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The castle is not empty. Chihiro was told it would be, but in retrospect, it’s a stupid idea--whatever Chihiro was told to bring back is a living, breathing person.
(Not for long, Chihiro reminds himself. Not for long.)
The Cargo stands across from him, turned towards the mirrors and glass. When he faces Chihiro, he’s wearing a robe draped with red and gold, letting only a bit of pale skin at his neck and collarbones escape the fabric. Chihiro thinks he looks like fire, hair and eyes a burst of flame against white skin.
He’s standing among the remnants of a throne, swept by a veil of smoke, painted with ash-black patterns on his face--Chihiro looks into the gold of his left eye.
Chihiro notices the blade hidden in his hands next.
.
.
The ride to Chihiro’s kingdom is a quiet one. He’s got the two shattered pieces of a blade in the pack strapped to the back of his horse, and one sharp cut from the top of his cheekbone to the side of his nose to prove what it took getting it. He’s damn sure an oracle shouldn’t be good with a sword in the first place, but it’s a shame Chihiro’s better.
“I thought oracles weren’t supposed to fight,” Chihiro says, pulls the reins until the horse slows to a canter.
Voice muffled against Chihiro’s back, the boy says, “I am a prince.”
Chihiro doesn’t bother stopping himself from laughing. “Not anymore.”
.
.
They stop and set up camp around a day’s journey away from Chihiro’s kingdom. There’s a promise of rain in the air, and the sky swells with it. Chihiro wonders when it’ll burst.
The oracle boy-prince--Seijuro--sits around the bones of a fire, hands folded in his lap. Damn proper.
Chihiro slides his sword out of its sheathe, throws a hunk of meat to Seijuro where it lands by his feet.
“Eat up, prince,” Chihiro says, bowing his head. The look Seijuro gives him speaks for itself. “You’re going to die,” He stretches out against the blanket roll he’s set up, and almost laughs because there isn’t a point. He has to make sure no one attacks, or worse, escapes.
Ropes tie Seijuro’s arms together, and he’s smart enough not to struggle against them. Chihiro will have no problem defeating him either way, but it’s something neither of them want to deal with.
Seijuro tilts his chin up, still looking every bit a prince with rope around his hands. Chihiro wants to laugh, wants to see him break.
“That isn’t what the future tells me.”
“Yeah? What’s it tell you?”
The gold eye is much brighter in the gloom, and Seijuro doesn’t answer.
Chihiro tightens the ropes.
.
.
They arrive at night.
Chihiro glances at the palace high in the center of the city and says,”That’s where you’ll be staying. Fit for a prince, yeah?
Water streams through the sides of the streets, and Chihiro’s horse strains against the reins. Seijuro doesn’t look at him from underneath his hood.
“Or a beast.”
Chihiro stares at him for a long moment. “Touché.”
.
.
The rulers are pleased, and reward Chihiro with the honour (the duty) of watching Seijuro.
He’s kept in the highest part of the palace, surrounded by gilded windows. Curtains keep them closed.
Seijuro’s pulling on the gold thread at the bottom of one of them when Chihiro walks in.
Seijuro speaks first. “They keep me like a bird,” he says, twisting the string so hard it snaps. Rope-burns are red on his wrists, a lick of flame against skin. “A pet.”
Chihiro sits down. There isn’t a hint of colour in the room, aside from the curtains and the boy in front of them. Sometimes, Chihiro forgets he’s human. It’s easier. “That’s not right. They’d let pets live after they’re through with them.”
Seijuro hums. “Would they let a general?”
.
.
“Probably not,” Chihiro tells him later.
.
.
Seijuro’s eating, at least, but Chihiro knows it’s to live, not to cooperate. The ink on his face has smeared. Before Chihiro can stop himself, he leans over and wipes all of it off. Seijuro presses a hand to his cheek, and Chihiro wonders if it’s to wipe him away.
“Do you hate me?” Chihiro says, not expecting an answer.
The room is so much colder with the windows shut. Seijuro draws in the fog on the glass. “Should I?”
.
.
“What do you see?” Chihiro says again.
He’s restless from days of just sitting inside (it isn’t easy to adjust from battlefields to closed doors), and he has no idea how Seijuro manages. When he thinks about it, he supposes Seijuro doesn’t.
