by Keira Drake
When he kissed me, I knew it was all the declaration that was required. My acceptance of his affection was an admission of my own feelings, my willingness to pursue a romance. I know this, I feel it—and it brings me joy rather than anxiety. I embrace my feelings with a very un-Spirian, nearly improper sense of excitement and anticipation.
However: if it was difficult before to see him set out on a council mission, it is agony now. I was correct when I assumed that they would be sending him away—just a few short hours after our intimate moment in the garden, he is gone. I spend most of the evening in a state of both elation and terror; my heart soars at the memory of his kiss—a thing not wet, or brief, or strange, like it was with Aaden, but powerful enough to shatter my very sensibilities—then thrums with fear at the thought of the danger before him. Every moment brings a new emotion, like I am lost at sea, my spirit at the mercy of the cresting waves.
I count the days while he is away, three, four, five. In my mind, the Topi lie in wait to ambush him. I see his blood upon the mountain snow, his body defiled and left to rot. I wake in the night with dread burning in my stomach, certain that I’ve somehow sensed his death. My heart, still mending from the loss of my family, surely could not survive the loss of Noro as well.
Most of his trips have been relatively short—four days, six days, ten at most. By the eighth day, I crawl into bed feeling like there is a stone in my stomach, and cry myself to sleep. I curse him for kissing me, for changing things, for making this so much harder. Yuki spends most of the week with me and tries to divert me as best she can; she brings me new books to read, but I stare at the pages, my mind in the wilderness with Noro.
The days tick by, nine, ten, eleven.
Keiji is unruffled. Noro’s been away for a month before, he tells me. There isn’t a Topi alive who can kill him. I want to believe this.
I do not.
On the morning marking fourteen days, I go from task to task without care or purpose. I send Yuki away when she calls on me; I tell Keiji to go home when he knocks on the door. I climb into my bed at the end of the day, the green quilt drawn high around my shoulders, and watch the moon rise through the window. It surely has seen Noro, and knows where he is, but it has no answers for me. It only gleams white and silent in the blackened sky.
I hear my name, whispered from far away, in a voice I have longed to hear.
Vaela, he says. I’ve returned.
Noro, I say to the voice in my dream, I thought you were dead. The moon wouldn’t tell me a thing. Are you dead?
A gentle shake of my shoulder draws me from the thick fog of sleep, and I see Noro sitting on the edge of my bed, his face illuminated by moonlight. I sit up at once and catch my breath.
“I’m awake?” I say. I don’t want to be dreaming.
“You’re awake.” The deep, low sound of his voice fills me with warmth.
I reach out and take his hand, my senses coming into focus. He smells of sweat and earth, and it is the sweetest scent I have ever known. He is alive. He has come back to me.
“Is it all right that I’m here?” he says. “You left a lamp in the window, which…well…to my people, at least, is an invitation to enter. I only wanted to ensure that you were all right. I didn’t want to wait until—”
I silence him with a kiss, my arms encircling his neck, pulling him close. All sense of Spirian propriety is washed away in my relief. I feel bold, independent. My lips press against his with an urgency I cannot deny; a moment later I feel his arms slide around my waist, and I am lost to the world. This kiss is nothing like the one we shared in the garden—that was a whispered question, could you love me, too? This kiss, then, is the answer; it burns through us both, splitting the world into starlight. His lips taste of salt, his hands feel like fire against my skin. Never have I felt so alive. Never have I felt such boundless, rapturous joy. I do love you, Noro. I do. It is a truth not spontaneous, not new, but one that has been building in my heart from the moment I set eyes on him.
The kiss is endless and momentary all at once, and when at last we break apart, I rest my hand upon his chest and take in the sight of him. He is beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful. The lines of his face, strong and masculine, his lean, muscled body. His almond eyes, smoldering and black in the pale white light of the moon. The beating of his heart beneath my palm, the pulsing throb of the veins in his neck. Alive. Here. With me.
