Archive of Our Own

The corridor was long, made of rough-hewn, echoing stone. Yuki couldn’t help but think of a poem—

ancient stone:
the weight of years
weep

Stone was different, setting Yuki firmly in her new place. This was Tortall, and not the Yamani Isles, where everything was made of wood and paper. Tortall, which would be her new home, a high honour offered to the noh Daiomoru family when Shinko had requested that Yuki follow her to Tortall and remain with her when the rest of the Yamani delegation returned.

Other Yamani noblewomen might have been unhappy about having to leave their homeland on the whim of royalty, but not Yuki. Her duty was to obey the Crown, but when she counted Shinko as her friend as well as her mistress, it was an easy duty. Besides, having befriended Keladry as a small child, she had to admit that she was curious about her friend’s country.

The stone around her was solid, decorated in a kind of woven tapestry that was entirely new to her. Her geta scraped loudly against the stone floor, a sound she didn’t like, but she had seen that Tortallans always wore their boots indoors. She would have to obtain some boots like that—every soldier she had seen was catlike silent.

The wooden door loomed ahead, worn and dark with time, and Yuki settled herself before she walked in. This room was familiar—a mess hall for soldiers, though it was rare she would ever be in these spaces in the Isles. She knew who was in charge from the layout of the room alone.

She hid her annoyance at the clatter of her sandals behind a firm mask and bowed to the man who had stood on her arrival. “Please excuse me,” she said, purposely pitching her voice to be soft, yet to carry throughout the room. “I come at the request of my mistress, her imperial highness, Princess Shinkokami.”

The silence that had befallen the room was total. Without looking, Yuki knew that all attention in the room was on her.

“I am the Training Master, Lord Wyldon of Cavall,” the man said stiffly, and Yuki could see a white scar stretching from his left temple. Too much stone, Yuki considered—perhaps living in stone made one more susceptible to hardness. “How may I assist you and your imperial mistress?”

“My mistress says that she has been told that Squire Keladry of Mindelan is here,” Yuki replied, bowing again and hiding any sign of her thoughts on her face. “Might this unworthy servant of the princess be permitted to speak with her?”

The Training Master made no reply, only beckoning Keladry to come forward. To some surprise, Yuki saw that Keladry had grown enormously over the past six years, well taller than Yuki or any other woman of her acquaintance. She hid another smile as Keladry examined her just as closely, fighting the urge to reach for her fan to hide a true smile.

“Please excuse me,” Keladry said, “but have I the honour of addressing the Lady Yukimi noh Daiomoru?”

“You have changed very much too in six years,” she replied, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “There is more of you than there was.”

“If you will excuse me?” The Training Master interrupted, though his tone was unfailingly polite. “I know you have much to discuss with Squire Keladry. Outside, perhaps?”

“Let us go outside,” Keladry agreed quickly, switching into Yamani. “My friend’s suppers will grow cold because their attentions are on you.”

Keladry’s eyes were crinkled in a silent laugh, and Yuki couldn’t resist peeking at the rest of the room from the corner of her eye. The long tables sat rows upon rows of well-dressed young men—somewhere between ten and adulthood, the training years. More than one had forgotten to close their mouths, and a few seemed to have food on their forks hanging in midair. She hid another smile.

“They stare so,” she said, a wicked thought barely having coalesced before she turned around and greeted the room with a polite bow. The silent room was suddenly filled with the sound of heavy wood on stone as all the pages and squires in the room tried to stand and return her bow.

All except one. There was one man in the group, sitting beside the empty spot which Keladry had previously occupied. He was tall, clearly older than the others, and there was something about his gaze that caught her attention.

He was stunned stiff, his leaf-green eyes fixed on her and curious. Unbidden, a second poem came to mind—

in stone
monuments are made—but are
broken by grass

It was another two weeks before Yuki made his acquaintance. She hadn’t been tracking it—the work of settling herself and her Princess into Tortallan society was not an easy one, especially when the Yamani delegation was still there.

Only a small number of the delegation spoke Common, and nearly none of the Tortallans around them spoke Yamani. Yuki found herself acting as an interpreter and intermediary at some point every day, as did Haname and even Shinko. There were a thousand minor misunderstandings that had to be corrected before they became inflamed and festered into open wounds. It was not, Yuki thought, especially helpful for her, Shinko, or Haname, who would be remaining after the delegation left, to spend so much time with the delegation; it was important that they create the right first impression on the Tortallan population, and that meant mingling and showing openness to Tortallan culture.

Keladry, who insisted on being called Kel, was very helpful, taking the time between her training to show them around the Palace. Yuki couldn’t help but think that her knight-master had to be exceptionally lenient. No Yamani armsmaster or armsmistress would have been so free with their charges’ time.

That day, however, lingering near their usual meeting spot after they had each cleaned up from their morning practices, was the green-eyed man that Yuki had seen in the pages’ and squires’ mess hall. Up close, she could see that he was at least half a foot taller than her, and his light brown hair swept back from his forehead as if he often ran his hands through it. He was leaning casually against the wall, dressed in an emerald green tunic that she could see emphasized the vibrant colour of his eyes.

Yuki stopped, Shinko beside her, unsure of how to proceed.

The man spotted them and bowed, his hands lying flat on his thighs. It wasn’t a perfect bow, being a few degrees too low, but at least he made the attempt.

“Squire Nealan of Queenscove,” he said cheerfully, straightening. “Please, call me Neal.”

Yuki bowed back. Neal spoke quickly, but not too quickly, and she was relieved that he hadn’t taken to doing what some Tortallans had done and tried to raise his voice and speak overly clearly to her, as if she were an imbecile or a child. “My name is Lady Yukimi noh Daiomoru. May I present her imperial highness, Princess Shinkokami of the Yamani Isles?”

“No need for the formality, Yuki,” Kel interrupted, panting slightly as she ran over to them at the meeting point. “Sorry for being late. This is my best friend, Neal, and he doesn’t deserve the formality.”

Yuki suppressed a smile, knowing that Shinko was doing the same beside her. “Doesn’t he?”

