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“I got us dinner.”
Hapi enters their chambers with the hearty scent of Garreg Mach Meat Pie. Constance’s stomach rumbles traitorously as the scent seeps into every nook and corner, the reason magic book before her no longer captivating her attention. Hapi chuckles.
“Come on, Coco. The war is over. You don’t need to do that anymore.”
Constance frowns. “But my pursuit of perfection only begins now, dear Hapi. With Emperor Edelgard’s war ending in a triumphant victory, no small thanks to my magnificent magical contribution, I-”
She falls silent abruptly, and Hapi cocks an eyebrow at her.
The war is over, and they can forge a future in a free world. Yet Constance remains in her chambers in Abyss, pouring over a book she has read so many times before.
“-but we should eat,” mutters Constance.
With a victorious smile, Hapi draws a chair beside her, and waits until Constance clears the papers scattered across her desk. She ignores the brush of their knees, focusing instead on the warm dish placed before her.
Garreg Mach’s oddly convenient position bestows it the privilege of receiving produce from across the land. With Gronder and Tailtean merely a day’s travel away by horse-cart, farmers can send their best crop to the Archbishop herself to sample and enjoy, a thanks for the Goddess’ blessings she calls upon for them.
Constance wonders if the fresh crop will go to Enbarr, now that the Emperor’s righteous axe has fallen on the church.
Ignoring the pang in her chest, Constance smacks Hapi’s hand, inching towards the steaming plate.
“Be mindful,” she chides. “The dish is hot.”
“Eh, I’ll be fine.”
Her dear friend lifts a slice of pie, and Constance is privy to a perfect triangle of crumbling, well-seasoned meat. Little jewels of sweet carrots and savoury cheese peek through, and tangy tomato glaze on the flaky pastry collect on Hapi’s magic-seasoned fingertips. Constance is under no delusion that Hapi will not lick it away, despite her complaints.
The taste is nostalgic in it’s comfort, warm and tender against her lips, breaking apart in her mouth with a crumble of tangy sauce and sweet meat.
Spikes of dread bubble in her stomach, upsetting warm morsels of pie.
“Wha’ssup, Khokho?” Hapi peers at her curiously. “You o’khay?”
The dish was a staple in their Academy days. Back then, her biggest problem was Hapi and Balthus’ eating contests, and the way they tore into plates like barbarians. Dear Mercedes would dine with her, smiling and nodding at her childish inventions, while Yuri, always scheming, always cunning, would poke holes in her theories and poke fun at her.
“I am doing as well as ever.”
Hapi, sharp as a thorn, only raises an eyebrow. Constance thumbs away some sauce on her chin.
“Utensils are not the enemy, dear Hapi. If you allow me to teach you the noble ways of wielding a fork and a knife, you shall be astounded at the cleanliness that follows in suit.”
“No, thanks,” retorts Hapi. “Besides, we got rid of the nobility, so nobody needs that stuff anymore.”
Her stomach lurches unpleasantly. A crimson flood has eroded fertile soil, taking with it orchards of fruit, and all is left is barren soil to start anew. The future is hers to seize, but Constance feels like a child again, lost in a new world that has taken all that means most to her.
“Where will you go now, my Hapi?”
“I’m hitching a ride with Freckles to Gaspard.”
“And after that?”
“I dunno.” Hapi shrugs. “I might go to Fhirdiad. Or east, to the Alliance. Or whatever they’ll call it now.”
Ignoring the twinge in her chest, Constance asks, “And what will you do?”
“Eat,” says Hapi, conveniently popping a large fistful of pie in her mouth. “I jus’ wan’ sh’ome ‘ood ‘ood.”
She admires Hapi’s ability to float through the ebbs and flows of life, unbothered by where it takes her. Constance had a destination to work towards all her life, fighting against currents and tsunamis, and yet here she is again, swept onto a foreign shore.
“Coco, are you okay? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.” Hapi turns to face her fully, and strong legs press against her own. “Are you falling sick, or something?”
The oppressive heat of the day is nowhere in sight, and yet Constance feels the gloomy tendrils enclosing her chest and squeezing tight.
“Ah, nothing at all, dear Hapi,” she says weakly. “I was…”
Constance was a coward then, and she continues to be a coward now.
“...merely thinking that your idea is a genius endeavour!”
“...it is?”
“Of course!” says Constance, drawing strength from the moon and channelling it through her war-worn limbs. “To travel across the newly unified Fodlan, sampling cuisines from every nook and cranny, why, it is simply enthralling! Pray, imagine the documentation of the same, published for the intellectual consumption of the masses!”
“Uh, okay?”
“I shall join you,” declares Constance, begging the screaming in her mind to quell. “Together, we shall travel Fodlan through the land and the food. What say you, Hapi? Is it not a stroke of my usual genius? Haha!”
Hapi looks at her, long and hard, and Constance begs that she sees the shining pinnacle of sorcery and not the shameful heir to a lost legacy.
Finally, she says, “Yeah, that’s a great idea, Coco. Things’ll be fun with you around.”
“Indeed! I am quite the ‘fun’ soul!”
Hapi laughs again, and Constance wills the sound to appease the storms brewing in her chest.
“But the main point of the trip is food, Coco. So eat up.” Hapi nudges the dish towards her.
Constance takes another bite, wishing the taste could offer the fond comfort it once used to.
-
Gaspard is in ruins when they arrive.
The ripple effect of the magical javelins at Arianrod had extended to the surrounding cities of Oghma and Magdred, and Gaspard was not spared. Constance surveys the damage, and concludes that magic the javelins bore was highly corrosive. Magic is energy that can be manipulated, but despite Constance’s best efforts, the blades of grass remain grey.
Yet, the parts of Gaspard that were spared stand right beside the sparkling waters of Magdred river. The flood and ebb has turned the banks into rich, fertile soil perfect for farming. Indeed, Gaspard can nurture any vegetable or fruit, given these conditions, and she informs Ashe of the same.
Constance and Hapi throw themselves into the rebuilding efforts, Constance using her extraordinary Nuvelle magic to lift and carry wood, and Hapi using her strong arms to nail them in place. As the warmth of Harpstring Moon glows above them, locals begin to till and sow the land, and Constance watches them toil on the fields, wondering where they find their hope.
Ashe walks among the people as a friend, but is treated as Lonato’s heir, and Constance is ashamed of the sting in her chest when he laughs alongside them.
Emperor Edelgard’s new regime has the former ruling lords acting as temporary administrative heads of their districts. Constance was given the same option that Ashe has accepted now, to return to her home and tend to her stock.
Yet Constance has none of Ashe’s approachable charm and easy demeanour. Years in Abyss have made her unaccustomed to people, and her nature is, at best, eccentric. Temporary is not a word Constance wants to associate with her name, and yet when she thinks of the house that bears it, tucked away in the West edge of the Empire, her heart twists and shudders.
A noble is worthless without their lineage, land, and legion. Constance has been worthless for a long, long time.
“Hey,” comes Hapi’s clear voice, shade suddenly covering Constance’s form.
She looks up from the patch of soil where she was planting Albinean berries, to the tumble of Hapi’s soft locks over her shoulder, umbrella in her weathered hands.
“You okay, there?”
“Yes. Thank you, my dear Hapi.”