“I worried for you when I was away,” he says softly, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
“You worried for me?”
“Every moment.”
“Why were you gone for so long?”
His face tightens. “Let’s not talk of it tonight.”
“Noro, are you hurt?”
“No, miyake.”
I don’t know this word, but I don’t ask what it means. I can hear the fatigue in his voice. “You need rest—you must sleep now,” I say.
He begins to rise, but I pull him back. “Stay, Noro.”
“This is not proper for you,” he says. “To be alone here with me.”
“According to the Aven’ei?”
“According to your people, I think.”
I kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Stay.”
He hesitates for a moment, but moves to the spot beside me on the bed. I draw the quilt around us, turn onto my side and tuck myself into the curve of his body. I doubt that I will be able to return to sleep, but the soft, even sound of his breathing is like a lullaby, and after a few minutes, I feel myself drifting.
“Noro,” I say, my voice tinged with the heaviness of impending sleep, “did you call me ‘Vaela’ when you woke me?”
“Yes.”
“Not ‘girl’?”
“I called you Vaela, miyake.”
My eyes flutter, the lids heavy. This word again. “What does miyake mean?”
His arms pull me closer and I feel his breath upon my hair. “It means ‘my love,’ for that is what you are, Vaela Sun.”
Sleep beckons, and I go to it with a song in my heart.
CHAPTER 20
NORO LEAVES BEFORE I WAKE IN THE MORNING, as I expected he would. The council always requires an immediate report upon his return, and I sensed that whatever happened during Noro’s trip was of some consequence.
He knocks on the door around noon, just as I’m preparing to take a loaf of bread from the oven. My baking has improved, but I wouldn’t say it’s anything special just yet. Noro looks entirely different this morning; gone is the soiled, sweaty black garb of the itzatsune. Now he is scrubbed clean, wearing fresh clothes of deep brown linen. I smile at the soapy scent of him as he steps through the door.
“How did it go?” I ask, setting the bread on the table to cool. He bends over the loaf and takes a deep breath, a small smile on his face.
“You’re becoming quite domestic, Vaela Sun. Is there anything left of the spoiled Spire girl I first met?”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, ushering him out of the kitchen and gesturing to the sofa.
“Still on about the toilets?” he says.
“Don’t change the subject. I want to know what happened with the council, and why you were away for two entire weeks.”
He sits down with a sigh and stares ahead, his shoulders tense. The light seems to have gone out of him completely. “I should have been able to return after only six days. I tracked the men I sought to an area just south of the Kinsho mountains—very near to where I found you. Perhaps fifty miles or so from the village. I accomplished what I set out to do, and I was in good spirits.”
I try not to think of what he must have accomplished. “What happened?”
“I thought to go west, if only to satisfy myself that the region was clear. We do not see many Topi there, for their settlements are far to the north. But Topi rangings in the south have become more frequent, and I could not put the matter to rest in my mind. I truly did not expect to find anyone west of the Kinsho.”
My heart catches in
my chest, and I stiffen. “But you did find Topi there.”
Noro turns to me, his brows drawn together. “Why do you say this with such certainty?”
My throat is dry. “Because they have settlements in that region, Noro—far to the west. I have seen them.”
His eyes narrow. “That is not possible. We thoroughly scouted the area at the dawn of winter and it was wilderness, as it always is. The Topi prefer the hard ice of the north and the protection of the mountains—they have never dwelt in the south. Not ever.”
“I would not say such a thing if it were untrue.”
He looks at me for a moment, and then presses the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. “This explains much.”
“What happened? What did you see?”
He drops his hands to his lap. “Ordinarily, the Topi we find in this region are here merely to keep abreast of our movements—they send scouts, like the ones you encountered. They retain the bulk of their forces at common areas of dispute, sending men to other regions as necessary.”
“I have seen this, too,” I say, recalling the battle to the east of the Riverbed.
“But after only two days of searching, I found a group of not two or three Topi, but twenty-five strong. Moving along inside the southern valley, in the direction of the village. They turned back not fifteen miles from here.”
