Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was spring, and the cherry trees were in full blossom.

Of course, the cherry trees were always blossoming here. The place called the Divine Dragon Grounds was Naga's own garden, the very soil brimming with the goddess's power. The grasses were ever lush and green, the flowers eternally blooming and shedding their sweet fragrance. It was a place of peace and beauty, a holy shrine.

Beneath the shade of two vast trees was a circle of hard-packed earth, cleared of grass with as much care as a master craftsman peeling away bark from a wood-carving. Its surface was perfectly flat, its perimeter ringed with smooth white stones.

Two figures stood in the ring, perfectly still save for the wind ruffling their robes and dancing mottled shadows across them. One was a tall man, starkly handsome, his long white hair pulled into a warrior's topknot. His stillness was that of a pond's surface: teeming below, but with barely a ripple above to betray its depth.

The other was a slender young woman, her dark hair pulled back out of her eyes, her face set in determination. Though she made no movement either, every line of her body showed the tension of a coiled spring, or of kindling ready at any moment to burst into flame.

Both carried long hardwood batons, carved into the rough shape of swords and polished until the dark wood gleamed. At present, these were held at their sides with a casual grace that bespoke long experience. Their eyes met, and the white-haired man nodded almost imperceptibly, bringing his practice sword up into a two-handed guard stance. The young woman mirrored his movements, barely a breath behind. They stood, facing one another, for several long moments, no sound save for quiet birdsong and the rustling of the wind in the branches breaking their silence.

The man nodded once more, and all at once both swept into motion. Their battle, such as it was, had begun.

- - -

Say'ri felt the tip of Yen'fay's baton tap lightly against her collarbone and, breathing heavily, let her own baton fall to her side. “I yield, brother.”

The light pressure abated, and Yen'fay stepped back, raising his wooden blade in a salute that Say'ri echoed. The formalities of combat past, Say'ri let out a long breath.

“That's five times today you've bested me, Yen'fay,” she said ruefully. ”All without striking so much as a single solid blow, or moving more than a few steps.”

“The deep-rooted tree bends, but does not break,” said Yen'fay, his voice grave as he quoted a well-worn proverb.

Say'ri thought his words particularly apt. She had gone all-out in their most recent bout, circling him and testing his defenses from every side to find a weakness. Yen'fay had stood firm, as a rock before the storm, making only slight movements to turn his sister's attacks aside. Time and again, her weapon had come within a hand's breadth of striking him but found only empty air. Only after she had exhausted herself pummeling his iron defenses had Yen'fay taken the offensive. It had been over a matter of seconds later.

“I still have yet to win a single bout against you,” she sighed, rolling her shoulders.

Though Yen'fay's expression did not change, the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes betrayed his amusement. “That is as it should be, sister. After all, I have walked the path of the sword for longer than you.”

That much was true. At one-and-thirty, Yen'fay was more than a decade her elder. His face was that of an even older man: lined with cares and concerns thrust too early upon his shoulders. He had led the people of Chon'sin admirably for almost ten years now, and through it all had remained the same elder brother that Say'ri had always known: calm, deliberate, and reliable.

My superior, she thought, in every way.

“I suppose you are right,” she conceded.

“Still, you have advanced a great deal in the past two years,” Yen'fay said, and this time there was a note of pride in his voice. “You are a quick learner, and a tireless one. In time, Say’ri, you may even come to surpass me.”

She basked in that for a moment: her brother's praise was never lightly given. “I am honored to hear you think so,” she replied, blushing slightly.

Yen’fay stepped out of the ring, making his way over to where Amatsu, the golden blade of Chon’sin’s royal house, leaned against the trunk. Say’ri followed, bringing up one flowing sleeve to wipe sweat from her forehead. She heard Yen’fay speak: his tone decisive, but quiet, as though his words were meant for himself. “The time has come.”

“The time for what, brother?”

If Yen’fay had not meant for his words to be spoken aloud, nothing in his demeanor betrayed it. He turned, his eyes meeting hers. “For you to take up the burden that I could not, and become the guardian of the Voice.”

The guardian of the Voice… It was a responsibility that Yen’fay had mentioned before, always with regret that his duty to Chon’sin had kept him from fulfilling it. Hearing those words from her brother’s lips filled Say’ri with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. As a child of nine, her dreams had been filled with thoughts of carrying on her family’s legacy—of becoming a hero fit for legend. Ten years later, the dream still shone brightly, but doubts had begun to creep in.

She spoke, voice tight with barely restrained excitement. “Do you truly believe I am ready?”

“Had I not believed, we would not have come here, to Naga’s garden.” The creases around his eyes deepened. A less reserved man would be smiling broadly, Say’ri thought.

“What do you mean?”

“For the past week, we have trained here in preparation for the Voice’s arrival. She comes to this garden from time to time in order to meditate, and to replenish her strength from the wellspring of Naga’s power. She says that the air is soothing here. Though we do not know the exact time of her next visit, we know that it will be soon.”

“I take it you have met her before, Yen’fay?”

“I have.”

Say’ri, her face alight with eager curiosity, took a step forward. “Tell me of her. Is it true that her memory stretches back to the reign of the Hero-King Marth?”

“Aye, and longer still,” said Yen’fay. He turned away, continuing to speak as he looked out over the field. “The Voice is the scion of Naga herself, blessed with a life far exceeding that of common humans, and her long years have granted her wisdom far beyond mortal ken.” He paused pensively. “I have great respect for the Lady Voice, though I have had little opportunity to speak with her. It is my hope that you will be my better in that regard—and indeed, it is something you could scarce avoid if you tried.”

“You speak truly,” said Say’ri. She tugged at the back collar of her robe, shaking it slightly to cool herself. She had thought the movement surreptitious, but Yen’fay glanced over his shoulder as she did so.

“Ah. Forgive me: you are weary, and I have kept you from your ablutions for long enough.”

“Thank you,” said Say’ri. She bent slightly at the waist: the respectful bow of pupil to master. Yen’fay returned the bow, somewhat more shallowly as befit his station. Dismissed, Say’ri headed down the path to the hot spring.

- - -

The spring was tucked away in a corner of the grounds, shaded by trees and kept clean and clear of foliage by minor magics that constantly purified its water and heated it to a comfortable temperature. It was a remote enough location that Say’ri needed not fear being disturbed by the pilgrims who sometimes made their way through the gardens. She made her way down the narrow path, ducking under branches and carefully stepping over roots.

A small satchel slung over her shoulder carried a clean change of clothing, a neatly folded towel, and a small bar of soap as pink as the cherry blossoms. One of the attendants of the garden had given it to her when she and her brother arrived, and its scent was especially sweet after a morning of hard training.

She carefully deposited her satchel on the rock shelf at the edge of the spring, laying out her things in preparation for her bath. She undressed quickly and slipped into the spring, sighing with relief as the warm water enveloped her. Though the water only came up to her waist, a low bench beneath its surface allowed her to sit and immerse herself up to the neck, her hair splaying out over the surface of the water.

For several minutes, she was content to sit and bask, luxuriating in the feeling of relaxation it gave her. After a moment, she reached over to the edge of the pool for the soap. As much as she enjoyed the water, she knew that she would feel guilty if she stayed there for too long.

She was rinsing the soap from herself when she heard an approaching sound: a voice, humming a simple melody. Moments later, a woman emerged into the glade, stopping as she noticed Say’ri.

Say’ri was struck at once by the woman’s beauty: her hair, long and unbound, was the green of sunshine through summer leaves; her features at once sharp and delicate. By her unlined face, she appeared only a few years older than Say’ri herself. She wore a scarlet tunic, its cut was different from what Say’ri was accustomed to: the neckline dipped low in the front to flaunt a well-formed bosom, and the tunic’s hem fell well short of her knees, showing off her shapely legs to great advantage. The woman went barefoot, boots held in her hands, each step taken with a delicate, almost catlike finesse.