“Not at all,” Kel declared, while Neal cackled in laughter. “He’s far too irreverent, so please don’t take him seriously. But I thought that since we were touring the portrait gallery today, he might want to come along. He knows a lot of Tortallan history and has an interesting story for every painting.”

“And given that it’s the only time that I’m allowed to share my wealth of knowledge,” Neal drawled wryly. “I could hardly miss the opportunity to tag along.”

Yuki hid another smile as Kel shoved him playfully on the shoulder. “Only the interesting stories, Neal. You promised.”

“I’m sure we will be delighted to hear your stories,” Shinko replied, a laugh in her voice as she bowed. “I look forward to hearing the history of my new home.”

“No formality, Shinko,” Kel reminded them firmly with a hint of a smile, ushering the two Yamani women down the corridor towards the portrait galleries. Yuki turned and went, the small smile on her face feeling foreign though she knew that open emotions were more acceptable in Tortall than they were in the Yamani Isles.

The rest of the morning proved Kel’s point. Neal was disturbingly irreverent—not only did he have a story about every painting on the walls, many of them were the sort of tales that he would have no doubt been executed for telling of a superior in the Yamani Isles. He never told a story that was simple; when he talked about King Roger III the Liberator, he didn’t ignore the years where the king had been uninterested in politics, happy to allow his councils to rule in his stead. When he talked about King Jasson III the Conqueror, he also talked about the conquest and assimilation policies that had led to the creation of the Bazhir subclass, and the deep wounds in Tortallan society that were still in the process of healing. When he talked about King Roald V the Peacemaker, he didn’t ignore the king’s contribution to the disaster that were the final years of his reign. Neal had a way of making the history behind each portrait come alive, and Yuki was very cognizant that none of these stories were ones that would have been told in the Yamani Isles.

It was different. It was refreshing, like spring water from a mountain stream, but between his words Yuki heard more.

The rules of etiquette might have been different in Tortall—but it was not that there were fewer rules. It was only that the rules were different, and they were not written into the language itself. In some ways, the Yamani Isles were easier; Yuki always knew where she stood, compared to the person to whom she was speaking, only by the words they used.

Neal spoke lightly, without reverence, and from Kel’s comment, Yuki knew he did so even by the etiquette of Tortallan society. It was not that he didn’t know the etiquette—his own self-introduction, before Kel had arrived, showed that he knew the etiquette and chose not to follow it as often as not. In the Isles and Tortall both, that could only mean one thing.

Neal was powerful—he was either powerful enough individually that he didn’t need to follow the rules of etiquette strictly, or he came from a powerful house that could not be offended. He could afford to risk offending others, even the king.

Yuki could, and often did, do something similar. Another poem that she would need to scrawl on a sheet of rice paper, when she had the time:

similar swallows
even in faraway lands—
soar skies together

She shook her head. Duty came before her curiosity.

The heat of the room pressed close against her, crowds of people talking as they pleased.  There were no parties like this in the Yamani Isles, but Yuki couldn’t help but feel somewhat thrilled by the experience. There was no shortage of men or women who wanted to talk to her (more of the former than the latter), but nearly everyone was friendly. Those who weren’t, Yuki could always pretend like she didn’t understand them, and the insult would become clear when she moved on to converse elsewhere.

Shinko was sitting stiffly beside Prince Roald, too polite for her own good. Yuki knew that she was nervous about the arrangement—not unhappy, but Eitaro-sama had been spilling too much poison in her ears recently. From what she could tell, Prince Roald was as nervous as she, and they were each too silent, too afraid to share their thoughts with each other. That was no way to start a marriage, and the frequent visits she made with them to try to break the veil of silence between them weren’t working. She needed more.

She was too short to see through the crowds, though she knew that Kel was somewhere in the room, serving drinks. However, she soon caught sight of Neal, dressed in a black tunic trimmed in red, holding a tray of drinks. Drinks in small, round cups that she knew very well.

Sake. Sake smoothed everything.

She slipped over to him, catching his attention with a tap of her fan on his upper arm. “Squire Neal,” she murmured politely. She did not know him so well as all that, and while he had directed her to call him by his name only, a morning barely a week ago, they had only met once and Kel had been there. “If I may be permitted to ask a favour of you?”

He offered her his tray of drinks. “Just Neal, Lady Yuki,” he replied, his emerald eyes dancing. “And how may I be of service?”

Yuki had the sense that if he wasn’t carrying a heavy tray of sake, he would have given her a grand, flourishing bow. She found herself smiling, the tip of her fan resting on her lips.

“Please take this whole tray of sake to the Prince and her imperial highness and ask them to taste it.” From an etiquette standpoint, she could think of nothing else that would require the royals to drink, but fortunately, Shinko had no tolerance for alcohol. “If you can find a way to coax all of it on them, that would be most excellent.”

“Already tried, my dear.” Neal pulled the tray of drinks back from Yuki when it became evident she wouldn’t be taking a glass. Yuki was suddenly glad of the heat of the room—while Neal certainly meant nothing by the endearment, she was immediately aware that he was a very attractive man. “The Prince declined—he said that he has no taste for it, and that surely Prince Eitaro could provide a more educated review. My deepest apologies to her imperial highness, but our prince is a fatuous idiot. Not always, but certainly right now.”

“In this case, I think it likely to be a fault of them both.” Yuki sighed. “It is rare for us to have gatherings like this in the Yamani Isles. The number of people may be discomforting for her imperial majesty.”

“Roald never liked attention either.” Neal looked away, examining the crowds. “This isn’t his kind of event. He prefers small gatherings, ones where he can talk to people easily.”

Yuki breathed a small laugh. “They are well-suited for each other, then.”

“I think so.” Neal shook his head, looking down at her with an easy smile. “They need a subject. Something they’re both interested in, and then they need people who can be around them to smooth the discussion. I might be able to help when I come off my duties, but I really ought to continue passing these drinks around. Please, take one—then I’ll have something to tell Master Oakbridge about why I stopped to talk for so long.”

“I may have something,” Yuki said, the idea occurring to her. “Please, can you see Kel from your grand height?”

Neal grinned at her comment and craned his neck. “She’s over towards the wall, moving towards the door to the book room. Better move quick to catch her. Take a drink, please.”

