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The little twig floating next to Naesala’s leg looked like her father, and was even dressed in a matching black suit like her father, but these things could hardly hide what the girl was when it was white wings, broader and grander than she was tall, that kept her aloft. Her father obviously agreed; after Tobias happened to glance up at them, one of his own black wings swept out and around her, casting her small face and white feathers into shadow. 

Tobias smiled. It was a tight, knowing thing that pulled awkwardly at his face, but it at least broke the dull solemnity of his report. 

“What am I,” he murmured to himself while turning over to the next page, clearly meaning to keep the words private, “A scarecrow?”  

Sanaki studied him from the raised throne. No, Tobias would have made for a useless scarecrow, she thought, with the small mine’s worth of gems that glittered on his fingers, lapel and around his neck.

Ah, well. Tobias was hardly the worst of them. Not by a long stretch. 

“Can you blame them?” she still said, pointedly. His predecessor had not been the worst of them either, after all, and he had contented himself with that knowledge far too easily.

Tobias hid his face beneath the brim of his grandfather’s senatorial cap by quickly bowing his head over the report. It couldn’t hide the blotches of rash-like pink that blossomed under his starched collar. 

“Yes. Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. I misspoke.” 

He made no more reference to the pair hovering in the rafters for the remainder of his report on whichever ruffians were skirmishing on Asmin’s shores now. Even so, her own mind kept circling back up to them and the strange show of faith on Naesala’s part that he’d bring along his daughter. Asmin was constantly dealing with piracy, after all, while Naesala barely ever brought his children along on diplomatic missions. Even rarer than that was the sight of his heron child.

“I give you leave to deal with the issue as you will,” she said after the report was done and her wise imperial counsel was requested in a formulaic, awkward manner, “So long as it is only the pirates you target.” 

Tobias bowed. “It shall be done.” 

“And I will find out if there are any civilian casualties, or breaking of Imperial law.”

Tobias paused before rising from his bow. 

“As you say, Your Majesty.” 

His voice was newly curt, but she fancied that she knew him well enough to guess it was from injured pride rather than being caught out. He turned to go, candlelight glittering back iridescently from the beetle-wings sewn onto his blue sash and cloak, cloak of office swirling, ever-present staff at his belt swinging. He left a wide berth between himself and the small Bird Tribe delegation as he went. 

Was it consideration for Naesala’s hesitance to let senators linger near his children, she wondered, or had it more to do with not wanting to be under any suspicion if one of his fellow senators caused an incident? She suspected the latter, given how his pace quickened when the nestling poked her nose out of Naesala’s dark shadow and regarded him with beady, curious eyes. Even if he wasn’t the slickest of politicians, he wasn’t stupid either, and the man knew the history between Begnion and the herons far better than the rest of the new batch of politicians in Sienne.

When he was gone, she looked up and allowed a smirk to melt away the implacable serenity demanded of her in front of such novices to Begnion’s political heart. 

“It’s safe to come down, ambassador,” she said. 

Naesala duly swept down into the newly vacant space before the Apostle’s throne with his usual smooth insouciance. The girl followed behind, a slender, monochrome feather drifting down in his current. 

“Your Imperial Majesty,” said Naesala, pulling her attention back from the girl as he swept into a jaunty bow. “I’d heard you were redecorating, but I didn’t know you’d made the place into a farm. The goddess will be shocked when she finally decides to make an appearance again.” 

She gestured for him to rise; as he did, the dark feathers of his wings rippled. 

“Not all of us can sing fertility back into the world, so we must make do with the land we have available. I’ve no doubt you were able to eavesdrop quite competently even through your terror: I trust there are no objections to letting young Asmin deal with his duchy’s issues from the Bird Tribe?” 

“You seem to be implying something. I’m almost offended. Almost.” The weight of history dragged the word down a few notes. Even so, he swept his hair back in his careless, reflexively arrogant way. “But if pirates are harassing his shores, they’re hardly endorsed by the Bird Tribe, so the poor fools naturally fall under Begnion’s justice. Though I’m sure you know that already.” 

Sanaki’s mouth twitched in amusement. 

“My deepest apologies if I’ve offended you, Ambassador. Nobody would ever associate the Bird Tribes with piracy.” 

Naesala snorted, and looked down at his nestling, who had been looking around at everything around her with unabashed interest since their arrival. 

“Listen closely, Lalia,” he said in the modern tongue before switching to that lilting, ancient tongue that Sanaki usually only heard in the practise ring. It sounded far harsher when it came from his throat than from his heron in-laws. “That’s what they call a trick apology. Her Majesty is a master of etiquette; you could learn a thing or two from her.”

“I hope you weren’t insulting me,” said Sanaki, dryly. “You do remember that I speak the ancient tongue, don’t you? Or has it been too long since we were on the battlefield together?” 

Surprisingly, the girl was the one to speak in her father’s place. She darted out from beneath her father’s wing, and curtsied, deep and with a certain vigour more reminiscent of her father and Spokeswoman Vika than of her mother and other relations. She turned her face upwards, the picture of perfect contrition. 

“Our apologies if Papa offended you, Empress.” 

It was pitched perfectly: a fine blend of sorrow, apology and ‘well, but you see, you can’t take offence to us now that we’ve said sorry’ all in one. Sanaki couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What a heartfelt plea. My heart is moved. But, may I ask who this promising young talent is? She looks very small to be your aide.” 

“Oh, if she were my aide, I’d have gotten rid of her long before now. She causes far more work for me with her cheek.” Naesala patted the dark head at his side. The gesture loosened the girl’s contrite face into a smirk that was adorably—though she had no doubt others would have called it ‘unfortunately’—the spitting image of her father’s. “You’ve not met before, have you? Allow me to introduce my daughter: Princess Eulalia of Serenes. Lalia, Empress Sanaki of Begnion. The former Apostle, though she rejects that title nowadays.”

“Says the man who disdains the title of King even more passionately.” 

Naesala shrugged, smiling. “You have me there.” 

The little princess curtsied again. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. Papa only mentioned your old title because I’m missing my usual lessons back home. Please don’t be offended.” 

“Goodness, you must think I’m the sensitive sort, to be apologising twice before we’ve even exchanged greetings. Well met, Your Highness. Your brother has only ever said good things; I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.” She looked back to Naesala. “Speaking of which, I’m surprised you didn’t bring him along this time too. If you find your usual quarters too small for three, we could have just moved you elsewhere.” 

“I’ll have to tell him you remembered him. He was sulking when we left, but this one begged me to bring her with me, so he has no choice but to suffer all those singing lessons he keeps avoiding.” He laughed. “He insists that he croaks terribly next to everybody else, though I can’t tell the difference, musically-challenged as I am.” 

‘And I refuse to bring both of them at once in case some Senator makes a grab for my daughter or forces my son into a blood oath.’ 

It was fairly obvious what he wasn’t saying when he was clearly mocking himself internally, mouth twisting into a sour smile full of self-inflicted disdain. She enjoyed the chance to spar verbally a little with Naesala—few other dignitaries had the courage, wit or personal history that allowed them to snipe back comfortably—but she disliked kicking sore spots and the soft one of her own that she had for the erstwhile king of ravens had endured too many years for her to take a jab at it front of his own child.

“Well, I’m hardly the greatest of singers myself, though I don’t know how much of a comfort that will be to him.” They shared a small round of self-deprecating laughter before Sanaki turned her attention to his daughter, whose jade eyes had been flitting between them brightly. “I hope you don’t miss your lessons too much. We do have libraries here, if you don’t wish to fall behind.” 

Maybe it was Sanaki’s imagination that the girl’s eyes sharpened, but she was the pinnacle of modest courtesy when she answered. 

“I think I can learn more just by being here than I ever could back home, Your Majesty.” 

“I see. I’m glad to hear it. Speaking of the forest, how is everybody? I’ve heard rumours that Nealuchi has taken ill. I hope they’re not true.”  

Sharp-eyed or not, the little heron’s expression shifted into a frown as she looked up at her father, whose mouth had itself drooped at the subject.

“You’re not wrong. They’re trying to pin down a cause as we speak. Leanne and Lord Lorazieh are spending all the time with him that they can. Prince Rafiel has even set out from Hatari to sing his galdr for him again.” His eyes narrowed in bitter amusement. “It pays to be well-liked, who’d have thought?”

“I see. I’d offer our assistance, but I doubt it would be necessary compared to the combined efforts of the royal family.” 