“Oh… I hadn’t expected anyone to be here.” When the newcomer spoke, her voice was soft and musical as birdsong, as elegant as the rest of her appearance.

Say’ri, stark naked and waist-deep in the spring, a few stray suds still clinging to her body, felt gawky and graceless by comparison. A blush rose to her cheeks, and she sank down until the water covered her shoulders. “I—” she began, but could think of nothing more to say and fell silent instead.

A hint of sheepishness showed on the other woman’s face. “I hope that my presence here is not causing you any undue distress—”

“N-not at all,” Say’ri stammered. “I was simply taken aback.” By your beauty, her mind supplied with blunt honesty. “It is unusual to see another here at this time of day.”

“Is that so?” The woman shrugged, the motion sending a slight ripple through her emerald tresses. “My apologies. I have but lately arrived, and thought to wash the dust of travel from my limbs.”

Say’ri’s eyes widened. Just arrived? “Were you traveling with the retinue of the Lady Voice, then?”

The woman’s lips curved up into a charming smile as she set down her boots beside Say’ri’s satchel. “Just so.”

“She is here, then!” Say’ri practically sprang to her feet, droplets scattering as she lunged for the soap again. “I had not thought she would arrive today… My brother must be waiting for me to meet her!” I must dry off, and dress, and—

The other woman gave a silvery laugh, waving Say’ri down. “There is no need for you to leap up and run just yet. The Voice prefers to take her ease for quite some time before going about any diplomatic meetings. And in any case, if you were urgently needed, I’m sure that you would be sent for.”

The black-haired princess blinked and let out a long sigh. “You are right, of course.” Say’ri settled back into place, slightly embarrassed. “Nonetheless, I should finish with my bath as soon as possible. I had wanted to soak a while longer, but I do not want to make you wait.” Being Chon’sin, she was used to bathing with others, but customs elsewhere were likely far different.

“Not to worry,” said the newcomer, delicate fingers already loosening the laces of her tunic. “The spring is large enough to accommodate both of us, without any need for you to rush yourself.”

Say’ri nodded in relief. “If you do not mind, certainly.”

The green-haired woman grabbed the hem of her tunic to pull it over her head. Say’ri shyly averted her eyes as her companion undressed, only looking up when the rippling of the water told her that the other woman had entered the spring. The Chon’sin girl cleared her throat nervously. “Ah, I do not believe that I have introduced myself—”

“Nor have I. Where are my manners?” The green-haired woman inclined her head gravely. “My name is Tiki.”

“And Say’ri is mine,” replied the princess. “It is good to meet you, Tiki.”

Something half-remembered stirred in the back of the mind—something to do with the older girl’s odd name. At the moment, however, most of Say’ri’s concentration was bent on keeping herself from staring. Her tastes had always run towards women rather than men, and having a beautiful stranger invite herself into Say’ri’s bath was the sort of thing the dark-haired princess had only seen in her daydreams.

The grace of Tiki’s movements as she walked into the clearing… the gentle swell of her breasts, resting just below the surface of the water… the supple curve of her waist, close enough that Say’ri could reach out and wrap an arm around it… her lips, parted ever so slightly, glistening faintly from the moisture and perfectly placed to be sealed by a kiss—

She felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the spring rushing through her and hastily reined in her errant fantasies, mentally chiding herself. Control yourself, Say’ri. You are almost twenty—plenty old enough to separate such lascivious thoughts from reality.

Clearing her throat, the princess cast about for a change of subject. “So, you’ve just arrived?”

“With the Voice’s retinue, yes.”

“What is she like? Is it true that she is thousands of years old? Can she really take on the form of a dragon? Does she really—”

The green-haired woman covered a laugh with one hand. “Goodness, you’re certainly full of questions!”

“Sorry,” said Say’ri, blushing. “I merely wished to know more about the woman I am to serve.”

Tiki’s eyes met hers, and Say’ri had a sense that she was being appraised. “To serve? So you are the one the Voice came here to meet?”

The princess lifted her chin proudly. “I am.”

“Yet you obviously do not seem to know much about her.”

Say’ri looked down at the water’s rippling surface. “Naught but rumors, and what my brother has told me. I must seem terribly ill-prepared.”

“Well, let’s start with that. What exactly have you heard?”

Say’ri settled into a more comfortable position. “The priests teach that the Voice is a direct descendant of Naga, the Divine Dragon who protects the people of this world from evil.”

“Very good, but that’s more along the lines of what than of who.” Tiki winked.

“Yen’fay tells me that he has great respect for the Voice. Her great age has blessed her with wisdom beyond human measure—” Tiki snorted inelegantly, and Say’ri glared at her. “What?”

“Obviously your brother has not known her for very long, or he would not speak so worshipfully.”

“You know the Lady Voice, then?”

The green-haired woman smirked. “None better.”

“Perhaps you could tell me more about her, Tiki; since you seem so amused by my ignorance.” Say’ri’s voice was somewhat more tart than she intended, but the other woman didn’t seem to take offense.

“It would be my pleasure.” Tiki laced her fingers behind her head, resting her back against the edge of the pool. “It’s true that the Voice has a memory that stretches back generations, but for all that, she’s a person just like anyone else, not some sort of goddess.” Her smirk broadened. “She loves eating sweet things, especially apples. She is rarely ever up before the sun rises—in fact, she often sleeps past noon. And as for the Voice’s sense of humor, many have called it childish. It is true that she can be terribly mischievous.”

“I… see.” Say’ri noted each piece of information as it came, storing them away for future reference.

Tiki brushed water through her hair, resuming her humming, and Say’ri was struck by a second oddity: the other woman’s ears tapered to sharp points, with a series of ridges where there was usually only a gentle curve. The feeling of something forgotten grew stronger.

Noticing the direction of Say’ri’s eyes, Tiki grinned—and this time, she showed her teeth. There was something strange about her smile, as well: though Tiki’s teeth were white and even, the canines were ever so slightly longer and sharper than an ordinary person’s, giving a distinct impression of—

…fangs. Dragon’s fangs.

The pieces of the princess’s disparate thoughts clicked into place. For the second time in as many minutes, Say’ri leapt to her feet, stumbling over her words. “You, you… you…”

“I, I, I, what?” said Tiki, stretching her arms over her head.

“Y-you are the Lady Voice! The Divine Dragon’s…” She trailed off.

Tiki simply shrugged. “Yes.”

“My lady! I am honored to meet—” Instinctively, Say’ri sank into a deep bow as she spoke. Unfortunately, she misjudged her position and ended up dunking her head directly into the spring.

The Chon’sin girl let out a gasp of surprise, inhaling water in the process, and staggered upright. Her wet hair hung over her eyes, blinding Say’ri as she coughed, and as she tried to regain her balance, her foot caught on an uneven patch of stone beneath the surface. Down she went, once again, and this time she went all the way under.

When she resurfaced with a spluttering gasp, face crimson, Say’ri was greeted by more of Tiki’s—the Voice’s—silvery laughter. Despite her embarrassment, Say’ri couldn’t hold back a small giggle of her own. There was something pure and joyous about Tiki’s laughter, something that demanded to be shared.

Besides, it had been quite funny.

Tiki wiped tears of mirth from her eyes and grinned at Say’ri. “Goodness… it has been a while since the last time I laughed quite so hard.”

Say’ri folded her arms across her chest in an attitude of annoyance—a posture that was somewhat dampened by the giggles that still fought to escape her. Nonetheless, she made a gallant effort at seriousness. “You deceived me!”

The dragon’s eyes sparkled. “Did I, now? I do not believe I did anything of the kind.”

“You told me—”

“That I had traveled here with the Voice’s retinue. It’s true. Who would I travel with but my own retinue?”

“But… b-but…”

“I did warn you that the Lady Voice had a mischievous streak, did I not?” Tiki winked.

