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The beginnings of the constellations were on them, the last hints of dusk swallowed by fog and the shade of a descending Burmina the Splendid. Mai held in place the sleeves of her right arm as the descent violently gusted dust and flakes all around. With a slight tremor, the verdant-scaled god landed safely, carefully delivering its rider.
Nadama pa Nikeya, as she was known now, looked flushed and bleary in her thick, hooded cloak, which was further bulked by a hidden armor underneath. In Mai’s opinion, it made her look a little stunted. She was not smiling, not just yet, but the traces were there just the same, sharpened from constant use.
A couple of her councilors, who rattled against the harsh cold, joined her for the welcome.
To the newly arrived Warlord of Seiiki, she introduced herself as Mai the Maiden Officiant, as she was known now. They exchanged quick pleasantries over the worsening weather and then led everyone to a warm dinner.
Behind her, as they trudged through the snow-stained stairs, Mai heard her light-heartedly admit to one of her companions that long flights still wear her out. She heard her wish to be with a fellow rider once more, to serve as a navigator while she lingered at the back, dealing with the 'wonders' of mountain sickness. Judging from the polite chuckles, they must have guessed her being modest.
Mai kept walking and thought nothing of it. She had kept her distance for now, as a courtesy or as how duty dictates; at least that’s what she tells herself so.
That night, the Warlord’s convoy was a lively group, a grateful one for shelter and warm food.
They swarmed and lounged in a separate hall designed for highly regarded guests–low tables, rugs and cushions, blankets, artful tapestries on the wall, huddles of candles lit in strategic places, and a stone hearth that diligently worked in a corner. Temple servants served them an endless pour of warming tea, fish and meat, bread and cheese, and some seasonal fruits.
During the entirety of dinner, Mai stayed hidden behind the convenience of her veil.
The Warlord, seated opposite her, despite being tired, maintained a reserved but agreeable company. Her young councilors and associates’ energy, having traveled by wagons and horses, outlasted hers. Somehow, they resembled her natural amusement for things–asked her curious questions about life in the mountains, or if the weather would be friendly for tomorrow’s ritualistic ascent. They asked what was in the tea or what was in the fish, and in return, they told their father's or mother's versions, arguing comically amongst each other which one was the best.
Mai tried her utmost to stay attentive, but Nikeya’s close-mouthed presence unsettled her. If not furtive glances, sometimes she would catch her obviously looking–taunting behind her steaming cup of tea, as if her modest smirks held secret knowledge of the old. She is playing, like the past courtier she was, having not said a single, tasteful word to her–at least not directly. Sometimes, when she thought the Warlord would address her, perhaps for a crafty jest or a cryptic message, at the last minute she would abandon their rapport to fit back into the larger piece of conversation. Against her, the veil offered no defense, her silent mocks filtered through like dangerous smoke.
She knows, and Mai was unnerved by her inactive, all-knowing complacency. Of course, she will know.
The gods granted her the old life she had always yearned for, and in all their magnificence, did not turn her into a complete stranger that even she would not recognize. She was still her own–voice and scars and all. She will live on, as the gods willed her–rebirthed but still anchored to the world she knew and loved. “All-honored Warlord.”
She turned in her direction, slightly surprised. “Please, call me Nikeya.” An unsuspecting response; a bait to confirm an old tune.
“You’re too kind.” The conversation around them continued at this seemingly harmless exchange. Everyone was too absorbed in their own agendas that nobody paid them any mind. “You are to travel further south. It would be a long journey from here. If there’s anything the t–”
Behind her, there was a weird thud. She did not turn quick enough to provide a catching hand towards a young guest who was, she assumed, suffering from mountain sickness. Missing her by inches, the young diplomat spilled food and tea on the floor, the crash of the cup and bowls enough to wake up the whole temple. The accident turned out to be only pure clumsiness–disastrous and career-ending. People in proximity rushed to the apologetic guest’s aid. Another servant could have done it on her behalf, but, glad for an excuse to leave even just for a moment, she urgently went out to get towels and fresh clothes.