“No problem. C’mon, it’s lunchtime. Ashe says there’s Pheasant Roast on the menu.”
So Constance lets Hapi tug her by her hand and to the make-shift dining hall, a large community centre that is now host to the scent of cooked Alinean berries. Hapi quickly pulls them into line.
The morning’s catch has been cut up and covered in a thin layer of aromatic spices. The chef slides a thick cut of butter into a large skillet, a lava of fat for the meat. Once cooked until the skin crisps and crumbles from just steam, he places it onto a plate, spooning on a generous river of Albinean Berry Sauce.
“Man, I love this stuff,” breathes Hapi excitedly. The chef overhears and looks up.
“Is that right, lass?”
“Yeah,” mutters Hapi. “Ate it a lot.”
Unfazed by her cold demeanour, the man continues, “Excellent! But I think you’ll like our version better, young lady. Here, try it yourself and let me know.”
He hands them each a steaming plate. Hapi immediately pops a piece into her mouth, while Constance blows at the heat and watches for Hapi’s reaction.
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she breathes, “Ish sho ‘ood.”
She takes a bite, and her reaction mirrors Hapi’s. While the variant at Garreg Mach was sweet from the Albinean Berries, here in Gaspard, where the dish originated, tender poultry melts apart in her mouth, garlic, herbs and pepper breathing flavour through her nostrils. Tart sweetness cuts through the crackle of skin, and juicy meat tempers the thick touch of molasses, creating a bite that dances along the dual shades of savoury and sweet, a song of balance between her teeth.
At the chef’s expectant gaze, she breathes, “‘Tis excellent, good ser.”
“Thank you, ladies,” says the man, bowing humbly. “It’s the least we can do for all your help. Consider it a thank-you from all of Gaspard.”
A wide grin breaks through her face, and Constance graciously waves the man’s apologies away. This is what the nobility were meant for, after all, to guide the masses upon the right track.
Her elation sinks back to reality after just a few precious seconds, when Hapi tugs her to a distant end of the hall, placing her plate on a make-shift table. Constance can barely take a bite before Hapi has sauce dribbling down her chin.
Accepting her handkerchief, Hapi says, “That guy was pretty nice.”
“The people of Gaspard have been very hospitable to us.”
“Yeah. Most people avoid me or tell me to stay away from them.”
Constance bristles immediately. “A result of their dim-witted mind and narrow vision, of course. Upon speaking with you, all will surely realise the grievous error in their ways.’
“Heh.” Hapi smiles at her, eyes warm and fond. “I guess.”
“No guesses at this table, dear Hapi. We are a scientific lot, and all that I say is rooted in- nay. It is birthed from the very essence of fact!”
“I have no idea what that means,” says Hapi dryly. “Besides, you were always better with people.”
Constance blinks at her, shame sinking into her skin quickly. Dear Hapi, so kind and virtuous, does not see the way she averts her gaze from the masses that line up for their lunch. A meal that is shared at the same table, irrespective of people’s backgrounds. Division broken by bloodshed, but Constance can only see shattered dreams.
“You exaggerate, my dear.”
The dish is exquisite, but all she can focus on is how Albinean Berries come from lands off the Rhodos Coast. Noa Fruit, with their measured sweetness, comes from the warm western lands of Nuvelle.
“Coco, try using our secret spice,” says Hapi, reaching over with a packet. “It’s so good.”
“Delicious. We must add this to our notes.”
“But then people will know our secret recipe.”
“Oh. That is correct.”
Hapi laughs, loud and free, and it dulls the clatter and chatter in the hall. A strong hand covers her own, squeezing lightly. Constance swallows against the rush of sweetness in her throat.
-
Just as the Garland Moon rains begin to nourish the lands of Gaspard, Hapi says, “Let’s go to Fhirdiad.”
“My dear Hapi,” sighs Constance. “In this weather, the frigid north shall be all the more harsher. Besides, nothing remains of the city, and restoration efforts there are quite tedious, according to dear Mercedes.”
“It’s fine,” says Hapi, restlessly prodding at a rock with her toe. “Let’s go see Mercedes.”
Constance squints at her sudden fondness for her oldest friend, but acquiesces nevertheless, and they begin their three-week-long journey to Fhirdiad.
Faerghus is a land of rivers, and if the Goddess still breathed Constance would thank her for it. Despite the fertile lands of Tailtean, the harsh snows and biting cold from the north does little to facilitate crop growth, with only the sturdiest of root vegetables finding purchase in brittle soil. So the fish that dip in and out of crystalline waves is a welcome relief, and Constance spends several days watching Hapi cast a line and fry delicate meat.
By the time they arrive at the charred gates of Fhirdiad, Constance has had quite enough of fish.
The city resembles an extinguished pyre of the thousand lives that Constance knows was lost in the final battle. The city square, once probably an area of joy and communion, now bear scorch marks that angrily flare up the length of whatever crumbling buildings remain. She can still hear the cries of the citizens, and the roar of an ancient dragon.
“Constance!” comes a cry, and she turns to see dear Mercedes approaching them.
“Mercedes,” she says, and embraces her tightly, careful not to let her umbrella slip. “My, you are indeed a sight for sore eyes. You are aware of my travelling companion, Hapi.”
There’s a twinkle in the older woman’s eyes that Constance does not like as she gathers Hapi into a hug as well, her dearest friend awkwardly patting the back of her oldest friend.
“You must be tired,” says Mercedes when she releases Hapi. “Come on now, let’s get you all settled in.”
At their lodgings at one end of the city, Constance is delighted to see Lady Bartels after so many years. Mercedes’ lover, Ingrid, shows them their new home, a simple room with a shared bed. It is enough for her and Hapi, having spent several weeks camping in tents and on uneven soil, and the bed quickly becomes a coveted item for their stay.
And stay they do, for the Blue Sea Moon brings in lashings of rain that hinders even the most well-prepared restoration efforts. Constance, thriving under the cloudy skies, spends her days assisting Mercedes’ entourage, with weekly supplies from Enbarr arriving to their aid. Slowly, half a building becomes one, and then two, and they are currently working on the third.
Between laying foundations and bleaching charred brick, Hapi and Ingrid vanish to fish together, the two finding a kinship in their shared hobby. That leaves her and Mercedes free to giggle and chat over a warm cup of tea and homemade cookies, no worries but for the rain.
“How are you finding things, Constance?”
“Very well. Hapi and I have been sampling the best of Fodlan’s delicacies, and my Nuvelle knowledge grows with each passing day! Haha!”
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” smiles Mercedes. “And I’m sure Hapi makes a wonderful companion.” Her smile turns wicked, and Constance can feel her cheeks heat up.
“Truly, she is quite companionable,” says Constance weakly, taking a long sip of her tea. “We are well suited to each other’s...unique needs.”
“Well, haven’t you known each other for a long time? It makes sense that you’d be so close.”
“I-I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, Mercedes…”
“You wouldn’t?” The way Mercedes looks at her reminds her of their days in Bartels Manor, when Mercedes would heal her wounds from roughhousing with Emile, fond and reprimanding all at once.
Constance wonders what business she has, a disgraced noble with no future prospects, to dabble in romance.
And yet, when Hapi invites her for a moonlight walk that evening, Constance finds that she cannot say no, and accepts a basket of baked goodies from Mercedes with a bright blush.