Yuki smiled, the largest smile she had grown used to showing among Tortallans, and plucked one of the small cups of sake off his platter before heading to find Kel. Shinko had expressed some interest in one of Kel’s forest campaigns in the summer, though she doubted that anyone except for her and the other Yamanis had noticed.

She didn’t catch Kel until Kel was already in the book room, but as she expected, her friend was able to help. Within minutes, there was a plan to draw Shinko and the Prince into the book room with Kel’s knight-master to discuss the summer bandit campaign. To her relief, the plan worked—whether it was the sharp tap of her fan on Neal’s chest as she walked out or not, he did signal her when they had caught the Prince’s attention, and she managed to draw them both to the book room. After that, while the Prince and Princess stayed in the room, Yuki mingled. Some of these people would be important for Shinko to have as allies, and therefore it was crucial for Yuki and Haname to make connections while Shinko spent time with her betrothed.

By the end of the night, however, she had returned to the book room and was listening as those that were left discussed the rising tensions with Scanra to the north. Keladry, Neal, and Kel’s other friend Cleon had joined them after their squire duties had finished for the night, and the conversation flowed freely. It was a relief, seeing Shinko and Prince Roald speaking so openly, even arguing, after the stiffness of the early part of the evening.

One look at the clock showed that, while it wasn’t yet very late, Yuki had to go.

“I’m very sorry, everyone,” she said, when there was a lull in the conversation, “but I must be on my way. I was invited to the mages’ party, and I really ought to make an appearance.”

“You’re a mage?” Neal’s eyes were sharp as he glanced over to her.

Yuki nodded, tucking her fan away in her obi. She was the only Yamani mage that would be remaining after the delegation left, which made it all the more important for her to make connections within the Tortallan magical community. “Yes, though not a strong one—nothing like your mages, I am sure. I am honoured to be invited to the mages party.”

“I can escort you,” Neal replied, stepping away from the table where he had been leaning, between Kel and Cleon. “I’m invited as well, and my father is hosting. I can introduce you.”

Yuki paused, then nodded, her own eyes curious as she followed him out into the corridors.

Compared to the heat of the first party, the hallways were cold. An icy draft blew against Yuki’s face, and she couldn’t help but shiver slightly. She ought to have woven some of the warmth of the room into her kimono before she left, but it simply hadn’t occurred to her at the time.

“Here,” Neal said, holding out a hand with a small ball of light—emerald green, like his eyes. “Warming spell, if you need it.”

She eyed the small ball with a hint of amusement and summoned her own warming spell, in pale blue. It took more work and power to do than simply knitting pre-existing warmth inside her clothing, but far be it from her to need help from someone who was only an acquaintance at best.

Neal shrugged, keeping the spell for himself. “What sort of Gift do you have?”

“A general Gift, strongest with light, fire and healing magic.” Yuki smiled slightly. “Nothing exceptional, either in power or in type. Enough to require training, but little more. And you?”

Oddly, Neal fell silent and looked away. It was a few minutes before he answered, his tone as light as it had been before. “Healing. Like my father.”

“Your father is…”

“Duke Baird of Queenscove,” Neal replied, with a smile that somehow seemed brighter and lighter than it should have been. Yuki had a hard time telling, but it didn’t feel like a genuine smile to her. His eyes were shadowed in the corridor, and she had the sense that there was something that he wasn’t telling her. “He is the chief of the realm’s healers.”

“A very prominent title,” she noted. Duchies were the highest in rank of the Tortallan nobility, that she had learned while preparing to come to Tortall, and the position of Chief Healer was a prestigious one. Little wonder that Neal flouted etiquette when it suited him.

“It is,” Neal said agreeably, before falling strangely silent for the rest of the walk.

The party was already in full swing when they arrived. Unlike the first party, the Duke of Queenscove had decided to keep his event well-lit, and the rooms were dominated by crystal chandeliers that cast light throughout the rooms. It felt more spacious than the last party, though Yuki had to wonder how much of that was simply the light. Darkness made a room cozy, but Yuki had to admit that she much preferred being able to see.

“Neal!” A woman with light brown curls and blue-grey eyes, was the first to spot them. Her dress was light blue, and she invited them into her circle of conversation with a wave of her hand. “It’s been too long! How are you?”

“Daine,” Neal replied, gesturing for Yuki to follow him. “If I can introduce Lady Yukimi noh Daiomoru? She’s a mage, and with the delegation. Yuki, Veralidaine Sarrasri, the Wildmage, and Master Numair Salmalin.”

“No need to stand on ceremony, Neal, you know us.” The woman’s smile was kind and heartfelt. “Yuki, is it? Welcome to Tortall. How are you settling in? I remember my first few weeks, or even years really, were a bit of a culture shock.”

“Very well, thank you, Lady… Veralidaine?” Yuki replied, stuttering over the name and bowing in combined greeting and apology. To her surprise, the woman caught her by her shoulder and shook her head.

“Just Daine, and no title, and no bowing.” Her smile was impish. “I’m no noble, and we’re all mages here.”

Yuki blinked, straightened, and smiled.

The mages party was not what she had expected. Whereas the royal Midwinter First Night party had been rather formal, with squires serving food and drinks, the mages party was completely informal. Snacks and drinks were laid out along one side of the room, and the laughter was light, genuine, and carefree. Unlike the political party that the Midwinter First Night party had been, the mages party felt like a true gathering of friends—everyone seemed to know each other, and Neal was no exception.

It seemed as if Neal knew everyone personally—or, if he did not know everyone personally, he had at least heard of everyone. Everyone greeted him as if he was an old friend, and there was more than one comment about how they hadn’t seen him in too long, about how they missed him at the university, or about whether he would return. Through it all, Neal laughed, and he smiled, and he joked, but there was something else in his eyes. It took her long minutes to place it, but when she did, all she could think of was another poem:

like a fox spirit
come smiles and easy laughter—
a mask for sorrow

She didn’t ask. They weren’t close enough for her to ask, and she didn’t think he wanted the questions anyway.

Time passed quickly, months passing in great gulps and swallows. The Grand Progress began in the spring, and both Yuki and Haname rode near the front of the train, part the Queen’s ladies. Shinko rode ahead of them, beside her betrothed.