When she returned, the Warlord was gone to extend her courtesies to Unora and the Supreme Officiant.
She did not come back for a time until, one by one, her colleagues started to retire. She must have instructed them not to wait on her.
A few more rounds of tea took place, but not long enough, with everyone heartily filled, the last of the guests surrendered to exhaustion bidding her and the temple servants word of thanks and good night. Once the cleanup duties were fulfilled, she, too, was done for the day.
—
Nikeya saw what she needed to see. Within the commotion that happened during dinner, she witnessed the unusual folding of the right glove, revealing they were hollow. Nobody else noticed but her. It froze her from shock.
Before she knew it, she was moving and only came to herself at the location where they first met, right outside the corridor towards the Grand Empress’ quarters.
She closed her eyes, and one of the first conversations with the Great Burmina came to her.
“Great One, do you know of Noziken pa Dumai?”
The dragon, with her fiery golden eyes, beautiful and unnerving at the same time, assessed her with a penetrating regard. “Yes, the rainbow child with a woken star.”
As Warlord, and as people were still searching for her at the time, she thought it within the lines of her duties to inquire of the lost Noziken Queen. Privately, it had been an afflicting task, similar to unpacking a carefully laid patch to a still stinging wound. It was an inconvenient step back from her eagerness to heal–so for Seiiki, and for herself, only one and no more.
“She was never seen again after the fallen night. Do you know what became of her?”
In a sonorous tone, almost melancholic as if the dragon knew her innermost reflections, she answered, “I no longer sense the woken star, it is no more in this world.”
At present, she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
Despite what she discovered and will discover, turning it around from different angles, examining all of the crooks and corners, there was nothing to fear from it. Nothing, she told herself, faltering as she was.
Simply, Dumai is either alive or she is not.
She took another lung full of air.
Once she felt sufficient of her externals, however blank and stale she felt inside, unfeeling and hollow, she bravely moved forward, like she always had.
“Warlord,” Grand Empress Manai was seated alone, supported by a wooden rest, huddled closely to a hearth. A low table was before her, and a trampled cushion where Unora might have just been.
It was useless to be ceremonial. Surely, they must have expected her. Despite the decay she was feeling within, she was able to pull up a wry smile. “Your Majesty,” her tone didn’t have its usual color, but it managed, “I have, once again, uncovered something very interesting on this mountain.” Years ago, she had her father to run to upon her discovery of the hidden princess. He would know what to do, always, in such situations. Now, without him, she only has her own demanding, and at present slighted, ambitions to guide her, “I want answers.”
“And you shall have it,” how swiftly and certain she responded took her off guard, of what little remained of it, “Do you mind closing the door before you? I have lived here for years, yet the air felt like a stranger again. It is no longer kind to my health.”
Grateful for a momentary pause, she obeyed the request and took a seat.
At once, she saw a faint smile on the old woman’s face, a memory replaying in her mind’s eye. It smoothened some of the wise lines. “I have lived long enough to have seen many wonders, but this one beats them all.”
Logically, she should be furious. She could not find it in her to marvel when they left her on her own, scrambling in the dark. She felt hurt and bitter, but patience held her firmly together, “I don’t understand. Burmina said the woken star is no more.”
The awe in her face was replaced by impartiality, folds darkening her face. “Indeed. The woken star is no more. The woken star is what strongly linked my granddaughter to the gods. She traded it, or at least what’s left of it, for a second life.”
Upon hearing the words, the image of her father came again.
Madness, her insides screamed–whether at the old woman or herself, she does not know. She was shaking her head, unconsciously, a small laugh escaping her–a mirage of how her father would have mocked his considered enemies. In the quiet of the room, her own silly reaction was all she could hear. The Grand Empress stayed silent, watching.