“That you did.” Say’ri paused. “My lady—”

“You can still call me by name: there’s no one around to think ill of your lack of formality.” The Voice stuck out her bottom lip in a mock pout. “We were having such a nice conversation, too.”

Her would-be guardian let out a long sigh of exasperation.

“Is something the matter?”

“I suppose that I was hoping to make a better first impression. Yen’fay will be disappointed…”

“Oh, that?” The dragon girl raised her eyebrows. “There is no need to worry. We’ve both seen each other for who we truly are.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I see in you a good-hearted girl who tries her best to be serious and follow her brother’s footsteps. And you’ve seen the real me—not the Divine Dragon’s voice, but simply Tiki, who likes silly pranks and bathing in the hot spring.”

“I suppose…”

Tiki smirked wickedly. “Not to mention, since we’ve seen each other naked, we’ve nothing more to hide.”

Say’ri blushed furiously, sinking down in the water, and said nothing. Tiki rolled her eyes.

“Relax, that was a joke.”

“It was?”

“Nobody in their right mind would say that and mean it.” The dragon girl tapped her chin, reconsidering. “…well, nobody I know of, anyway. Either way, I suppose that I’ll have to get used to how seriously you take yourself.”

Far-off, a bell chimed in a now-familiar signal. Say’ri frowned. “That will be my brother, summoning me.”

“Doubtless to prepare you for our meeting,” said Tiki, letting out a low chuckle. “I suppose you must go to him.” As Say’ri moved over to the side of the spring, Tiki smiled. “Never fear: I am certain that our second meeting will be far closer to what you imagined, and your dear brother will be none the wiser. We’ll let this be our little secret.”

Say’ri gave a small bow, careful not to submerge herself again. “Thank you, my lady. I will see you again soon.”

Tiki wiggled her fingers in a cheery wave. “I look forward to it, Say’ri.”

Say’ri dried off and dressed quickly. As she made her way back through the woods, thoughts chased each other through her head, round and round. This is the woman I am to serve… this charming, mischievous, infuriating, beautiful woman.

Her mind wandered again to the curves of Tiki’s body beneath the tunic, and the daydream of that skin beneath her hands, and Say’ri felt her face grow hot. I want to be closer to her, improper as it may be. She may have been joking about having nothing to hide between us, but… well. There is little chance of me forgetting such a striking first impression.

Say’ri had the feeling that her future daydreams were bound to be visited by a dragon-girl wearing nothing but green hair and a mischievous, knowing smile.

And, improper as it might have been, she didn’t mind in the slightest.

- - -

About an hour later, Say’ri met Tiki again, as if for the first time. Holding her sheathed sword in both hands, she knelt before the Voice and vowed her undying loyalty. Yen’fay, a silent presence behind her right shoulder, stood with a rare smile on his lips, heart overflowing with pride as he watched his little sister take her first steps on the road to her destiny at the Voice’s side.

To be certain, that road would be a long one. But as to where it would lead, none of those present that day could have guessed.

Chapter Text

It was spring, and the winds from the sea carried the cries of gulls.

It was often thus in Naga’s garden: from the top of the tall bluffs at its edge, one could gaze out over the ocean. Here and there, the shining surface of the sea was broken by islands. Some shone like emeralds—wide and verdant lands, the pride of the Chon’sin dynasts who oversaw them. Others were little more than barren rocks, devoid of vegetation, with villages clinging barnacle-like to their steep sides in defiance of the storms that swept through the area. There, a determined few eked out a living as fishers, as generations of their families had done before and generations more would when they were gone.

The winds left the island villages behind and meandered through the grove, caressing the blossoming branches and whispering to them of faraway lands: pine-thick highlands, barren deserts, fertile fields. The same winds that had swayed Ylissean grain, howled through the sand of Plegian wastes, and whipped up the powdered snows of Ferox now gently stole into the Divine Dragon Grounds to find their last repose.

The dying winds were of little concern to those assembled in the garden: grave-faced sages in ceremonial stoles, come to witness the vows of the Voice’s guardian. They were spread out in a semicircle, facing toward the three in their midst.

Say’ri, her dark hair dried by the sun and her sword at her side, knelt in the center. She could sense Yen’fay standing behind her. She knew without looking how he would be standing: feet firmly planted, Amatsu resting point-down in its sheath with both his hands on the pommel. His presence was steady and reassuring, and she drew comfort from her brother’s calm demeanor.

Tiki stood before the two of them, hands folded in front of her. Though her posture and mien were demure for the most part, she stole a wink at Say’ri when no one was looking. The young princess felt a blush heat her cheeks and stared determinedly at the ground until she could be more sure of herself.

The quiet conversation flowing around the circle stilled, and Say’ri felt the sages’ focus shift as acutely as if it were a physical force. She took a deep breath, licking nervously at dry lips.

The foremost of the sages, a silver-haired woman of great age, stepped forward. Though her step was unsteady and her back bent beneath the weight of her years, her strong voice easily carried to the entire circle. “We have gathered here, before the sight of Naga and of all the gods, to witness the fulfillment of a holy contract. Today, Princess Say’ri of Chon’sin shall fulfill her family’s oath.”

“Who shall speak for her, Eldest?” The interjection, a man’s voice, would have startled Say’ri had her brother not told her ahead of time that this would happen. It’s all part of the ritual.

“I shall.” Yen’fay’s familiar voice answered the challenge.

“By what right?” came a second man’s voice, cracked with age.

“By right of blood and bond, I vouch for her worth.” Yen’fay stepped forward to stand at Tiki’s side, his eyes smiling at his sister as he did.

A low murmur of assent ran through the sages, and Say’ri concealed a sigh of relief. Even knowing that everything had been determined beforehand, her nerves were still stretched taut as a bow-string.

The Eldest extended her hands in benediction. “Then by blood and bond, let the oath be sworn.”

Marveling that her fingers did not shake, Say’ri unbuckled the blade from her side, holding it before her in both hands and speaking the words of the ritual.

“I pledge my life and my blade to thy service, from this hour henceforth. Where thou dost walk, I shall follow thee. Where thou liest down, I shall keep vigil. Thy friends shall be my friends, and thy foes my foes.”

Her eyes met Tiki’s for just a moment, and Say’ri lost her focus, momentarily tongue-tied. She felt panic rising in her until she caught a glimpse of her brother’s face: his eyes encouraging, his lips almost imperceptibly mouthing the next words. So long as…

Oh, right. Breathe. Say’ri took another deep breath and continued. “So long as I draw breath, I breathe for thee: my life for thine, thy will for mine. Thus do I vow, in the sight of all the gods.”

“In the sight of all the gods, I accept thy vow, and pledge myself to be worthy of thy loyalty.” Tiki bent down, her hands closing over Say’ri’s where they held the sword, and drew her new guardian to her feet.

They stood facing each other—nearly of a height, despite the vast disparity in their ages. The first sage spoke once again, an undercurrent of pride in her voice. “Naga has heard thy voices. Thy fates are now bound together, from now on into eternity, so long as the light endures. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” echoed the circle of sages.

And just like that, without any further ado, the ritual was over.

- - -

The circle of sages dispersed, as swiftly as if scattered by the wind. Yen’fay departed with them, lending the Eldest his arm in a suitably courtly fashion. Tiki and Say’ri were left standing alone in a widening empty space.

Say’ri was the first to break the silence, bobbing her head nervously. “M-my lady Voice.”

“That was not so bad, was it?” Tiki’s impish smile, banished for the duration of the ceremony, made its triumphant return.

Say’ri cleared her throat. “Not as bad as it could have been. Though I was worried for a moment that I had forgotten the words…”

“Fortunate for you that the ceremony was somewhat shorter than it has been,” said Tiki mischievously.

“You mean that it is usually longer?”