Naesala’s smirk returned, though rather lopsided. “You should know by now that I’m not proud. I’ll let them know it’s there if needed. Still, I’m here for Bird Tribe business, not personal matters.”  

The mood had turned sombre with the reminder of Nealuchi’s strange illness, but she still eagerly took the chance to exchange a few other quips, news, and greetings to and from King Tibarn before sending him off to his usual quarters in the east tower—the highest rooms available, naturally—before attending to more boring duties. Princess Eulalia had turned around to look at her at least three times before her father tugged her out of the reception hall. 

Such a curious little thing. Upon hearing the second round of good tidings from Serenes, quite a few years ago now, Sanaki had always presumed that Naesala’s heron child would be a gentle creature. Maybe the basis of that presumption had been flawed, though. The White Prince himself was as bold and fearless as any hawk and the girl’s mother was said to be quite sharp-tongued in her own right. Really, the princess’ raven brother had proven to be more of a quiet soul the few times he’d come with his father to Sienne. 

Yes. There were few gentle herons left in the world, and perhaps that was for good reason. 

She took the opportunity to have a look out the window while she reflected on that bleak thought, and was startled to realise that night had fallen. 

“What time is it?” 

“Late,” said Tanith. 

Indeed it was. Night had not only fallen over Sienne, but over the little princess’ first fine view across the city where decades of her family’s heartbreak and loss had first sprouted.

Sanaki wondered what the girl’s impressions of Begnion’s heart were. She took in the round domes and jagged spires that were still visible even now, large black shadows lit from behind by a full moon. Did she find the sterile white-filigree towers and endless columns holding the upper layers of the city above the rest austere and imposing compared to her woodland home, or did she find them beautiful? Ugly? 

Her first impressions would naturally be tempered by the history she’d learned at her family’s knee, of course. The day would doubtless come when herons might fly across the Sienne skyline without thoughts of what had happened to their relatives foremost in their minds, but she was under no illusion that she would live to see it. Her sister, far in the north with all her long and branded lifespan yet to live, might not even see it. Perhaps even Princess Eulalia, however long she had, would not. 

And yet, perhaps, her children might, or theirs, or theirs. 

“Ha.” 

“Lady Sanaki?” 

“My thoughts are turning to the mawkish. Time for bed, I think.” 

She rose, taking a moment to stretch out her stiff arms and smile at Tanith. Before she could get a smile back, however, Tanith swirled around sharply and stepped between her liege and the door, hand to the hilt of her sword. 

“Who goes there?” 

When Sanaki didn’t hear the distinct hum of the sonic sword that Tanith was fond of carrying around, nor a report on the situation other than an “ah, Lady Sanaki, it’s the…”, she stepped around to get a better look, with more curiosity than trepidation. Time had not dampened Tanith’s fierceness; she was just as fond of frightening senators and diplomats who thought they could get an audience with Sanaki by ambush as she had been from the start. Anything that could get Tanith to sound flustered, therefore, was bound to be harmless. 

She was just in time to catch a glimpse of Princess Eulalia fluttering up to the ceiling in alarm, clearly having failed to prepare an exit strategy, and battering right into the ancient stone arch. 

“Ouch!” 

Sanaki’s face moved up to witness the collision, then down as she sank towards the floor, shamefaced. Whether she was more embarrassed about being caught or her escape having been cut short by the existence of ceilings wasn’t clear. 

Tanith cleared her throat. “Are you lost, Your Highness? The guest chambers are in the east tower.” 

“Oh. Oh! Sorry,” the girl said. “Papa was called to a meeting, so I was just exploring.” 

“Were you indeed?” 

Sanaki somehow doubted that she’d been given permission to do so. The princess was a cute child, but there was a sly spark in the depths of those bright eyes that she’d inherited from her mother. A girl with eyes like that, Sanaki suspected—having possessed much the same knack for deviousness in her own youth, though circumstances had dictated she use them for higher-stakes gambits than simple childhood mischief—had prepared that excuse long in advance.

Tanith seemed taken in, however. With a sigh, she removed her hand from the sword’s hilt so as to not frighten her any further and tempered her voice into something kinder, more understanding, and only a little awkward.

“Well, even if you got lost, this is Her Majesty’s private study. I recommend you come no further.” 

The princess took a moment to realise she was being reprimanded, entranced by the sword and clearly mouthing ‘a windblade!’ under her breath before looking back up. “Oh. Yes, I’m sorry.” 

Tanith nodded, and then her eyes fell on the new member of the guard at the door, the second-youngest member of the Holy Guard. She had a nervous look about her that intensified as her direct superior cast a glance over her.

“Caelane,” she said. 

The nervous expression became petrified, eyes big; her salute whipped up to her chest far too fast.

“Y-yes, Lady Tanith!” 

“Take Her Highness back to her quarters and then report to my—” 

Sanaki held out her hand, stopping Tanith in her tracks. 

She really should send someone to tell Naesala where his daughter was before he returned to an empty room and caused a diplomatic incident by shaking down every Senator in flight range in case they’d stuffed her into their voluminous pockets. 

However, the girl had an intelligent air about her that had successfully aroused Sanaki’s curiosity, however. Besides, Naesala consistently shot down any attempts Sanaki made to even begin to make up for the damage the Blood Contracts had done to the former Kilvas and his predecessors. Even if she had broken protocol, the little one’s family had earned a little leeway.

She gestured for the girl to rise. She did, ascending up to hover in the air before her and curtsied in mid-air. An amusing sight, but Sanaki held back a laugh. 

“Was there something you wish to ask of me, little princess?” 

The girl hesitated, eyes flicking down to Cymbeline on the desk before she pulled them up and at Sanaki’s face. 

“You’re interested in my spellbook?” 

It seemed that she’d hit the mark. Princess Eulalia brightened. 

“Yes! Beorc mages aren’t allowed their tomes in the forest and Papa’s never let me near a beorc mage outside before. I’ve only ever seen yellow talismans up close. It lets you summon fire, doesn’t it? Beast laguz are afraid of fire, and you command pegasus and wyvern knights which can chase us through the air. Do you have anything to hunt dragon laguz with?” 

Sanaki had always been more amused than offended by brazen questions. Caelane, however, looked astounded at such a politically flammable question, enough that she seemed to forget the scolding she was bound to get later. Even Tanith’s back was stiffer as she cleared her throat and responded in Sanaki’s place: 

“That’s not exactly appropriate to be asking.” 

Sanaki raised her hand once again, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. “It’s all right, Tanith. After all, she’s not wrong. Begnion’s forces have evolved to be able to combat the strengths of other nations. I’d think that’s true of all nations.” 

“I see,” said Eulalia.

“There is a peace treaty between Begnion and the laguz nations, if you’re worried.” 

“Oh, no, that’s not it.” 

“Then, what is it?” 

“Cymbeline is written in the ancient tongue, isn’t it? I was curious what exactly was written in it.”

Tanith seemed to have given up on telling her what was and wasn’t appropriate, but she still made a displeased noise. 

“Written inside?” 

Sanaki turned once more and cast a glance over the imperial tome. She found her feet moving back closer to it, in fact, brushing a hand over the ancient carmine buckram, the slight roughness to the touch. 

Most who trained with magic inevitably became curious about what exact words they were speaking, why those words produced the results that they did. Still, it was a very curious question to receive from a laguz, especially one who was born to her own wellspring of internal magic. 

“Why are you so interested in beorc magic?” 

Princess Eulalia’s pout didn’t diminish her cute face; in fact, it almost enhanced it. 

“I’ve been trying to figure out those talismans stockpiled back at home. They even sing to me, sometimes, about how things used to be in the forest. But they turn to ashes so quickly, if there’s even the slightest breeze. Uncle Reyson told me off for wasting our inventory too.”

Sanaki had a feeling that she used that pout quite a lot in her daily life back in Serenes if she had the habit of wasting defensive supplies. Even so, she couldn’t quite put all the pieces together. 

“Why concern yourself with defensive talismans at all? You have magic of your own, do you not?”

“Not like the dragons . Even if I can use seidr magic, it’s useless when it comes to defending myself.” 

Useless , indeed. While she wasn't ungrateful that the newest little hellraiser of the heron clan seemed to be unaware of the destructive seidr that her uncle had almost wreaked on the beorc populations of her country, it was still fascinating to see what people took for granted when they were born to them.

“In the world where you didn’t have it—” 

“I’d be complaining that I was an ‘untrustworthy crow’ who can’t sing instead?” 