Once, even Tukupa confirmed the fate of the Nozikens sealed–the line of the rainbow would fade. The dragon said, like all life, it will cease to exist–such is just its nature.
Of course. To lose someone is just life taking its natural course.
For years, she had travel with Furtia Stormcaller, but in the end, learned nothing of great significance. She let Manai guide her about dealing with the gods. She had been made aware of the their language in riddles. Even with all of existence’s knowledge combined, no brilliant mind could have conceived this… this…
“Tell me, was she wearing the veil?”
With this small question, Manai was able to rally her attention back to the present, “Yes.”
“The gloves?”
“Yes.” Although confused, unyielding words, aimless ones, managed to push themselves out. Almost a whisper, with her looks cast down, she asked the air before her, “What does this mean for me?”
“You must understand that those covers will remain for a time. We must avoid your rule from being put into question. I would hate to see your hard work undone.”
It was not what she meant, she wanted to say. Without argument, the matter of who ruled Seiiki is important–generations of lives depended on it.
But at that moment, the island, the people, and her duties, all things she held dear that provided strength and solace in all her grief, in all her losses, felt like worlds away. Everything around her felt strange, empty, detached, like she was surrounded by nothing, or she was nothing. Even in her own skin, she felt like she didn’t belong. “You said she traded the link. She can no longer hear them?”
Manai shook her head, “No longer.”
The room had turned as quiet as a graveyard.
After what seemed like forever, the Grand Empress spoke again, “Does it displease you that it no longer exists?”
She blinked at the question, boggled where it sourced from. It seemed but didn’t sound accusatory. She considered before responding honestly, “No.” Somehow, a calming relief came with her answer. “Does Epabo know?”
“No.”
Nikeya racked her brain for more questions, but Manai had beaten her to it, “I have told you once that my granddaughter was made to be with the gods–that’s what I and Unora have understood. I cannot explain the ways of the divine as much as the wisest sage, but she has come back to us.” A crinkle in her eyes, she was smiling again, in a somewhat shrewd and awed manner, “That is all we need to know.”
—
After hours, Mai kept the door to her own office open knowing that her remaining blood relatives would direct the Warlord to her soon.
She could not keep still. She knows.
Before the Council of State’s religious excursion, a few days ago, a letter arrived from old Epabo. The Warlord had tried to employ him for a sensitive mission only he can carry out in all Seiiki: shadow on the new Maiden Officiant—who she is, where she came from, what of her parents, what she looks like behind the mask. The retired servant, loyal until the end to the fallen imperial family, refused—which, Mai guessed, only signed the Warlord's ink of certainty deeper.
While she waited, she kept her fire running, her room tidy, her books and journal in their rightful places. She kept a kettle on for tea and decided to light an incense to soothe her insides.
She knows. Of course, she does. Her last visit to Ginura was meant to imply so. Everybody—her, her mother, and grandmother—thought it the right time for the Warlord to know.
—
On her way to Dumai, she ran into Unora.
They both stopped and looked intently at each other–a silent, mutual understanding taking place.
“Be gentle to her,” Unora spoke first. She must have sensed her determination. “She has not been here long.”
“I've been told.”
With nothing else to say, Unora moved past her.
“Is she well?” Nikeya asked.
“Yes,” was the short answer.
“And you?”
Her eyes were hard like they were restrained, “Yes.”
Curiosity got her. Nikeya wants to know where Dumai's mother stood. “Have you supported the idea of not informing me right away?”
Although she was the first to bring up her claim to the throne, she doesn't know much of Unora's thoughts about her. After the truce between their families and even after Dumai's death, she had been cordial, but they have never connected deeper than the surface. She was certain it wasn't her. Unora had always been very distant and passive in it all, consistently, even the first time she confided in her about her courtly troubles while still Maiden Officiant.
“It was her own wish not to inform you, not until she was ready. Yes, I supported it.”
She thought Unora was leaving, but turned back as if something new caught her eye. This held Nikeya in place. There was more to come, but not in the way she expected.