Kel was rarely with the train; her knight-master, it was rumoured, despised social events and sought to avoid them as much as possible. Neal, however, was often with the Progress since his knight-mistress was the King’s Champion. He became a familiar sight on the road, but Yuki didn’t often have a chance to speak with him.

Not that she would know what to say. She had so many questions: when had he been at the university? Before his knight-training, presumably, and this explained why he was older than his fellow squires, but why had he left? Especially when he had had so many friends at the university, when the mages party itself showed that he was a well-respected mage, when it was so obvious that he had enjoyed being at the university?

But these were very personal questions, and not ones that she had any right to ask. So, she didn’t, and instead she found herself watching him when he rode ahead of her beside his knight-mistress.

“Handsome, isn’t he?” Uline said, following her gaze. It was raining, much to everyone’s displeasure, but Yuki had set up a screen to deflect the worst of it from herself and the five or six people closest to her. Up front, she could see that the King had thrown up a similar screen for the royals.

“I’m sorry?” Yuki replied, turning to her new friend. Lady Uline haMinch had joined the Queen’s Ladies shortly before Yuki and Haname, and she was closer to them than most of the others.

“Nealan of Queenscove.” Uline tilted her head in his direction.  “He does have nice shoulders, doesn’t he? And the most stunning green eyes.”

“You’re married, Uline!” Sabine of King’s Reach called over Yuki’s other side, but the smile on her face softened her words.

“Being married doesn’t mean I can’t look,” Uline shot back. “And those looks!”

Sabine laughed. “Those looks,” she agreed. “Pity he’s still a squire. Not available for another, what, two years?”

“He’s a little older than the other squires, is he not?” Yuki interjected. It was rude to interrupt, but she had long since learned that if she didn’t, she would never get a word in edgewise. “He seems to be a little older.”

There was an awkward silence, as Uline and Sabine glanced at each other.

“He is,” Sabine said finally, her voice going quiet. “I think he’s twenty now.”

“Twenty-one,” Uline corrected. “Kieran was in the same training class as his older brother Graeme of Queenscove—Graeme was five years older than Nealan.”

“Right.” Sabine fell quiet.

“Older brother?” Yuki asked, looking between Sabine and Uline. “And was?”

“Graeme died in the Immortals War,” Uline said, keeping her voice low. “As did his second eldest brother, Cathal, leaving Nealan as the heir to the duchy. It was a huge loss for Queenscove.”

“And then he left the university,” Yuki said, understanding blazing in her mind. “He was at the university before, wasn’t he?”

Uline threw her a sharp look. “He was. He had planned on being a Healer before his brothers died. How did you know that?”

Yuki glanced upwards at her own magical screen protecting them from the elements. “He was kind enough to escort me to the Midwinter mages party. There were some comments, and it seemed like he knew everyone there.”

“That’s unusual,” Sabine said, looking away and frowning slightly. “Not that he knew everyone, he’s very well connected in the magical community, but as far as I heard he’s avoided mage events since entering knight-training.”

“I think they would probably be painful for him,” Uline added, leaning over to look at Sabine. “Imagine—planning out your life in one direction, and then changing everything because of the loss of your brothers. Kieran said once that the Queenscove brothers were very close to each other. I’m not surprised that he’s avoided mage events since leaving the university.”

“His father was hosting,” Yuki volunteered thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on broad shoulders and a green-blue cloak a dozen feet in front of her. “Perhaps he was obligated.”

“No, that can’t be it.” Uline shook her head. “Duke Baird is known for his understanding, and Nealan is his only son left. He would have excuses made for him, probably something relating to his knight-training.”

“Oh,” Yuki replied slowly, looking down at her mount. “I see.”

Their words made a nest in her mind—something like a poem, but the words were messy and tangled and knotted, incomplete. There were too many words: tragedy and loss, but also bravery and loyalty and remembrance. The past, and its influence on the present and the future; the obligations of duty. All those words had far too many syllables for the pithy shortness of Yamani poetry, and try as she might, she couldn’t get the words to coalesce.

It was a week before she decided to raise it to Neal directly. Neal had said, the night of the Midwinter mages party, that any friend of Kel’s was a friend of his, and it didn’t sit well with her that she had learned something so personal about him from others. The next time that she saw him ride ahead, she excused herself from her friends and rode after him.

He noticed, falling back with a quick word to his knight-mistress, who only nodded and waved him off. “Yuki,” he said, when she had caught up to him. “How are you? Are you enjoying our lovely days of riding?”

His voice had a sarcastic edge to it, no doubt because it had been raining for half of the week. While they had sheltered for some two days in a village, the Progress did need to move on, so the command to travel had gone out.

“I am well used to it from my childhood,” Yuki replied, hiding a smile. “It is not my place to complain.”

He sighed gustily. “I forgot. You’re another warrior stoic. I’m surrounded by them. What did I expect?”

She breathed a small laugh in reply. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Speak away! Anything to interrupt the incredible misery of hours of riding in the rain.”

“The scenery is sometimes very beautiful,” Yuki pointed out. “The growing greens, nourished by the rain, the way that sunlight dances with the clouds…”

“Romantic, are you?” Neal tilted a smile down at her from his stallion. “Some days, I can see it—and others, like today, it’s just rocks and trees and rocks and trees and mud.”

Yuki laughed softly, liking the rhythm of his words. “I am not sure where to begin.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “That serious? Might as well get it out, it’s better out than in.”

“Not so serious, only awkward.” Yuki shook her head. “Some of the Queen’s Ladies were telling me about you—about your past. They told me about your brothers. You left the university after your brothers passed.”

Neal’s face had taken on a forbidding cast, reflecting the dark skies. “I did.”

“Do you…” Yuki hesitated. “At the Midwinter mages party. You enjoyed being at the university. You had a place there. Why leave?”

“Because my brothers passed.” He said it like it was self-evident, but it was not so to Yuki.

She glared at him, waiting for more—she had enough of a fix on his personality by now that she knew that he would fill any silence, if allowed to do so. After a minute, he noticed and sighed.

