Chapter Text
Namaari wakes from a terrible dream.
For a moment she feels completely disoriented. Her entire body is cold, and the emptiness inside of her has teeth that dig in like guilt and regret and self-recrimination. Her skin aches and her arms and legs hurt, and the horrible echoes of the druun passing over her linger, as if to stain. Beneath her palm she can still feel cold stone.
Please work, please, please Sisu, I ’m so sorry, I’m so …
The refrain lingers in her mind and her lips. She is too big for herself, but at the same time she feels smaller than she ever has in her life. There’s a cry stuck in her throat as she struggles out of her blankets, sits up straight, and gasps.
Between one breath and the next, the sensations begin to fade.
Namaari’s mind buzzes as she fully wakes up.
Just a dream…
She’s never had a nightmare like that before. But still, it starts to fade away the same as most dreams do, and she feels a familiar lurch of mingled relief and worry for it. She can’t forget. It’s important that she doesn’t forget it, but a moment later everything in her memory starts to get jumbled up. What was the nightmare about? There was… Sisu, and… and a lady. Sisu died, an arrow in her chest, and Mother was turned to stone, and someone… someone gave something to Namaari, something precious…
…Raya?
Who is ‘Raya’?
Try as she might, she can’t make it make sense anymore. A moment ago she felt like she knew everything, and now she’s only left with fragments. Sand slipping through her fingers.
She’s still struggling with it when the doors to her chamber open, and her two maids file into the room.
It’s the usual routine. It feels different, for some reason, but maybe that’s because today isn’t actually a usual day.
Today, she’s setting out with her mother and the envoy that’s been prepared, to go and accept the invitation issued by Heart’s chief to attend a ‘diplomatic meeting’. Today, she is to do her utmost to befriend the chief’s daughter, and through that girl discover the location of Sisu’s gem. Only if she succeeds at this will Fang stand a chance of claiming the gem for itself, and with it, the prosperity to end the drought that has beset their people for most of Namaari’s life.
Namaari sits up as her maids go about opening the windows of her room and letting in the sunlight. For a moment when she looks at them, she sees statues. Faces turned downwards, hands cupped as if to accept offerings, no fear in their expressions even though they must have been terrified…
She shakes her head.
Her maids are not stone. They are right there, just as they were yesterday, just as they will be tomorrow. Mother assigned them to her when Namaari outgrew her wet nurse, and the older girls have been her aids and companions ever since. Narong, the eldest, is the niece of the Secondary Chieftain of the Whisker Pass, which lies across the canal, to the northwest of Fang’s capital. Most of the villages there are ghost towns now, since the crop blight took root in the farmland and several of the smaller riverways began to dry up. Narong’s father remains, orchestrating relief efforts alongside his brother, but he sent his daughter to the capital under the auspices of providing a good servant for the young princess.
Pranee, the younger of the two, is the daughter of Namaari’s wet nurse and has been alongside her for as long as she can remember. Her aunt serves on the chieftess’s official guard, and her father breeds Great Cats for both the chieftess’s guard and the official army. Her family originally hails from the villages further north than Whisker Pass, near the Hornlands, but those places have been empty since before Namaari or Pranee were born.
It’s Pranee who approaches Namaari while she lingers atypically at her bed, while Narong goes to retrieve breakfast.
“Are you nervous?” Pranee asks her. “Do you think the Chief of Heart is planning something nefarious? My mother thinks so. She can’t see why else he would invite so many representatives all at once, to the same banquet.”
Namaari lets out a breath, then shakes her head.
“Of course I’m not nervous,” she insists, setting her shoulders back. Shoulders back, head up, don’t let anyone see you flinch. “The Chief of Heart is a fool. That’s why he’s doing this. He thinks he can negotiate his way into forcing everyone else to bend their knees to his tribe, because Heart has the Dragon Gem. He trusts that after so long spent cowing the rest of us into submission by hoarding his wealth, that he’s already won; that we’re toothless now.”
The words flow, easy and familiar, drilled into her by her mother not one day previously.
And yet, they don’t feel as right or as certain as they did before. He’s not even that kind of fool, part of her can’t help but think. A face flashes into her vision. Not the chief’s - she has never seen him and has no idea what he looks like - but that other face. The one from her dream. The one surrounded by swirling darkness, looking at her with pain and determination and something else.
Namaari swallows, and shakes off the inexplicable sense of sinking that keeps trying to take hold of her.
Something must show, however, because after a minute Pranee reaches over and squeezes her hand.
“Of course,” the other girl says, with deliberate brightness. She’s never been much good at play-acting, though she tries. “Mother’s going to be with you, and the Chieftess too, so no matter what those Heart-dwelling assassins have planned it will not go as they expect. Fang is never toothless, after all!”
“Certainly not!” Narong agrees, returning with the breakfast tray.
As has become their custom, the three of them eat together. Namaari had to bully the other girls into it, but eventually they gave in. Breakfast is a rare luxury for many people these days, meals often skipped, and paltry even when they are not. It’s still impossible for Namaari to get the other girls to split the fare evenly, and she always ends up with the largest amount. There isn’t much to choose from these days either - Namaari has never starved, but when times are lean her mother does not eat much at all, and affords Namaari only what is needed to keep her going.
There is no rice on the serving platter today, as there hasn’t been for many days. The dishes are few - fish stock and beans, with some diced fermented chili. Narong splits the beans between three bowls, two small and one larger, and of course hands the fullest to Namaari.
I missed this, Namaari thinks. Even though that makes no sense, because they did this yesterday, and many days previously. Even today they are doing it, albeit at an earlier hour as she must get ready to set out with her mother.
The atmosphere is tense, but maybe that’s understandable. Pranee and Narong do their best to make conversation, to speculate on what life might be like in Heart, and what the chief’s daughter is probably like.
“I bet she’s fat,” Pranee says, wistfully. “I bet she eats rice and meat every day and is so round that they have to roll her out of her rooms to get her ready every morning.”
Narong snorts at her.
“Even if she’s fat, I bet she can move. She’s from Heart, after all. They’re all terrifying shadow fighters in that place, dropping out of dark corners to stick knives in peoples’ backs, blink twice and you’re dead…”
Namaari hesitates. There is an uneasy twisting inside of her, a furious, accusing voice…
LIAR!!!
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Pranee nudge Narong. The older girl coughs, and immediately changes her tune.
“Not that they’re any match for our warriors, though!” she insists.
“Mn, right!” Pranee nods in agreement. “And our lady has taken so well to her training, the chieftess must believe her capable of handling any assassin from Heart, or else she’d have never decided to bring her along.”