“Originally, the ceremony began full twelve hours before the oath was sworn, with a ceremonial cleansing and a vigil. The cleansing part, you saw to already. As for the vigil… well, I saw no reason to deprive you of sleep, especially when I would loath do the same. There used to be music, too, and incense… until they overdid it, that is.” The Voice giggled. “There were so many fumes in the air that the Eldest could scarcely get through the opening greetings without coughing himself hoarse, and the musicians were scarcely better off. It certainly ruined the dignity of the ceremony.”

“What about the oath?”

“Another matter entirely.” Tiki winked. “The core of it has remained the same throughout the ages, but had you recited it four hundred or so years ago, you would have been talking for ten minutes or more.”

“T-ten minutes?”

“They were very fond of ceremony back then, and the old oath was very detailed. But the supplicants were usually trained from birth to serve the Voice.” A sympathetic note entered Tiki’s voice. “I understand that your own circumstances were somewhat different.”

“They were.” Say’ri felt a pang of guilt. “Yen’fay was to be the one, not I. But his duty to Chon’sin came first, and so I entered your service in his stead.”

“I am glad that you did, for else I might not have met you.”

The princess’s cheeks went pink with embarrassment, but she continued on. “I must have seemed a fool, stumbling over my words thusly.”

“Not at all! I think you hid it well.”

Say’ri frowned. “Did I truly? I had thought otherwise.”

“Well, a bit of nervousness is natural. After all, our fates are bound together now.” Tiki punctuated the end of her sentence with a light laugh and a squeeze of her fingers.

Say’ri abruptly realized that her hands and Tiki’s were still intertwined where they lay on the scabbard, and flushed to the tips of her ears. “Y-yes, I suppose they are…”

“My Lady Voice.” Yen’fay’s voice came from behind Say’ri, and she turned to face him, disengaging her hands from Tiki’s in the process.

Tiki answered, her tone the very model of politeness. “What is it?”

“With your leave, I would have a moment of my sister’s time.”

“Certainly. I should allow you to congratulate her properly.” Tiki nodded to each of them in turn. “Until later.”

As the Voice moved away, Yen’fay turned to his sister. To Say’ri’s utter surprise, there was a smile on his face—not a large one, by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly more than she was used to. He clapped her on the shoulder, voice warm. “Well done, Say’ri. I am proud of you.”

“Thank you, brother.” Say’ri smiled in return as she returned her sword to her side. “For your pride, and for your assistance.”

Yen’fay made an amused noise. “Think nothing of it. At such an important moment, it is only natural that your nerves would show.”

“The Lady Voice said much the same thing.”

“The Lady Voice is wise, and knows well the fragile hearts of mortals. Hearts such as yours, sister mine.” There was a faint hint of teasing in his voice—certainly, her brother was in high spirits.

“Your nerves never showed,” Say’ri shot back with good-natured annoyance. “If you even have them, that is.”

“Had I been nervous, I would never have been so unmannerly as to show it,” said Yen’fay with exaggerated dignity.

“Hmph.” Say’ri stuck out her lip in a mock pout, but she couldn’t hold the facade for long. With a delighted smile, she stepped forward, enfolding her brother in a vise-like hug. She felt him tense slightly, breath whooshing out of his lungs in surprise, before he returned it with equal force.

At last, laughing breathlessly, Say’ri took a step back. “Ah, brother, I am so excited!”

“I am glad to hear it.” Yen’fay’s smile remained in place. “I will admit, that was the source of most of my trepidation. But to hear that you are happy… it feels as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

“You mean you were actually nervous?”

“Perhaps nervous is not the proper word, but I had my doubts.” Yen’fay’s voice turned serious. “As the Eldest said, your fate and the Voice’s are now bound together. It is a heavy burden for one so young to bear.”

“No heavier than a kingdom, surely,” said Say’ri.

“Perhaps not, but kings and princes may in time choose to give up their thrones. The Guardian of the Voice is accorded no such decision.”

Say’ri chewed at her lower lip. “I must admit that such a thing had not crossed my mind…”

Yen’fay shook his head. “The fault for that lies with me, I fear. I was too concerned with preparing your arm that I neglected—”

“Nay, brother, peace.” Say’ri placed a hand gently on her brother’s arm, smiling encouragingly.

“Perhaps I am simply feeling maudlin because I know that this is good-bye.”

“You speak as if we will never see each other again,” said Say’ri.

“I had not intended that meaning. But it is true that we will not see as much of each other as we once did.” Yen’fay’s eyes met hers, sad and joyous and grave and proud all at once. “I shall miss your company, sister.”

“And I yours. I shall be sure to write as often as I am able, and visit whenever I can.”

“Do not worry overmuch about me. You will be journeying with the Lady Voice from now on—it is to that that you should turn your attention.” Yen’fay clapped her on the shoulder once again. “Though whenever you should return to Chon’sin, I would very much like to hear the stories of your travels.”

“I promise that I shall.”

“That is all I can ask. But there will be time for more formal farewells later; I have kept you long enough. Go now and attend to the Lady Voice.” To her surprise, Yen’fay bowed—not the shallow bow of master to pupil, but the formal bow of equals. She hurriedly followed suit.

“Thank you, Yen’fay.”

“There is no need for thanks.” Once more, her brother’s eyes smiled at her. “Until next time.”

As Yen’fay headed off, Say’ri scratched at the back of her neck. No where did Lady Tiki go? I think she was headed in the direction of the sea, the last I saw…

She started off, glancing off to the right side of the path as it curved its way through a grove of trees. Yen’fay and I were not talking for too long, so she might still be close by—

“Did you have a nice conversation with your brother?” said a voice from directly beside her.

Say’ri yelped, nearly falling over in her surprise as she turned to see Tiki walking alongside her. “Wh-when did you…?”

“Oh, I was waiting for you to come along.” The Voice smirked. “Did I startle you?”

Say’ri took in a deep breath through her nose. “My lady, please do not sneak up on me that way…”

“But the way you squeaked was simply adorable. Like a mouse running for cover.”

There was a distinctly cat-like look to Tiki’s mischievous smile, and Say’ri had a sudden, vivid vision of what it might be like to be a mouse caught in those claws. Gods… now is not the time for such thoughts. She cleared her throat nervously. “You startled me.”

“As I meant to. I am fond of pranks, remember?”

Say’ri rubbed at the bridge of her nose and said nothing.

“I do hope that I have not annoyed you too badly,” said the Voice in a more moderate tone. “It is… a failing of mine, to act in too familiar a manner all at once.”

“I would not call it a failing,” said Say’ri, “though I admit that it does seem a somewhat odd habit.”

“Yes, I suppose it would.” Tiki tucked a strand of hair behind one pointed ear, then clasped her hands behind her back as she walked on. “Guardians that I have had in the past have said as much.”

“If I may ask…?”

“Yes?”

“From whence do you believe this habit came?”

Tiki’s pace slowed, and there was a distant look in her eyes as she looked ahead—as if she was, just for a moment, looking into another world. “I have lived a very long time, and seen many lifetimes pass. When you live as I do, you see things from a different perspective.” She looked back ahead, sighing mournfully. “Mortal life is fleeting… beautiful, but brief, like a candle’s brightness kindled in the night.”

If we are candles, then perhaps you are a star. It wasn’t until Tiki smiled that Say’ri realized she had spoken that thought aloud.

“Hmm, perhaps. And yet I would not wish to be so remote.”

“But… surely it must pain you, to see the lives of those close to you pass by.”

The light through the trees cast dappled shadows across Tiki’s face. “That, I cannot deny. Yet I would not exchange my memories of them for anything. I have grown accustomed to loss, and although it haunts me every day, I can bear it. It is the joy of having for which I truly live.” She shook her head. “It is true that I can be flighty, exasperating, heedless of the feelings of others, but all the same… it is because I so treasure that brightness that I am so swift to familiarity. For when your lives are so brief, even the slightest hesitation deprives you of precious moments. I would not for the world waste a single one.”