Eulalia tilted her head as she spoke. It was a quick, sharp gesture and there was a little sour note in her voice.

Hm. 

“I don’t think your father would approve of you speaking in that way.”

“My father thinks this way all the time. And so do other people.” She said it casually, though not without some bite, some resentment that had clearly had time to sprout in her conscience. “Anyway, I learned the ancient language from birth, so I’d be very advanced already if I figured out how to use beorc magic.”

Sanaki had to pause for a long moment. 

“You want to learn how to use beorc magic?” 

She would have been more offended at magic being considered an easy route to power if it wasn’t such an outlandish idea overall. She’d never heard of a laguz using beorc magic. She hadn’t really considered it at all, let alone whether there was a taboo in place. 

Then again, the reaction to the Branded had been one of those instinctual things too, and look how things had advanced after only a few years and an attempt to purge the continent of its foolish, bellicose inhabitants. 

And… 

Princess Eulalia was staring at her with those familiar green eyes. Sanaki waved her hand, much more tired than she had been a few moments ago. 

“You’d be better off discussing these feelings with your uncle. He always did have a less pacifistic bent than the rest of your family; I’m sure he could commiserate.” She then thought better of her own words. “Though perhaps I don’t have the right to be joking about it, given what drove him to possess such a vengeful streak. Even so, I suggest you talk to him about how a heron can safely begin martial training rather than a stranger.” 

“A stranger?” said the girl, with surprise. Feigned surprise, Sanaki was sure. “Everyone talks of you highly, and you’re closer to Father than any other beorc who’s visited us. The others were polite and smiled well and good at us, but I can tell they don’t like him as much as you do. He likes you, Old Nealuchi likes you, and Lehran speaks higher of you than any other in the world. Why shouldn’t I talk to you about this?”

Tanith drew herself up upon hearing that name, and even Caelane, who hadn’t even been conceived the day when the Tower glowed as golden as the sun, sucked in a breath. There was a long moment of silence before Sanaki’s fingers finally drew back from Cymbeline.

“Little princess.” 

Eulalia cocked her head. 

“If I might give some advice, it is not always wise to try and use the thoughts of others against them. It might make those less patient than I angry, in the future.” 

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, her face turning white as her wings. 

“Urk! S-sorry. I was just… don’t think it reflects on the Tribe, it was all me, so…”  

She’d gone into a flutter after being prodded, clearly only just realising the trouble she might bring down on her head by indulging her clever ideas. 

Well, a miracle child heralding the new generation of a tribe that beorc had attempted to eradicate or enslave was not so very different from the miraculous return of a presumed-dead princess; and Princess Leanne had blithely been the terror of any camp she set wing in, forever staring right into the souls of others and blithely asking about their deepest fears and sorrows with the aim of soothing them. Her daughter had probably been allowed to get away with many the clever idea in the past. 

Besides, she doubted that Naesala would have discouraged her from developing her ability to spy on the true intentions of those in foreign lands. 

Ah, well. Sanaki was used to humouring those with rough manners.

“It’s only a word of advice. I’m not offended. Fralda.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty?” 

“If you could take Her Highness back to her quarters before her father decides to level the capital looking for her? I’d rather speak on this at a more reasonable hour.” 

“Ah, yes! Right away, Lady Sanaki!” 

Caelane saluted, quickly and a bit clumsily—though at least she didn’t stumble away from ‘Apostle Sanaki’ like many of her seniors still did—and grabbed Princess Eulalia’s arm. The girl squawked as she was tugged along. An irate ‘who do you think—!’ was the last Sanaki heard from her before they rounded the corner. 

Tanith made a clucking sound with her mouth. 

“Even if she is a royal, she’s very forward,” she said.

True. It was surprising that Naesala hadn’t warned her to tone it down. Maybe he had and she just hadn’t listened.  

“What do you make of her?” 

“Well…” Tanith made a small noise of contemplation. “It’s rather strange to see one of the herons so adamant to learn about beorc weaponry, but I was proved wrong on matters such as this once before. Perhaps she has taken after her uncle, as you said. Though he didn’t fight, that didn’t mean he was incapable on the battlefield.” 

“Yes,” said Sanaki. 

She wandered back to the desk, drumming her fingers before picking up Cymbeline and letting it fall open in her hand. 

Her eyes scanned over the pages for a few moments longer before she closed the spellbook with one hand, securing it back on her belt. “Well, it’s not as though she’s wrong. The language that the herons speak among themselves may have fallen out of use in the vernacular, but it’s still what’s used for spellcraft. She would have an advantage, if she could…”  

Her fingers ceased to tap against Cymbeline’s cover.  

“Lady Sanaki?” asked Tanith.

“Send a message along to Tormod, will you?” she said. “I don’t see why she shouldn’t get to try, at least.”

⊱-❀-⊰

Despite the cold, Caelane and a number of the younger pegasus knights were gathered to watch at the edge of the training courtyard, bristling with curiosity and chattering quietly among themselves. Sigrun kept having to go down and chase them back to their regular duties; instead of a commander instructing her subordinates, it reminded Sanaki rather more of pedestrians scattering the pigeons that were forever strutting around Sienne’s grand piazzas. Even a few senators and other officials had wandered by, trying to look nonchalant while leaning over the balcony to peer down at the gathering on their way to the council session. Some seemed intrigued while others—including Tobias, who had raced by the moment he realised what the commotion was about—were clearly perturbed.

Sanaki had to be at that council session herself soon, but she wasn’t immune to curiosity either. 

“I said she could try and learn how to use one since she kept asking,” Naesala had said after his daughter had been deposited back in their chambers and his feathers had been successfully unruffled. She eyed the pair of them now, at the other side of the courtyard, where they were playing some sort of game of which Sanaki had been trying and failing to figure out the rules for a good ten minutes now. The little princess would flutter into the air and fall down onto the tips of her toes before launching herself up again, occasionally managing a pirouette, while her father stood, arms folded, nonchalantly, holding a hand up and pushing her to float back down whenever she reached a certain height. Their mouths opened and closed, though the distance between them was too far to make out their conversation. 

“I didn’t think she’d go and bother you about it. It’s fine, I’ll take the heat for it if anyone kicks up a fuss.” 

Such things would have been less of a concern if she’d gone to bother the White Prince or even King Tibarn about it. Both commanded respect in wider laguz society that any in attendance here—even and especially other former kings of the laguz—would never possess. There would be an outcry if rumour got around that Begnion was indoctrinating one of the few remaining heron royals in beorc ways. Tribesmen and Gallians would clutch at their fur and feathers like a senator might clutch at his jewels. 

She waved her hand nonchalantly when Sigrun, returning from her newest attempt to keep the lesson somewhat private, snowflakes camouflaged against her white hair and helm, raised an eyebrow at her smile.

“All right!” 

The cheerful voice cut through her contemplations. Below them, Tormod swept into the courtyard, red cloak fluttering dramatically and head held high, a superior smile on his face as he swept before the little winged princess. 

“You must be the pupil they were telling me about!” 

Princess Eulalia didn’t seem too taken aback, easily twirling back down and moving forward—walking, for once—in front of him. Her eyes were bright, and her hands landed on her hips to match the man in front of her. 

“So, you want to learn magic?”

“Yes! More than anything.” 

“Right, then! So, listen up. Magic isn’t like other weapons.” He let loose his arm in emphasis, sending his cloak licking out in the air like a red dragon’s wing. “Lose concentration, hesitate, or disrespect it, and it’ll hurt others. Even your friends might get seriously injured, or worse. You’ve gotta be careful.” 

He deposited the hand back on his hip. Striking a confident figure, he beamed at her. 

“That’s what my old mentor told me, and you need to keep it in mind. But you know what else? It’s also the coolest thing there is, and way more useful than swords or daggers. You can light a fire, put wind into sails, blow up any obstacle: you name it, you can do it. You can already read the ancient language, right?”

Eulalia nodded again, enthusiastically.

“You’re already well on your way, then. Half of magic training is just learning the old tongue anyway, so we can get started on the flashy stuff.” 

“Ha.” Up, out of their hearing, Sanaki shook her head with a smile. “She doesn’t know how lucky she is. I spent years being taught the old tongue before they even let me near a proper spellbook.”

“Tormod does.” 

Senator Muarim, from among the numbers of old emancipation army rebels turned officials who had shown up—rather a large number, understandably, especially the tigers and cats among them who didn’t have to wrap up against the heralding bite of snow—had turned his great head in her direction, clearly having listened in.