They climb the garrisoned walls of the city, settling on a blanket beside an abandoned ballista. With a perfect overview of Fhirdiad in all of it’s ruin, Hapi leans back on the blanket and stares up at the starry sky.
Mercedes has sent them a set of Sweet Bun Trios, a Fhirdiad speciality renowned for its lightness and sweetness. Soft, eggy dough embraces a hidden nugget of Albinean berry jam, which explodes onto the tongue in a delightful melt of sugar. Hapi devours them easily, and Constance watches the silver of powdered sugar and moonlight tracing her lips.
When the moon climbs to the highest point in the sky, Hapi says, “I found Cornelia’s notes.”
“What?!”
“A former resident showed me where she lived.” Hapi reaches into her cloak, and pulls out two tattered notebooks. Flinging them in the middle of the blanket, she says, “These are the only ones that survived.”
She returns to idly staring at the sky, and Constance cannot deny her curiosity any longer. Abandoning her half-bitten bun, she reaches for the notebooks.
Strange machinery features in the dark mage’s notes, with geometric patterns and designs that Constance has never seen before. The magical equations denote amplifying and channeling raw power into a force that can energize, maim, transmute or even possess. But the main focus is Crest manipulation, tapping into inherently powerful magic and warping it into monstrous, destructive forms.
Hapi hums a mindless tune under her breath as Constance reads the plans that they had had for her. The shiver running up her spine is not from the cold.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Hapi tilts her head up, scarlet eyes surveying her carefully, surely perceiving the sticky tendrils of shame that settle deep in Constance’s stomach.
There are no notes on reversing the effects of the magic, and based on the words ‘dispose’ and ‘deceased’, it seems as though the mages never entertained the idea either. Constance, having never specialised in the realm of dark magic, is left floundering in a world of theory and no practical knowledge.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
What use was her magical research, all those years in Abyss? She could barely cure herself of her condition, and the new ruler of Unified Fodlan has no need for many-hued tea or doves made of magical lights. Emperor Edelgard’s ambition made Fodlan a world that Constance had only witnessed in her nightmares, one where she failed her house and her magic failed her.
“Well,” mutters Hapi, leaning back and looking back at the sky. “That was anticlimactic.”
What was the use of calling herself the greatest magical mind in existence, when she could do nothing to help her dear Hapi?
"What now?" asks Constance, desperate and trembling.
What now, indeed? There are meager options for her. The voice that screams abuse at her during the day whispers insults at night, and at this moment, she agrees with them. What use is she to anyone, with futile magic and feeble lineage?
"Eat some good food," says Hapi with a shrug. “Help some folks. Keep travelling with you. Whatever.”
The jewel of jam at the heart her half-bitten bun bleeds onto the sheet, staining the cloth with a dark, currant hue.
“If you’re cool with that.”
“Of course.” The answer slips out, easy and immediate. Constance can no longer hold Hapi’s burning gaze, and crumbles against Hapi’s shoulder. “Would you still let me, with all of my failings?”
“Shut up,” says Hapi, poking her side. “And of course.”
Hapi’s arms embrace her, and she melts into her touch, desperate.
-
No future means no purpose, and the days pass as idle explorations of food and construction.
Aimlessness is more taxing than what Constance once thought, but there is something liberating in the release, she can admit. Of course, there are days where she cannot sleep, thoughts of a ruined house plaguing her, and then there are days where she thinks of nothing at all, simply running through the motions with no expectation in the events.
At the end of the stormy Verdant Rain Moon, a rainbow crosses the sky, alighting it with colour and cheer for a precious few hours. Perhaps that is what this is - willful ignorance of the storm clouds, only the memory of the rainbow or its anticipation.
Hapi had told her she was thinking too much about not thinking.
Amid the lashings of autumn rain, more help arrives from the Capital, and Hapi and Constance take their leave. Mercedes and Lady Bartels load their bags with sweets, asking to write and stay safe. Ingrid hands Hapi a new fishing pole.
But sweets only last for so many days. Stranded amid the Oghma Mountains in their attempt to reach the Leicester Alliance, their bags are devoid of food, the brisk chill of the mountain air settling into their little rocky alcove. Constance attends to their tired steeds as Hapi wanders off to hunt for food.
When she returns with two rabbits, one in each hand, Constance scowls.
“My dear Hapi-”
“Yes, I know you hate it,” she says, beginning to skin the animal. Constance turns away. “But this is what we got.”
Ignoring her disapproving huff, Hapi soaks the meat and a green root vegetable she scavenged from Goddess-knows-where in wine, salt and pepper. Meanwhile, Constance arranges twigs into a tent and casts a mild Fire spell to set them ablaze. Huddling close for the warmth, Constance watches Hapi scrape off the bark from a few twigs.
The orange-yellow flame dances along Hapi’s beautifully smooth cheek, casting her fiery hair in a gorgeous, golden glow.
“What?”
“No matter.”
Hapi grins, a devilish look in the dusk. “It’s time for you to get used to the foods of us commonfolk, now that you’re one of us.”
Ignoring the lurch in her stomach, Constance sniffs, “I have never been averse to trying new foods.”
“But have you eaten like us? It involves no utensils .”
Her smile is dangerously knowing, and in the warm golden lighting, it trembles against Constance’s chest. She looks away with a huff, and Hapi only laughs.
Long, sure fingers thread pieces of meat and vegetables on the skewers, placing them carefully on a makeshift rack. Fiery tongues lick and splutter against the meat, and Constance watches Hapi flip the sticks over, something dripping down her throat and kindling the flames in her chest. The bonfire flickers and roars.
There is a proper way of doing these things, she knows. Flowers and poems and meals, in an order that Constance knows by heart. And yet, prospective partners come armed with wealth and status and a house, none of which Constance can offer to her dearest friend.
Without Nuvelle, is just Constance enough?
Hapi lowers herself onto the log beside her, and Constance swallows thickly as their thighs press together. Handing her a skewer of meat and vegetable, Hapi smirks. Constance takes the wretched Pickled Rabbit Skewer, throwing her chin up defiantly.
Then wonders how to eat this without a plate or a utensil.
Hapi laughs. “I’ll show you, milady.”
And, as a rich flutter of warmth spreads across her chest at the title, Hapi leans over, white teeth grasping the top piece of meat on Constance’s skewer. As Hapi tugs the tender meat off the skewer, something intoxicating tugs in Constance’s head.
Close enough to count the lashes framing her beautifully pink eyes, Hapi chews on the meat slowly, a smug grin firmly set across her jaw.
Constance looks away. “Close your mouth when you chew.”
A beat.
“And you needn’t call me that. I don’t-”
Her throat grows clogged and clammy.
“I don’t have anything to warrant that title.”
The flames continue to sting and crackle.
“But you’ve never had any of it before,” says Hapi.
Wounded pride flares out as a sharp lash. “There is no need to twist the knife further, Hapi. I am well aware of my status.”
“No, no.” One of her hands grabs her wrist. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean? You, of all people, should know that-”
“Yeah, yeah. I, of all people, do know you.”
Hapi’s grip tightens, and Constance is horrified at her blurring vision. Lifting the hand grasping her skewer, Hapi runs a wrist against her wet cheek, gentle.