“Because for my brothers,” he explained slowly, looking away from her, “knighthood was the greatest gift that they could give to the Crown. Because I loved my brothers, and because I owe it to them. And you can say that I don’t owe them anything, my father has already tried that argument, but I do. I do owe this to them, to live life as they lived it, so that a part of them might survive. That doesn’t make sense, but that doesn’t make it any less true. For me, anyway.”

It was nothing that Yuki had not expected. She had suspected something similar almost from when Sabine and Uline had told her about his past, and perhaps the only thing surprising was how Yamani she found his thinking. Committing oneself as a living memorial to his brothers was no easy task, one almost completely at odds with his normally flippant and irreverent manner.

“I see,” Yuki replied, looking down at her mount. “I must say that I find that admirable.”

He laughed, but there was a discordant note to it—sadness or surprise, Yuki couldn’t be sure. “And not utterly mad? Mostly people to whom I say this tell me that I’m utterly mad.”

“Not at all.” Yuki looked back up at him, her gaze direct. “To the contrary, I think it a powerful demonstration of your love and loyalty to your brothers, to want to memorialize them in this way.”

Neal’s laughter disappeared, and he looked away, his expression inscrutable. A minute or two of silence later, Yuki cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry I learned about it from others,” she said, without looking at him. “I did not mean to intrude, but thought that since I had, I ought to let you know.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Neal’s wry smile had reappeared on his face. “It’s common knowledge anyway. I should return to Lady Alanna.”

“Of course,” Yuki murmured, letting him ride ahead and feeling the words fall into place in her head.

mixed rain and sunlight:
a study in opposites
shows resilience

She would need a new notebook.

Kel caught up to the Progress in Whitethorn, a major city where they would be staying for almost a week. There were two banquets scheduled, along with three days of tournaments, which Yuki found both odd and interesting. There were no tournaments in the Yamani Isles, only more training, and the shows of skill were amusing—especially when a few of the men asked for her favour before they rode in the joust. It was part of a pageant, and after the other ladies assured her that it meant little, she didn’t hesitate to part with her handkerchiefs.

Shinko convinced Kel into a game of fan toss on the second day of tournament, after the morning jousts. Yuki agreed with pleasure—she always loved fan toss, always loved the poetry of fluttering silk and steel slicing through the air, and the skill involved in catching the fan. It was at some parts quick-paced and dangerous, and other parts slow and solemn, but it was always beautiful.

Yuki wasn’t paying attention when Neal arrived, her eyes fixed on the crimson fan sailing through the air, from Haname to Kel, from Kel to Shinko, from Shinko to herself. She caught it, dipping and whirling the deadly fan with both hands, then dipped again before throwing it back to Haname with a practiced flick.

“This is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” came Neal’s dry voice. “May I play?”

Yuki froze as he stepped into the ring, gasping—there was no time to stop him, no time to warn him before he reached into the air after the steel-ribbed shukusen. Her magic rose in response to her panic, but she knew without thinking that she did not have the Healing skill to reattach any of Neal’s fingers. Her hands came up to her mouth, covering it, as she nearly stopped breathing.

He caught it, base down, then nearly dropped it.

“What is this thing?” he asked, his green eyes widening as he realized that it was not merely a fan. A shukusen was a weapon, and the fan toss game was its training. They hadn’t even been using a blunted, practice shukusen, but one of Shinko’s live blades.

She stormed over to him, grabbing the fan out of his hands. “There is a saying in the Islands,” she hissed, her voice stiff with her own anger. Every one of the onlookers would know that she was furious, a rare emotion for her, but she didn’t care. “Beware the women of the warrior class, for all they touch is both decorative and deadly.”

There was a loose pile of rejected tent poles nearby, and she walked over and picked one up. On her return, she held up the pole, unfurled the fan, and slashed at the wood. The tent pole was thin, too thin to support much weight, and between her rage and the sharp edge of Shinko’s shukusen, the bottom of the tent pole fell away.

Neal stared, his green eyes deep pools of shock, and Yuki closed the fan with a sharp snap and stalked back into Shinko’s tent. Her point had been made, she knew, but she was still furious. She would have to cool off in privacy—being seen so obviously angry was embarrassing, not only in the Yamani Isles, but here in Tortall.

It was only a second before Shinko and Haname came after her.

“Are you all right?” Shinko asked. “It is rare for you to be so upset.”

“I will be.” Yuki breathed deeply, trying to dispel the feelings of anger and fear that bubbled within her. “I am sorry for my unseemly display of emotion.”

“We are in Tortall now. Such a display was, I think, warranted.” Shinko paused. “Are you… close to Kel’s friend?”

Yuki turned around, spotting the hidden smiles on both Shinko’s and Haname’s faces. She thought about arguing, but there was no point. Shinko knew her too well, and while Haname was a little older than them both, she had shown herself to be shrewd. They would know the lie if she said it.

“You see too clearly, as you always have,” she muttered. “I find him admirable, that’s all. But think not of it. It will most likely come to nothing.”

The poem, this time, was about herself:

snow—
melts too easily under
the heat of fire

After that, Yuki kept a closer eye on Neal of Queenscove. They saw each other more than anyone could have expected on Progress, a combination of Lady Alanna’s standing and her own position in the Queen’s Ladies, and now when they had an opportunity, they spoke. Sometimes, it was nothing—news about Kel and their other friends, talk about the last tournament or banquet, an exchange of amusing stories from both the Queen’s Riders and knight-training. Neal complained at length about waking at dawn to practice the sword, but Yuki pointed out that he had been very successful in his last tournaments. Neal winked, and said that it was solely because of Yuki’s handkerchief that had been resting beside his heart, while Yuki shook her head and told him that his line was terrible even as her heart fluttered.

There were things they didn’t talk about. They didn’t talk about the past. They didn’t talk about the future, where it was obvious to all that war was looming on the horizon. They only talked about the present, about the light and easy things that surrounded them. They only talked in public view, where very little could be said that was private, and Yuki made no mention at all about her feelings.

Neal would not be done with knight-training for years yet, and there was war coming. One did not speak of these things until it was an appropriate time to do so, and now was not the right time. Instead, Yuki treasured the few moments they had; always in public, always filled with laughter, always easy.