“Lady Tiki…”

“Say’ri.” Tiki stopped walking, and her voice was soft and sad. “I know that you have sworn to be my guardian, but what I truly wish for is a friend—to bring that brief brightness to my life. Can you… do that for me?”

It was almost as it had been back at the spring, Say’ri thought. Except now, it was not her body but her soul that Tiki was baring: an utter, almost desperate vulnerability. I cannot begin to fathom the pain she must feel: the long loneliness of her existence, watching those that she loves fade like the autumn leaves. Yet she finds joy in life… the joy of having, of living for each moment rather than grieving for the past.

This is the woman I have chosen to serve.

Almost of their own volition, Say’ri’s hands went once again to her sword, holding it out as she had during the ritual. She dropped down to one knee, holding it forth, and met the Voice’s eyes. “Lady Tiki. As long as I serve you, you will never be alone. I will strive to be the friend that you desire; I swear this to you now.”

For a moment, Tiki’s eyes were incredulous, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Say’ri even fancied that, just for a moment, she caught a glimpse of tears welling up. But all that was quickly driven from her mind by the next thing she heard.

Laughter.

Her mouth dropped open as she watched the Voice. First at the spring, and now here… am I truly so amusing? “My lady…”

Tiki wiped a tear of mirth from one eye, still smiling broadly. “Forgive me, I should not make light of your words. But to hear your promise of friendship sworn with as much gravity as an oath of allegiance… I must admit that it seemed somewhat strange.”

Say’ri remained kneeling, a small smile coming to her own lips. “Perhaps so. But it should come as no surprise that if you seem strange to me at times, so too may I to you.”

Tiki laughed softly. “True enough.”

The princess of Chon’sin bowed her head. “I have sworn two vows on my blade today, as your guardian and as your friend, and I hold both in equal regard.”

The sword was still between them, held delicately in Say’ri’s outstretched hands. Tiki stepped forward to accept it, her face seeming to shine with joy. “Then I accept the second, as I did the first.” She held out her hand, palm up. “And I thank you, Say’ri… my friend.”

To Say’ri, Tiki’s hand seemed a path to the future that the two of them would share: a future of exciting uncertainty, of adventure, and of that fleeting brightness that the Voice so loved.

Smiling, Say’ri took Tiki’s hand and rose to stand at her side.

Chapter Text

It was summer, and the waters below the Mila Tree were smooth and clear as glass.

The tree had stood for time immemorial. Not even Naga’s Voice knew the time of its planting—whether during the millennia of her slumber in the ice-bound North, or in the grey mists of the forgotten past. Yet the people of Valm remembered still, and told its tale in hushed whispers of awe.

Long ago, so the legend went, the continent had been ruled over by the sibling deities Duma and Mila. Each had vied for dominance, believing their own path to be right. And both built monuments to their power. Wrathful Duma raised the Demon’s Ingle, the ever-burning mountain where all but the bravest feared to tread. Gentle Mila nurtured the tree that bore her name and built her shrine in its branches: a place of serene beauty and the celebration of life.

It was here, in this holy place, that Naga’s Voice dwelt. Pilgrims came from every corner of the world to hear their goddess speak through her vessel. Proud and meek, wealthy and poor, warrior and farmer alike sought but a single blessing from her lips. They flocked to the Mila Tree, crossing the vast roots that bridged the crystalline lake-waters for miles in every direction. From there, they ascended a staircase carved into the living wood of the tree itself, until at last they reached the shrine.

There, the Voice awaited them—the Voice, and one other. A young woman of Chon’sin, her ebon hair cut short of her shoulders, stood between the Voice and the pilgrims. She conducted each petitioner forward in turn, standing watch as they received the goddess’s blessings.

The more cultured among the pilgrims knew her for the Princess Say’ri, newly come of age and fulfilling her family’s oath to the Voice. But even those who knew little of her could sense that she was no mere temple guard: there was a dignity that she carried like a cloak about her shoulders. It was in her bearing, composed and serene; in her eyes, ever alert despite the peaceful surroundings; and in the easy grace with which she carried her elegantly curved blade.

The sun began to descend at last, sending golden sparks across the surface of the water as the pilgrims withdrew down the roots. The garrison of the shrine accompanied them, torches held high to fend off the growing dark, as the day of supplication came to an end.

- - -

“Fie, would that the temple guard examined the supplicants more carefully…”

Say’ri muttered huffily to herself as she watched the last of the pilgrims descend the living stair. It had been a trying day—the days of petitions were always long, but this one had seemed longer than most.

Tiki stepped up to stand by her guardian’s side, her smile as carefree as ever. She did not seem to have been fatigued in the least by the day’s events, though she had borne the brunt of the crowd’s scrutiny. Truly, despite her fondness for sleep, the Voice is tireless in her service to the people. “Does something trouble you, Say’ri?”

“Nay, my lady Tiki, nothing that needs concern you.”

“Yet if you are troubled, I would hear the reason nonetheless.”

Shaking her head, Say’ri relented. “Some of these petitioners, my lady… they ask too much of you. I marvel that they would have the audacity to come before you with such foolish complaints!”

“Might you be referring to any one in particular?” Tiki’s voice was filled with artificial innocence. Say’ri let out a long, irritated sigh.

“You know full well I am!”

“Hmm… the noblewoman from northern Valm, I would suppose?”

“Pah! She scarce merits the title of nobility.” The princess folded her arms crossly, fingers tugging at her sleeves. “Her request to you was nothing short of self-absorbed vanity.”

“It may have seemed thus to you, but I am sure that she had higher goals in her own mind.”

“Her ignorance hardly justifies such a request. To force a political marriage on her son… to separate him from the man he loves?” Say’ri’s voice rose as she spoke, growing increasingly incensed. Tiki put a hand on her shoulder, smiling.

“Perhaps it is well that she was the last of the day.”

“I do not understand why you chose to give her a blessing,” said Say’ri, her jaw clenching. “You should have called for her removal. I would have been glad to see to it for you.”

“And risk enmity with the nobility? A risky proposition, considering it is only by their indulgence that the pilgrims are granted safe passage here.” Tiki’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Besides, I hardly granted her request.”

“You—” Say’ri began to object, but Tiki continued on.

“—called upon Naga to ‘grant her the wisdom she requires to navigate these changing times,’” Tiki recited, a hint of laughter in her voice. “I meant every word, sincerely.”

Understanding dawned on Say’ri. “You called her a fool, to her face!”

The Voice nodded, smiling broadly. “And she thanked me for it.”

I might have known that there was more to her words thnoan I saw at first. Say’ri hung her head. “Forgive me, my lady… I should not have doubted you.”

“Nay, do not apologize. In truth, I am gladdened by your response.” Tiki rested a hand on Say’ri’s shoulder. “You are committed so deeply to honor, and to goodness, that you cannot stand even the appearance of allowing injustice to prevail. The world needs more people like you: people who will not hesitate to speak out in defense of others.”

Say’ri felt a blush coming to her face and fidgeted with a strand of her hair. “You praise me too much, Lady Tiki.”

“Only because you are deserving.” Tiki turned away, beckoning for Say’ri to follow. “Come, walk with me. Perchance the garden will help to clear your head.”

“As my lady wishes.”

Together, Voice and guardian made their way back towards the shrine.

Even before the garden came into sight, Say’ri could smell the fragrance of the flowers, drifting towards her on the faint breeze. She inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet smell.

Everywhere the Voice goes, she seems to bring Naga’s grace with her. They rounded the corner, and Say’ri caught her breath. She had seen the garden many times, of course, but each time it seemed fresh and new.

The fading sunlight fell over the garden, gilding the flowers. While Say’ri paused, Tiki continued forward, hands clasped behind her back, stepping carefully along the winding path. Her presence in the garden seemed to enhance its beauty, making it something otherworldly and ethereal.