“You’re Coco,” she says, soft. “You talk too much and eat too many sweets. You like tea and hate the sun. You hold magic shows for all the kids we meet because you want to make them smile and show off a little. We carry a whole bag of books you’ve already read because you can’t bring yourself to leave them behind. You’re a formidable sorceress and my best friend.”
Constance drops her head.
“Oh, also. You scream every time a spider gets into our tent. We lived in Abyss for how many years?”
She breaks into a wet laugh, and Hapi chuckles with her.
“Silence. You are of no help at that time.”
“Who gets rid of it, huh?”
“Only after you stop laughing at me, you fiend.”
“It’s pretty funny, you gotta admit it.” The rumble of Hapi’s laugh aches within her chest. “‘Hapiiii! Get rid of this roguish beast! Help me, Hapi!’”
Constance knocks their knees together, a weak gesture of protest. “You are a brute.”
Her arm slips around Constance’s waist. “You’re awesome.”
Looking up, she can see the flames flickering in Hapi’s pupils. “Do not speak falsehoods.”
“Yeesh. It’s not even sunny out.” Hapi rolls her eyes, and Constance chuckles weakly. “I mean it. You’ve always been Coco, and that’s…”
Golden and pink blazes across her skin as Hapi’s eyes dip down to her lips. Agonisingly, they rake up, and her beautiful neck bobs as she swallows.
“...that’s enough for me.”
Watching Hapi break away, eyes wide and trembling, Constance hopes that it will be enough, one day.
-
The irony is not lost on Constance when they arrive at Derdriu on Leicester Alliance Founding Day, early in the Horsebow Moon.
The town acts and looks like there was no battle here, so many moons ago. Traders truly never rest for anything, and Constance marvels at the dozens of shops and markets lined all the way to the port.
Derdriu lies at the intersection of cuisine and commerce, each dish a decadent mouthful of flavour that satiates until the next street corner, where another stalls lies in wait. Scents of seasoning fill the air, enchanting and enticing in the evening chill.
Greasy tissue crinkles against her fingertips. Within the white leaves is a Derdriu-style Fried Pheasant, sinfully crispy meat sandwiching a creamy layer of Gautier cheese. Each bite feels like an indulgence.
Hapi grins at her oily hands. Constance takes another bite, just to be contrarian.
Derdriu is the land of indulgence, and every sound, smell and sight only fuels the flames in her heart.
A stall right beside the docks sells them Fish Sandwiches, and they watch in awe as the chef rapidly toasts a bun and fries a strip of Airmid Pike, while potato fries bubble in a vat of oil. Then everything is assembled in a cone with a flurry of clanging utensils - first the bun, then the meat, then the layer of pickled vegetables, fries peeping out from the side.
They sit at the edge of a long dock, toes skating the edge of the water. Hapi holds out a half-bitten sandwich for her to sink her teeth into, and Constance feeds Hapi a fry between bites. There's an intimacy to sharing a dish, she has to admit, that is wholly improper.
And yet Derdriu is the land of indulgence, and Constance cannot help herself.
For when a line of mayonnaise trails from Hapi's cheek to the edge of her lips, she reaches out a thumbs it away. Heart pounding against her chest, she stays at the edge, quivering and trembling in the evening chill. Hapi watches her intensely, reading her face as easily as the Fire spell charging through her heart.
And then accepts her thumb into her mouth.
Hapi tastes sweeter than any cake or sweet she's had in their travels so far, probably sweeter than anything to come. Her lips, so plump and soft, slide against hers with all the softness of spun sugar, and the nibble of her teeth against Constance's lower lip has her opening her mouth with a gasp for more.
Her tongue is hungry and inquisitive, and every bone in Constance's body melts against her, pliant as dough under her strong hands. Kissing Hapi makes the beast in her chest rear its ugly head, and Constance is afraid to see through its course.
But Constance wants to indulge, a want that aches deep in her bones, so she pulls Hapi's lips back onto hers when they part for a breath.
Selfish and improper, that's what this all is. When Hapi's teeth graze along the length of her neck and fingers trace her hips, Constance cannot see right from wrong anymore. There is only want, and Hapi, strong arms and the taste of butter.
They part for lack of air. She trembles against Hapi's frame, burying her nose into the crook of her neck as a sudden bashfulness heats up her ears. Her dearest friend and her long-time travel companion wraps her arms around her, and Constance prays that the consequences are not too severe.
Breathlessly, Hapi says, "You kiss good for a noble."
"What is that supposed to mean?!"
"I don't know, you always talk about being 'proper' and stuff. Are you sure you haven't kissed anyone before?"
"Hapi." Constance leans back with a scowl. "Are you questioning my character?"
She breaks into a suave grin. "I'm complimenting it. Never thought you had it in you, Coco."
Something about the nickname, worn with years of use, suddenly makes her blush.
"Is this the Nuvelle talent you keep talking about?"
Constance swats her, and Hapi catches her hands and pins them behind her back easily. The gesture is filled with suggestiveness, and Constance has to look away.
"No, I have not shared an intimate moment with anyone else.”
"Sure. Let's call it that."
Releasing her but not moving away, Hapi chuckles. Suddenly starving despite tasting her lips just moments ago, Constance kisses her again. Full and light and teasing, Hapi makes her tremble along the edge of something sinful and wanton, until she parts with a throaty gasp.
Hapi drags a thumb glossy with oil along the length of her neck, eyes dark with a shared intimacy that makes Constance quiver. She dips her head down to collect the salty, decadent richness off the trembling length of her skin, and Constance shakily threads greasy fingers through Hapi’s beautiful locks.
Their food lies unattended on Hapi’s lap for a long, long time after that.
-
Sometime in the middle of the Horsebrow Moon, they travel to Timotheos. Hapi brushes it off saying that they’re nearby anyway, but Constance can feel the tremble in her fingers.
Tucked away in the middle of a forest, the village has no contact with the outside world. Even the entrance is a magical barrier, shimmering in the sunlight breaking through the trees. Ancient energy races across her skin, and Constance represses a shudder for Hapi’s sake.
“Have no fear, dear Hapi. They will adore you, as you deserve.”
“Yeah, I highly doubt it.” Hapi stares at the barrier blankly. “I’m the rebel child who ran away and messed things up, remember?”
But before Constance can protest, Hapi raises a hand to touch the barrier. All at once, the chirping of the forest birds amplify to an unbearable trill. The verdant hues of the forest blend together as though a paintbrush went astray, and she feels the world spin on its head, the morning’s breakfast threatening to spill.
It’s dear Hapi’s sweet voice that grounds her. “Hey, you okay?”
Constance opens her eyes to the village of Timotheos.
Idyllic scenery is quickly repainted in the background. Thatched huts dot dusty lanes, and children draw patterns on the floor, tossing pebbles into the shapes. The loud moo of a cow, closer than expected, startles Constance, and she turns to her come face-to-face to the unflinching gaze of a bovine chewing cud.
“Intruders!” screams a man’s voice, and suddenly, they’re surrounded by sharp spears and angry glares.
“Identify yourself!” shouts a woman.
Constance puffs out her chest. “I am Constance vo--”
“Nope, that’s not going to work. Guys, it’s me, Hapi.”
A lance dips. The woman, eyes wide, says, “Hapi? Fiona’s daughter?”
Hapi winces, and her grip on Constance’s hand tightens. “Yep, that’s the one.”