“Very true! Just so!”
Namaari snorts at her two eagerly nodding maids. The strange feeling abates, and she forces herself to calm down. To finish eating, because it is a crime to waste food even if one’s stomach is tying itself into knots.
“Mother says I’m supposed to befriend the girl, not fight her,” she reminds them. “I’m supposed to make her underestimate me.”
The girls latch onto the change in topic readily, and soon begin inundating her with tips on how to seem meek and unassuming. Namaari can’t help but think that it’s probably funny, that they’re trying so hard to fool people from Heart. That tribe has a reputation for being deceitful; honeyed words and ‘earnest’ ways that belie their self-serving natures. But here they are, proud children of Fang, plotting to use the same tricks against them.
Does that make us much different? She wonders.
Not that it matters. Fang is Fang, and her loyalties belong to her people. Maybe they aren’t so different from Heart at all, because if she must choose between behaving honorably and watching her tribe continue to starve, or doing something dishonorable and securing their future at the cost of another’s, then she will always choose her people.
Once the food is gone and Namaari’s uncharacteristic silence has turned the talking awkward again, it’s time to get ready. Pranee takes the tray away and gathers up the bed linens to be aired out, while Narong attends Namaari at the wardrobe. Her outfit is already planned long in advance, a miniature version of her mother’s attire, with jewelry befitting her station. Mother wants Heart to underestimate them, so they are not going to ride in on a lavish procession. But they must also be adorned in a manner befitting Fang’s pride.
No matter her commitment to pulling off a deception, Chieftess Virana would probably rather cut off her own hand than appear before Chief Benja looking like a beggar. After all, Chief Benja has so far refused to repeal the crop tithe which Fang has been forced to pay to Heart ever since they lost the last war for the Dragon Gem, a generation ago. Since the drought had begun, paying the tithe was another blow to the food stores that Fang could ill-afford.
Recollecting that hardens Namaari’s inexplicably wavering resolve.
Once she’s dressed, she feels… strangely, though. She really does look like a smaller version of her mother. It’s been a long time since… or, rather, it isn’t usual for her to really emulate her mother’s style to this degree. Chieftess Virana has a grace that makes her seem intimidating even without weapons or Great Cats alongside her. Which is a good thing, because an injury in her youth had made her unfit to fight or ride the back of a cat for more than an hour at a time. Fang’s chiefs were commonly warriors, so Namaari’s mother had a lot to compensate for when it came to the expectations of their people upon her appointment. She made certain that Namaari’s training was never neglected, and rarely expects her daughter to project the same air as her - it wouldn’t be productive. Many of the sub-chiefs and regional administrators have lately been mollified by Namaari’s more traditional education and bearing, and by the prospect of a future chieftess who will be capable of leading warriors into battle, if need be.
Chieftess Virana styles herself to project the elements of wisdom, antiquity, and the authority of scholars, while Namaari has always been encouraged to be energetic, strong, and confrontational. In this way, they are a team. In this way, her mother evades the pressure to remarry, and Namaari helps protect her as well as their people.
So it’s strange to be styled like this. To see in herself an echo of her mother’s illusions.
After all, though Chieftess Virana might have been injured in battle, she had still been brought up on exactly the same education. Once upon a time, Namaari’s mother had run wild with her brothers and sisters, and rode into battle on the back of a rare snow white Great Cat. There were illustrations of it in the historical records that Namaari studied, in the archives of the central palace. Nowadays her mother seems like a person who has put herself above fighting and skirmishes, but she wasn’t always like that, and she had to learn how to change most of the ways she presented herself in order to not simply be cast as the last weakened remnant of a fallen dynasty. The dynasty that seemed so mighty during Grandfather’s rule, when Fang warred with Heart and Spine, when Namaari’s uncle was the chief’s heir and the blight had not yet overtaken the northwest.
That was the ‘golden age’ for Fang, the days her mother was always trying to restore them to. It was a world that Namaari had never known; by the time she was born, most of their once-large family had already fallen in various battles or to the hands of assassins. She has some dim recollections of her grandparents and father - but nothing more.
Her mother is all the family she has left.
Ironically, the chief of Heart’s family has only himself and his daughter as well. But where Fang’s losses still bleed, Heart has only grown richer and stronger with each passing year.
“Here,” Narong declares, tying a necklace depicting Sisu to her. “You should take some things that you could give as gifts, if you are to impress that Heart chief’s daughter. I think there are some ivory bracelets that might work as well, but it would be too much for the outfit. I’ll pack them in a box, shall I?”
“Good idea,” Namaari agrees, absently. Her gaze lingers on her reflection as Narong pulls open several drawers, the older girl muttering to herself and searching for items both suitable and expendable. The Sisu necklace is from Talon; a gift from the previous chief’s wife, who has since been cast down in the ever-changing landscape of that tribe’s politics. It will not be missed if it’s given away again, and Namaari has more meaningful accessories that would be harder to part with. Things that had belonged to her mother when she was young, or to her departed aunts and uncles, or her grandparents. Gifts from sub-chiefs and tributaries that will be best worn when treating with them, and trinkets that hold sentimental value for having been made especially for her.
This necklace holds no such inherent importance. Namaari had only kept it because it depicts Sisu. It’s a good choice for something to potentially gift away.
So why does it make her ache to look at it?
Why does she feel a sting of shame at the sight?
Her fingers trace the outline of the dragon’s form. She shivers, and shakes her head. It’s because of the nightmare, she decides. The dream of… Sisu dying? She must have been thinking too hard about the history scrolls, about war and death, and her apprehension has gotten the better of her. Her mother would be disappointed with her frailty.
With what feels almost like practiced control, she puts the feelings away and braces herself to do her duty.
~
The quickest way to Heart from Fang is by boat - in fact, that’s the quickest way to travel between any of the tribes, though not always the safest. But since they opted not to bring a grand retinue of War Cats and regally-appointed sedans, but instead travel more innocuously, taking the chieftess’ barge is the wisest course of action. A compromise between safety and subtlety.
The day is bright and clear, with only some wind. The river is calm. Namaari’s mother has a thousand and one things to talk over with the advisers she’s chosen to bring along for the trip, but she still makes time to summon Namaari to her while they passed into Heart land.
“Remember, do not press,” Chieftess Virana reminds her, brushing gentle fingers down the side of her cheek. “Do not ask about the gem yourself, do nothing to rouse suspicion. Try to lead the girl into giving away its location indirectly. Keep your eyes and ears open, and only light the flare if you know for certain where it is.”
“I know, Mother,” Namaari agrees.
She’ll lead me right to it without much trouble at all, she thinks, and then wonders where this certainty is coming from.