The war came too soon. They were at Mindelan when the call to arms came. For once it was Neal that sought her out, busy with a cluster of the Queen’s ladies as Shinko gave them directions.

“My apologies,” he said, bowing in politeness. “May I speak to Lady Yukimi, please?”

Yuki glanced at Shinko, who waved her off with a look that said that Yuki would be telling her everything later. A few of the other ladies giggled, but they made way for Yuki to slide out of the room.

She left the door open behind her for propriety’s sake, and Neal didn’t argue.

“We’re being called to the border,” Neal said, not mincing his words. “I can’t find Kel, but if you see her, can you tell her that Lady Alanna and I are being posted to Frasrlund? The city is besieged, and our orders are to break it.”

Yuki nodded. “I believe Kel is… otherwise occupied,” she murmured, knowing full well that Kel was with Cleon. Her friend would be staying in the north with the King’s Own, providing guard for the King and Queen who were personally scouting the defences. “Should you see her, please advise her that I will be staying with Prince Roald and Shinko—we’re turning eastwards, to the City of the Gods.”

Their mutual friend was a flimsy excuse for why they were meeting, and they both knew it. The assignments would have travelled through the progress, and Yuki would not have been surprised if Neal himself already knew—he was, she had learned, exceptionally talented at eavesdropping. He had wanted to see her before he left, and Yuki—

Yuki did not know what that meant. Their messages delivered, they fell into silence, but Neal lingered. She couldn’t read his expression in the dim light of the corridor.

Instead, there was a whisper of movement, and there was a touch—his hand reached out, hesitant, on the far side of the door to the parlour, and clasped hers. It was warm, and Yuki felt her heart beating heavily as he squeezed her fingers in the silence, an action that said more than either of them had the words to say.

This was the purpose of poetry. Poetry connected, compared, contrasted; poetry evoked the serious feelings that Yuki hid under a mask of Yamani etiquette and a light and easy spirit. His squeeze spoke of his hopes, the ones that he dared not speak, and of his fears. She shut her eyes, squeezing back, feeling the words form in her head.

a thunderstorm calls—
these swallows already cry
in desperation

“I must go,” he said, and he stepped back, bowed once, and disappeared into the darkness.

Yuki was not a stranger to war. The Yamani Isles had their share; if it was not Scanran raiders in the east, it was Jindazhen and their fleet in the West. As much as Yamani women were kept off the battlefield, the battles came often enough to their own homes, and Yuki had been trained as well as any other noblewoman how to defend herself.

Not that she was personally involved in the war this time, either. As Roald and Shinko led the Progress on, Shinko planned more entertainments for the population: demonstrations of the naginata, kyudo, the fan toss game, anything that could keep people calm and to downplay the Scanran war. On the outside, it became ever more important for them all to be light and easy, lest their worry spread panic.

There was enough news from the north. The siege on Frasrlund had only been fought to a standstill—the Scanrans were camped heavily on the northern bank and still held the city, while the King’s Champion, Neal, four dozen knights and three companies of the army were camped on the southern bank. Try as they might, they had been unable to take back the northern half of the city, on the northern bank, and Yuki had heard that the fighting was intense over the walled island in the middle.

Other skirmishes sprinkled the north. They still held Northwatch, which Yuki understood to be the key to Tortall’s northern defences, and other companies were spread in a thin line across the border nearly to Galla. Shinko had heard from Roald that the Gallans had declared themselves neutral, but there was a lingering concern about how far that went. Would they allow people through their borders to cross into Tortall elsewhere? It wasn’t clear, and they were all on high alert.

She filled her notebooks with poetry—some of it acceptable, and some of it very bad indeed. Tortallan was less amenable to the structure of Yamani poetry than Yamani, but she tried anyway, finding that some rules simply had to be bent. But there was nowhere else for her emotions to be written, so short sentences were scrawled, then crossed out and rewritten, all in the hope of a perfect, pithy statement encapsulating everything.

The war. Her worries. Her feelings, pouring out in an ever-flowing stream, which words could never truly capture.

She was worried. She was worried for Kel, for Neal, for the hundred other kind people that she had met since coming to Tortall. Daine, Numair and many of the other mages she had met and developed good relationships with had been sent north too, attached to the army or other companies. Sometimes, she wondered about going north herself, wondering if the Queen’s ladies would be called north, but it was unlikely.

Shinko needed her, and her duty was to Shinko. And so, there was nothing she could do but wait, and worry, and write.

the fires of war
burn too bright and too deadly—
I wish they were home

The first letter, postmarked Frasrlund, was a shock. There was no title to it, nor any signature, and yet Yuki could sense the writer from a hundred leagues away.

Her name made of snow
Her smiles shining and rare
Her eyes chocolate

She burst into laughter. It was bad. It was very bad, from the beginning of each line to the end. The repetition added nothing, and there was no kireji and barely a kigo. The fact that her name meant snow was hardly a stretch, and it was too obvious to be put so blatantly into poetry. There was no conclusion to it, no pithy remark, and the entire piece felt as if it were hanging, incomplete in an expanse of nothingness.

And yet, the writer had clearly tried hard. The sheet of paper was marked with words and lines crossed out, sometimes with words rewritten after they had been scratched out. She supposed that “chocolate” was better than “brown delight”, but the improvement was marginal. It was as if the writer had tried to write a Yamani poem, but without any technical guidance. He couldn’t have meant to send her the piece—if he had, he would have at least copied it out onto a new sheet of paper, without his errors.

It was too funny, and she tucked it away, considering what she might do in reply. Send him one of her own poems? Send him a book? Send him a critique? The possibilities were limitless.

The next day came with it a letter, similarly postmarked Frasrlund.

Yuki, Neal wrote. If you received a poem recently, burn it. It’s not mine. I disclaim any and all connection to it, and my deepest apologies if you had to see it. If you didn’t, ignore me, for I have gone mad.

Yuki burst into another round of laughter reading it. She had guessed that it was Neal yesterday, but his letter only confirmed it. How else would he know about the poem if it hadn’t accidentally been posted? The denials were too strong, and then there was the fact that Neal had known that the poem was bad.

She reached into her writing chest and pulled out three things: a notebook of poetry she had written some months ago, a brief primer on Yamani poetry in Common that she had picked up for amusement’s sake and then corrected, and a blank sheet of paper.