It all happens too quickly for Constance to comprehend - the lances dip, the frowns melt away, and Hapi is quickly submerged under a pile of hugs.
Her hand slips away, and Constance can hear a muffled, “Alright, alright! Hands off the hair!”
The cyclone of people, Hapi swept up within it, moves towards a collection of houses. Constance runs behind it, avoiding the wreckage of dropped spears. It stops before a cottage, and a man and a woman step out. Constance needn’t look further than the fiery shades of their hair and eyes to know who they are.
“Hapi?” breathes the woman.
“Hi, mom.”
At perhaps the most inopportune time - as Hapi’s parents gather her into their arms amid tears - Constance realises she’s meeting Hapi’s parents empty-handed .
She should have brought some good wine. Well, she can’t afford that. Maybe some nice produce from Gloucester would be appreciated. The only thing in Constance’s pockets is a test spell to create soundless fireworks.
Hapi points to Constance and says something, and the crowd parts. Constance swallows thickly and wonders if they would accept an abandoned spear as a gift.
As she approaches, Fiona smiles.
“Thank you for bringing our daughter back to us.”
Constance curtseys, ready to chew Hapi’s ear off later for not telling her.
Before she can say anything, her parents pull her into the hug, and all of her irritation eases away at Hapi’s sweet smile.
It is quickly decided that they stay, Hapi’s parents ushering them into a cottage beside their own. The interiors are fashioned with bright rugs and wooden furniture, with yellow, bell-shaped flowers peeping out of several vases. Indeed, their current abode and Hapi’s parents’ house seems larger than the other cottages in the village.
When she remarks on it, Hapi averts her eyes and mumbles, “My parents are the leaders of the village.”
“Is that so?” Constance can feel a smile threatening to break off her face. “This means you are a nob-”
“No. No ,” Hapi holds up a finger threateningly. “Don’t you dare. I hated that stuff here, and I hated it out there too.”
But Constance can’t help the laugh that escapes her chest. Hapi rolls her eyes.
“You should have told me that you are from nobility,” says Constance, ignoring Hapi’s wince. “It makes me appearing empty-handed before your parents all the more egregious.”
“They literally don’t care.”
“It is the principle of the matter, my dear Hapi.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
There’s an uncertainty to her movements, so Constance reaches for her hands, entwining their hands gently.
“They’ll know,” she whispers. “They’ll know what to do.”
“Let’s hope they do. Even the greatest sorceress of Fodlan was stumped, so I’m not getting my hopes up.”
Hapi’s eyes twinkle amid her tremors, so Constance cups her face and kisses her slowly until it stops.
“Thank you, Coco. For...everything.”
“Hush, now. Go, spend time with your parents. I will find ways to entertain myself.”
“Please don’t scare the kids with the fireworks.”
“They will only be frightened by all the possibilities of magic.”
“Coco, please .”
As much as she wants to do otherwise, Constance spends the next week apart from Hapi during the day. Her parents huddle close with her for hours during the day, and at night, the village congregates around a roaring bonfire to share steaming bowls of rice.
It’s a ceremony that explains Hapi’s quirks perfectly. The traditional meal in the village is a steaming mix of rice and soft boiled yellow grain, mixed with crunchy fenugreek seeds and green beans roasted with red chillies. A peppery piece of fish caught from one of the rivers embracing the hamlet is placed right at the top, flaking wisps of spicy skin onto the rice. A dollop of yoghurt mixed with sweet jaggery completes the dish.
Everyone gathers by the bonfire, seated on a circle of terracotta tile laid around the roaring flames, holding their bowls above their laps. The young villagefolk who prepared the dishes balance pots of rice, beans, fish, yoghurt and grain on their hips. Hypnotisingly, they circle the flames, stopping only when someone asks for a second or third helping.
There are no utensils, only the crevices of fingertips and cupping of palms, and Constance smiles at the image of a younger Hapi devouring the food in her typical rowdy fashion. Little has changed, she thinks, as she watches Hapi eating now.
Yet Hapi abruptly stops her eating to ask her father something, and Constance watches as he forms shapes with his mouth. His head dips, a slow shake, and Hapi is waving away grains of rice stuck on her fingers before standing up.
Her mother calls out to her, but by then Hapi has escaped somewhere, abandoning a bowl of warm food by the fireside. Constance can imagine what was said, and the regret in Fiona’s gaze has her scrambling after her dearest.
It takes her about twenty minutes to find Hapi, sitting alone on a riverbed, forlornly staring at the reflection of the moon.
She knows the pain of never being cured from an ailment that cripples daily functioning, she knows the pain of trying and failing, again and again.
“Hey,” whispers Constance, sitting beside Hapi. Her toes skate the edge of the cool water.
And if this were anyone else, she would have comforting words, but this is Hapi, her dear Hapi. Never brooding on things for too long, for some things cannot be changed. And yet…
“Hey.”
An Airmid Pike breaks the surface, darting downstream and swimming along the currents.
Gently, Constance brings a handful of water to Hapi’s fingertips, washing away bits of rice and fish.
“Where shall we go next, my dear?”
Hapi turns to her, and her tears are silver in the moonlight.
Wiping them away as softly as she can, Constance says, “Enbarr has some lovely cuisine, you know. I could show you.”
“You shouldn’t stay with me.”
“Silence. You said you will remain by my side in spite of my failings. What kind of lover would I be, if I do not do the same?”
“A smart one,” sniffs Hapi.
“Well,” Constance’s lower lip trembles, “I am the greatest magical mind in all of Fodlan, need I remind you?”
A wet chuckle. “No, that’s not necessary.”
They hold each other until the tremors quell.
-
So they follow the Pike south, across the Airmid River, and into Enbarr.
The wyverns follow them down in the air, magnificent, winged beasts that don’t hold a candle to Constance’s own Georgette. But they break through the fall sky, the shadows on the soil drifting just as slowly. Falling leaves crunch along Tim’s sharp hooves, and Georgette shivers from the gentle cold.
They make their landing at Gronder, and bid adieu to the beasts as they chase after the sun’s warmth, another reason Constance avoids them.
The Wyvern Moon marks the last harvest of fall, one last hurrah before the winter settles deep and chilling into the earth. Constance watches the villagers till soil and scatter seeds into the earth, thinking only of axes and blood. The field where it happener carries a memorial of all the lives lost, the lives they took, and the stone tablet stretches into the blinding sunlight.
But the villagers welcome their willing hands gratefully, and Constance marvels at their resilience. The men and women of the earth break their backs for a harvest that will only bear fruit in the early frost of winter, and yet, they repeat the cycle, year after year.
Seated between several farmers under the shade of wilting trees, Constance accepts a skewer of Gronder Meat. Each chunk of meat, charred black and bursting with flavour, hang beside thick cuts of marinated carrots. Accepting a bite of wild fox meat and sweet carrot into her mouth, savoury juices flood her tongue, and spice and salt melt away the cold.
The village elder, an aging woman named Marissa, sits on the ground beside them, laughing at Hapi’s fascination with food.
Constance knows that the harvest they are expecting will be poor in quality and meagre in number, if the current progress continues. Lowering her skewer, Constance rues the current methodology, too archaic to ever complete the tilling quickly, no matter the number of manual labourers.
“Are you not hungry, dear?” asks Marissa.