“You will do me proud,” her mother replies. Her eyes are soft for a moment.
Then the moment ends, and she is shooed from her mother’s cabin, sent to busy herself until they arrive. Pranee and Narong aren’t with her - no other children are, in fact. It’s deliberate. She is meant to look solitary and unimposing, and inviting target for a fellow child to approach and attempt to befriend. But it doesn’t do much for her nerves as they travel, even though her mother’s retinue is filled with familiar faces.
Most everyone is nervous. They’re trying not to show it, but they are. And not just for their own plans - which are risky enough - but also for whatever Chief Benja of Heart might really be plotting as well.
It’s not a secret that the chiefs of Heart have long wished to ‘restore Kumandra’. Meaning, of course, that they wish to set Heart up as a high chiefdom which all others must answer to, paying tribute and granting authority to Heart as the leader of their ‘rejoined’ tribes. How much authority and tribute they envision this unification bringing to them has historically varied between chiefs, but of course, most of the other tribes have never been amenable to becoming lesser subjects of a Heart-ruled nation.
Chief Benja’s father, Chief Rimau, had harbored notorious aspirations of conquest. He had made enemies of every other tribe, which was lucky for Fang because if the man had not divided his attentions so ambitiously, he may well have succeeded in subjugating Fang after the blight began to emerge. As things stood, however, there might well come a time when Fang has no choice but to bow or break under the strain of famine.
That’s why it’s imperative that they take the Dragon Gem. Even if all of the gem’s reputed powers are nothing more than myths and legends, even if it is only a shiny pearl with a great deal of history attached to it, that history alone makes its value to Heart immeasurable. The people of Heart believe that defending the gem is their most sacred trust. They’ll put no faith in a leader who fails to do so.
With the gem, Fang will have an invaluable bargaining chip. Not only will they be able to demand an end to Heart’s crop tithes, they will be able to demand tithes in return. They can hold the gem hostage against a leader who will struggle to drum up enough soldiers from his tributaries to reclaim it, and use it to demand aid for the famine without ceding any of their authority to Heart’s ‘vision’ of Kumandra.
Namaari can’t - won’t - fail in her mission.
But what if Chief Benja is different from his father?
The thought arrives unbidden, and gives Namaari a moment of pause. She scoffs at herself, shaking her head as she makes her way aimlessly across the barge. On the nearest shore, greenery passes by with increasing abundance. Her gaze drifts towards the shadows. There’s an apprehension in her chest, but she can’t name it. Something moves, and her breath catches - a myna flies down from the bows of a tree, narrowly avoiding the reach of a krait, and Namaari lets her breath back out again.
She’s being ridiculous. Jumping at shadows now? Narong’s stories must be getting to her, as well as that dream.
What was she thinking about?
Oh, right. Chief Benja.
Well, her mother certainly says that Benja is different from his father. More complacent, she thinks. He’s never done them any favours, of course, but though he’s rumoured to be a competent fighter, he’s also never launched any campaigns or sent any warriors to provoke the other tribes. Mother suspects that he might be like her - hiding an old injury or ailment that secretly hampers his ability to fight. Or else that he’s just spoiled and arrogant, trusting in his tributaries to defend him and secure in his belief that his people are untouchable. Maybe he buys into the gem’s magical powers, and truly thinks that Heart is a land blessed by Sisu, and will therefor never fall.
His daughter is around Namaari’s own age. Beyond that, not much is known about her, except that she’s kept securely in the central island of the Heart lands and is Chief Benja’s only child. Benja’s wife wasn’t from Heart - a political decision that cost him some considerable backing in the early days of his ascension to chief. He married for love, so the rumours go, but his wife didn’t survive the birthing bed. Though it would have been wise for him to capitulate, Heart’s chief has refused all subsequent offers of marriage.
Just like Mother, Namaari can’t help but think.
However, Namaari’s parents hadn’t been a love match at all. Though her mother says that she grew to love her father before he died, sometimes she wonders if that’s really true. When her mother speaks of her lost siblings and parents, she often struggles. There are moments of silence, as well as smiles and softly conveyed anecdotes; tears, as well as tributes.
But when she speaks of Namaari’s father, it’s always the same three stories over and over - the day they married, the time her father gave the spoils of his hunt to a random villager, and the way he smiled when he learned he was going to be a father. Her eyes are dry, though she often affects fondness. If truth be told, though, it feels… rehearsed.
Namaari doesn’t really think her mother avoids marriage because she can’t bear to replace her father, even though that’s what she claims.
She thinks that maybe her mother avoids marriage because she doesn’t like it.
But these are not things they speak about, improper subjects to bring up, so she only thinks about it sometimes. She didn’t know her father well enough to miss him, and she only sometimes longs for the idea of a father; of having someone love her the way that Pranee and Narong’s fathers love them.
Maybe it’s the same for Chief Benja’s daughter?
But Namaari can’t even begin to imagine surviving without her mother.
She allows herself to feel a spare kernel of pity for the Heart chief’s daughter. Namaari wouldn’t trade her mother for anything. Not even endless bowls of rice.
The river naturally passed through Heart farmland. Some workers in the fields look up to remark their passage, and the occupants of the barge go quiet. The sense of unease among them is palpable. Rice paddies and crop fields intersperse with tamed wilderness until the barge finally reaches the broadest part of the river, and the central island of Heart comes into view.
Theirs is not the only ship headed for the island.
“Namaari,” Chieftess Virana calls, emerging from her cabin.
Namaari goes to her side. Her mother brushes a lock of her hair from her cheek, then settles a hand on her shoulder.
“Stay close to me, now, until we’re at the banquet,” she insists.
It’s easy enough to agree, since it’s not like Namaari has anywhere else to go or anything else to do. She keeps her shoulders straight and tries to practice looking both regal and approachable, adopting the manner of a timid child for show, but unwilling to relinquish her firm stride and trained-in bearing around her mother at the same time. Mother pays her little mind either way, too distracted with her own thoughts and the whisperings of adults to either chastise or encourage her.
The Heart lands are very green. The air tastes fresh, and the few Great Cats that they did bring along look eager to run and try to hunt. She feels badly for them - they probably won’t be able to, it’s unlikely Chief Benja will let them take the cats gallivanting, so this trip is like dangling a treat that they won’t actually be permitted to enjoy. For that reason there are only three of them - well-behaved, older cats, brought along mostly because it would be far more conspicuous to have none than to have only some.
Their barge docks not far away from the delegations of the other tribes. Talon’s lurid purple banners are the easiest to remark, but the retinue from Spine has elephants. Namaari cranes to see them even as she is drawn along by her mother, and their own entourage closes ranks around them.