Truly, the Voice’s beauty transcends mortal ken. None knows that better than I. She felt a blush coming to her face, and a brief feeling of shame. Nay, my duty is to serve the Voice, and to be her friend. Not to be some moon-eyed lass, full of fluttering passions, good only for poetry and sighs…

“Tell me, Say’ri, is there any flower you like best?” Tiki sounded cheerful, curious. Say’ri toyed with one of her sidelocks, somewhat embarrassed to be caught lost in thoughts.

“Nay, Lady Tiki, I know not overmuch of such things. Yen’fay saw to my education as best he could, but I ever lacked the patience for that gentle art.”

“Why was that?”

“Not of contempt, I assure you! Painting and calligraphy have always been dear to me… but seemed vain effort to learn the names and meanings of flowers. There was little to show for it.”

“Did they not teach you how to arrange the flowers, at least?” Tiki looked rather surprised, her nose wrinkling in confusion.

“If I did not have the aptitude to learn what they meant, I was hardly to be trusted with handling them.” Say’ri smiled. “My tutors were quite disappointed, but Yen’fay seemed to think it amusing.”

“Your brother found something amusing? I would never expect that, looking at him.”

“When my instructor in the hanakotoba brought her concerns to Yen’fay, he responded quite simply.” Say’ri dropped her voice to a gruff imitation of Yen’fay’s grave manner. “‘My sister shall defend the Voice with a sword, not with flowers. Let her be.’ That sort of humor was surprising coming from him.”

“Was it humor? If so, I am afraid I did not quite understand…”

“His wit can indeed be quite dry. But perhaps he was incorrect on that point—after all, I might be a better conversation partner for my lady if I could speak of flowers and their meanings.”

Tiki bent down to one of the flowerbeds, stifling a giggle. “‘Twill be enough if you are content to listen to my ramblings.” She brushed the petals of a flower. “In Valm these are called peonies; in Chon’sin, they are botan, and signify bravery.” Her eyes twinkled as she winked at Say’ri. “A true warrior’s flower.”

“If you say so.” Say’ri knelt down next to Tiki, to look at the flowers. “Did you study the hanakotoba as well?”

“Indeed I did, during one of my sojourns abroad. A friend of mine was particularly gifted. They taught me everything they knew, of the symbolism of flowers and the best way of arranging them.”

“This friend of yours… did they fight alongside the Hero-King as well?”

“They did, though it is doubtful their role was properly acknowledged by history. They rarely fought in their own form; rather, they assumed the appearance of our other allies.”

“A shape-shifter?”

“Aye. The like of which I have not seen the like of in the world, since. I’ve heard rumors of a mirror with similar properties, but I’ve never felt the curiosity to seek it out for myself.”

“I see.” Say’ri found herself dumbstruck once again by the breadth of the Voice’s knowledge. At times Tiki seemed a normal young woman—perhaps more beautiful and dignified than most, but a young woman still. It was only at moments like this that her true self was revealed: an immortal, Voice of a Goddess, with millennia of knowledge most had forgotten.

“Let me see if I still remember the trick…” Tiki muttered under her breath as she plucked one of the flowers from the ground. Her fingers twisted nimbly about the stem, forming a complex pattern that Say’ri’s eyes could scarce follow.

Another peony, and then another, joined the weaving, until something began to take shape in Tiki’s hands. A crown… ah, so that is what it is.

After a moment, Tiki held up the completed crown with a pleased grin. “Perhaps I did not remember, but my fingers certainly did. My, but it has been some time since I last made one of these.” She held it out to Say’ri, who shook her head with a smile of her own.

“It would not do for me to crown myself in your presence. After all, it is you who holds authority over me.”

Tiki giggled as she placed the crown delicately atop her own head. “Then I shall craft you something more appropriate. Promise you will not look until I have finished?”

Say’ri bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

Though she was filled with curiosity, Say’ri resisted the temptation to look. She had promised Tiki, after all. Instead, she watched the horizon: the stars slowly coming into view as the sunlight faded away, the branches of Mila’s Tree swaying gently beneath them.

This beauty seems almost commonplace to me, though my time here has been brief. I never would have thought to see such sights when I dwelt in Chon’sin.

She heard the Voice humming cheerfully to herself behind her. A faint blush suffused Say’ri’s cheeks as her mind wandered. My lady Tiki is one such sight. Since the two had bathed together, Say’ri had found it impossible to banish visions of the Voice from her mind.

The dreams were all similar to each other, and carried enough of a thread of reality that Say’ri found herself continually taken in. All of them began with Say’ri seeming to awake—sometimes on her sleeping pallet, sometimes in the spring back in the Divine Dragon Grounds, and, on one memorable occasion, upon the royal throne of Chon’sin.

Regardless of the dream’s setting, the rest of it followed a predictable pattern. Tiki would approach, eyes mischievous and voice teasing. The Voice would remove her raiment piece by piece, until naught but her unbound hair concealed her nakedness. Then she would move in close, hips swaying, a knowing smile on her face as she leaned forward…

Time and again, Say’ri woke uncomfortably warm, her parted lips begging for an imagined kiss that never came. I should feel ashamed of myself, to think thus of my liege… yet I can scarce prevent myself from dreaming.

But Yen’fay… She bit her lip. Say’ri had little doubt that he would be disappointed. She could almost hear his voice, gentle but reproving.

“You have a duty to the Voice, sister: a duty that reflects not only upon you, but upon all of Chon’sin. It is not something that can be set aside for a passing fancy.”

“A passing fancy.” Of all of Yen’fay’s imagined words, it was those that cut deepest. Is that truly what this is? Merely a momentary infatuation? It was true that she was no stranger to such feelings. The summer she’d turned sixteen, the daughter of a Valmese diplomat three years her elder had caught her eye. She’d agonized for days over the wording of a poem addressed to the noblewoman, only to back out of delivering it at the last moment.

It was just as well. By the time that autumn came, Say’ri’s precocious feelings had faded away, vanishing like the withered leaves. She found out later that the young noblewoman was engaged to the heir of one of the southern dynasts.

Could it be that my feelings for Tiki are just as fleeting? She shook her head, grimacing. Nay, that cannot be. Even when I was but a child, my mind was never so consumed by thoughts of another.

Say’ri shifted her feet, fidgeting uncomfortably. Perhaps it is natural for Lady Tiki to be foremost in my mind. After all, she is my liege, and I, her sworn friend and guardian. Surely there is nothing untoward about that.

…and surely if I continue brooding on this long enough, I may come up with an excuse convincing enough to make myself believe. She let out a long sigh.

“I appreciate your patience,” said Tiki. As Say’ri’s head began to turn, she quickly added “But I am not quite finished. I fear that I have forgotten much of what my friend taught me. Though my fingers still remember, they are, perhaps, not as fast as they once were.”

“Methinks you are simply out of practice, my lady,” said Say’ri. Tiki laughed.

“Likely it is a combination of both.” Tiki cleared her throat. “But you need not wait much longer… I believe that I am almost finished.” She hummed to herself, satisfied. “Yes, this should do quite nicely. Turn around, and hold out your hands—but no peeking yet!”

Somewhat bemused, Say’ri closed her eyes and turned around. She felt something settle into her hands, something that felt almost like a branch of entwined stems.

“Now you may look.”

Say’ri opened her eyes and laughed in delight. In her palms rested what Tiki had been weaving: dozens of flowers, their stems tightly meshed to create the rough shape of a sword. “Truly, you know me well.”

“’Twas your own words that gave me the idea—or rather, your brother’s passed on through you.” Tiki smiled. “If it is with a sword that you must defend me, perhaps one of flowers will be to your liking.”

“’Tis lovely indeed. Though perhaps I will avoid testing it in battle against steel.”

“A wise choice,” said Tiki. “It would not do for my guardian to put herself at risk.”