“We need to complete the tilling immediately,” says Constance.
“Oh, what a sweetheart. It’ll take another week, dear. But you and Hapi are here to help, aren’t you?”
Indeed, they are here to help. Constance quickly runs the numbers in her head. If they could complete the tilling and sowing by tomorrow morning, the harvest will arrive one week earlier, saving around 20% of the crop. But how can they help ?
She meets Hapi’s inquisitive gaze, mind racing. Along the wooden skewer, a drop of juice from tender fox flesh grazes her knuckles, slipping through her fingers and spreading across her palm. Constance watches the oils slip along the deep crevices of her skin. Gently, she runs a nail along the groove, and then the idea hits her.
Hapi pinches her eyebrows together tiredly. “She’s got that look in her eye again.”
“My good madam elder,” begins Constance. “It would be best that you clear all the fields immediately. We will till this soil by tonight, come the Goddess’ fury or not.”
“How do you intend on doing that alone, dear?”
“We use my incredible Nuvelle magic!”
Hapi groans.
The locals are now giving her their undivided attention, but Constance feels like she is running a mile a minute. The plan is sound, and the execution can be done in a safe manner as long as…
“Dear Hapi, I need your assistance.”
Hapi frowns. “I’m afraid to ask, but what kind of help?”
She chews her lip, knowing that the plan sounds worse than it actually is.
“Do you trust me, my dear?”
Constance doesn’t expect Hapi’s small smile. “It’s a crazy one, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Quite….crazy.”
“I trust you.”
Constance holds herself back from kissing her.
It takes them about two hours to clear the fields of all the people, machinery and cattle. The villagefolk trust her, and Constance isn’t sure why - she is a disgraced noble feigning superior intellect. The thoughts buzz and rattle inside her skull as she mounts Georgette, Hapi slipping onto Tim’s saddle.
“Dear Hapi, this plan may not be successful. My endeavours have never been fruitful…”
Hapi simply leans over with an unfurled umbrella. “Here.”
Constance swims in warm, pink shade.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Give me a moment.”
Constance spurs Georgette up to the sky, umbrella shielding herself from the blinding warmth of the sun. If executed perfectly, this can solve the villagefolk’s problems, and she can help.
Raising a hand, Constance draws out the humidity from the chill autumn air, freezing the vapours into three large icy spikes. Fimbulvetr is a complex spell, but Constance has forgotten the number of times the same icicles pierced through armoured chests.
So it is easy to cast a simple Fire spell in tandem, melting the blunt ends of the icicles and freezing the warm water quickly until the icicles stand one beside the other, a three-pronged glacial formation that sparkles in the sunlight.
“Coco, are you trying to steal the show?”
Constance looks down to see Hapi, arms crossed, eyes twinkling brighter than her magic.
I trust you.
So she laughs and says, “I think this is your cue, my dear.”
A devilish grin, and then a deep breath.
Hapi’s sigh is a quiet shudder through her body, but Constance braces herself.
The tremors that shudders through the earth are nowhere near graceful, and a flash of purple light stings Constance’s eyes. With an unholy roar, a Giant Wolf emerges, baring its teeth and hissing rotting saliva onto the ground they are desperately trying to save.
“Hapi, keep it still!”
A pitch-black pool of magic forms beneath the beast, and several purple orbs of power lurch out of it. They circle and entrap the Wolf, which screams in protest as the dark magic tethers it to place.
Constance only has a few precious minutes. With a flick of her wrist, she creates an icy shackle connected to her frozen rake, and freezes one end to the Wolf’s tail. With a grunt of exertion, she brings down the rake as a noisy avalanche that pierces the soil.
Hapi laughter seemingly drowns out the roars of the wolf.
“C’mon, big boy. You want a piece of me?”
Now within it’s wretched gaze, the Wolf attempts to charge towards Hapi. A lazy wave of her hand, and a swarm of insects shaped out of dark magic surround the beast’s head. Distracted and significantly slower, the wolf continues on its path towards her dearest one, dragging the ice through the earth.
As the soil is disturbed and distributed, Constance cannot stop the delighted laughter leaving her lips.
Hapi baits and drags the beast along the fields, and Constance keeps an eye on their make-shift plough, solidifying melting water and keeping the shackle intact. The icicle cannot be too deep in the soil lest it completely ruin the earth, so Constance must keep a careful eye on her icy creation and on the monster charging towards her Hapi.
But Hapi merely cackles and taunts the beast further, as she makes it turn around and plough another stretch of soil.
I love her.
She isn’t sure how long they keep the beast to do their bidding, but it takes much less time that the 40 farmhands would have, that’s for sure.
“We good, Coco?” cries Hapi. Constance can hear the first tendrils of exhaustion in her voice.
Sharply making her hand into a fist, she shatters the icy rake such that the beast is left wobbling and confused.
But they need to rid the beast from the village nearby. Hapi points to the forest nearby, and Constance makes a beeline for it. There’s a loud flash of silver-purple light, and the beast vanishes. Constance spurs Georgette on towards the line of trees. The locals cannot be affected, not when things are going so well. She will help, and she will do it properly.
With a flutter, the umbrella flies away.
When she comes face-to-face with the beast, it has recovered from their magical assaults, looking almost as good as new. Constance should not have hoped for anything better, for what good fortune does someone like her deserve? Georgette, now exhausted from the desperate aerial sprint, grounds them with a whinny.
The beast roars at them, and Constance is paralysed.
She cannot hope to beat this monster. She is no magical prodigy. She is merely a shadow of an era that she helped destroy. She is worthless.
The beast begins to charge at her.
Mustering up her last bit of faith, Constance murmurs, “Hapi…”
“Oi, fur-face! Over here!”
With a silver-green flash, Hapi appears close to them. The beast screeches to a halt, rerouting towards her dearest. Hapi launches dark tendrils of magic at the beast, freezing it in place at once.
Pink eyes catch her own, and plush lips shape out, “I love you, Coco.”
She will not let this monster touch a single hair on Hapi’s perfect head.
With a screaming intensity, Constance summons blinding arrows of light from the heavens. At the same time, the ground beneath the beast’s feet melts into a purple pool of lava that erupts as a pillar of dark light. The two spells fuse and bind in an indigo flash of light.
The beast vanishes into the air as smoky puffs of cursed air, and a shivering silence fills the aftermath.
It is broken by Hapi’s loud laughter, elated and ecstatic, rustling through the ruined blades of grass. Looking down at her from Georgette, Constance watches the reflection of the sun in Hapi’s eyes. Constance slips out of the saddle. Hapi will catch her.
And she does, holding her close and spinning them around.
“You crazy woman. You did it.”
Constance looks up and breathes, “I love you, too.”
Hapi kisses her, strong and sure, and she kisses her back, strong and sure.
There is a celebration awaiting them, Constance knows. There will be the adoring gratitude of the local village folk, and long odes of her skill and intellect and talent, and a large feast in their honor. It is what Constance dreamed of, so long ago, the roaring of praise and the glow of a job perfectly done.
As Hapi lowers her onto the singed grass and runs a thumb along her bare hip, Constance thinks that can wait.
-
The stars sparkle beautifully during the Ethereal Moon.
Constance remembers watching them once, so long ago, with her brother and her parents. She had fashioned a looking glass of specific proportions to magnify the stars, and Constance remembers looking at the twinkling lights with a childish, naive excitement.