Their procession is definitely the least elaborate, with only three Great Cats bringing up the rear, whilst the other groups have brought elephants and canopied palanquins and more noticeable regalia - though not much more noticeable, so this is probably a good thing. It means they’re giving off the impression that Mother wants them too, even if it’s also still a little bit embarrassing too.
Still, Chieftess Virana is a striking figure, and their heads all stay up high as they make their way to where the Heart tribe guides claim Chief Benja will meet them.
It takes some time for Benja to arrive. When he does, he comes dressed in rich green-blues, with little ‘finery’ about him as well. The greeting pavilion is sparsely acquitted. Chief Benja himself has a genial sort of look, but looks can be deceiving.
A smaller figure follows alongside him, dressed in the same colours.
Raya.
Namaari stares at the girl who must surely be the chief’s daughter. Sure enough, she looks to be of an age with Namaari herself, young and round-faced and wide-eyed. It shouldn’t be surprising - though she’s not fat, like Pranee had predicted, she does seem soft in a way that would be difficult to articulate. She doesn’t have a strong resemblance to the chief, but there are some little things. Their skin and eyes are the same colour, and they move with a similar lightness to their steps.
It’s not unusual. It’s not unexpected.
Namaari can’t stop staring at this girl. She’s sure she’s never even seen her before, but she can’t shake the feeling that she has. And that name. Raya? She didn’t think she knew the name of the Heart chief’s daughter, was sure it had slipped out of her head even though someone probably mentioned it at some point; she and her maids had joked about it that morning, among other things. Yet, she feels certain that she knows it now, that this girl is Raya.
It puts a queer feeling in her chest. That face makes her feel anger and resentment, but also guilt and self-recrimination. Longing. Frustration. Envy.
Pain.
Namaari tries to swallow it, but it feels too heavy. Raya is staring back at her, and she seems confused and uncertain. Namaari knows she needs to look away, that there are a hundred different ways she could be acting right now, and none of them involve glaring at the Heart chief’s daughter with creepy and inexplicable intensity. But it’s like trying to pick herself up with a broken leg. She’s been sucker punched and she doesn’t even know how.
Chief Benja’s speech resonates about as successfully as a wet fart would have. The other tribes almost immediately begin tearing into it.
Chieftess Virana retains her silence, so the rest of the retinue follows suit.
Raya looks at her father, looks at the angry tribal delegations arrayed in front of them, and then steps forward.
“I have something to say,” the girl declares.
Namaari is overcome with a feeling of deja vu.
Who’s hungry?
“Who’s hungry?” Raya asks, breaking the tension as clumsily as only a child can.
Of course, if Chief Benja had tried that, it would have gone over even worse than the speech he actually chose. Though Fang has struggled with the blight in the northwest, they are far from the only tribe to have faced recent hardships in keeping their people fed. The deserts of Tail have always been a harsh climate, but word has it that small rivers and waterways have been steadily drying up for the past few years, rendering once-viable farmlands fallow instead. Talon’s fishing nets have come up empty more and more often, and while Spine is insular enough that little information makes its way out to the other tribes, it’s difficult to disguise that winters in the northern mountains have grown longer and colder.
Everyone here knows far more about ‘hunger’ than those who dwell in the Heart lands do.
Because Raya is a child, however, her offer is met with neither the same open scorn as Benja’s speech, nor outright acceptance. Well, apart from one enthusiastic fellow from Spine, who is swiftly quieted by his fellows.
A hand touches Namaari’s shoulder. Squeezes.
She looks up to see her mother giving her an encouraging look.
“Go on,” she says. Underneath the cue to move is an entreaty.
Namaari can’t mess this up.
She steels herself, and finally manages to put aside the strange, overwhelmed feeling that’s raging inside of her. With a nod to her mother, she forces her feet to move.
She doesn’t even just dislike Raya. That would make sense - that would be easier to hide, easier to handle. If she just felt some innate sense of hatred, well, they are enemies by their nature. Raya’s grandfather fought against hers, their families have spilled one another’s blood, and not just in recent generations either.
But what she feels isn’t as simple as dislike.
Raya looks awkward, unsure - a little hopeful, a little intimidated as Namaari strides towards her.
The opportunity to play the shy, lonely girl has passed. She was too weird about it. In lieu of that, Namaari’s only recourse is to just be herself.
She doesn’t know why, but she feels almost certain that she can befriend Raya like that anyway.
The certainty hurts, somehow.
“I am Namaari of Fang,” she greets, inclining her body forwards just slightly, and foregoing the circular salute. After all, they are equals, and Raya has done nothing to earn deference from her.
The other girl lets out a nervous half-giggle.
“I’m Raya. Of, Heart,” she offers, then clears her throat. Her gaze lands on the necklace Namaari is wearing, and lights up.
“Is that Sisu?” she asks.
Namaari manages a cool look rather than a smile.
“It is,” she confirms. Snakes. There are snakes in her stomach, but Raya looks eager to have something to latch onto. She excuses herself, admitting her enthusiasm for dragons. I know, Namaari can’t help but think. I know you like dragons. I know you long for their return. I know, I know…
How could she possibly know?
Rather than offer a diplomatic reply - and there are dozens she could offer, dozens she would know - she says nothing, leaving the other girl to babble awkwardly before finally inviting her towards the palace, and the banquet that’s been prepared within.
Namaari lets herself be escorted, trying her best to go along with it, to not completely lose her footing. But it feels as if it’s already gone, and she can’t find the mask she’s supposed to wear for this performance. The imitation of her mother’s outfit feels ill-fitting on her shoulders; the necklace depicting Sisu is heavy at her throat.
Raya seems uncertain.
In her mind’s eye, Namaari can envision this interaction going wholly differently. The girl beside her seems eager to be befriended. The palace around them, uncommonly bereft of children their age.
Of course, her mother’s retinue is also mostly adults. So it’s possible that, just as in her case, most of the children have been kept somewhere safely away from the potentially volatile banquet that Heart’s chief is hosting. But somehow she doesn’t think that this girl has many friends her own age, not with the way she keeps stumbling over words, blurting things out then hastening to excuse herself. She seems to half apologize for everything she likes, bold in one breath and self-effacing in the next.
Namaari thinks that if she’d acted gentler, more shyly reluctant than nearly hostile, that the bold side would be winning out by now. But as it stands, Raya seems to be braced in case she pulls out a weapon at any moment.
“Do you… like… um, Sisu…?” the girl tries.