“It took a lot of convincing the others to let him practise, that it was better to have someone fighting for us who could use them. Even then, people didn’t get used to it for a long time.”

The years hadn’t quite rid Muarim of his quietness around her and other Begnion nobility—the winds of life were sharper for some more than others, the vicissitudes steeper, and even those with fur and claw could find themselves sliced through to the very bone. The subject of his ward always brought out a little more confidence in him, however, and he didn’t hide the paternal fondness when he spoke, nor the slight smile that quirked up the corners of his fanged mouth.

“What do the laguz think of all this, then?” she asked. “Do they approve? Disapprove?” 

Tormod himself had been raring to go after his initial surprise at being asked, but his dearest friend was more of a puzzle. He’d spent the morning helping Tormod construct the space for the lesson while Tormod complained good-naturedly of his creaking bones and the winter chill, but Muarim clearly didn’t share his enthusiasm. 

Muarim shook his head, however. 

“I have nothing against it. I just don’t like a young girl feeling she has to learn to fight, even after everything we’ve overcome. It gives me a bad feeling.” He shook his head, as though dislodging those unpleasant thoughts. His voice grew quieter and more conciliatory. “But a laguz asking to be taught how to use beorc weapons is a good sign for how things are improving between the younger generations. A laguz being taught, that’s even better. And if Tormod is teaching her, I’d say nobody has the right to get offended. He’s done more than anyone for the laguz.” 

“Not that you’re biased at all.” Still, she hoped he was right. “Do you think the laguz nations will be terribly offended?” 

It took longer for him to form an answer this time. 

“I… think they’ll be surprised,” he said. “Even I never thought about learning to use one, and I was in charge of maintaining them.” Idly, he poked at a small bag on his chest with one of his claws, not seeming to realise he was doing it. “I’ve never heard of anyone else trying either. Though it’s not as though it’s ever been impossible. Laguz from laguz nations… are a lot prouder than us in a lot of ways, though. Individuals sometimes came to join the fight and they always had to be talked into carrying weapons even when it was just as a disguise. I think that over there, it’s an insult to your claws if you have to use something else.” 

He looked at Vika for confirmation. She shrugged. “I’d have to ask mom…” 

“What do you want to use most?” Tormod asked, from below. “Fire, wind or—” 

“Wind!” 

The answer was instantaneous, causing a small ripple of laughter to pass through the sparse onlookers. 

Tormod looked surprised, then scratched his cheek thoughtfully and nodded. “Oh, right, sure. Makes sense, you flying around and all. You’ll have to be extra careful though. Wind magic is pretty dangerous to other bird laguz when you’re up in the air.” 

Naesala visibly did not react, even when a few glances were sent his way. He only smirked when Eulalia looked over at him, her wings fluttering in excitement. It was a warm thing compared to his usual haughty expressions, fond, as recognisably paternal as Muarim’s and encouraging; exactly the sort of thing a father overlooking his child’s first magic lesson would wear to ease their child’s nerves. 

Sanaki placed her bare hands on the frozen railing, with only a light grip. 

The steps followed the same procedure that Sanaki and a hundred thousand others over the years—decades, centuries—had followed. The book was placed in her hand, that she was following the correct pronunciation was checked, though Eulalia quibbled a few times on certain syllables that heron royalty apparently pronounced differently, and she was told to repeat the lines in front of her without impressing power into the words several times.

“All right, good to go! For magic like this, the power comes from your surroundings. You’ll be used to that already, you live in one of the most magical places there is.”

Eulalia nodded. 

“For fire, you concentrate on heat, for lightning, it’s pressure, but wind comes from air. You get it, you fly around in it all the time.”

Eulalia nodded, even more vigorously.

“If she nods any more, her head will come off.” 

“Lady Sanaki,” said Sigrun, with a gentle reprimand. 

“Oh—come now, I wasn’t making fun of her. I probably did the same.”

“Yes,” Sigrun said, serenely. “You complained about having a headache afterwards and had no idea why.”  

“I… hmph.”

“All right,” said Tormod. “Now, say the words, and pull in the energy as you do.” 

The girl straightened, her wings dancing around. She spoke the words clearly enough, if in a stilted, clearly nervous way; they carried easily through the still winter morning. A little cloud of air, like the breath of a patrolling soldier on the parapets of Castle Nox, puffed out from her palm. 

She jumped, and came back down weightlessly, with a sound of delight. The gust dissipated just as quickly as it had come. 

“She did it,” said Vika, astonished. 

“Well, summoning elemental magic isn’t the tricky part.” said Sanaki, before turning her head to see a new flock of white-crested senators making their way to the council room. “After all, it exists already. Speaking of which, it might be time for me to depart.” 

“Oh, of course,” she said, still looking astonished. “But wow. Even the Raven King—ah, I mean, Ambassador Naesala uses his wings to send blasts at people. This is, proper beorc magic, huh. It’s that easy. Could someone like me try?” 

Proper beorc magic, proper laguz magic: the only one who might have known where the barrier between the two lay for sure had disappeared from the continent, to wherever she had chosen to wander, or sleep once more. 

Still: “Naturally. I think Tormod would be ecstatic to have the chance to teach one of his old comrades. Though perhaps you can ask the ambassador how he controls wind currents while he’s here. The worst he can say is no.” 

“Huh,” said Vika, even more startled. “My talons suit me just fine, but I guess I’ll think about it. I just, never really thought about that being an option. I mean, he’s—well. And beorc magic, well that’s even more… more .”

Leaving Vika to contemplate new horizons and Muarim to watch over proceedings, Sanaki made her exit, Sigrun at her right shoulder and Caelane, reluctantly, at her left. They’d made their way down two corridors when they heard a bang that had the girl jumping out of her armour.

Sanaki patted down the girl’s half-drawn sword.

“Bound to happen a few times. You should get used to it.” 

When Sanaki finally escaped the meeting and came back down the corridor a few hours later, she was surprised to still hear the sounds of chanting. When she looked down on them, Naesala had found a goblet and wine from somewhere, no doubt taking advantage of Begnion’s hospitality towards important guests, while his daughter was wiping sweat from her brow, looking quite irate. Fralda, a girl from the Grann desert with a curlicue brand around one eye and Caelane’s one and only junior, stood at a strange position between ease and attention, clearly feeling the effects of the frosty afternoon through her light metal helm and dress armour.

“It’s all right, Papa, you don’t have to stick around with me. This guard is here anyway, so I’ll be fine. I am older than Reigar, you know, even if I don’t look it!” 

Naesala eyed Fralda, who visibly stood up straighter, her eyes round enough to make easy targets for a so-inclined beak. The curlicue even curved up her cheek to point the way. If she had known that, and that Commander Sigrun was watching on too—despite the fact that Naesala wasn’t inclined to attack her, and that at least it wasn’t Commander Tanith—Sanaki had little doubt that she would have broken into nervous tears. 

Naesala however, merely raised an eyebrow, swirled his wine, swirled it once again, and drank deep from the cup. 

“I don’t have anything else planned for today, though.” 

Sanaki hadn’t encountered many nestlings, and even fewer that were prone to outbursts. Interestingly, it appeared that a bird laguz’s equivalent of stamping one’s foot was doing so and then ricocheting around in the air. Sigrun remained as calmly professional as ever, but Caelane’s head moved around to follow the movements.

“Papaaa, you meanie! I said I wouldn’t wander off again! This guard keeps following me around anyway, I really can’t escape her.” 

“Please don’t bring me into your arguments, Your Highness,” poor Fralda said. 

“You can’t?” Naesala looked impressed. “Not even vertically?” 

“Or give her any more ideas, honoured ambassador.” Fralda clasped her gauntlets in front of her, as though in prayer for mercy. “Please.” 

“I hadn’t realised that it was going to be such a difficult assignment,” Sanaki mused. “The poor girl looks like she’s about to break down. Perhaps I should have told Tanith to make sure it went to a more experienced knight.” 

“Perhaps.” Sigrun looked thoughtful. “We presumed the princess would respond better to being accompanied by someone closer to her own age, rather than feeling chaperoned. It does seem to have tested Fralda’s flight manoeuvres rather more than we were anticipating, however.” 

Caelane stuck her chin up into the air, wearing a superior look on her face. 

“She’s just new at this. She’ll get better with time.” 

“Oh?” Sanaki smiled. “It’s heartwarming to see how concerned you are about your junior sister-in-arms’ progress.” 