Neal,

Please find here an annotated guide to Yamani poetry. The author is not very good, and he misses several key points. First, every Yamani poem needs kigo, or a call to nature; second, it needs a kireji, or a cutting word, which in Common is expressed by a pause. Finally, while there is little Yamani poetry written in Common, I expect that differences in language will need an adjustment from the strict syllable patterning. I have made notes in the guide.

I am impressed (and perhaps not entirely in a good way) with your efforts. In reply, I offer the following:

the coming of spring
brings wet rains and warming sun:
his eyes echo hope

Yuki

Three weeks later brought another poem, this one better constructed than the last.

the heat of summer
want for afternoons in sun—
not a bloody war

A little too blunt and awkward, but still a great improvement on the last, Yuki reflected. She paused, thinking, before writing her reply.

the crickets sing loud
drowning worries and sorrow—
a prayer for safety

It was vague, but it was more than she had ever said to him about her feelings. In poetry, where she could simply say it was a metaphor, it was easy.

Three weeks later brought another exchange.

autumn leaves fall quick
the end to a long season—
yet I am not home

Yuki considered it for a moment, her fingers unconsciously smoothing the page. His unhappiness at war was palpable, as was his apology, and she heard the message without him having to put it about so bluntly. He was delayed returning to Corus.

She searched for her own words, the building blocks to a comforting reply.

the winter fires
wait for your faithful return—
duty reigns supreme

The months passed quickly. In person, over Midwinter, they never spoke of the poems that flew thick and fast between them. Neal learned quickly—no more did Yuki wince at his metaphors, but rather applauded some of his more clever comparisons. In poetry, they could and did say everything they could not in person.

only three years past:
a swallow far from home finds
more than expected

His reply was short, less vague, but Yuki was coming to see it as a mark of his style.

a winter evening
red and yellow maple leaves—
I forgot myself.

They lived two lives, one in poetry, one in real life, and it was almost as if they were two separate beings. In person, they were never alone together; in person, they laughed, they were light and easy and they joked and argued about everything under the sun. But they never spoke of the serious things; they never spoke of their hopes, their feelings, their duties, their dreams. Some things were too serious to be spoken, and it was for that reason that there was poetry.

The day of Neal’s Ordeal, Kel enlisted Yuki into helping her distract Neal. It was probably for the best that Neal was going first; his poetry over the last few months had reflected his fears and his feelings of inadequacy, and more time for him to linger on these thoughts could not be productive. Kel, who was far more even-keeled, did better in the waiting.

They took him into the city, and Kel treated them all to an early supper. The winter fair felt, to her, very like them.

It was light. It was fun, and Yuki laughed freely as she drew Neal into their game. This was real life, and therefore there was the present and nothing else. No past, no future, their feelings left far beneath the surface where they could not disturb them.

They were there, though. Her feelings, expressed a dozen times in a dozen different poems, rolled far underneath her surface, and she knew that Neal had heard them. Just has she knew how deep his fears ran—not simple fears, nothing as easy as a fear of the Chamber of the Ordeal or of death, but far deeper worries about his identity and his own worth.

three trees stand in spring
yet by winter there is one—
I am the least of them

icy waters rush
their voices scream: a healer
has no place in war

in autumn leaves fall—
I wonder when they’ll realize
I am a liar

A dozen times Yuki had written back, bouncing off his words.

spring arrives anew
each year—and plants new futures
upon which we grow

  icy waters cry
that no one belongs at war—
you are not alone

for winter I wait:
the snow will demonstrate that
you are no liar

The veil between their real lives and their poetry seemed thinner than ever, but still far too strong for her to breach. Were it not for the glimmer of his green eyes as he looked at her, Yuki could almost forget how much they had shared. It was only poetry, but she knew better than anyone that poetry said more than she ever could.

So, she said nothing. She had no words for it, and she suspected Neal hadn’t either. And when they saw him off to his knight-mistress and vigil, Kel, who was always more observant than anyone ever credited her with, saw the roiling worry disturbing her surface.

“You’re afraid for him,” she remarked, her eyebrow raised. Yuki flushed, pulling her fan out to shield her face.

“I’m not a Yamani anymore. I’m allowed to be rude, foreigners don’t know any better.” Kel reached out and pushed Yuki’s delicate fan away from her face. “Yukimi noh Daiomoru, it is going to be a long night. You are worried for him, and so am I. We’d best sit it out together, don’t you think?”

Yuki furled her fan shut, tracing the graven designs along one steel rib. In Yaman, one would rarely speak of their fears, at least so blatantly; it was inelegant, a messy covering for messy emotions that were better reserved for the strict structure and metaphors of poetry. But she was in Tortall now, and in time she, too, would become Tortallan.

The words were still choked, stuttered when they came out. “I was there when they carried the beautiful Joren out,” she murmured, flashing back to the memory. Joren of Stone Mountain had been beautiful, with icy blond hair and cold blue eyes, which had hidden the ugliness of his character. She had never spoken to him, only heard tales from others about how he treated people, which were enough for her to decide that his was an acquaintance she did not want to make. But still, she had watched him, and he had been the centre of several poems contrasting beauty with hate.

Kel was waiting for her to continue. Neal never would have done so.

“Not—not as a sightseer,” she clarified, looking up at her friend. “There were shadows in him, for all of his beauty. I wanted to see if this Ordeal had purged them, but when they brought him out—”

She let out a long breath, looking away. Joren’s hair had been dark with sweat, mussed, and his face had been locked in the rictus of horror. His eyes were huge, blue chips that screamed of rage, his mouth twisted in hate. The Chamber had not purged his shadows—instead, it had made them real for all to see. He had not been beautiful then. “He looked… as if he had lost all hope of sunrise. If something were to happen to Neal…”

But nothing would. Neal was so different from Joren, from Vinson, from anyone else that Yuki had met. He was a poet—he was like her, and Yuki had not lied. She believed that he would make it, but she feared that he would not. Her fears hung in the air, unspoken, but Kel heard them anyway.

“I wondered,” she said. “But you flirt with so many men that I wasn’t sure.”