‘Like’ Sisu? ‘Dragon nerd’? Sisu is the foundation of the major faiths of all the tribes. Namaari has a scroll with her right now, brought along in case she needed to turn the conversation in this direction, that is considered heretical by at least two of those faiths and their variants. There is a graveyard of dragons outside of Fang that is sacred ground, that all riders must slow their mounts to pass through lest they cause grave disrespect.
“I worship Sisu,” she says. She means to ask it like a question - to wonder if it’s so different in Heart - but instead it comes out clipped and harsh.
Raya laughs awkwardly, clears her throat, and changes the subject.
They make it inside then, and Namaari feels almost as relieved as Raya looks. Until they make it inside, anyway, and she sees the banquet platters that have been set out everywhere.
It stops her momentarily in her tracks.
There’s… so much food.
Fragrant aromas drift down from long tables that have been stacked high with an array of dishes, most of which are still steaming. Namaari stares. There are colourful dumplings, huge serving bowls of tom yum and tom kha, platters of shredded meat, piles of ketupat, curries, masak lamak dishes with crab and fowl, lemang, khao man gai, sugary kuih keria, satays of all sorts, what must be a dozen varieties of rendang…
Namaari’s stomach growls audibly.
Raya grins hesitantly.
“Pretty yummy, right?” she says. “As soon as the grown-ups catch up, we can start the feast!”
Namaari stares and stares. She’s already messed up, so she doesn’t even try to reign in her reaction.
“In the feast hall back home, there are many beautiful serving dishes,” she finds herself saying. “But I’ve never once seen them filled.”
Raya hesitates.
“You don’t throw parties in Fang…?” she ventures, so naive it should be offensive.
But somehow, ‘offended’ isn’t what Namaari feels.
“We don’t have much food,” she replies, bluntly. In a huge pot of tom yum, fresh sliced chili peppers from Fang add pops of red colour and the promise of heat. The fragrance is familiar and warm, but the sight grounds her in a way that nothing else so far has done.
So. Chief Benja plans to serve his guest from Fang the same food he demands from them every year?
Maybe he’ll regret his arrogance when it costs his people their most precious treasure.
Letting out a deep breath, Namaari at last manages to pull on a genial, slightly apologetic smile. She turns towards Raya.
“Sorry,” she offers. “I guess I’ve been bringing down the mood a lot, haven’t I? I promise, not everyone from Fang is all broody and intense all the time. We do have the ability to smile. Or so legend tells.”
Raya looks a little uncertain at first. But after a moment, some of the tension eases out of her shoulders. She laughs.
“It’s fine,” she replies. “I mean, of course. I… I’m sorry. About the food, I didn’t-”
“Don’t apologize,” Namaari urges, settling a hand onto her shoulder. Raya’s shoulder is warm. It nearly unsettles her all over again, but she forces her way past it. Manages another reassuring smile. “I’m the one who’s been impolite. It’s just that it’s a little strange being in a different land. I guess I’m nervous.”
Raya lets out a breath.
“I’ve been nervous too,” she admits, as if it weren’t obvious.
Namaari’s heart clenches.
She sets it aside.
~
Raya had begun playing with her food. Namaari said nothing, swallowing back any reflexive reaction, but after a moment the other girl seemed to think the better of it herself and instead settled in to simply eating it instead. Namaari knew she ought to drag the conversation back towards Sisu, to dragons and things related to the Dragon Gem, but it feels too awkward to try that right now. Instead she lets Raya latch onto the idea of ‘getting to know’ one another by listing things they like, or prefer.
“Sweet or spicy?” the girl asks, offering Namaari a choice of unfamiliar treats. They look like dumplings of a sort, one packet pink, the other white. A small dusting of crushed nuts decorates the tops of them.
“Spicy,” Namaari immediately affirms, and accepts a pink treat. It indeed tastes spicy on her tongue, but there is a flare of sweetness to the bean filling as well.
“Favourite colour?” she asks Raya in return.
Blue, she thinks, and sure enough this is the other girl’s answer.
It’s a mystery how Namaari can know anything about Raya when they’ve met before. It would be strange if she could intuit just some things, but at least then she might be able to chalk it up to just some improvement in her skill at reading people, or the other girl being an open book. Guessing right every time, though, is something else. It’s confusing.
She doesn’t like being confused, and yet, by the same token, she doesn’t want to give this knowledge up. It would be simpler if she didn’t have to deal with it.
But if she could dare to, she might almost say this feels… important.
“Oh, oh, I know,” Raya exclaims, and picks up the baby pillbug-creature that Namaari doesn’t rightly know the species name of. She’s seen them before, though, rare and valuable steeds that are favoured by traders from Tail and warriors from Talon. “Favourite animal?”
Namaari smiles, maybe with a little too much teeth.
“That’s easy. Great Cats,” she answers.
Raya grins back at her.
“I guess I should have seen that coming. Fang warriors really ride them into battle?”
“Of course,” Namaari confirms. “I’ve been training with them since I was old enough to walk, although I won’t be permitted to own one until I’m fourteen. Mother’s already planned out the lineage for my first cub, though. I’ll be expected to spend two years raising it and training it myself before it’ll be strong enough to ride.”
“Wow,” Raya enthuses, seeming wholly sincere in her interest. “My Ba says that Tuk Tuk will be big enough to ride one day, but probably not for a few years yet. I can’t really believe it when I look at him right now.”
The ‘Tuk Tuk’ in question has squirmed his way out of Raya’s hands, and is determinedly trying to eat the sweet white dumpling still on her place. Raya plucks it up, but then hands it off to him without concern; Namaari struggles not to think of the Great Cats back home, and how diligently their riders will carve the flesh from whatever fish they can, and then only use the bones to make stock for themselves.
“Have you trained him at all?” Namaari asks instead.
“Oh yeah. Watch this!” Raya enthuses, then picks up a clean satay skewer and waves it around in front of her pet. “Tuk Tuk, see the stick? See the stick? Okay, just like we practiced - fetch!”
Raya throws the stick.
Tuk Tuk watches it clatter across the corner of the banquet hall that they’ve squirreled themselves away in.
A moment goes by.
Tuk Tuk turns his head and resumes eating his dumpling, while the stick lies ignored at the threshold of a nearby archway.
Raya groans, then crouches down.
“Buddy. Come on. You’re embarrassing me.”
The cute little animal nudges her with its nose and offers a half-chewed remnant of dumpling. It’s unfairly endearing, if not a little pathetic.
Namaari opts to be consoling.
“You probably should have waited until he finished eating to try that.”
…Maybe that was more critical than consoling, actually, but Raya just sighs and nods in agreement. Once the dumpling is gone she starts trying to goad her pet into doing more ‘tricks’ to prove that she’s actually taught him something, but success seems… minimal.