“Huh? Oh.” Caelane stood up taller, smiling broadly. “Well, that’s only natural. Being a Holy Guard is a prestigious position. We have to improve all the time and be up to standard, even if it hasn’t been long since our induction.” 

“I see. Perhaps you can help her look after the princess, in that case.” 

The girl only realised her mistake after the cage had already snapped shut. She did a good job of keeping the sudden dread of realising that the wellbeing of the first heron to voluntarily visit the capital in a generation was in her young hands relatively well hidden. “Ah. Well, of course, if you say so, Lady Sanaki.” 

“Mm. You’d best be up to standard as well as you’ve been saying. What was it that Tanith did after she considered that she underperformed as Prince Reyson’s guard?” 

“I believe it was six months of remedial training, Your Majesty. Though that was only by the point where she could complete it all perfectly at least five times in a row, judged by her own standards.”

“Her own standards. My goodness, I’m surprised she ever left remedial training at all. Well, you’d best hop to it.” 

Caelane saluted, with far less enthusiasm than before, and peeled away from Sanaki’s side with a slump to her shoulders, moving into the building and, a minute later, out into the courtyard. When her junior sister-in-arms caught sight of her, an equal look of wary disdain crossed her face. 

“I hope you don’t mind me stepping in,” said Sanaki, “But while I understand that some allowances have been made for her talent, that won’t count for much if she lets her issues get in the way of working with Fralda.” 

“Not at all, Your Majesty. Though I am a little concerned about setting the two of them to guard a laguz princess. After all…” 

Sanaki smiled. 

“...Lady Sanaki.” Her reproach was light, but very present.

“Oh, come now. They’ll be in the palace the entire time. There are plenty of others shadowing them out of sight. The princess has made it clear she wants to learn about the world outside Serenes, and I’m just as curious to see how things have been developing inside it.” 

Sigrun’s eyes fell down to the backs of Sanaki’s hands where they loosely clasped the bannister. 

“Lady Sanaki, while your wisdom has always pulled through in these matters, is the princess’ safety not paramount?”

Caelane, below, stood to attention beside Fralda, her back straighter, moving her head to the side in a challenging gesture. 

“Oh, I think she’ll be fine.” 

⊱-❀-⊰

Caelane did not in fact prove far more adept a bodyguard than Fralda, as evidenced by the two of them racing down the corridors at breakneck speed, cursing frantically at each other. Sanaki, who had only been out for a stroll in the corridors to stretch her legs after another day of endless correspondence and had nowhere urgent to be, took a step backwards onto her heel into an open doorway. 

She watched the two of them scurry past, so engaged in their squabbling panic that they completely failed to notice her.

“I thought you were watching her! Do you have a brain in there?!” 

“Of course not! She told me to go get a new spellbook, you’re the one who wasn’t paying attention!” 

“The door was locked! How was I supposed to know she’d just decide to go out the window—” 

The poor girls. Well, if troubles like this wouldn’t teach them camaraderie, what hope was there? 

“I wasn’t following you at all!” 

Sanaki, startled, moved further into the chamber, taking shelter in the deep shadow of a bookcase to peer at whoever she’d stumbled upon. There were two figures, in fact: one small and dark aside from her wings, the other—

Well, how interesting. 

“If you’re insistent on stalking me,” said Tobias, “You could at least stand your ground and not smack your head into the ceiling every time I turn around.” 

“It’s not every time. And I’m fine, really.” 

Eulalia was in the middle of leaning casually against a small table. As Sanaki watched, it tilted to the side, sending a small vase careening on its base. The girl clawed for it in panic, but it was Tobias who caught it, examined it and put it back in its rightful spot. 

“Really,” he said. 

Eulalia wavered, but eventually puffed out her cheeks and crossed her arms. 

“It’s not my fault all the rooms have stones over the normal exits,” she said.

“I’ll say. You have all the dust from the chandelier on your wings, by the way.” 

Her façade broke. She flicked her elbow up, head straining around and wing extending out, craning around in an arc. She made a discontented noise when she realised her feathers were indeed rather more hoary than their usual immaculate white, twirling in a circle mid-air like a dog chasing its tail. While she did, Tobias’ shadowed eyes rolled, but they were back on the filthy child before Eulalia looked back, even more embarrassed, and even more trying to hide it.

“Well? What is it this time?” he asked, with the surprisingly patient tone of someone who had given up on escaping a child’s dogged curiosity. 

“I just wanted to know what was in here,” said Eulalia, with a casual flick of her hand that Sanaki recognised as her own, and an uncaring crook to her neck that would have made a pirate, or any other type of scoundrel, proud. “The maids must clean every room here at least three times a day, but there’s enough dust in here to choke on.” 

Tobias was silent until she relented. 

“...I hit my thumb with the wind while I was practising and it got a cut on it. Can you fix it, please? Pretty please?” 

Tobias flexed his hand, sighed again, and removed his staff from his side. “As I thought. I wondered why you were licking dust off your fingers this time as opposed to whining about your head hurting. Give me your hand.” 

He took the child’s spittle-soaked thumb in one hand when it was offered, with remarkable patience and lack of disgust. “Well, it’s covered in dust now too.” He patted his belt, took out one of the vials of vulnerary that any self-respecting healer carried around, and poured it against her hand. She hissed, but watched as he cleaned the wound and then waved his staff over the wounded finger. The blood that had washed out with the vulnerary remained, but Eulalia squeezed it and made a sound of wonder.

“Huh, it’s all mended. How do you do that without singing?” 

“Even when they transform, a heron’s galdr comes through a syrinx, not a larynx like a beorc. Even if the destination is the same, laguz and beorc use different components to achieve it.” 

“You really know a lot about us. Even Tormod didn’t know that stuff about larinches—” 

“—’Larynges’—” 

She breezed past, blithely. “And syrinxes.” 

Tobias pressed his lips together and did not correct her again, choosing to move on. 

“It’s not well-known.” 

“Why do you know about it?” 

“My grandfather,” he said, with an honesty that startled Sanaki. Where other senators often caterwauled about making up for the sins of their predecessors, Tobias had always remained resolutely silent on his own. 

“Your grandfather? Are you a Branded?” 

Tobias flinched and, in her hiding place, even Sanaki felt her body do the same. He laughed, though, small, shaken, and quite to himself. 

“You really are quite the sheltered child, aren’t you? No. My grandfather was a beorc. A healer like myself. He… spent a lot of time studying bird laguz physiognomy, in order to heal a wounded man and let him fly back home.” 

“Oh. He sounds like a good man.” 

“He was a very kind man, yes,” said Tobias, the correction clearly worded to go over the girl’s head. “Yes, I like to think so.” 

“So, why are you still conflicted?” 

Senator Tobias went silent. He placed his staff back at his side, taking a long time to fasten it onto his belt. A long silence settled, into which the princess pulled herself back. 

“Ah. Oh, the Empress said people might take offence to that. Ahem! My apologies, Your Grace. It’s just, I don’t really understand you that well. You seem like a good person, but you are afraid of me. Nobody’s ever wanted to avoid me as much as you. They’re curious, or like me for no reason even though they’ve never met me before, or any other number of things, but they aren’t even that afraid of Uncle Reyson, when he’s so stern. I’ve seen people being afraid even of Papa, or Uncle Tibarn, but I’m a heron like Mama. Nobody’s ever afraid of us.”

“Your seidr really is developing fast, Your Highness.” Tobias regarded the basic spellbook in Eulalia’s uninjured hand. “Do you want people to be more afraid of you?”   

“Huh?” She looked down at it, and hid it behind her back, self-consciously. “Not afraid . I just want to be able to look after myself without a full escort all the time. People mistake me for a raven sometimes if I hide my wings away, and that’s the only time people don’t act like I’m not going to break into little pieces if I get hit by an air current. ...And this doesn’t count! Tormod said people get injured learning all the time.” 

“I see. You came to me because I’m the least likely to go tell your father how many bumps and scrapes you get?” 

“No! Well, a little. Papa said to avoid senators who were too interested in me, but you ran away all the time instead. You carry around all those healing things but no holy books like the other senators, so you must be really great at it. And you like shiny things!” 

Tobias looked startled by the first point, nodded along with the second and then, when it came to the last, he blinked, uncomprehending.  

“Shiny?” He looked down at his senatorial outfit, and then registered the light bouncing off the small wings and carapaces sewn into his clothing. He huffed a breath of amusement. “Well, you are Ambassador Naesala’s daughter, after all.” 

