Djuna
I have proof now.
I'd sensed his vichya before--but he'd only have been in the same pain as me if he could manipulate the lifeforce, as well. That means he has to be part Unakai. That means...Eternal Reimha.
If his soul is as saturated as mine, then he, Namiko, and I are the most powerful souls in the country. One of us has to be the one to free Mara. It doesn't have to be me.
It does, though. If one of them dies and I live on, I would go utterly mad. Grief and guilt would eat away at me like parasites, til there was nothing left of me but a shell of the ferocious girl I'd once been. I'd be even less of a queen than I would be if I were dead.
I'd be doing my people a favor by sacrificing myself. The hands of someone else would be better than my own withered hands once another person I'd given my heart to was dead.
I can't lose either of them, or I'd lose myself. Either way, I doom my people. At least this way, I can ensure they'd be led by a sane person.
Whatever this was, this kiss, this sliver of heaven, only cements that thought in my brain. Still, however, a phrase echoes in my head.
Are we defined by our broken pieces, Djuna, or by the way we put them back together?
I dismiss it without a second thought.
When the pain finally subsides, it is mid-afternoon. The rainclouds have fled from the sky, followed by warm, pervading sunlight. The horizon is littered with trees of all kinds, flourishing in the spring weather; hills and valleys bend the would-be straight line into a deranged wave, Mount Aqul cutting the largest arch into it. Snow still stubbornly covers the top of the mountain like a baby's firm grip on its mother's finger. Relentless.
To the west lies the temple. After we cleared the peaked ridge, it came into view. I study its construction now, as well as I can from a distance. It appears small in regards to its square footage--perhaps 2,000 square feet at first guess. It's simple, in the tradition of the Unakai: tiers upon tiers of delicately carved windows and minimalist designs, tinted in ivory and bloodred. The top bears a row of cerulean bulbs, which are wind-beaten and worn.
It looks undisturbed. But I don't trust that Namiko and whoever else is working with Mara hasn't arrived first.
A wave of nausea hits me, reminiscent of the vichya rift that had debilitated Ezio and I earlier. There's too much energy that's been released from the deaths...and not enough babes to consume it. Vichya that raw, in that amount, can only be absorbed by the most pure of soul: the infants. And if there aren't enough of them to balance out the deaths occurring, the lifeforce just sits idle in the atmosphere. A floating temptation for those of us who know it's there. We could gather trace amounts of it, of course. But taking it all in would be like trying to pour a half-full pitcher of water into a completely full one. It simply wouldn't fit. Our souls are already formed, their capacities already determined by how we'd been molded as infants. Namiko, Ezio, and myself have all been born during the War, which explains why we're more powerful than others. As far as I know, though, I was the only one who came into the world on the battlefield. In a tent meant for the wounded, but who'd spared an extra bed for my laboring mother.
Only Reimha knows who she was. And what she was doing there.
But it happened, nonetheless.
Am I as fearsome a creature as the saying dictates, though? I used to think I was. But I doubt myself more with each passing day.
Ezio brushes a soft caress down my arm, ticklish through the loose sleeve of my shirt. My head pirouettes frantically. My arm begins to shake. Why? Why now?
His action vaults me back years; simple, and yet so meaningful. A sweep of skin. A raspy whisper. The gleam of fresh blood.
A time and place where I was not the girl I am today.
***
At nine years old, I was already more comfortable brandishing a sword than I was with skipping a rope or playing Find Me.
My father would watch me, lips straight, his gold-brown hair streaked with silver. As a general rule, he despised the habit of crossing one's arms, so his arms hung bulky and awkward by his sides. Straightforward described the entirety of his wardrobe; nothing extravagant, nothing particularly eye-catching save for the ring of stones slung around his hips. His eyes, though, commanded any room. It was said that once he'd stared a crocodile into submission before stealing its prey, carrying it back to the encampment for his meal.
I could never decide whether or not to believe that.
Little grunts of concentration slipped out of my mouth as I ran through my training drills. The blade hissed through the air, despite the practice sword's dullness.
He'd taken me up onto a mountain in the southern country that day, since it was autumn. I loved the stillness there. The freedom that I had within my boundaries and rules.
I could see so much from up high like that. It made me believe that perhaps, one day, I really could be queen of all of it. With this sword in my hand and a vernal diadem resting atop my head, I could rule and guide the Unakai through this land through times of famine and times of war. Times of celebration and peace. Seeing the scope of it, the reality, made it seem possible.
My eyes wandered back to the landscape. My body, though, kept cycling through the drills.
A mistake. I'd forgotten that I wasn't alone.
A smack crunched against the dead orange leaves below us. Namiko cried out, her hands going to her stomach where I'd jabbed her. Her dark eyes yawned wide. I hadn't been paying attention, so my aim had been off. It wasn't where she was expecting. She didn't catch it.
"'Miko!" I exclaimed, kneeling beside her. I brushed her hair behind her ear, placing my other hand atop her own. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to. I really didn't mean to. I'm sorry--"
Wrinkles stretched over the king's forehead. The corners of his mouth dropped just barely. But enough.
"Yudishi!" he barked. "Up. Why didn't you block her?"
My brows pulled together. Namiko swallowed, clutching my hand as she scrambled up. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty."