Namaari watches their antics. After a while, though, the sound of her mother’s voice catches her attention.
Chief Benja has been fluttering around the banquet ever since it started, trying to coax people into talking civilly with one another, to get them to settle down and participate instead of storming off in a huff at this or that perceived slight, this or that issue. How much of it is performative versus how many of the other tribes actually want to just leave, she’s not sure she can say. But since Fang’s group have been conducting themselves with the least aggression, they’ve mostly been abandoned to their own devices.
Mother is being agreeable, but she’s not exactly working to help stop the other tribes’ representatives from leaving, either. It would be fine if they did - maybe even advantageous. So Namaari is a bit surprised when she hears her mother start to talk with the Chief of Tail.
Tail’s Chieftess is a suspicious woman, bordering on paranoid. Though, that’s probably a description fit for most people in the room. She just doesn’t disguise it as well as others, keeping her tone abrupt and harsh until Chieftess Virana begins to coax her towards a more civil conversation. Mostly about trade.
“Fang has also been suffering a dearth of rain this season,” Mother says.
The Tail chief scoffs.
“Your people know what a real dearth looks like,” she claims, but there’s a lot less hostility in her posture now. “Though compared to Heart, I suppose you might.”
“Let’s not quibble about our host,” Mother encourages. Chief Benja, in earshot, looks surprised. “Each land offers its advantages and disadvantages, and our people are well-attuned to handling what is expected of our homes. It is only unusual circumstances that create hardship such as we have been seeing of late…”
Offered the opportunity to gripe, the other chieftess seems eager to take it, despite her reservations. Namaari’s gaze drifts towards Chief Benja, and she sees him shooting her mother glances that look both surprised and hopeful by various turns.
Fang has long held as much outright hostility towards Heart as it can manage, so the surprise makes sense.
But if Chieftess Virana is trying to convince the Heart chief that they’re amenable to turning over a new leaf, then she’s probably figured out that Namaari isn’t getting too far along in her own mission…
Namaari’s heart sinks.
In front of Raya, Tuk Tuk has fallen onto his back and gotten stuck somehow. The little creature can roll itself into a ball - how has it managed to get stuck? But it seems to have, and Raya gently pushes her pet back onto its feet, laughing ruefully at the predicament.
“I guess I can’t really claim to be much of a beast tamer,” she admits.
Namaari shrugs and offers her a smile.
“You’ll get there,” she says, with a confidence even she doesn’t know the source of.
Raya blinks at her. Her cheeks darken just a little, and her gaze slides away, towards the floor.
“Hey,” Namaari says, leaning over to nudge at her. “You want to see something cool?”
“Psh, yeah? Of course?” Raya agrees. She clears her throat and looks at her expectantly. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a Great Cat kitten smuggled in your pockets or something?”
Namaari snorts.
“They aren’t small enough to fit in pockets, unlike your Tuk Tuk - and this.”
So saying, she pulls out the scroll she brought along with her.
Of course, she has it with full permission from her mother, and this is in reality a copy. One of several. Fang’s legendariums are considered somewhat controversial by other tribes, particularly Tail and Spine, and in the past a lot of them have been stolen or destroyed. It makes Namaari furious to just think of it. How much knowledge, culture, history have they lost to others’ resentment? Things that belonged to Talon, that were destroyed by people who had no right to touch them?
But that’s neither here nor there.
“Are you supposed to have that?” Raya asks, looking wide-eyed at the gilded scroll.
“Of course not,” Namaari lies with a grin. She opens it up, and is actually gratified at the way the other girl drinks it in.
The look on Raya’s face makes Namaari wonder how much information and how many artifacts Heart itself has really preserved from the old times. Everyone knows about the Dragon Gem, of course, but most tribes have their own artifacts that - though not imbued with the last remaining power of dragons - still speak of the stories, names, deeds, and remnants pertaining to them. Not only Sisu, either, but the others that fell to the druun.
Many have lost their names and stories. There are statues in Fang which have no name to attach to them.
But there are also many that do.
“You know, in Fang we believe that Sisu did not die when she used the gem,” Namaari says, testing the waters.
“Really?” Raya asks, as if she has never heard of such a notion.
It’s a little surprising. Wars have been fought over this belief - admittedly, not in recent times. But in the past? Yes. Namaari’s great-great-grandmother once sent dozens of warriors to ride through Tail, carrying tributes to the rivers. It incited the suspicion and ire of Tail’s chief, and matters spiraled outwards from there.
Most of Tail doesn’t worship Sisu directly, though they do still revere dragons. The central crux of Tail’s dominant belief system holds that Sisu did not actually even create the Dragon Gem, but rather took it from greater dragons, and was simply the last one to use it; even that Sisu’s use of it was improper, and this is why the stone dragons never woke again.
The belief that Sisu lived conflicts with some of the particulars of Tail’s stance on the Dragon Gem, but moreover, Namaari thinks that the people in Tail had good reason not to want to encourage the other tribes to go poking around their rivers.
But it’s true, some part of her whispers. Sisu really is still out there somewhere.
She’s never felt sure of that before, and it’s unsettling to realize all at once that suddenly - for some reason - she is sure of it now.
Her own eyes trail over the artwork of the scroll with the same hunger that is apparent in Raya’s face.
Then, like a flash, Namaari sees an image of a dragon felled by an arrow. It puts a chill in her spine. She swallows hard - the banquet room suddenly seems too large, too loud. Too full of people and eyes. She feels as if she’s done something terrible; as if anyone might suddenly look at her and know.
“Namaari?” Raya asks.
She blinks, and shakes off the feeling somewhat.
Raya looks nervous. Namaari shifts in place.
“Sorry,” she offers. “I was just… thinking about it. Sisu falling. It must have been… it must have been hard, to be a person living in that time, and seeing the last dragon fall. I can’t imagine how frightened people would have been.”
Yes I can.
Raya nods thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I never really thought about it, but being around for that was probably really awful. If anyone was around, and it wasn’t all just statues by then.”
Namaari inhales steadily through her nose. She’s unsettled, but for some reason looking at Raya helps.
The druun is gone, she tells herself.
Why does it feel less factual than it should?
“Anyways,” she says, pulling things back to the matter at hand. There’s only so long that she can keep this scroll out for, under the guise of it being stolen goods that she’s sneakily trying not to get caught with. “The story goes that after Sisu used the gem, she fell into the water. The rivers carried her down and down, all the way from Heart to Tail. Sisu is somewhere at the river’s end.”