She nodded, enthusiastically. With the kick of a foot, she was buoyantly in the air again. “Yes! I’m learning a lot about spells by listening to Tormod and learning diplomacy from Papa at the same time. I really like being here, even if the buildings are cramped.” 

“I see. That does sound pleasant.” 

She frowned. He quickly pulled down his grandfather’s senatorial cap. It only succeeded in hiding his face from Sanaki, watching on in silence. 

“There you are! Stop flying off all the time, what’s wrong with you?!”  

Sanaki sank further into the darkness, turning her face to regard the red-faced girls barricading the door with their slender frames. Caelane looked ready to wring her charge’s neck like a chicken’s, though Fralda grabbed her arm and was shaken off. 

“Don’t yell at the princess! She can get us into so much trouble with the commanders—” 

“I don’t care, it would be her fault in the first place—” 

Sanaki stepped out into the light, her red robes trailing behind her with regal poise. The two girls stopped dead and flustered their way into bows. Tobias looked at her, startled—the boy really didn’t have much spacial awareness, so it was unsurprising that he hadn’t noticed her. 

“Lady Sanaki!” 

Her name was a chorus, the voices overlapping with each other in jangling disharmony. She waved her hand.

“Be at ease. I’m glad to see you’re both taking your duties so seriously. Perhaps too seriously. Caelane, you look like you need to take a moment before you pass out.” Sanaki’s gaze fell down to the painfully tight-laced, high-buttoned collar around her neck. 

Sailane flushed, panic flitting across her sharp-cheeked features. Her gauntlets flew up to her neck, checking that it hadn’t fallen open in their rush to catch the princess. Naturally, she couldn’t feel it at all, and looked even more flustered when she answered.

“I’m fine, Your Majesty, really!” 

“Wait, have you seriously had it like that the whole—” 

“Shut up , Fralda, what would you know—” 

Sanaki turned to regard the interior of the room while the two of them fought, raised an eyebrow at Tobias, and then turned her gaze to the princess. She was fidgeting, looking between her, the irate pair of bodyguards, and her strange friend. 

“Hm.” Sanaki closed her eyes, then opened them into a beatific expression. “Apologies, Caelane, Fralda. I asked Tobias to instruct the princess in beorc healing magic. She must have forgotten to inform you that she would be coming to find me.” 

“Oh.” The two of them seemed unsure of how to respond. “W-well, obviously, that’s fine. Everyone forgets things.” 

The two of them trailed off awkwardly and saluted for lack of anything they could think of to say. 

“As for you,” she said, turning to look down at Eulalia, “Remember to inform your guards of where you are going from now on. Unless you’d prefer that your father accompanies you everywhere from now on?” 

“Ah!” Eulalia nodded. “No, sorry. I’ll stick around with them from now on.”

“Well then, now that everything is settled, I’ll accompany the princess back to her quarters for the day. You’re all dismissed.” 

They saluted, and as they left, Sanaki fancied that she heard one of them talking excitedly about a show in the eastern quarter, the other immediately criticising whatever it was as derivative. Some things changed slowly, it seemed. 

“Do you not like your assigned bodyguards?” 

“Oh, it’s not that I don’t like them,” the girl said, clearly relieved about the topic. “It’s just that whenever they’re in the same room, the tension is really unbearable, so I leave. Even when it’s just one of them on duty, they’re always afraid of messing up. Even if you said not to, it’s pretty hard to ignore.” 

“Ah.” She had said that she remembered, hadn’t she? “I don’t think anybody could blame you for noticing. Their circumstances are similar enough that it sets them on edge against each other. Well, in Caelane’s case, at least. They’ll have to learn to get along if they don’t want to be demoted back to the regular pegasus corps, though.” 

“Oh.”

“Is that the only reason you dislike being around them?” 

“Yes, pretty much.” Eulalia frowned. “Though now that you mention it, there is something weird about them. It’s as though there’s something… I’m not sure what it is. Like they’re the wrong end of a magnet. Do you know what it is?” 

“I have heard that the laguz feel intrinsically uncomfortable around the Branded. It seems that even the generations born after the goddess’ reformation feel that way.”  

How troubling. Maybe it was a lack of exposure. Sanaki certainly hoped so, at least.

“Oh, so they’re both Branded. I guess that makes sense. Lady Damiell reminded me a bit of the hawks back home, but I thought I was imagining it.” 

“You can tell that much without seeing her brand? I’m impressed.” 

Eulalia, normally quick to soak in all the praise she received with a self-important pose, was quiet instead, her feet on the ground, brows furrowed, and normally piercing gaze distant. It seemed she had finally internalised that lesson on the consequences of tearing a heart out to peck over like a vulture. 

Still, if a a royal heron was comfortable enough with what she saw in Tobias’ heart that she was hanging around him like an irritating fly rather than making a quick getaway, it seemed that Sanaki had been right that day she’d fancied that she saw something in him at his presentation. Sanaki remembered laughing at what he’d said, even as the more experienced politicians of his family, and even those hoping for him to fail, cringed behind him. 

The boy, though he did his best, had always been a terrible politician and he didn’t even realise it, nor even how many times Sanaki had stepped in to keep him from getting stabbed in the back by the unfortunately competent scum that stuck to the Senate floor. He had his own strengths, of course; ones that Sanaki did intend to nurture. Still, she was not a heron, and she’d hardly inherited any of their abilities for herself—that had long since been rubbed in her face—so it was all the more vindicating to hear that she’d not been wrong about what truly lay in his heart. 

“What do you feel around me?” Sanaki still found herself asking.

“Huh? Well, nothing, really…” 

Sanaki nodded, more to herself than to the girl. Before Eulalia could stare at her too deeply, however, she began to walk. 

“Come, Eulalia. We’ve not had much of a chance to chat since you arrived. How are your lessons with Tormod progressing?” 

The girl scowled, attention successfully diverted.  

⊱-❀-⊰

“We meet again so soon, yet have to say goodbye so soon again.” 

“I’ll miss the company, of course, but don’t be offended if I say that being in Begnion for longer than a few weeks gets…” Naesala waved his free hand, clearly biting back a dozen unpleasant adjectives. “Shall I say, stifling?” 

“Believe me,” said Sanaki, “I understand just how stifling it can get here.” 

Naesala smiled knowingly and swirled the wine in his cup. It teetered, close to falling off his face at any moment. “I was meaning to ask,” he said, with a carefully careless tone, “How long does it normally take for a beorc mage to learn how to control their element?” 

“Far longer than she’s had.” 

Naesala’s shoulders loosened. 

“Ah, I see.” 

“She’s made a little progress. But everyone knew it would be difficult for a laguz to learn beorc magic. There’s not a common route to mark her ability by.” 

“True,” said Naesala, taking a long sip of wine to hide his mouth. When the goblet lifted away, he was smiling fully. “I’m only asking because we have to return to Serenes sooner rather than later, and it didn’t seem like she’d made enough progress to continue learning on her own. She’ll be disappointed, but she can’t say she never got the chance.” 

“Mm.” 

The little princess was impressive for a beginner, but it didn’t seem as though she had ever faced difficulties before, and was growing more and more frustrated with her lack of progress. It wasn’t for lack of help either. Sanaki had glanced over the list of training aids and teaching handbooks that Tormod had requisitioned, more than she could find a use for even in her extensive lifetime; however flippant he was in other arenas, he never faltered when it came to his role as liaison between the laguz and beorc worlds. 

All that Begnion could offer, however, seemed to be colliding into a wall. 

Though really, ‘ceiling’ would be more accurate. 

“I’d say she could continue on her own, but mages do need masters to temper them if they don’t want to risk serious injury. Some do manage on their own, but I can’t say I want to answer to King Tibarn if things get out of hand.” 

“Yes… he does have a soft spot for the little ones, even though they’re my children. I think he likes to ignore that part in favour of them being Leanne’s.” Naesala smirked over at her, though it faded into contemplation. “Did I ever tell you about the time I thought to teach her and Reigar my vortex manoeuvre?” 

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it.” 

“There’s nothing much to tell, really. It was all going well, but it turns out her wings were too delicate to survive practise. One mistake, one rough landing, and her left wing broke pretty badly. She was laid up for weeks. Complained the entire time about Reigar still getting to learn and wanting to get back out into the sky.” He laughed to himself. “She still does, sometimes. But the point is, I’m sure my head would have rolled if that wouldn’t have made her cry more.”