“It had just struck me how you look so much like her.”
“Who?”
“Tirfosi.”
It seemed to dawn on the former Maiden Officiant that she was learning for the first time, although Nikeya doesn’t know the depth yet, that she and her mother shared some kind of history. At last, Unora said, “Let us talk some other time. It is getting late.”
—
It still startled her when she heard her voice come on, "Maiden Officiant."
Mai turned and saw her by the door, no longer with the armor but cladded only in a simple robe with her hair undone.
After a stunning silence, it was Nikeya who spoke again, "May I come in?"
Mai found herself unable to process the details of her tangible presence. Fully aware of her veil not being on, she looked away.
"That was the same expression you wore when I first met you on these very mountains," she commented calmly. Her voice moved carefully with her as she let herself in. "Like I was a spirit from a different plane.”
Mai closed her eyes to the traces of the incense' fumes crawling upwards. A hand flew to her chest as she felt her existence at a standstill. She felt herself turn into a heavy statue as everything around her breathed and lived on.
"You were a little shy at first, but not as much as you are now, I supposed, with your back turned and all," she still has not said anything, "Or maybe I was wrong?"
Without her armor, without her state councilors around her, without the Great Burmina behind her, she looked and acted exactly like that devious poet, that ambitious courtier from her past–exactly how Mai remembered her. Shame and guilt threatened to drown her as more memories from the past swam before her mind's eye. Her fists held on to their own, or to the edge of the table, to keep herself afloat.
"Ah, your mother did ask me to be gentle. You're newly ordained and have just been getting used to your role. I will see you in the morning, Maiden Officiant."
She didn't stop her or run after her.
Questions gripped her as she fell to the nearest chair. Where had she been all this time? Has there truly been a need to hide?
---
A guard announced her presence. She was allowed in, and the door was closed behind them.
With an active hearth nearby, Nikeya was posed before a table. She appeared to be in the middle of composing a letter with a small cup of warm tea beside her.
"Sit, we have a lot to catch up on," she gestured sweetly, setting aside her work.
Observing her now with calmer scopes, something about her arrogant casualness irked her because she knew it was dishonest. The fire crinkled in her lively and steady gaze, but she could see that nothing about it was tranquil.
"I think I would prefer to stand," Mai said. By refusing to play along, she felt more in control.
"Suit yourself."
"Thank you."
"Thank you?"
Her offended astonishment made Mai laugh; even she thought her response sounded silly. She, at once, felt relieved in knowing that Nikeya was not as put up as she appeared to be.
The Warlord’s quarters were warm and generous in space; it was only humbled with minimal furnishings. They have set up for her a place to work where she is currently perched; in a corner, there was a chest of clothes and some other personal belongings. Beside it, some towels and a wash basin. The room extended to another area where her bed was. Everything around her was neat and tidy, which only emphasized the grandness of the armor that was hanging on a stand close to the fireplace. It was hidden under thick clothing earlier, but closing the distance, she could now see that it had a sleeveless breastplate with elegant carvings–the work of a good smith. It slid down, fading into narrow chains until the hips; underneath it was a rich crimson robe with silver embroideries that crawled around the shoulders and waist, which resembled what looked like vines of stars and dragons. It looked fitting for a celebrated politician and a dragon rider.
"What do you think?"
"It looks intimidating."
Nikeya stood up to admire it beside her. "I have seen you charge headfirst against stone beasts, yet something as inanimate as this intimidates you?"
She smiled at this, "Yes," then a nod towards her direction, "and its wearer."
This time, when their eyes met, the reaction was immediate. Her breath was stolen as she saw a stirring tremble in her bright copper eyes. It was like seeing the sun's rays through a ceiling of water, transparent and ever-moving, warm and familiar. Mai found herself gravitating towards its radiance after being submerged in the deep for so long.
Everything came crashing down all at once—the walls, the pretense, the years that had passed between them.