Seijuro doesn’t answer, and he tells him: “They’ll kill you if you don’t answer. That’s why you’re here.” An ugly feeling itches, pulls--
“They won’t,” says Seijuro, looking him in the eye, challenging him. “They won’t.”
.
.
He’s right.
.
.
They pull him into the war room.
Chihiro says, “He told me the horizons are dark.” and prays they can’t tell he’s lying. It’s hard to climb the army’s ranks without being a good liar, but the ones at the head of the throne are better. He sees a map on one of tables, a promise of war.
“Did he tell you anything else?”
Chihiro digs his nails into the flesh of his palm. “No.”
The king’s next words are a goodbye as much as they are a threat. “Find out.”
.
.
He opens the door, and Seijuro shoves himself away from the windows, curtains falling back into place. For once, he’s standing, and Chihiro’s sure there’s more to it than just looking out a window, but he doesn’t press. The light forcing its way in is slow, and Chihiro sees a bird flying between the walls.
“A bird,” Chihiro says, waits for Seijuro to explain.
He does. “I opened the window. It flew in.”
Chihiro’s certain there’s something wrong (or at least there should be) about the fact that he can open the window in the first place, but he can’t bring himself to care. “It didn’t try to leave?”
Seijuro gestures to the open space past the curtain. “It won’t go.”
It’s not enough, but it’s enough for Chihiro to know that isn’t why the window is open.
.
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Chihiro takes him for a walk, says it’s the kings orders.
(It isn’t.)
In the back of the palace, there are pools of mirror-clear water surrounded by fruit trees. Flower petals skim the surface and, kneeling down, Seijuro picks one up.
He’s looking around like anyone with half a mind would; assessing the boundaries, wondering if the fences are high enough to jump, or if the guard at night will be especially hard to knock out. He’s planning his escape as much as he is dangling its prospect in front of Chihiro, testing the waters.
“It reminds me of home,” Seijuro says, and kneels back down to trace circles into the surface. Chihiro watches as the ripples are birthed and killed. “We had a very large pool like this in the center of town.” He scoops more petals into his cupped hands, only to have the water reclaim them.
“Do you miss it?”
Chihiro catches the way he stills, and guilt makes him do the same. They both know he has nothing to return to.
“Very much so.”
.
.
One of the other guards asks Chihiro why he wasn’t at his post, but that’s all they do--ask. He’s still a general, anyway, and even if the king takes that, there’s always the ability to kill.
Chihiro tells them he was only following orders, and wonders how many lies he’ll have to pay for later.
.
.
He wonders what their price will be, too.
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Seijuro’s robe is off his shoulder when Chihiro visits, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. Chihiro’s never seen anyone look so lonely, just sitting by the windows with that one gold eye. The bird on his finger flees when Chihiro approaches. The dark makes the window pathetic by comparison, and Chihiro lights a lantern. Shadows leap across Seijuro, shying away from the gold on his face.
(If Seijuro knows, he does not say.)
“What do you see?” Chihiro says again, sits beside him. The armour is so heavy it makes it hard to breathe.
“You’re going to die,” Seijuro tells him, answering for perhaps the first time since they’ve met.
Chihiro laughs. “I don’t need to be an oracle to know that.”
He doesn’t lock Seijuro’s door that night.
.
.
Chihiro visits him again before the sun rises.
Seijuro is awake, as they both knew he would be. When Chihiro drapes the cloak around his shoulders and pulls the hood up, Seijuro doesn’t speak, only stares. Chihiro doesn’t know if he’s sad or piteous, and honestly, he doesn’t--can’t--care. The horse he pulls along knickers, and Chihiro feeds it an apple.
They manage to reach the city’s edges unnoticed. Chihiro helps Seijuro onto the horse, gestures to the packs strapped behind him.
“Food, and necessary supplies. A sword, too, only ‘cause I know you can use it.” He pats the sword at his hip. “I need this one, though.” When Seijuro doesn’t speak, he continues: “The horse will take you to a city about two days away. Just trust her.”
Part of him wonders why. The rest of him knows it doesn’t matter.
His hand lingers on Seijuro’s hip, and it’s his turn to stare. “You’re very foolish.”
Chihiro smiles. “You’re telling me.”
Seijuro kisses him only once. He tastes like smoke.
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Alone in Seijuro’s room, Chihiro opens the window, and watches the bird fly out.
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When three sharp raps on the door come that Chihiro knows would, he puts a hand to his blade, closes his eyes, and counts down.