Work Text:
[“Every year we get someone like you, some country bumpkin who thinks that just because they were good at taking some test, they deserve my time and attention. Understand this, southerner. The exam proves nothing. Discipline and competence — those are the only things that matter at this school. That boy” — Jun jerked his thumb in the direction Nezha had gone — “may be an ass, but he has the makings of a commander in him. You, on the other hand, are just peasant trash.”
The entire class was staring at her now. Kitay’s eyes were wide with sympathy. Even Venka looked stunned.]
After a long training session, Venka walked back to her dormitory.
The darker girl — Runin, she recalled with distaste — deserved what she got. How dare a girl of such low class and lower intellect saunter into Sinegard Academy, expecting to be worshipped the same way she was in her dingy farm village?
Venka didn’t understand why the Academy deliberately designed a system that permitted inferiority to enter the institution’s ranks. Nezha was right for disciplining Rin, although he shouldn’t have to. People like her didn’t belong anywhere near Sinegard, and having to tolerate their savagery was a burdensome chore.
But Venka couldn’t help but feel a little unsettled after today’s Combat class. Jun’s words rung in her ears.
Venka had subverted Jun’s initial disapproval with her flawless backward crescent kick demonstration on the first day of class — Jun was a traditionalist, it was obvious he picked on her for public embarrassment — but one mistake was all he needed to oust her like he just did with Rin.
“Discipline and competence — those are the only things that matter at this school.”
Discipline and competence, she had in abundance. But what Venka had most in abundance, something the other two girls lacked, was tact.
She knew that none of them were welcome at Sinegard. They were at a school made by men, for men. Their very presence was offensive, and the masters were simply waiting for them to either pack their bags or be eliminated at the Trials.
The other two girls wouldn’t last the year. They simply outranked the rest of their tiny villages, which wasn’t a very high standard. On the other hand, Venka outsmarted nobility. She had truly climbed her way up to Sinegard. Surviving the Trials would be nothing in comparison.
Besides, she was raised to be perfect. Sring Venka did not simply “make mistakes.”
Venka hummed contently. She was looking forward to having the second-year dormitory all to herself.
—————
Two Sinegard first-years were at the gardens, looking out at the gorgeous blue sky above them. Their peers were frantically studying at the library in preparation for the Trials but, like the weather, Nezha and Venka seemed relatively unfazed.
Nezha frowned. “I’m not so sure about this. Have you considered other options? You’d have a decent chance with Irjah or Jima.”
“Good thing it doesn’t involve you, then,” said Venka with as much venom as she could muster. It didn’t take much effort. “I didn’t ask for your opinion or advice, Nezha. You asked a question. I’m giving you my answer.”
Nezha raised his hands in surrender. “I know, I know. But still…”
But nothing.
Clearly, not even Nezha was convinced. Venka berated herself for thinking that he could be different. No man would ever view a woman as a worthy equal, childhood best friends included.
The only time women were ever viewed as “worthy” was when they were reduced to the space their bodies occupied as wives and mothers. Venka knew that. Venka was escaping that. But still, she had hoped that Nezha would be different from the others.
It’s his stupid pride, she thought. But no matter — she would force his acceptance, then force everyone else’s, too.
She’d force more than acceptance, actually. Relatives doted over her shiny hair and bright skin, remarking that all the boys would fall heads over heels for her, and they were right. Venka would force all of them to their knees if she had to. She was going to command respect.
“You’re not convinced. You don’t think I can do it,” Venka retorted, voice rising in challenge. “Come on, Nezha. You know how capable I am. I’m second only to you and everyone knows it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not what I’m concerned about.”
“Oh?” Brow raised, Venka asked coolly, “And what exactly is so concerning?”
Nezha fiddled with his sleeve. “Venka, you’re capable. But Combat isn’t for-“
“Don’t finish that sentence if you value your life.” Venka jabbed a finger into Nezha’s shoulder. “Actually, no. You’re a suicidal fucker sometimes. Just don’t.”
Venka didn’t mean to lash out at Nezha like that, but he was so infuriating right now. She felt guilt churn in her stomach — it was somewhat low of her to insult Nezha with the chronic pain he endured silently — but she squashed the apology before it left her mouth. To apologize was to surrender.