The blinking lights of fireflies drifted above the surface of the lake, and the evensongs of birds echoed from the distance. Tiki got to her feet, stretching and yawning.

“You should sleep soon, my lady,” said Say’ri. “No doubt there will be hundreds more petitioners tomorrow, and I would not have you face them without a good rest.”

“Considerate as always.” Tiki smiled. “Very well, I shall heed your advice. Come, walk with me. That fine new blade of yours needs a proper display.”

“Of course.” Breathing deeply of the night air, Say’ri followed the Voice inside. In one hand, she bore a sword of steel—in the other, one of flowers.

Would that it shall never wither!

Chapter Text

It was fall, and ripe apples hung heavy upon the branch.

The orchards of Chon’sin were known for their abundance—the careful work of gardeners over hundreds of years had cultivated a matchless crop that returned year after year. The apples’ skin was glossy and lustrous, and the flesh beneath crisp but pleasantly yielding. If the old wives’ tales were to be believed, a single bite of such a fruit could ward off the sicknesses brought by winter’s coming chill.

Such a thing was unlikely, of course, but it did not make the apples any less prized. The harvest was an occasion marked by a succession of celebrations: from First Windfall to Last Picking, the folk of Chon’sin put aside their customary gravity and embraced the season. The air itself seemed suffused with a breathless joy, as sweet as the fragrance of the apples.

But there was something else in the air, too: a presence that went far deeper than the five senses. It was difficult to describe: for some, it manifested as calm and contentment, while for others, it was a sense of safety and peace. Few if any of the common folk knew its cause—which, perhaps, would have come as a relief to its source.

For the Voice of Naga was come to Chon’sin, and the blessings of the divine followed in her wake.

~ ~ ~

“You look well, sister.”

Say’ri smiled up at Yen’fay. “Is that so surprising?”

Her older brother shrugged almost imperceptibly. “I suppose not.”

The two of them slowly made their way along the path up the hill. The house set aside for the use of the Voice and her bodyguard was modeled after a monk’s dwelling: a modest house at the foot of the hill, with a path leading up to a small shrine. From the rear of that shrine, one could see the rock garden, where carefully arranged boulders broke up a field of gravel raked into water-like ripples.

“You were worried about me, were you not?” said Say’ri, a look of sly satisfaction creeping into place.

Yen’fay exhaled slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching in apparent amusement. “I was, perhaps in spite of my better judgment.”

“There is no need to fuss, brother.”

“I never had any doubt that you would be a worthy companion to the Voice.” Yen’fay’s words took on a subtly teasing tone. “As your elder brother, though, it is my duty to fuss over you. At least a little.”

“Please, Yen’fay,” said Say’ri, her cheeks pink. “I am not a child.”

“You speak truly, but still…” Yen’fay’s eyes twinkled. “I will never forget the little girl who mussed her robes and scraped her knees scaling the trees for apples.”

Say’ri groaned. “Yen’fay.”

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“Yes…” Say’ri scuffed at the ground with one of her sandals. “Please tell me you have not spoken to the Voice about this.”

Yen’fay seemed mildly surprised. “I have not, but I am unsure of your reason for concern. I think she would find it charming to hear stories about your childhood.”

“That is precisely why you must not, under any circumstances, tell her!” said Say’ri hurriedly. “It is already intimidating enough to interact with the Lady Voice under normal circumstances. The thought of her laughing behind my back at such stories is more mortifying still!”

“I do not think she would laugh behind your back,” said Yen’fay, his voice dry. “Lady Tiki seems the sort to do so directly to your face.”

“Brother!” Say’ri’s blush deepened at the teasing, but after a moment she let out a long breath. “I… should calm down, shouldn’t I.”

“Indeed. It is important to maintain your composure, after all.” Yen’fay looked up the hill. “But that is part of the purpose of being here, after all.”

It was not long before the two of them reached the top of the hill. Below the shrine was a broad, flat space, the grass carefully trimmed to a uniform length. The foliage in front of it had been cleared away, offering an unimpeded view of the rock garden below.

The pair knelt down, sitting seiza-style. Say’ri, feeling mild discomfort, resolved to meditate more in the future. I’m out of practice if my legs are falling asleep already. Acting as the bodyguard to Naga’s Voice is not quite as spiritually demanding as one might expect!

She slowed her breathing, focusing all her attention on the rock garden below. It was said that such gardens represented nature in the abstract, invoking meditation through symbols. As a child, and later as a young teenager, Say’ri hadn’t quite known what to make of that—if it was supposed to make you think of something, then why didn’t it look like that thing? Now, though, she understood a bit better. It mattered not if the garden was meant to be seen as islands among the ocean’s waves, or boulders in the midst of a rippling stream. Such meaning as there was came from the onlooker’s eye.

Say’ri’s breathing fell into an even pattern: slow, but not so slow that she risked growing drowsy. She emptied her mind and opened herself to all of her senses, drinking in everything around her: the rustle of grass, the faint but distinct sound of the shishi-odoshi by the house below, the cool morning air, the faint salt tang of the wind from the sea, the shifting patterns of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the aroma of apples wafting from the orchards.

Brother and sister knelt side by side, meditating, as time slowly slipped past. They were finally brought back to the present by the distant tolling of a temple bell.

Yen’fay smoothly got to his feet, brushing off the knees of his robe, and offered a hand to Say’ri. “Ever the gentleman,” said Say’ri, accepting his aid with a grin. “I just told you there was no need to fuss over me.”

“And I said it was an elder brother’s duty.” Yen’fay released Say’ri’s hand, a fond look in his eyes. “Though I suppose that, over the past few months, I have worried far more about you than I would care to admit.”

“Truly?” Say’ri was somewhat surprised by the confession. It seems like such a little thing to worry about… he has many matters of more import on his mind.

Some of her thoughts must have shown in her face, because Yen’fay shook his head with a wry expression. “Is it so surprising that I would be concerned after the welfare of my only sister?”

“I suppose not. But, Yen’fay, I had thought I made it clear to you when I took the oath that I was happy to enter Lady Tiki’s service!”

Yen’fay shrugged. “And so it seemed to me at the time. But there was a part of me that wondered if you were simply putting on a brave face for my sake—” He trailed off as Say’ri burst into laughter.

“By the gods, brother!”

“Have I said something amusing?”

Say’ri continued to laugh, wiping at the corner of her eye. “I thought, perhaps, that our time apart might have eased your instincts, but you are as protective as ever!”

“Is there something wrong with that?” he replied.

Say’ri managed to still her laughter at last, though she could not hide her broad grin. “Of course not. Your concern is touching.”

“Why do I have the feeling I am being teased?” said Yen’fay, his voice light.

“Fair is fair, Yen’fay. Think of this as my payback for earlier.”

“Hm.” Yen’fay headed for the path down the hill, speaking without turning back to his sister. “The morning is still young, and it has been some time since we last trained together. Let us see if your blade is as quick as your tongue.”

Say’ri stifled a groan. Perhaps it was imprudent to mention “payback.”

~ ~ ~

Some time later, after she had bathed and dressed in a clean robe, Say’ri headed out into the house’s garden. Unlike the rock garden, this one was meant to be walked through rather than simply viewed. A small cascade of water flowed into a winding stream, crossed by an elegant wooden footbridge. The path led to the side of a pond where brightly-colored carp swam back and forth, scales flashing in the light shining through the branches of the trees overhanging it. A low wooden table sat nearby, its surface worn smooth by decades of guests drinking tea.

Say’ri carefully set down the tray she was carrying. In addition to her teapot and cup, she’d brought a bowl of fresh apples, as well as paper, ink, and brushes. Of late, she’d been trying to channel some of her impulses into poetry. While she was far from a master of the art, she did derive a measure of satisfaction from the act of creation.

She poured her tea and laid out her calligraphy supplies with exacting precision. When everything was arranged to her satisfaction, she lifted her brush and paused.