“You okay, Coco?” Dear Hapi, always perceptive, squeezes her hand once.
It is difficult to stop thinking when she is in Enbarr. This was to be the final stage of her ambitions, the pinnacle setting for her entry into the history books.
“I will be fine, dear Hapi.”
“Here, think of it like this.” Hapi stops and turns Constance to face her. “Eddy’s going to have fancy, noble-people food in the palace. You can finally watch me struggle, this time.”
That draws a laugh, and Constance thumbs away an errant snowflake on Hapi’s beautiful face. “You will do marvellously. You are of nobility, after all.”
“Okay, how many times do I gotta tell you. It’s not like that.”
Hapi’s pout warms her up from the inside, and Constance simply hums, “I will ask you to watch your manners around the Emperor, my dear.”
“Hell no.” Hapi snorts. “And miss an opportunity to piss off The Bert? No way.”
Constance simply shakes her head, begging the bubbling anxiousness in her chest to settle.
The letter from the Emperor had been cryptic in it’s warmth, congratulating Hapi and Constance for their work in Fhirdiad and Gronder and all the villages and towns in-between, with a confusing invitation for dinner. Looking up at the gilded gates of the castle, Constance wonders if that is all this will be.
As they are ushered through gigantic hallways and seated in the Emperor’s informal dining room, she wonders what Edelgard could want from her anymore. Constance fought her war and hoped for a different future, but now wanders across the land rather than sow her roots by the shorelines in the West.
Constance reaches for Hapi’s hand under the table, and is grateful when strong fingers entwine around hers.
Emperor Edelgar arrives shortly afterwards. Red cape still flourishing behind her, she no longer dons the armour and axe that once struck fear into the hearts of thousands. Her hair is loose now, hanging in an easy side-ponytail, and it makes her seem less of the monarch who conquered the whole nation and more of a princess going about her royal duties.
Right behind her is Hubert, shadowy and sullen, glowering at Hapi’s bright grin at him. Constance makes to stand up, but Edelgard waves her away.
“At ease, Constance.” She smiles, guarded and sharp. “It has been a long time since we saw each other. How are you both?”
“We are well, Emperor Edelgard.”
Her eyes flicker to the bit of the table between them. “I am glad to hear it.”
Constance swallows. “And what of yourself, your Majesty?”
“Things as usual, Constance. The paperwork remains all-encompassing, but the nation is doing better for it.”
“And The Bert here just leaves you to it? What sort of right-hand man are you, man?”
“I take care of different matters, those that do not need a paper trail.”
“Yikes.”
“Hubert,” chides Edelgard. “None of that talk at the dinner table, please.”
Hapi actually sticks her tongue out at Hubert, and Constance is grateful for the break in her worries to chide Hapi in turn.
The royal attendants bring in steaming plates of food and place it before them, which is when Edelgard says, “I have heard much about your efforts all over the nation.”
Constance looks up at the Emperor. A guarded smile touches her lips.
“I am indeed very impressed by your efforts, though I expected it from the both of you. I am grateful, rather, that you would help those in need.”
A pause, where she looks pointedly at Constance.
There are so many things she could say.
But instead, “It was our pleasure to help, your Majesty. You said it yourself, did you not? That we burned everything down to build something better anew.”
It seems that she’s passed the test, for Edelgard finally smiles properly.
Her Hapi and Hubert engage in some sort of well-intentioned riff, throwing and blocking verbal punches dulled with mutual understanding and respect. Constance remembers a time when they would train together, both conjuring horrific shapes around them amid grins.
Lifting the cloche covering her plate, Constance is witness to one of her favourite dishes, Enbarr’s famous Two-Fish Saute. Made by the royal kitchens itself, gar and herring are basted with herb-infused butter and cooked until the skin is crisp and brittle, then arranged perfectly together beside a small pile of garlic noodles.
Constance hides a small smile, thinking that Hapi would say-
“Ehhy, ‘hy ish dis-”
“Hapi, my dear, manners .”
“No matter, Constance.” Emperor Edelgard smiles indulgently.
Hapi swallows mightily. “Eddy, why’s there so little food?”
Constance closes her eyes, unsure whether to laugh or melt into the floor.
“Well, this is typically enough for us. But I shall ask the chef to prepare you another plate.”
“Thanks, Eddy.”
“Make sure you save room for dessert.”
She eats with the Emperor in her informal dining room, swapping stories and jokes, lighthearted and fond. Edelgard sits opposite Constance, rather than at the head of the table. Equals, a title earned after a bloody war and broken dreams. Equals, after enough blood and tears have been spilt.
Dessert is a Fruit and Herring Tart, made with Noa Fruit.
Hapi lifts the tart with her fingers and bites into it. Constance knows exactly how it tastes - savoury and sweet and crunchy all at once, the perfect bite intentionally created to stimulate every corner of the mouth - a tingle of sweet Noa Fruit, a sweep of salty herring, and a crumble of flaky pastry.
“Forgive my bluntness, but why have you called us here?”
Hapi leans away from her half-bitten pastry, turning to her. Hubert leans back in his chair, smirking at her. Edelgard leans back, sharp eyebrows raised in challenge.
She was the greatest magical mind in Fodlan, but Constance is no fool. She knows the language of nobility, despite being detached from it longer than she bore titles and land and lineage. Nuvelle’s most famous dish right after Enbarr’s, on the same plate, and she knows that there is more that is not being said.
“I admit. I did call you both here for another reason.”
Another mighty swallow from Hapi. “You guys need to stop scheming. It’s kinda bad for your image.”
Emperor Edelgard nods to Hubert. From the depth of his coat, he brings out a silver cube, with green glowing lines running across it. A bright orb of green is seated in the middle, casting an alien glow on their plates when he places it between them on the table.
“What’s this?”
“We have reason to believe there are hidden enemies compromising Fodlan. You remember the javelins of light at Gaspard. That was their doing,” says Hubert. Constance swallows. She remembers the aftermath, too.
“What’s that got to do with the box?” Hapi reaches to poke it with her knife, and Constance pulls her hand back quickly.
Another shared look.
“This group has superior technology that operates through magic. We have good reason to believe that Cornelia was working with them.”
Hapi stills. Constance cannot breathe.
“This is where our deductions end, and you two come in,” says the Emperor. “Constance, with your peerless skill in research, and Hapi, with your...firsthand experience with Cornelia, we are hoping that you can throw more light on the matter.”
The box glows faintly, eerie and sinister. Dispose . Deceased .
“She never used anything like that,” says Hapi, bluntly. “It was just magic. Besides.” She crosses her arms. “I don’t want to get involved with that lot again. They’ve caused enough problems, if you remember.”
Emperor Edelgard is silent for a long time. When her eyes meet Constance’s, she says, “I had assumed there may be something in it for both of you.”
Hapi snorts. “The revenge plotline is kinda overdone, don’t you think?”
“I leave it to you,” sighs the Emperor. “No matter your choice, I ask that you keep the matter under wraps. They have ears everywhere.”
Constance cannot tear her eyes away from pieces of cooked Noa Fruit, lit green with ominous energy.
-
They cross the Bay of Manannán and reach the harbour of Hevring territory, their boat guided with the sharp winds of the Pegasus Moon.