“You know, I always suspected you were quite an indulgent father.” 

“You wound me. My heart is as black as night. Though, it’s strange.” 

“What is?” 

Naesala tipped his goblet back and forth, dark brows coming together in thought as he contemplated the sliding surface. 

“Don’t ask me why, but that Vika asked about my fighting style, the other day. I’m quite surprised. You’d think people knew me as a diplomat now, rather than a fighter. I never was one of the strongest around, after all.” 

Sanaki raised her eyebrows at him, keeping them there deliberately until he looked over at her. He chuckled. 

“Come now. I’m not being modest, I did mean compared to the company of my once fellow laguz kings. Well—queens too, even if Hatari stays out of our squabbles here across the desert.” 

Sanaki took a sip of their shared wine. It was rich and red, a popular though expensive variety made from grapes grown and pressed out in the eastern provinces. They’d been hit with a drought earlier in the year that they were still reeling from. This particular wine was a decade old, however, without a hint of bitterness. It was a long time for a beorc, but ten, twenty, were little to the laguz.

“Did you agree to teach her?” 

“It only seemed fair, seeing as Tormod is taking the time for Lalia. Lalia wasn’t too thrilled to hear about it, but she’s been too busy with her spellwork to needle me into trying again.” 

He swirled his goblet around rather than sipping. Sanaki recognised her own thoughts reflected across from her, plunging down into reflections on the new state of the world. 

“We got to talking,” he continued. “It seems her mother was once from Kilvas. A fisherwoman who lived on the edge of the island. Centuries ago at this point. We talked about the place. She seemed disappointed when I answered her questions about how the place is. I don’t know what she expected, but a barren little lump of rock wasn’t it, I suppose.”

“You do have a habit of talking yourself down. Maybe you talk Kilvas down too.” 

“Never,” he said. His tone was usually flighty, or sarcastic, or despondent. It was rare to hear such a resolute tone from him. “The land perhaps. The earth was never good to its people. The crops were sparse, there were no forests, no mines full of precious stones. But…” 

Kilvas had only lasted a speck of the time that the heron forest had endured. Most considered that Kilvas had brought its end upon itself, ultimately, a punishment for the grand ambition of a relatively nouveau raven royalty. Even one who knew the truth about the plagues that had ravaged Kilvas might have considered it their own fault for breaking their word, while the herons had been cruelly framed. 

Yet thinking in that way left a sour aftertaste in Sanaki’s mouth, thick as the wine on her tongue. Justifications, and judgements, were not her place when she was Begnion, and Begnion had been the ultimate executioner of both. 

“Hmph,” he said into the silence where, for once, his silver tongue couldn’t place words. “She did say that her mother spoke of me in high regard. Pretty foolish.” 

“Not foolish,” Sanaki interjected. She often had to interject when this subject came up. “I don’t think any raven is foolish for thinking highly of you, even if they don’t know what you’ve done for them.”

His evasions, as ever, were deft as feathers riding on gale-winds. 

“Apparently I’m not to tell her mother I showed her how to do it, or she’ll get mad. That sort of power is for the kings! I did tell her I’m not a king and still know how to do it, but she said it didn’t matter too much to her. She’s an old crow, I suppose. Set in her ways. And far too pleased to see me when we met.”

“Old crows, yes.” 

She couldn’t help but wonder if Naesala mourned those who had come before him in line, in his own way, behind all the veils of smiles and sarcasm, with such depth of feeling as the laguz world had raged over the massacre of the herons. Of course, he’d doubtless laugh humorlessly and say they brought death on themselves if asked, that it had only been a line of the strong and not a family.

She still couldn’t help but presume that something of him must. 

“Speaking of old crows,” she said, to his nod. His posture was less weighed down than it had been weeks ago when the topic was first broached, however, a sense of optimism infecting that usually sardonically pessimistic aura.  

“It seems there’s hope that a particularly annoying one will keep fussing over me well into the future. A potential cure has been tracked down.”

“Oh?” She was surprised, despite herself. “So soon? You really have been working hard.”

The mix of embarrassment and pride on his face instantly gave away the true source: 

“Princess Eulalia? Every time I’ve seen her, she’s been obsessing over her spellbooks and practising; she found the time to go looking?” 

“No idea how, but it seems legitimate. She even found documents on how the medicine should be applied to bird laguz, which is something that would have taken a while to figure out otherwise. Of course we’ll have it tested, but.” A wry smile. “Maybe I should have brought her along before if she’s this competent.” 

“Perhaps so.” 

While she’d hit a stumbling block in one area, she did have her own strengths. 

Perhaps Sanaki should teach her how to scare some politicians too. Even if the girl was never able to control the wind in the way she wished, it would be amusing to set such a person against all those lying scoundrels who existed in the world, and perhaps having a clear purpose would ensure she was on the path away from becoming one of them herself. 

She couldn’t help but wonder what the world the girl came of age in, the future world that Sanaki would never see, would look like. 

“Gold piece for your thoughts?” 

“I thought you disliked parting with money.”

Naesala laughed, and she did too.

“That I do. Money and secrets.” 

“And yet you married a heron.” 

Naesala bobbed his head with a sigh, conceding the point. 

“Regarding the lessons,” she said, “I did have one final idea.” 

Naesala, across the table and enjoying Cymbeline’s heat, raised an eyebrow. She leaned across to her side-cabinet and put a box on the table. His eyes moved up to meet hers and then fell again to it, sitting ominously between them. With a curious purse of the lips, and an undeniable gleam of anticipation that he couldn’t hide in his eyes, he opened it. 

“How disappointing,” he said. He took the object out, admiring the black and white flecks that gently moved within, and how they glittered in the firelight. He shook it, and watched the flecks dance in the stormy interior. “I was hoping to see some ancient and forbidden relic of aeons past. Isn’t this the same as those orbs that Tormod brought in for Lalia to look at?” 

He was right, really. The orbs were microcosms of the natural world, particularly useful for those who needed to be able to spur or calm wind and flame on demand. Mages would practise breathing with them, shaking one from its peaceful state to wild, concentrated fury and watching while the particles inevitably settled back into place. They might drill ten or a hundred times daily, depending on how diligent they were, but  such devices did not contain any magical power of their own. 

These explanations came to her in a voice that was not her own. 

“I recalled that… Lehran was fond of using that to drill.” Sanaki closed her eyes, to avoid meeting Naesala’s gaze. “He was a heron too, and a long-lived one who must have seen countless methods for training. It might be of use.” 

When she opened them, Naesala was grimacing slightly, as though learning that someone had spat on the orb before putting it in his hand. 

“Oh. Well, he certainly could use a tome, I have scars that attest. I guess it might work.” He snorted. “Honestly, I can’t tell if I want it to. Reigar already hangs around Lehran —” He sounded a little like Tobias did when he spoke the Goddess’ name, though from his mouth, it sounded less coldly antitheistic and more like imagining him tied to a rack “—Like he’s some kind of oracle. I don’t particularly want to start hearing about how great he is from Lalia too.” 

He smiled, that smile of ‘it really is hypocritical to be angry about my son’s choice in those he looks up to given what I’ve done, isn’t it?’ smile. 

“Still. Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” 

“Friends, hm.” He contemplated that, looking from her face to the orb and the floating flecks within. Before they settled, he threw it in the air with the ease of a tenured juggler, nimbly caught it, and slipped it away into his suit. His smile was less easy now, but there was something more genuine to it than his usual slick smirks and chuckles. “I suppose it’s been too many years to deny it. How troubling.” 

He soon left with a stretch of his wings and a lament for all the fine wines he’d have to wait until his next visit to drink, no longer able to pilfer them from merchant vessels or demand them as payment for this or that illicit dealing, leaving Sanaki some rare time to herself. There were a dozen documents to read, a hundred complaints to assuage, and even some amusing works of literature that she might have been able to sneak a glance at next to a roaring fire.

Instead she found herself moving towards the wintry courtyard where the scion of Kilvas and Serenes had diligently spent every morning and afternoon instead, and was unsurprised to see the princess, looking more like a piece of coal than an elfin creature of light all wrapped in thick black garments, still chanting away doggedly. Little puffs of condensation appeared again and again, methodical and rhythmic. Though the air must have been like knives in her throat, maybe perseverance gave her inner warmth, puffing out into the courtyard like the breath of a sleeping dragon. 