As if Nezha heard the apology anyways, he put his hand atop hers. “Venka-“
Did he even know how patronizing he sounded? “Look,” Venka spat. “I didn’t come here to keep my head down and be the sweet, quiet Sring bitch.”
“Don’t call yourself that,” Nezha said sharply.
“I’ll call myself whatever I want.” Venka flicked a blade of grass toward him. “Did you know that my parents bet on me? Father bet 200 silver that I’d run back home within three days. Mother, lovely as always, wagered three hours.”
“I’m sorry,” Nezha said softly.
Venka’s face contorted. She knew Nezha cared, but apologies were useless, empty words. “My parents want that sweet, quiet Sring bitch. They see me as some sort of porcelain doll lashing out for attention by being here. That’s all they think of me, they think this is some sort of phase they’re generously entertaining.”
They’re waiting for me to come back home broken, bruised, and battered, she thought. They’re waiting for me to come back home and cry that they were right, that they always know what’s best. Then they’ll dress me up and ship me to the nearest bachelor with promising value to them. To anyone who can strike a deal with a greater return. An investment, with me as their collateral.
That’s the reason her parents made her take martial arts and Classics lessons alongside etiquette ones from the moment she could walk — not to train her for military school, but to increase her value as a bride to any potential client of theirs, any noteworthy suitor with copious amounts of silver.
Nezha smoothed the creases between Venka’s eyebrows with his thumb. “You’re more than that, I know. I know you can do it. I just worry, and it’s not too late to change your mind. Combat is the most brutal track, and Jun is… well.” He shrugged. “He’s Jun.”
“I know you can do it,” she mimicked. “You’re such a horrible liar, Nezha.”
Nezha looked away and Venka followed his gaze, expecting to see a fellow student. But there was no one. Nezha was staring so intently on a single patch of grass that it wouldn’t surprise her if it suddenly combusted into flames.
Venka was upset, but she partially understood Nezha’s reluctance. Nezha was at Sinegard because it was his duty as a Warlord’s son. His presence at Sinegard was out of piety. Of course Nezha couldn’t understand, or even recognize, Venka’s desperation to flee hers.
Venka had kept her head down, excelled in her studies, and tactfully remained silent at home, which made her an exceptional child and an exceptional future wife. She had reached for Sinegard to reject that destiny.
Her parents hadn’t foreseen how diligent their daughter could be. Using the arsenal of weapons they equipped her with, Venka blackmailed her Classics instructor into training her for the Keju. She charmed the guards into sneaking her out on the day of the exam. She bribed the most desperate servants into hiding the signs of her late night studies, and used her feminine wiles to charm a Keju administrator into being recklessly loose-lipped about the exam content.
Venka had ruthlessly outplayed the Finance Minister’s gamble using his own coin.
She pursued Sinegard at such great lengths because her nightmare was not being forgotten, but being alternatively remembered as someone else’s daughter, someone else’s wife, someone else’s mother. She refused to let future roles define her present destiny. Venka was going to define herself on her own terms, and history would remember her name.
Of course Nezha, who would never be immortalized as someone else’s husband, whose birthright practically demanded his presence at Sinegard, could never understand her.
He interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t want to fight you at the Tournament,” Nezha said.
“Why, because I’ll kick your ass?”
“Because I promised to protect you.”
Without missing a beat, Venka responded, “And I called you a dumbass for it. If anyone needs protecting, it’s you. From my wrath, because sometimes you’re so dumb, I seriously contemplate pushing you off a cliff for the sake of world peace.”
Nezha’s expression didn’t lighten. He was still staring at the grass. A breeze swept by and the grass rustled, like it felt discomfort under his scrutiny. Venka waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello?”
He abruptly stood and offered her a hand. She took it cautiously. Venka noticed how much taller Nezha was getting, even though Sinegard meals were atrocious.
“I’m going to protect you, Venka,” he said slowly, as if he was trying to convince not just Venka but himself, too. “I’m always going to protect you. Since you’re so capable, you’re going to attract equally capable enemies. No matter how many times you push me off the Red Cliffs, I will always come back to you.”