“Whoa,” Raya breathes, leaning back in again. “But there are so many rivers. How would anyone find her?”
Namaari’s finger idly traces up one particular river, before she internally shakes herself and then folds the scroll back up again.
“I don’t know,” she admits.
“It would be amazing, though. If someone could find her. People would really rally around that, it would give so much hope - maybe we really could become Kumandra again, if it were true…”
Namaari can neither help nor explain the irritation, the anger, or the fear that rises up in her.
“Do you really think that would work?” she asks, too abruptly. Raya doesn’t shrink back, though, she just blinks at her curiously.
“Maybe?”
“The Dragon Gem is the last remaining remnant of dragons in this world, and it’s only ever inspired people to fight,” Namaari points out. She closes the scroll back up, and grips it just slightly too hard. “If Sisu came back, would she even be safe? Or would it just be another thing for people to fight over?”
Raya’s brow furrows. She looks at the necklace which Namaari is wearing, uncertainty written across her previously open and enthusiastic face. Namaari should regret it; she should try and fix it, to put the other girl at ease again. But she can’t bring herself to.
“Your father talks about Kumandra, about unity, like it’s a good thing.”
“Isn’t it?” Raya counters. Now she’s frowning; now she looks on the verge of arguing, of even getting stubborn about it.
Namaari smirks.
“Why would it be?”
Okay now that’s definitely this girl’s fighting face.
There you are.
“When there were still dragons, we were united as Kumandra. We were one nation.”
“Yeah, and then we stopped. And now we aren’t,” Namaari argues. “Going back to that isn’t fixing something that broke, it’s imposing an old idea onto a world that’s changed.”
“But we can keep changing. The way things are right now, the tribes keep on fighting. My father doesn’t want that for the world. Remaking Kumandra wouldn’t have to mean going ‘backwards’, would it?”
“I don’t know. It sounds a lot like your father has some big ideas, but what has he done so far to convince anyone else that they’re worth something?”
Raya splutters, then spreads her arms.
“You mean other than this whole banquet?” she exclaims, maybe a little too loudly. Some of the adults look over at them, but Namaari feels like there’s a fire lit under her. Like she’s finally found her footing, and after spending all night floundering, she doesn’t want to give it up.
“Ooh right, the banquet. Inviting the clan chiefs from all around to come and see how much food Heart can waste on a fancy party, while every single one of us has been struggling to feed our people? What’s that supposed to tell us? That Heart’s rich and plentiful? Or maybe that all those wars your grandfather fought assured that the rest of us would still have to pay tithes in crops and rice, so unless we want to go to war again, we’re stuck feeding your people even while ours starve?”
Raya comes up short, looking more bewildered than angry now.
“Huh?” she asks.
Namaari pauses.
Then scoffs.
“You didn’t know?” she drawls, disbelief making her acerbic.
How does a chief’s daughter not know these kinds of things?
But somehow she doesn’t believe it’s an act.
“I don’t… no, that’s not right,” Raya insists. “There must be a misunderstanding. My grandfather died a long time ago, before I was even born…”
Namaari regards her for a moment. She doesn’t feel like arguing anymore - not when her opponent has been disarmed.
“Maybe you should ask your father, then,” she suggests. “Seems like he might not have told you about some things.”
Raya hesitates. For a moment it looks like she wants to keep arguing, to defend her father. But maybe she realizes that she’s still at a disadvantage, because after a minute she subsides. Her determination doesn’t wane, but the fight goes out of her.
“Maybe I should. If only to clear things up,” she agrees.
Standing up, she brushes the wrinkles from her clothes and then inclines herself politely towards Namaari.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
There’s no good way to prevent the other girl from leaving her side at that point. Namaari realizes how badly she’s messed up, but it’s too late to go back and change her responses now. She watches as Raya strides purposefully through the spaces between guests - for clearly on a mission to find Chief Benja, and presumably interrogate him about the state of their diplomatic relations and agricultural affairs.
Namaari knows she’s screwed up, and a big part of her is kicking herself. An even bigger part of her feels a terrible, awful sense of failure, that she’s let her mother down. That she’s let her people down, because she had a mission and now she doesn’t think she’ll really be able to accomplish it.
But surprisingly, another part of herself feels… eager. Eager to see what Raya will discover, to hear what she’ll have to say. Eager to arm herself for another fight. And that same part carries a strange seed of relief. A voice that whispers that even if she can’t help feeling terrible for failing, it would still be better if she didn’t succeed. Not only for her conscience, but for Fang, too.
The sky above is getting darker. The banquet hall is bright, but there are still some shadows, and they make Namaari uncomfortable.
She gets up and goes to find her mother.
If Mother is angry at her for failing to stick with Chief Benja’s daughter, she doesn’t show it. She puts an arm around Namaari to half-hug her to herself, but carries on with the conversation she is holding, and after a minute lets her go so that she can conduct herself more properly. The evening drags on. Chieftess Virana speaks with the chiefs of Spine and Talon as well as Tail, and with several of their representatives - nearly always talking on or around the subject of the food shortages. Namaari sticks with her but few people express an interest in the opinions of a child.
She doesn’t see Raya again. But later on, Chief Benja approaches to finally greet her mother in person.
“I am honored you accepted my invitation,” he says.
Mother inclines her head.
“To be honest, out of all the clans I thought Fang the most likely to refuse outright,” Benja admits. He seems a genial sort, in his way. Namaari finds herself trying to see his daughter in him.
“Well, we considered it,” Chieftess Virana says, in her own light and amiable tones. “But Fang can ill-afford to cleave to old grudges. I suppose we were interested to see what Heart had to say.”
“There is much to be said,” Chief Benja admits, looking down for a moment. He glances at Namaari, and offers her a smile before addressing her mother again. “It’s my hope that this banquet will only be the first of many. There are too many old grievances and misunderstandings between our people to cover them all in the span of a single meal.”
“True enough. Particularly when the host must divide his attention so thoroughly,” Mother agrees, throwing in a subtle chastisement for Benja having taken so long to extend his personal greetings to them. It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that the evening has past, and night is upon them. The retinues arrived hours ago.
Chief Benja either misses the dig or else accepts it graciously.
“I shall have to reconsider how these events are organized in future,” he concedes. “It’s a… well. Work-in-progress, we’ll call it.”
“A first step,” Namaari suggests. She has no idea why the thought flies into her head, but it makes Chief Benja beam at her.
“Just so, Namaari of Fang,” he affirms, tilting his head. “But even with this, I think we’ve all gained much to think about. My daughter seems to have a fire lit under her thanks to whatever it was you were talking about.”