“But…have they not invaded your settlements before?”
“Countless settlements,” he says, “but only in the north, where they cross easily into our territory from their own. Not in the south. If they have positioned themselves as you say, it is safe to assume they intend to launch an assault into this region as well. And if that happens, we will have Topi on all sides. There will be no retreat.”
My stomach clenches. “What will you do?”
“It is not a question of what I will do, but what you will do.”
“But what can I—”
“We must assemble the council and speak with Teku Ana at once,” he says. “It is time for you to draw a map.”
My eyes dart to the rolled up parchment tucked neatly behind the bin of firewood. My map. It is unfinished, but the Topi settlements I saw from the heli-plane are clearly marked. “It is already done,” I say. “Let us meet with the council at once.”
An hour later in the War Room, I push the wide sheet of parchment—the unfinished map—across the table. All three members of the council—Teku Ana, Inzo, and Shoshi—crowd together, their eyes moving rapidly over the paper. Their existing charts do not extend as far west as the one I’ve drawn—when I asked Noro why this was, he said there had never been a need. An inhospitable place with rocky terrain and no accessible shoreline, the southwest corner of the Continent never seemed a viable location for anyone to settle.
“It’s not perfect,” I say. “I’ve only included the most basic elements, and I—”
“Is it accurate?” Shoshi asks curtly.
I nod. “As of three months ago, it is accurate to the mile.”
Teku’s expression is pained, his lips pressed into a rigid line. He looks up from the map and frowns at Noro. “You told us that her skills as mapmaker were not tactical.”
“That was my understanding,” Noro says.
Teku makes a small noise, his eyes falling back to the paper before him. “It is not your fault, young itzatsune. I should have had the foresight to press the issue when she arrived.”
Inzo stares at the map, rubbing absentmindedly at the stump of his missing arm. “This…I would not have predicted.”
“Topi in the south,” Shoshi says. He spits into a basin beside his chair. “It is our doom.”
“Do not say such things,” Inzo says, striking the map with his palm, rattling the pots of ink at the far end of the table. “Would you bring shadows and ill fortune upon our people?”
“Oh, shut up,” Shoshi says. “You’re a superstitious old cripple. It was not I who manufactured this turn of fate!” He angles a crooked finger in my direction. “Find blame where it truly lies.”
Noro stands abruptly, his chair clattering behind him. “How dare you imply that Vaela is responsible for this! Have you no honor? Apologize at once.”
Shoshi sneers at him. “Or what, itzatsune? You will kill me when I sleep?”
“I will kill you where you stand,” Noro says, his palm on the handle of the knife at his waist. “Apologize.”
“Shoshi,” Teku says quietly, “it is no more the girl’s fault than it is your own.”
“I defer to your wisdom, of course,” Shoshi says in a silky voice. “I only thought…well, perhaps I was mistaken.”
Teku sighs. “Speak plainly if you will speak at all.”
“Careful,” Noro growls, tapping a finger on the haft of his blade.
Shoshi’s eyes flick down to the knife, but he continues. “Let us only consider, Teku Ana, why it was that the Topi were inclined, after these many centuries, to withdraw from the north and invade our southern borders.” He pauses, but Teku says nothing. “Why, they have followed her planes to our very doorstep!”
“I will not warn you again, zunupi,” Noro says in a low voice, spitting the last word in Shoshi’s direction. “Implicate Vaela one more time and it will be the last thing you do.”
“Noro,” Teku says sharply, “there will be no violence here today. I forbid it. And Shoshi—I will hear no more of this. Do you understand? The girl is not at fault.”
Shoshi bows his head. “Of course. I meant no disrespect.”
Teku gives him a withering glare. “You are a fool to provoke an assassin, and a coward to point your finger at a young woman who is working even now to assist our people.” He turns to Inzo. “How many scouts have you who are ready to investigate these camps?”