Venka looked at Nezha incredulously, and then burst into laughter. “Enemies? Gods, this isn’t that serious. You always take things too fucking seriously. Are you drunk?”
Seeing Nezha’s frown deepen, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, okay,” said Venka. “Let’s promise each other this, then. You protect me, I protect you. Just like it’s always been, nothing new. What are you so worried about? Worry about yourself, loser.”
—————
(TW: sexual abuse, rape)
Even in a place like this, Venka could only hear her mother’s voice.
Stop crying, her mother would hiss when she was a child. Save your tears for when your husband dies.
Venka wondered if her parents would rather want her dead than walk out of this house alive as a permanent defect, a devalued daughter. Or if they would gloat that this was what happened to girls who didn’t know their place.
Her mother had believed that training to become a soldier would break her. But these men were breaking her at every angle, at every curve and ridge and crevice they could lay their hands on because she was a woman.
Venka was going to die here, forgotten and mutilated beyond recognition, indistinguishable from the other women around her, equals in dispensability. The weight of that realization overwhelmed her, along with the endless pain.
Any time she was coddled like a helpless porcelain doll, Venka had reminded herself that broken porcelain shards were sharp enough to draw blood. But as she kicked and screamed and bit and thrashed, Venka laughed at herself for once believing that the monsters in front of her were human enough to bleed crimson.
—————
[“Here’s a thought experiment.” Venka waved her hands in a small arc like a rainbow. “Imagine some alternate world where this war hadn’t happened. The Federation never invaded. No, scratch that, the Federation doesn’t even exist. Where are you?”]
Last night, Venka didn’t know the answer to her own question.
Kitay would be at Yuelu, Nezha would be with Rin at the shipyard, Rin would be on the battlefield.
Venka didn’t know where she wanted to be, but she knew what she wanted. She wanted her wrists back. She wanted to taste sugar again. She didn’t want to be pitied.
Being a master didn’t seem so bad, either. Venka wanted to be a general, but not forever because war was not art, contrary to Sunzi’s teachings. Art was beautiful, even in devastation and ruin. But there was nothing beautiful about war.
As she stood tall on the sampan, deliberately misfiring arrows, Venka’s eyes stung with tears. She knew where she wanted to be. If this war hadn’t existed, Venka would live in a world where Nezha could never possibly be on the other side. A world where Nezha was not a betrayer and her enemy.
Nezha, the frustrating general who was reluctant to hand her a crossbow, but also the endearing boy who stayed up late at night, sharpening her arrows and keeping her company up on the ship deck. Because sometimes, the walls collapsed in on her, choking her with the sensation of phantom hands restraining her. The expanse of the skies reminded her that she escaped that house — that she won — even though it didn’t feel that way.
He never questioned why she found solace under the night sky, and Venka had never questioned how Nezha always found her, or why he never seemed to sleep. Maybe she should have.
Nezha, the brother who never truly understood her but always tried. Nezha, the only person she would wholeheartedly take an arrow for.
—— [“He’s letting us go,” said Kitay. “Hasn’t even sounded the alarm.”]
(I’m always going to protect you.) — Nezha, who was now her target. And once they left this channel, she would be his.
——— [“You think he’s on our side?” Venka asked.]
(Since you’re so capable, you’re going to attract equally capable enemies.) — Venka already knew the answer. Kitay was the strategist, but she was the schemer. She could decipher Nezha’s intentions from across the harbor. He wasn’t here to hop aboard, he was here to send them off. One last act of friendship, one final warning.
It doesn’t have to be this way, she pleaded. You have your doubts about the foreigners, I’ve seen it in your eyes. Those blue-eyed devils are simply biding their time, waiting to fuck us over.
Vaisra is wrong. The Republic can’t possibly win this war without Rin, and you don’t want her dead, either. I’ve seen that in your eyes, too. So come to reason, Nezha. We need you. I need you by my side.
———— [“He’s not,” Rin said flatly. “I know he’s not.”]
(No matter how many times you push me off the Red Cliffs, I will always come back to you.) — You were always such a horrible liar, Nezha. And you were always so dumb.