Yuki smiled shakily. She did flirt with a lot of men, but her poetry had only been for one of them.

“Naginata practice,” Kel declared, a smile of relief spreading across her face. “Then a bath, a massage, then kyudo in one of the indoor practice courts. If you don’t sleep after all that, I will admit defeat.”

Yuki let her friend push her through her plan, which was clearly as much for herself as it was for Yuki. Two hours of drill and sparring tired her, a bath and massage relaxed her, but it was the hour of standing meditation in kyudo that finally put her to sleep in one of Kel’s armchairs. At dawn, Kel roused her and helped her into a fresh kimono, and they travelled the long corridors to the Chapel of the Ordeal in silence.

stone labyrinths weave—
a long journey of fear and
anticipation

The chapel was crowded, filled with a hundred people that Yuki recognized. Some were people that Kel knew, from Neal’s training years, but a great many of them were mages. She spotted Duke Baird, a kind man with worried eyes, in the forefront. Neal was already inside the Chamber, the heavy iron door shut behind him.

It was silent. A hundred people, and the room was silent but for their breathing. Hours passed, or maybe it was only seconds. Time lost meaning, a hundred people standing and waiting.

When the door creaked open, Yuki grabbed at Kel’s arm. Neal staggered out, his chestnut hair wild and his clothes dark with sweat, his eyes red-rimmed and frantic. His knight-mistress, the Lady Alanna, hurried forward to wrap him in a blanket and slowly began guiding him towards the exit.

The room was still silent, though Yuki caught the open expression of relief on Duke Baird’s face, which was mirrored among Neal’s many friends. When Neal passed her, she tried to give him a small, trembling smile—they couldn’t talk now, not when he was so obviously distraught, but there was later, and there were poems.

But he stopped. He stopped in front of her, and his emerald green eyes were fixed solely on her. The wildness in them bled away, replaced by fervent hope and a million things that they had never said to each other, a million things that had only been written under the screen of metaphor. But he needed to say nothing because Yuki already understood.

She looked down at her waist, drawing her delicate, pale blue shukusen from her obi. Silk and steel and sharp edges made for poetry, and she slowly reversed the weapon and offered it to him with both hands, base first.

He took it, and from his green eyes, she knew he had understood.

She hadn’t been able to see him all day—the nightly ritual of squires becoming knights was only one small part of the Midwinter festivities, and there was an active round of social events that Yuki, as one of Shinko’s primary ladies-in-waiting and as one of the Queen’s Riders, was obligated to attend. She barely had time to read the note that had been delivered to her room, in a familiar script, which listed only a time and a location. The Duke of Queenscove’s rooms, after the evening banquet.

Neal had been knighted at sundown, as part of custom and before the evening banquet went into full swing. Yuki had barely been able to focus on her dinner companions, and she excused herself as early as she conceivably could by any rules of etiquette.

By the time she found the Duke of Queenscove’s rooms, Neal’s knighting celebration was already in full swing. She didn’t know some half of the people in the room—many of them had to be long-time family friends, because Neal was in the cluster of them, but there were also many mages that she knew. She hesitated, glancing towards Neal, but he was busy, so she sidled over to Daine and Numair who welcomed her into their circle with pleasure.

It was another few minutes before Neal spotted her. He smiled at her, making her insides flop, before excusing himself from his circle of his family and friends and slipping through a door to another room.

She waited five minutes before doing the same, leaving the door open behind her for propriety’s sake. The room was dark in comparison to the lit main rooms, and as her eyes adjusted, she could make out Neal on the other side of the room, leaning against a desk. She made her way over to him.

“This was my bedroom, before page-training,” he murmured to her, looking out the window at one of the Palace’s many courtyards. “I had a room at the Royal University, too, but the Palace was close enough that I often came back to see my family. Especially my brothers.”

“You were close.”

It was a statement, not a question. She had known they’d be close, ever since they were on the Grand Progress. One did not change their life plans so completely after the passing of their brothers unless they were close.

“Very much so.” Neal fell silent, and a moment later, he turned to face her. “I’m not my brothers, Yuki.”

“Of course not.” Yuki smiled, taking one step closer to him and resting her hand on his forearm. “They are a part of you, but you are no one except yourself.”

Neal nodded, his dark eyes serious, one hand coming up to rest on her shoulder. Outside, from the corner of her eye, Yuki could see the snow drifting into the courtyard, swirling into small drifts against walls, benches, and statutes. “We’re still at war. It may go on for years.”

“Life goes on even in the midst of war.” Yuki shook her head, her smile both sad and understanding. “I can wait, but I’d rather not.”

“Next winter, then.” He smiled, a bright flash in the darkness. “In the snow.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Yuki agreed softly, taking another step forward and reaching up to touch his cheek. His skin was warm, and she could feel light stubble under her fingertips. He sighed softly, leaning into her hand, and she took the opportunity to stretch up on her toes to press her lips against his.

He tasted sweet. He had been drinking, but not heavily, and his mouth was warm on hers. He was fire, and she felt herself melting against him as his arms came up to brace her. It was good, and the first kiss tasted of promise. It led to a second, then to a third.

There was a cough from the open doorway, and they sprang apart like startled rabbits.

“I thought I had taught you better than that, Neal,” Duke Baird of Queenscove said mildly, leaning in the doorway. “Betrothed you might be, in a very loose and as of yet unformalized manner of speaking, but that certainly doesn’t mean you can take whatever liberties you please. Lady Yukimi, I apologize for his behaviour. Please, come out of there, both of you, and we’ll discuss the next steps. Particularly, who should Neal be begging for your hand—Princess Shinkokami? The King? Or should we be sending a missive to your family in the Yamani Isles?”

Neal coughed in embarrassment, straightening his tunic, which had become mussed as Yuki had gripped it. “Have we not progressed to a point in our society where Yuki might decide who she wants to wed without the need for me to beg anyone for permission?”

“Regretfully, no,” Duke Baird replied dryly, stepping back and gesturing for them both to return to the party. “Lady Yukimi, are you really sure you want him?”

Yuki laughed as Neal swore. As she followed him out into the light, she couldn’t help thinking of another poem:

two swallows soar—and
despite distance and war find
a happy ending