The coast protects them from the harsh winter winds, bringing in heat from the warm islands of Brigid. And the miners who toil away at the northern end of the land are grateful for it, hefting out masses of ore from the blackened depths of the Oghma Mountains.
But she and Hapi stay at the southern end of the land, at the lower jaw of Fodlan’s Fangs, because Hapi had wanted to see the ocean. Her dearest had stood on the cloudy edges of pale blue waters, turning around to throw her a massive smile.
“This is amazing,” Hapi had laughed, and Constance ached with a need to show her the beaches of Nuvelle, brighter and bluer and better. But the harsh winds had stolen the words away and into the winter chill.
For all the grandeur Enbarr has flourished, Hevring is a break from the norm. Along the beach is the town port, and then the marketplace, and finally, rows of residential housing. Linhardt, for all his lack of civility, did not represent his people well - hearty, kind, and welcoming.
An overbearing matriarch who runs the local inn welcomes them with a loud and cheery greeting. Bustling and beaming, she ushers them to a small table in a quiet corner. The local speciality is their Beast Meat Teppanyaki, and the woman smiles kindly as she tucks their order into her apron.
“We got a new shipment of Noa Fruit this morning, so you kids are going to love it,” she said, and disappears into the kitchen.
Right by the ocean, Nuvelle has warm weather all through the year, perfect for sweet fruit to grow among the salt-licked wind. Even in winter, the weather is just warm enough for the orange fruit to spring forth on verdant branches by the cyan waves.
The matriarch’s husband had caught the deer earlier this morning, apparently. Thin strips of meat cook slowly on a large skillet, which would begin to sizzle and dance when the sweet Noa Fruit reduction touches the hot surface. Spicy, crispy meat and sweet, thick sauce colour each corner of the mouth.
It’s delicious, but the reduction has sugar and salt and pepper mixed into it. Constance misses the taste of Noa Fruit, plucked from the trees by children and devoured under the shade.
Hapi clears her throat.
“Are you going to talk about what’s bothering you, or am I supposed to read your mind?”
“I don’t know what you are speaking of.”
“Seriously, Coco?” Hapi squints.
Constance sighs, staring at her lap.
Nuvelle is only a week’s travel on horseback. They could leave tomorrow and reach early Lone Moon. Her home is beautiful this time of the year, cool enough to enjoy sitting around in large orchards of trees and warm enough to enjoy the winter.
“Are you going to stay weirdly quiet or…?”
“Darling, have you…”
Georgette and Tim can get them there in five days, at the most.
“Have you considered the Emperor’s request?”
“Yeah.”
“And will you do it?”
Mouth full, Hapi mumbles, “Mm.”
Constance looks up at Hapi, a burgundy smear of sugar on her sweet lips. “You would?”
“Yeah. I know I said the revenge plot line was kinda cliche, but...eh. Whatever.”
Her dear Hapi is nothing but noble, ensuring that nobody would be hurt the same way she was. Braving her difficult past, only to keep the greater future safe and protected. Meanwhile, Constance simply wants…
“They hurt me,” mutters Hapi. “So I’m going to hurt them back. It’s selfish, but I don’t care.”
Constance stares at her dearest. “You are not selfish, my darling.”
“Mmm.” Hapi swallows down a bite. “Neither are you. You’re probably going to make something out of that weird green thing that helps a bunch of people. After you break it apart first, of course.”
“I…”
Hapi smiles at her, teasing and twinkling and so sweet.
“I won’t break it, Hapi.”
“Sure. Let’s tell ourselves that.”
“I resent your tone.”
Hapi leans over to kiss her apologetically, and Constance tastes a peppery spice-filled reduction.
“My dearest, after this...shall we go to Nuvelle?”
Hapi smiles. “I wanna see this place you never stop talking about.”
Constance smacks her arm lightly.
-
A week after her birthday, they arrive in Nuvelle.
Each step towards her house is mixed with agony and fear. The moment they begin to pass by orchards and fields, Constance has to ground herself and Georgette, a moment’s rest before they continue. Spring is just around the corner, and Nuvelle, warm all through the year, is slowly turning vedant again.
When they see a distant manor, Hapi stops, and waits for her to land.
Constance can see, from this distance, the dilapidated condition of her home. No doubt ruffians have had their way with the riches that once stood proudly inside those four noble walls, leaving only an empty husk behind. Only five hundred meters away, the dream she had slept and awoken to.
“You good, Coco?”
She’d forgotten that the roof was a dark burgundy. Constance had thought it was brown.
Buildings can be fixed. Constance has repaired several war-torn villages with Hapi by her side. It is a simple matter of mathematics and labour. Constance can make the hallways grander, brighter, perfect - an architectural creation like no other.
There is no scope, however, for her to restore her house. This she now knows for certain.
So she says, “Shall we go to the orchard first?”
To the right, a swath of Noa trees, still standing tall despite the destruction all around it. The personal orchard of the Nuvelle household, said to be planted by Saint Noa herself. That would make the proud barks over a thousand years old, heritage that Constance carries in her blood.
Hapi nods, and they make their way across the grounds.
Reaching for Hapi’s hand, Constance walks through the foliage on dirt pathways now overgrown with grass. The shadows of leaves and branches dance across their bodies, and Constance keeps walking, until she finds the largest tree, on the west corner.
Orange fruit hang from the branches, an early harvest of spring.
“My brother and I used to sit below the tree and eat the fruit.”
Brother would climb the tree while Constance cried, because it was so high and he shouldn’t fall. But Brother would scale the branches with youthful confidence and cheeky mischief, dropping down Noa fruit for her to catch. Father would find out, though, and shout at him for being irresponsible. Constance was spared from it all.
It was a sacrifice with no expectation, for a few stolen moments of sharing fruit under a tree.
Hapi throws her cape on the grass, and Constance magics down fruits for them to share. When she settles down on the cloak, Hapi says, “How do you eat them?”
A lump rushes to her throat, and Constance cannot bring herself to answer.
Instead, she grips the soft, fuzzy skin of the fruit, a comforting ombre of the colours of a summer sunset. Constance hooks a nail beside the brown stem, breaking the skin. Hapi’s eyes are on her when she brings the fruit to her mouth, teeth catching the broken skin and pulling. Tender pink flesh exposed to the sun, and part by part, the fruit sits unpeeled in her fingers, golden juice dripping along her knuckles and wrist.
Dipping her head, Constance lets her lips meet sweet, juicy fruit, and she understands.
The trees have always remained rooted to the ground, but the fruit travels across the continent, favoured and savoured by so many. Noa planted the trees, but Constance can take her fruit to every corner of the nation, nay, the world. Now, she understands.
Hapi’s laugh rustles with the chartreuse leaves. “And you still tormented me for eating with my hands.”
Bashful, Constance mumbles, “It was unbecoming to eat with our hands, then.”
“And now?”
Constance holds out the fruit to Hapi, who clasps her wrist and lowers her teeth onto sweet flesh, ambrosia spreading through her chest and limbs. The taste of bright sweetness and tender fruit that flood through Hapi’s mouth tingle along Constance’s lips now. Leaning back, she can see the sugary glaze of Noa Fruit across Hapi’s lips, golden and glowing in the sunset.
“It simply tastes better.”
When Hapi kisses her, Constance tastes home.
.
.
.
END