“Four,” Inzo says. “They can leave today.”
“I shall go as well,” Noro says.
My heart sinks at this, but Teku shakes his head. “No, Noro. You have only just returned. Your body and mind need restoration. And in any event, this is a matter of reconnaissance only. Notify the scouts, Inzo. All will depend upon their success.”
Noro is quiet as we walk back to my cottage. The streets are bustling with people at this time of morning, most of them headed to work, or to the marketplace. The sky is pale, the clouds gray with the promise of rain. When we reach the long road that leads to our homes, I break the silence.
“I’m glad you’re not leaving, Noro. It’s selfish, I know, but it’s how I feel.”
He glances down at me, but says nothing. A moment later, his fingers encircle mine. Silence falls over us again as we walk hand in hand along the quiet lane. Then, as we come to the walk leading up to my front door, he says, “Wait here—I have something for you,” before dashing across the road to his own house.
I sit on the steps to wait for him, Shoshi Kaken’s words echoing in my mind. They have followed her planes to our very doorstep. Could it be true? Could the Spire have unwittingly changed the course of the war by touring the Continent? Or was it a natural turn of events, an alteration of strategy in the relentless Topi drive to destroy the Aven’ei?
I sigh. I cannot know the answer, but I fear that in the weeks to come, Shoshi’s suggestion will bleed through the village like ink in the fibers of a parchment—spreading, twisting, covering everything in its path and making an indelible mark. The villagers already look at me with mistrust and suspicion. I am an outsider still, and as the news of the Topi advancement becomes known, I wonder if others, too, will direct the blame at me.
I hear the door close across the street and see Noro heading toward me, a brown, paper-wrapped parcel in his left hand. He sits down and hands me the package; a length of twine is tied neatly around it, knotted into a tidy bow.
“What is this?”
“A gift,” he says.
“But when did you—”
“I made an order two weeks ago, just before I left.” He gives me a gentle nudge with his elbow. “Open it.”
I hold th
e package in my hands, rubbing my thumb along the scratchy twine. My throat feels tight, my cheeks warm.
Noro leans over and scrutinizes my face. “What is the matter? Have I acted improperly?”
“No. No. It’s just…well, you gave me the soap after I first arrived—a thing I treasured, by the way, until it was only a tiny speck of lavender. But the last time I was given a gift in this way, the box held my ticket to the Continent.”
“I am sorry, Vaela. I did not mean to revive such memories.”
I shake my head. “No—it’s all right. It is a good memory, after all, isn’t it? My parents were so happy that night.”
“I imagine they were, having brought such joy to you.”
I wipe the moisture from my eyes and smile. “I’m sorry. This was very thoughtful of you, I don’t mean to spoil it.”
“You have spoiled nothing. Would you like to open it another time?”
“No,” I say, and lean over to kiss his cheek. “In truth, I quite like presents.”
He laughs as I untie the twine, coil it beside me, and carefully unfold the paper. There is a black leather case inside, much like the one Noro uses to transport his knives. I look up at him in confusion.
“Unroll it,” he says, nodding toward the bundle.
I unfurl the case to see, as I expected, a set of knives—six of them in total. Only the handles are exposed, made of polished, gleaming blackwood. I pull one of the knives from its sheath and the blade glitters, its beveled edges glinting in the light. It is slightly smaller than one of Noro’s—perhaps six inches from the butt of the handle to the tip of the blade. I am no authority when it comes to weaponry, but I can tell that these are of very fine quality.
I turn it over in my hand, admiring the craftsmanship, the smooth lines, the graceful curves of the haft. “They’re beautiful,” I say, surprising myself.
“They are made especially for you, miyake.” He takes a second knife from the case and holds it before him. “The Aven’ei believe it is a sin to waste an aptitude. Where skill is recognized, it is nurtured, lest the ability dwindle from misuse or neglect. You have a gift, Vaela—a natural talent with the knives. I give these to you so that you may hone your skill, and perhaps one day master the art.”