She was just as unsurprised to see Senator Tobias come by, senatorial uniform hidden behind an elaborate blue cloak, the flaps of his senatorial cap down to protect his ears from the chill.

“I’d heard your delegation was flying home to the Bird Tribes in the morning.” 

“It’s not that late.” 

“It’s still cold. It’ll be getting dark soon too.” 

Eulalia closed her tome and stood, looking rather small and unsure for the first time. She usually had a bravado about her that made her seem broader, but even with her breakable frame and wings hidden below protective layers, she was less of a presence today than usual. 

“No injuries today?” said Tobias, to fill the silence. 

“No. I don’t cut myself on it at all anymore, but I still can’t progress past this level.” Eulalia looked back at her spellbook. Her gloves caused some difficulty as she moved one page on, needing to tickle the leaves a few times before only one remained balanced against the woolen finger. “You were talking about syringes and larynges before. Do you think that’s why it doesn’t work?” 

“I never learned the intricacies of spellcraft to that degree. The Sainted do learn the path of divinity, but I do not care to invoke the name of the goddess, no matter if she is whole again or not.” 

“Don’t you want to learn how to defend yourself, though?” asked Eulalia. 

“I have guards for that. And there are more kinds of staves than you seem to realise.” Tobias closed his eyes, sighed, and for once, came closer to the girl. “Fine. Let’s see this. I only know how the letters sound, though, don’t expect a miracle.” 

He flipped through the spellbook, eyes narrowing.

“Um,” said Eulalia, after a minute or so had passed and Sanaki was wondering about that roaring fire she could be stoking from Cymbeline’s pages—it had always been a hidden little treat, using her holy inheritance for such pedestrian purposes, and it certainly would be a more pleasant way to spend the time than watching a girl fail over and over again in the cold. 

Tobias’ eyes flicked from the page to the girl. “If you’re going to ask why my ‘heart’ is ‘perturbed’, you might want to find a mirror.”

“No, that’s not it. I just wanted to thank you.”

Tobias didn’t look up from the page. “You already did.” 

“Um,” she said, “I asked Papa about the previous Duke Asmin.” 

The courtyard had already been quiet, the snow heaped on all surfaces muffling sound, but it grew quieter still. 

“Did you.” 

“Yes. Um, it’s… all pretty complicated.” 

Tobias sighed, though tiredness won out over frustration. “Grandfather told me once that herons are incessant when it comes to lecturing others on the condition of their heart. He always made it sound like a holy experience.” Tobias moved his hand through his fringe, moving it back into his cap and out of his face. “It seems we’re both aware of the situation. I don’t want an apology. Or to be told to apologise, or whatever opinion it is you’ve made of us one way or the other. I’d prefer to move on.”  

“Oh. Okay.” 

There was silence for a moment before Eulalia immediately went back to the topic. 

“I mean, I didn’t think asking for help with that thing was a big deal, but your grandfather made Uncle Rafiel better in the past, and then when it came down to it, it was us who…”  

“Grandfather…” Tobias tried to sound resolute, but wavered. He scowled around how obvious it was. “Grandfather did kind things, but those things aren’t the reason things ended up as they did for him. In any case, no matter how kind he was, he was perfectly fine with the rest of his family dying for the sake of his own life. Don’t presume that I weep in my bed every night over his fate, or secretly despise King Phoenicis.” 

“But I still want to say thank you,” said Eulalia, earnestly. “Properly, now that I know why you were scared about talking with me.” 

She breezed over him when he spluttered at that, ‘well, I wouldn’t say I was scared —’ 

“I just wanted to say that I think it’s okay that you still like him as well. Even if he’s done bad things and you don’t want to like him, it’s not silly to like someone who’s been kind to you. Mother says you shouldn’t feel bad about things like that. Um… what was it… ‘when you’re betrayed, there are two betrayals, because one half of your heart won’t do what you tell it to. But when the goddess threw away the part of her heart that betrayed her, she ended up making worse mistakes. So, when your heart is stormy, that’s how you were created to be.’’” 

Her words were as earnest as they were clearly only half-remembered. While she tried to recall and translate Princess Leanne’s wisdom into the modern tongue, only partially succeeding, something in his straight posture seemed to unpin to hang down in a way that was both listless and far more relaxed than before. He only huffed out a small breath, as she petered out, no grander than the ones Eulalia was capable of making in her hands. 

Sanaki thought she might understand that too, in her own heart or soul, or whatever it was those herons were always unabashedly staring at. 

“Well, it’s not as though I want to make the same mistakes as the goddess.”

“Hey! Why do you only listen when it’s Mother saying it?!” 

He placed the book back in her gloved hands. 

“I don’t know what any of it means, but it doesn’t seem any different to the songs Prince Rafiel would sing for Grandfather.” 

“Oh,” said Eulalia, cheeks receding back from convex to concave. “There’s nothing I’m not missing, then.” 

She clenched the book in her hands, crumpling the thin cover. Tobias’ face turned pale as he looked at her, clearly imagining all the scenarios that could unravel from being found, having made the princess of Serenes cry.  

“Don’t—don’t worry over it so much. I’m sure you’ll get it eventually.” 

Eulalia cast the book onto the ground before thinking better of it, making a small sound of regret immediately and picking it back up. The pages must have been soaked through, and the bitterness in her voice probably shrivelled them all the more when she next spoke. 

“Why is it hard? Reigar can learn whatever he wants from Papa, but if I even try to do it a different way, it still amounts to nothing.” 

“Perhaps you can sing the words?” 

“That’s not the point,” she said, scowling. It was all that was visible, her hat falling over her angry brow. She pushed it up with one hand and looked down at the pages like they were personal offences. “I can do any sort of magic while singing. I just wanted everyone to think I was…” 

She broke off, unable to articulate whatever it was. Healers could not heal themselves with the old words; perhaps it was much the same for herons.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out in time,” said Tobias. “Perhaps you can sing the words now, and figure out how they work later?” 

“It’s not the same.” 

“True. But it’s a start. In any case, laguz and beorc magic originate from the same source. The—” He sighed: “The Goddess said that herself. I’m sure your mother told you that too.” 

Eulalia looked at him mulishly, then down at the pages.

“That was dumb of me. All the ink is running…” 

“As though you don’t know them by heart at this point.” 

“I guess.” 

She looked down, and then a small note sounded. It was faint, a low but sweet alto. A blast of air shot from her palm and into one of the targets. The snow that had gathered atop it fell heavily to join the rest on the ground. 

“...It’s cheating.” 

“It still works. Didn’t you learn the language already, anyway? That’s already cheating compared to most beorc mages.” 

“Well, yes…” 

Long ago, before beorc and laguz had become separate, magic had been something similar to that sound, before herons’ seidr and the spoken magic passed down in dusty tome after dusty tome had diverged into the forms they had today. In the distant past, perhaps any of the combined race that beorc and laguz had once been might have been able to sing galdr. 

Things had changed, though. However petty the girl sounded, as one who had known disappointment herself, Sanaki couldn’t help but sympathise with her frustration. 

She held her hand out to catch a few snowflakes. They melted on her hand in an instant, and she rubbed her fingers over her palm to displace the cold patches of water. She only brought her eyes away from the pale expanse when she heard voices, surprised greetings and even more surprised and panicked salutes from Eulalia’s assigned guards, their bags of seasonal sweets and treats from the local markets swinging wildly in the air. 

“We rushed back, she tricked us into thinking that one of us was watching her—” 

“Don’t say she tricked us, she’s a little kid, that’s even worse—” 

The two of them bickered in the background, unaware of Sanaki’s gaze sliding off the scene and up instead to the dark clouds gathering overhead. She made her way back to her rooms, and made to start on some more paperwork, but found herself too distracted to make headway. Her gaze slid away once, twice, and three times to the window before she gave up, stood, and made her way over to open it. 

The looser strands of her hair fluttered backwards as an errant zephyr stole its way in, her robes like a flag atop a tower. Gentle, tiny snowflakes which had been falling billowed out from their preordained paths at the backdraft of heat, a few making a full rotation and floating innocently into the empress’ room. 

For snow to reach Begnion, the winds first blew down from Daein. Nevassa’s grey, foreboding walls must have been blanketed in white for Sienne to be experiencing even slight flurries like this. 

“Sephiran,” she said, at last, “Is it cold in Serenes too?” 

The stillness of a snowy night was the only answer she received. The occasional whine of wind, however, if one was more given to fancy than someone could be in her position, sounded like song.