And my whole body shook with laughter. I pointed it out to you, and you grinned, too.
“Go,” you said. “Greet your brother, my love. He must have missed you dearly.”
I glanced over toward the palace, then back to you. I jerked my head in the direction of the banner.
You offered a warm smile. “I will be right behind you,” you said, “but if you arrive first, he can properly greet you. If I arrive at the same time, he will be forced to follow protocol. It is better this way.”
I wanted to kiss you, but there were guards outside the gates. So, instead, I kissed the scar on my right palm.
You flushed a bit.
And then I was gone, kicking Alsha into a full gallop. Gods, Shizuka, I was so happy to see him again! My brother, eight years gone, my brother, who helped me make my first bow!
I decided that if I was going to be the one to enter the Bronze Palace first, then I would make a show of it. First, I grabbed a strap from my saddle. This I tied around the horn in a loop. Then, just as I caught sight of a tall man with sandy hair who must be my brother, I swung myself off the saddle. My back was against Alsha’s flank, my legs extended out in the air, my head closer to the ground than most riders are ever willing to go.
An explosion of applause and whistles made my heart sing
Was it a bit of overkill to perform such a trick?
Perhaps.
But I had to show my excitement somehow.
And when I dismounted, I ran to my brother.
I ran to him as if nothing had changed. As if I were still eight, and he was still fourteen, and we’d never been apart at all. Yes, he was taller now, but so was I. And so what if he wore his sandy hair in a Hokkaran topknot? His skin and eyes had stayed the same.
He squeezed me so tight, I could not breathe, and then he sniffed my cheeks in turn. “Little Sister,” he said in Qorin. “Welcome home.”
I stood on tiptoes to better sniff Kenshiro’s cheeks.
Excitement buoyed me so that I forgot about my condition, until that moment. Then the rush of scents mixing together reminded me of what it was I’d become. Rich perfumes; something bright and sharp; parchment and …
Fear, beneath it all. A corrupting sweetness that turned everything else to rot.
Why was he afraid?
Cold dripped down my spine. He was afraid. My brother was afraid, and I didn’t know why and—
He squeezed me tighter before holding me at arm’s length. No trace of trepidation showed on his face. Indeed, it was as wide and warm as ever. My father’s nose looked natural on him, a complement to his high cheekbones. His eyes, too, were more Hokkaran than Qorin.
It’s a common joke that no one can tell when a Qorin opens their eyes, since they are so narrow. I do not understand why this is so common. Hokkaran eyes are narrow, too; no one here on the Sands has eyes like yours or mine. No Surians I’ve met, either. And the Pale Man I met had eyes like a frightened deer.
So no, I do not understand why Hokkarans make such a grand deal of it. It’s not as if we can’t see. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been asked this outside the steppes. With every repetition, it grows more and more grating.
Yes, I can see. I can even see out of …
I’m losing myself again.
Kenshiro was happy to see me—that’s where I was. At least, he was acting happy to see me. But I could smell the fear on him, though when he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Shefali-lun,” he said, “you’re so pretty! The boys must be beating their way to you.”
Oh.
Of all the things for him to say, I expected that least. He did not know about you and me. I’d gotten so used to being with you that I’d forgotten.
I shifted from foot to foot and looked at my boots. A blush rose to my cheek. I did my best to try to fight it; blushing only made me look bruised. I ended up hiding my face against the crook of my shoulder.
Kenshiro laughed. “See! I knew it to be true. Well, do not worry. They shall not reach you here. The Bronze Army will be more than enough to keep suitors away,” he said.
I continued shifting from foot to foot, wishing for you to return. Whatever pomp and circumstance accompanied your arrival would be a welcome distraction from all this.