I forced myself to look him in the eyes, though a chill grabbed hold of my core. "I did it, Father, it was my--"
"Your fault? And let me guess, you're sorry? What's next, 'please' and 'thank you'?" The tanned lines in his face were showing now, his fists tight against his simple brown trousers. I didn't realize how close he had gotten to us until I could see our reflection in his pupils. The hairs protruding from his nostrils. He had always had an unstable temper.
I squeezed Namiko's hand harder. The king grabbed a handful of her tunic and lifted her clean off the ground. He swiped a knife from his belt, deftly tracing it along the line of her collarbone. Namiko inhaled sharply, tears budding in her eyes, but she didn't dare rebel against the king. She was raised too well for that.
I had no such qualms.
"Leave her alone!" I shouted, swinging a punch to his gut. The soft flesh tightened, but didn't bother him otherwise. A nine-year-old was no match for the king of the Unakai. I looked down at my skinny wrist and fingers turning white as they squeezed into my palm. It wasn't enough.
My father began skimming his knife along the other half of her collarbone. Wetness snaked down Namiko's cheeks, her cheeks pinching. Her eyes flicked to mine. I gave a tiny nod.
At the same time, we lurched towards the arm holding her aloft. I with my blunt sword, she with a swift kick. The king hissed, releasing Namiko and fixing his fury on me.
Namiko sprung to her feet as soon as she touched the leafy ground. Fresh blood was dripping down her chest, soaking into her clothes. Her sword was suddenly back in her hand, her eyes narrowed. In a single stride, our backs were touching, swords raised against the most powerful person in the country.
The king's eyes were green wildfire.
"Yudishi," he said slowly. "Must I replace you, as you clearly do not present enough of a challenge to her Highness?"
"No, sire."
She didn't do anything, I wanted to say. It was my fault. I got distracted. Don't hurt her. Please don't hurt her any more. Please.
But if I said any of that, he would take it for begging and punish me further. Queens don't beg.
The landscape was less densely forested here, stretching out below the cliff. My father retrieved his knife and stowed it away, neck pulsing with a large vein. He inched back towards the edge, and I felt a flare of pride in my chest.
"Your inability to block one of Lady Djuna's blows makes me wonder of your worthiness. And Djuna...you let your mind wander, did you not? What happens when we fail, girls?"
My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword. The wind sang mournfully.
"What happens when we fail?" he thundered. His head tilted, tone softening. "Tell me."
"We suffer, sire," Namiko said obediently. I caught a glance of the meek expression on her face and elbowed her. She elbowed me back, probably signaling for me to shut up and listen or you're going to get us in trouble.
We already were in trouble. And I was the princess. He wouldn't lay a finger on me. I had to speak up as much as I could, or nothing in my favor would ever happen. Shutting up would be what got us killed.
The king's eyes locked on me. He was in one of his moods. I only had to wait for my life to dangle before me.
"I'm only pushing you because I love you, girls," the king said gently, shoulders falling back. "Don't you trust me?"
No. No, I didn't trust him within an inch of my life. How could I?
Namiko saw my jaw clenched and stepped as if to trip me before I launched myself at him, but he caught me before my face hit the ground. He wrapped folds of my tunic around his fingers like he had with Namiko.
My feet dangled, kicking as I struggled against his hold. The back of the clean-seamed neckline cut into my skin, and the laced front rose up around my chin and mouth where he held it. Could I slip out of my shirt? Surely--
His eyebrows lowered as he flung my body around him. The scream was out of my mouth before I could help it. I was hanging over the side of the mountain, thousands of feet waiting below me before my fall would break. My hands clawed up at his arm. He pursed his lips, stroking one hand down my arm delicately.
"You suffer before it gets better, Djuna. Don't worry," he whispered.
A whack split the air in two. My father arched back, his fingers sliding from the fabric at my neck. Namiko stood in the space behind him, hands clutching her sword between them, eyes wide in horror as she realized he had let go.
I dropped.
A hand latched onto mine, fingers slick with sweat.
The rest is hazy. Being hauled up over the edge. The trek back to the autumn camp. The one thing that remains clear is my father's contempt as Namiko and I collapse into each other's arms.
***
That was the last time I ever let my mind wander during a fight. The last time I ever truly trusted, and I suffered the consequences of it. The root of why I despise great heights.
I jerk my arm away from Ezio's without thinking, remembering how my father had stroked my arm as he held me over the gaping chasm. Ezio looks back to me, hurt plainly written on his face.
I swallow, studying him. I didn't know it was possible for a Griffari's lips to be so soft, for his hands to be so gentle. We're on the tip of a precipice. The beginning of the end.
Sitting on the ridge overlooking the valley where the temple sits, I survey the land again. My country. My home.
I meet his dark blue eyes again, unable to speak. Emotion clogs my throat. Wordless knowing passes between us. I'm going to die. I will die for my people. For my country. For my love.
I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
I offer my arm back to him, and he begins caressing his fingers down the length of it again. It must comfort him, knowing he's about to lose me.
We're together. We had our moment, just the once. It was so quick, too fleeting.
Hardly daring to breathe lest the moment shatter, we watch in fragile solidarity as the sun crests into evening, gilding the landscape.