Nothing more was said as they melted into a tight embrace and cried tremors and oceans.
---
They stayed in the Warlord's quarters as the night deepened, huddled together on a pallet bed, shrined blissfully in mountains of pillows and felt blankets. Mai held her closely exactly how she once did in an unknown cave in the north. Even with Nikeya's weight on her chest, she had never felt so unburdened.
"Do you remember when we first met?" Nikeya then started to recount an old memory that matches the present, "I thought it like a strange dream. There was so much cold and gloom." She continued on with her monologue, her words flowed slow like a drowsy river in spring, "But I knew it wasn't a dream when the ground felt solid beneath my feet and the frost persisted in my joints."
Not wanting her to fall asleep just yet, she unearthed an interesting subject to amuse her on, "Will you also confess now what you were up to that day?"
"Fine," She felt a smile form at the base of her neck. "Spying," she admitted simply, the gravity of the confession now groundless to Mai as she continued to stroke her hair. "How nostalgic. You were such a splendid fun to be with back then--so rude and unfriendly," she seemed to be speaking from a memory apart from their first meeting, exhaustion making her thoughts incoherent. She continued to pursue her surface-deep reflections, "But I never took that against you. Sometimes I catch myself staring out at nothing in particular and own that I have been bested."
"Are you mad at me for staying quiet all these years?"
"Mad?" She echoed. She brought her gaze up to level with hers. Still overjoyed, her eyes glistened, her cheeks flushed from the cold, traces of smile in view, "Yes. A capital."
"You don't look a particle mad to me."
"Not now," Then went back to her previous station, burying herself further as if searching for more spacial gaps to fill, "Maybe later, or tomorrow. Or next week. My wrath will show, just you wait."
She knew she meant it half-hearted, but a bitter taste of guilt still started in her mouth, "How can I make it up to you?"
There was a solemn quiet between them. Mai could almost feel her heart in her throat as Nikeya spoke her next words, "I have never forgotten the vows we have made in the forest of Mayupora." Then, in a fragile tone that tugged her innermost chords, she asked, "We're still married, aren't we? Am I still your consort, Dumai of Ipyeda?"
At the brink of death, she remembered once how she wished they could have more time. Like now, she had wanted to say a lot to her then, truths that she had kept from her that were sure to entertain; if only she was not too tired. She will have to tell it some other time, which they will have plenty of moving forward. “Yes,” was simply all she needed to say.
Unaware of her musings for the future, Nikeya held her tighter, sliding both arms around her neck, "I forgive you then.”
She mumbled a few more words before she finally let her sleep.
---
Dumai woke up in the middle of the night to find their fire almost out. Beside her, she can feel Nikeya’s slumbering presence as light and gentle as a feather. She got up to refill the coals, carefully lifting an arm laid across her belly out of the way.
The wind softly whistled outside. In the linings of their windows, Mai can see soft gleams of green and white seeping through their room–the work of the Great Burmina, circling the peaks of Mount Ipyeda.
Soft movements called her attention back. Nikeya woke up, a hand searching the emptiness beside her.
"I'll be with you in a moment," she assured her softly.
When she joined her back in bed, she pushed her safely onto her back and felt the urge to bury her face in the richness of her hair, to lose herself in the treasure that found her without fail, time and again. Nikeya responded by wrapping an arm around her. Sleep lulled them once more.
Later, her scent stirred her.
Then, her sounds.
Then, her small movements, until all of her became fully aware—the skin and mind, parts of her that long slumbered, ignited.
Their blankets, an ocean of enclosing warmth, rustled turbulently around them. Mai's touch, taken over by instinctive greed from years of smothered yearning, thought they could hurt; but this woman was ember and iron. Like a burning furnace left alone in the middle of a snowstorm, they fought for life with every breath, every sigh.
Mai knew from that day on as they held each other close, even when the beginnings of dawn rose upon them, that their fire was never to go out—not ever until she ceased to exist.