“Crop taxation,” Namaari deadpans.
The adults chuckle like they think it’s a joke, so, most likely Raya hasn’t had a chance to talk to her father in-depth about things yet. That makes sense, considering how swamped the chief has been with handling his visitors.
Her mother lowers her hand to her shoulder and gives her a fond - slightly scolding - squeeze.
“Namaari has a fervent interest in dragon lore. Your daughter seems to share the enthusiasm,” she says, smoothly redirecting the conversation.
“Oh, certainly,” Chief Benja agrees. “I think every child in Heart goes through a phase where we’re half mad for dragons, and most of us don’t ever grow out of it either.”
Chieftess Virana inclines her head.
“It’s much the same in Fang…”
The conversation keeps towards inane topics at that point. Mother compliments some of the banquet dishes with just an edge of teeth in her voice, and makes a subtle dig about the decorations, but Chief Benja remains affable and easygoing and takes no affront at seemingly anything. Namaari finds that she can’t get a feel for his real nature at all - is he precisely what he seems? Or is he putting on a very good front? Does the affability hide an arrogant would-be conqueror, or an idealistic fool?
No clue.
Whatever sense she has for Raya apparently doesn’t apply to Raya’s father.
Raya herself doesn’t reemerge until the banquet is winding down. Namaari’s almost convinced that she won’t even see the other girl before they leave, but just as her mother is accepting a parting gift from Chief Benja - and his hopes for another banquet in the near future - a small figure slips out the shadows near Benja’s side.
At a nod from her mother, Namaari goes over.
“...Hey,” she greets.
Raya ducks her head.
“Um. Hi,” she returns.
“..I guess… that got a little intense at the end there…” Namaari concedes.
Raya nods her head. She balls a hand into a fist, but then only smacks it determinedly against her own palm.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” she vows. “To be honest, I don’t really know if my father’s dream is possible. But either way, I don’t think it’s fair to leave things as they are. Whatever grievances are between our tribes should be cleared up for the good of everyone.”
Namaari blinks.
Figures.
Her lips twitch, nearly a smile. After a breath, she reaches into her pocket and retrieves the copy of the Sisu scroll.
Raya’s eyes go huge when Namaari extends it towards her.
“You… what?!” she asks, lowering her voice and glancing around like she’s worried they’ll both be taken for smugglers or thieves. “Why are you giving that to me? You can’t give that to me. You’re not even supposed to have it!”
“Yeah, I might have exaggerated that to make myself seem cool,” she admits, with a shrug. “It’s a copy. No one will miss it except for me, so there won’t be any kind of diplomatic incident.”
Raya’s eyes are still huge. Her fingers twitch, like she absolutely wants to take it.
Even so - she hesitates.
“But why?” she asks. “I didn’t think we made friends, exactly…?”
Again, Namaari shrugs.
“You seem crazy enough to go on some doomed mission to find the last dragon at the end of nowhere. Maybe I’m just making an indirect assassination attempt,” she admits, waggling her eyebrows. “Bump off the only heir to Heart’s chiefdom, and I might create a succession crisis.”
Raya raises an eyebrow.
“Uh-huh,” she counters, unimpressed. “And what if I just keep your fancy scroll and stay put?”
“Oh, well. Worth a shot.”
A moment passes. Namaari’s outstretched hand is getting a little cold. Just when she’s thinking that she’s going to have to put the scroll back in her own pocket after all, though, Raya finally reaches out and carefully accepts the peace offering.
“You know I think… maybe we made friends after all?” Raya suggests, hugging the scroll tight with both hands.
Something inside Namaari twists like a knife, like want and pain and denial, but most of all like…
Hope.
She can’t manage a reply, so instead she turns on her heel and swiftly marches back to her mother’s side.
~
They don’t talk about Namaari’s failure until they’re back on the river, well away from the sight of any other ships, and after her mother’s most trusted people have checked to make certain there are no Heart spies aboard their barge.
Cheiftess Virana keeps her close, though, and she doesn’t look angry.
If she looks anything, it’s tired. But even that only a little - Namaari used to think her mother was invulnerable, but more and more she’s become aware that her mother is just very good at seeming that way. She’s stuck between wanting to take comfort in the idea of her mother’s perceived invulnerability, and knowing that she shouldn’t, because it’s not real.
The fingers that brush across her brow still feeling soothing, nonetheless.
The shorelines along the river are dark. The full moon is up, but Namari hates it - being outside at night. She doesn’t know why. It never bothered her before.
Maybe it’s being on the river, but that notion rings a little hollow.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts, at the first available opportunity. With Heart behind them, now, she can feel nothing except for the weight of her failure, and her confusion. She doesn’t understand why she reacted like that to the Heart chief’s daughter. She had been so sure that she knew what she was doing, before, but then in the moment she had acted bizarrely.
Her mother cups her face and kisses her forehead.
“Calm yourself, my Morning Mist,” she says. “It was a slim chance that the girl would invite you to her people’s most sacred and forbidden place the first time she met you.”
Namaari blinked in confusion.
“But… we prepared everything…”
Her mother chuckles.
“A slim chance is still a chance,” Chieftess Virana replies.
I could have done it, though, Namaari can’t help but think. In her mind she can still see it, the path that she would have taken, that would have gotten her into that chamber; would have enabled her to lead their soldiers right to the Dragon Gem.
She hangs her head.
“I messed it up,” she admits, just the same. “I don’t know what happened, I knew what I should have done but I just…”
Looking up, she gives her mother a helpless look.
Why did it go wrong? Would Mother know?
As if she does, her mother nods.
“Sometimes, when the moment comes, we find that reality is not what we envisioned,” she says. It sounds reasonable. Wise, even. Namaari dearly wants to accept it, except that she thinks she’s encountered that sort of thing before - having to deal with situations that aren’t what she expected. But this doesn’t feel like that. Instead it was more like she knew what was going to happen, like she knew too much instead of too little of the reality of what was waiting.
And like it was frightening.
Too frightening for her to let herself succeed. Even though she wanted to - even though she still wants to.
But she can’t explain that. So instead she nods.
“You still did very well,” her mother consoles her, turning to look out towards the dark, passing shoreline. Namaari moves a little closer to her side, unconsciously seeking comfort. “Chief Benja is determined to create more opportunities for us. I have encouraged him, and so we will carry on with our attempts. You will continue to befriend his daughter. I know you can do it - earn her trust, and it’s only a matter of time before you’ll find the information that we need.”
Namaari nods, squaring her shoulders.
“I won’t let you down,” she promises.
Mother smiles.
“You never do.”
The praise doesn’t rest as easily on her as it used to.