Venka shot her last arrow and pried her eyes away from Nezha’s figure. She had an escapade to steer and a war to fight.
She wasn’t sorry for leaving Nezha. He was such a coward, and Venka berated herself for thinking that he could be different.
—————
The first letter she had received with the Dragon seal, Venka left unopened after drowning the messenger in his own blood. That night, the Dragon heir himself paid her an unwarranted visit.
“We need to talk.”
Venka’s skin crawled at that voice. She never wanted to hear it again.
The war had changed everyone, chipping away at any vestige of softness until they were nothing but carved edges of who they once were. But somehow, Nezha still sounded like the brother she used to know, speaking with the same restrained cadence. Almost as if Nezha had trained his whole life for this war.
She couldn’t comprehend how he located her, let alone snuck into a magistrate’s manor. He was dressed as a common servant and, if it weren’t for his aristocratic speech and unnatural scars, Nezha could have decently passed as one.
Venka pursed her lips. The pale moonlight illuminated his lackluster hair, alarmingly pale skin, and dark eye bags that practically reached his chin. Nezha wasn’t just “ill” like the rumors speculated. He was dying.
“No, we don’t,” she said, curling her fingers around the dagger tucked inside her sleeve. She needed to anchor herself. This was not her brother Nezha, this was the Republic’s Young Marshal. “Goodbye.”
Venka hated how her voice shook. She couldn’t tell if it was from rage, fear, or uncertainty.
“Please,” Nezha said softly. “Venka, you’re on the wrong side. At this rate, Rin is going to burn the entire nation to the ground.” He paused. “I’m sorry I made you leave. I should have told you-“
Venka cut sharply, “Even if you told me, I would have still left.”
“I should have told you,” he continued without pause. “But it’s not too late. If you come back and swear your allegiance to the Republic again, I can guarantee your safety.”
“Is that what’s important right now?” Venka scoffed. “Worry about your own ass, Nezha. I’m not on the wrong side, you are.”
Nezha blanched. “You cannot be serious right now.”
“Which side tolerates the Mugenese and serves foreigners over Nikara, again?”
“That’s not the point,” muttered Nezha.
“But that’s exactly the point,” Venka hissed. “Your damn Republic won’t bat an eye at the pillaging, looting, and raping that the Mugenese did and the Hesperians plan on doing, but Rin burning a few buildings is the hill you choose to die on?”
“She’s not ‘burning a few buildings,’ she’s committing mass slaughter. You can’t build a nation by killing everyone.”
“But you’re not building a nation, either,” said Venka. “You’re selling one.”
Nezha sighed. “Accepting foreign aid,” he said slowly, as if he were addressing a stubborn child, “is not the same as selling the nation.”
Venka scowled. “And you,” she said, matching his patronizing tone, “are their dog, grooming a slave colony in exchange for silver, canons, and floating lights.”
How could Nezha be complicit in allowing Hesperians to infiltrate Nikan? They were worse than the Mugenese, strutting along the streets like they were entitled to everything, like they were entitled to an entire land that was not their own. They had the audacity to occupy foreign land and demand obedience and deference from their hosts.
“I won’t deny that they’re the true enemy,” Nezha said. “But to stand a chance against them, we need their technology and a unified front. I can’t do that with Rin burning all her bridges. If only you can get her to compromise-“
“Oh,” Venka quipped loudly. “So now you want to sell Rin, too?”
“Would you just let me finish? Rin could keep her South if she-“
“If you think keeping the South is what Rin’s after,” Venka drawled, “you’re mistaken as usual. She’s the only person who has the guts to finally free Nikan. If you weren’t such a coward, you’d understand that whatever Rin is doing is infinitely better than your Republic.”
Nezha’s face darkened. “I think we’ve reached the extent of this conversation,” he said, in a voice much deeper and crueler than previously. There he was, the Young Marshal. “I’m afraid I can’t guarantee the Republic’s mercy when you lose.”
“Good, because I don’t need your fucking mercy.” Venka smiled. “But I can guarantee that the next time you see me, you’ll be on your knees, begging for mine.”
—————
He was on his knees, cradling her urn. I’m sorry, Nezha cried. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.