What shall I write about today?

Say’ri considered for a few moments, discarding several ideas in sequence, before she caught herself. I should just write what comes to my mind. If I wait until my idea is ‘perfect,’ I will never even start. Better simply to begin, and worry about the quality later.

Her mind made up, Say’ri dipped the tip of her brush in the ink and set it to the page.

She wrote in an almost meditative state—perhaps not as attuned to her surroundings as she had been at the shrine, but with the same sense of detachment. Her brush flowed smoothly across the paper, forming the characters with graceful strokes, until the completed poem lay before her.

“though apples are sweet,

my love’s lips are sweeter still.

I long for their taste.”

Though she had told herself that anything she were to write would be acceptable, she still blushed as she looked over her own words. This is so forward! As if it was written by some lovesick schoolgirl… Her blush deepened as she considered that thought. Am I lovesick?

Even after more than half a year in the service of the Voice, Say’ri’s feelings toward Tiki had not faded in their intensity. If anything, they were stronger now than ever, though she had studiously avoided dwelling on them. If I think too deeply about what these feelings truly are, I am afraid of what I might find.

She considered crumpling up the poem and finding somewhere convenient to dispose of it, but her aversion to waste her work ultimately won out over her embarrassment. The poem was not a bad one, and surely it would do no harm to keep it. After all, it was not as if she had been particularly specific about the object of her affections.

Carefully, Say’ri smoothed out the parchment and weighted down the corners. Once the ink was dry, she would roll up the poem and seal it with wax, to join the small collection she was beginning to amass.

To take her mind off of things, Say’ri selected an apple from the bowl. Its skin was smooth and glossy beneath her fingers, devoid of even the slightest bruise or blemish. She could tell from applying the barest amount of pressure that the flesh concealed within would be firm and crisp.

She drew out a paring knife and, starting at the top, began to peel in a long spiral. It was a method Yen’fay had taught her, though he’d always been far better at it than her. The trick was to keep your hand steady and move in a single slow, fluid motion. The peel slowly coiled like a spring.

Say’ri exhaled in satisfaction when the final bit of peel fell away from the apple, leaving only the pale skin moist beneath her fingers. She set down the knife beside the long, thin strip of peel. Looks like I’ve gotten better at doing this.

“Very well done,” said a voice from close behind her.

Say’ri yelped and almost dropped the apple. “L-Lady Tiki! How long have you been there?”

“Not too long,” said the Voice, stifling a laugh as she rounded the table and knelt down at the other side. “I would have spoken up earlier, but I had no wish to disrupt your concentration.”

“Fie, but you took me by surprise!” Say’ri shook her head. “You should have spoken up sooner.”

“Would your reaction have been any different, had I done so?” said Tiki, smiling. “I think not. At the very least, I wanted to wait until you were finished with the knife. It is never wise to startle a woman holding a blade.”

“That is… fair,” admitted Say’ri. She picked up the knife again. “Well, as long as you are here, would you care for some of the apple?”

“I certainly would. And some tea, if there is still some remaining.”

“Of course.” After pouring out another cup of tea, Say’ri sliced the apple in half and deftly cored it, setting aside the seeds and stem before offering it to Tiki. The Voice accepted one half, raising it like a cup in a mock toast. “Cheers.”

“Ah, yes. Cheers.” Say’ri bit down on her half of the apple, closing her eyes in bliss at the juices bursting on her tongue. Delicious.

Tiki seemed to be enjoying hers just as much. She hummed contentedly, licking her lips. “The apples of Chon’sin are truly a blessing from on high.”

“Is that true?” said Say’ri.

Tiki shrugged. “Perhaps not, but I am entitled to a mild exaggeration every now and again.” She looked thoughtful. “Though perhaps a vain invocation of Naga’s name would count as blaspheming…”

“Is it even possible for the Voice to blaspheme?”

“Also a good question.” Tiki chuckled. “And one that I do not have an answer to. Not very useful of me, I know.”

“Nay, it was simply idle speculation on my part. But ‘tis true that the apples of my homeland are of a superior quality.”

The Voice winked slyly. “There seems to be something you value above them, though.”

“My lady?”

Tiki inclined her head to where Say’ri’s poem was drying. “I could not help but take notice of what you had written.”

Say’ri felt her heart skip a beat. Oh, gods. How could I have forgotten?

“I… ah, that is… I assure you, my lady, it is nothing.”

“Oh, there is no need to be shy about it,” said Tiki. “I do not mean to reprimand you. There is nothing wrong with having a life outside your duties as my protector, but I cannot help be curious.”

“You are?” said Say’ri, stifling a surge of panic. “Truly, it is nothing you need concern yourself with—”

“Perhaps I do not need to, but I want to,” said Tiki, leaning forward eagerly. Say’ri swallowed hard and found a carp to watch, rather than risk being caught staring down the Voice’s neckline. “So, this love of which you write—who is it? Is it someone I know? How long have you been together?”

“I….” Say’ri moistened her lips and laughed shakily. “You misunderstand me. I do not—ah, rather, that is to say, there is no one with whom I share a relationship of that nature.”

Tiki raised her eyebrows. “No one? But you wrote of it so beautifully.”

“Only as an aspiration, Lady Tiki. Not from experience.”

“So you have not…?” Tiki’s voice trailed off, questioning.

“Nay. Though I have been in love before, those feelings have never been requited.”

“I see.”

The Voice fell silent, propping up her chin on one hand and looking thoughtfully into her tea. Say’ri contemplated hurling herself into the pond and ending her misery.

“Still,” said Tiki after a long moment, “there must be someone for whom you harbor these feelings. That truth shines through unmistakably in your words.”

Perhaps if I pray hard enough, Naga will take pity on me and spirit me away, Say’ri thought. Aloud, she managed another strangled giggle. “You flatter me, Lady Tiki.”

“‘Tis praise well-deserved,” insisted Tiki. She smiled. “Though it makes me all the more curious as to the subject of this poem.”

“Please, do not concern yourself with such matters,” said Say’ri in a tone that suggested she was barely biting back a scream of panic.

She instantly regretted her words when she saw the look of disappointment on Tiki’s face. “My apologies,” said Tiki. “I had not realized… no, I did not consider that my questions might have been intrusive.”

“That is not what I meant—” Say’ri’s distress must have been clear in her voice, because Tiki cut her off, now looking truly concerned.

“Say’ri, there is no need to make an effort to spare my feelings. I admit that I was at fault—”

“It isn’t that!”

Tiki blinked at Say’ri’s uncharacteristic outburst. After a moment, she spoke up softly. “Then what is it?”

“The truth is that…” Say’ri bit her lip. “The truth… is…”

A cacophany of voices echoed inside her head, shouting contradictory advice.

Just say it! She’s bound to realize eventually!

You idiot! What the hell are you doing?

You’ll feel better if you just tell the truth—

You should have just gotten rid of the poem—

This was a terrible idea—

Say’ri slumped forward, cradling her head in her hands, and shut her eyes tightly. Damn it.

She felt a hand tentatively rest on her shoulder, and looked up in surprise. She hadn’t even heard Tiki get up and cross to her side of the table. “L-Lady Tiki…”

The Voice’s eyes—the same brilliant green as the royal treasure of Chon’sin—met hers, and Say’ri saw the look in them. Not concern anymore, nor disapproval, but understanding.

“It seems that I am not as perceptive as I had imagined myself to be,” Tiki said, her voice soft. “Say’ri?”

Say’ri hardly dared breathe. “Yes, my lady?”

“Would you like to kiss me?”

Say’ri’s breath caught. At the same moment, every voice of doubt and recrimination in her mind went silent. She was left, at last, with simple, quiet certainty.

“Yes.”

In the garden, under the dappled shade of the trees, Say’ri experienced her first kiss.

It was even sweeter than she had hoped.