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The voyage back to the Kou Empire is a quiet one. At least at first. The seagulls sweep about in arcs on the same gusts that whip the sails and chill Kougyoku’s cheeks pink. She typically does not like the feel of standing on the deck, all creaking floorboards and tottering heels, but here she is fixed like a statue at the stern, gripping the polished railings and gazing out over the ocean. Sindria is a dot, grey-blue and distant, shrouded in sea-mist and robust in memory. Ka Kobun is silent at her side. Every one of her attendants can see it. It’s not often that Kougyoku can conceal what she is feeling.
There is a sense of heavy heat gathering at the edges of her eyes. It’s only the burn of saltwater in the wind—she shuts her eyelids tight, everything’s tight and taut from the curl of her toes to the clenching ache of her chest. She is done with crying, and mourning something that never was, and hoping against all evidence. She is done with surrendering her own significance, too.
When she looks again, Sindria is gone. And there is a black star instead, a speck she knows very well—she leans over on the railing, squinting skyward. The magic carpet moves much faster than an Imperial ship. Her concern is if he is with one of those unsettling men whose very faces instill a sense of discomfort in her jaw. Objectively, Judal is unsettling himself. But not to her, not really.
Her second concern is where he’s going. But the carpet approaches, falls in one swift lurch, and with the easy grace that pervades his every motion, the oracle of the Kou Empire drops, grandiose fabric trailing behind in hand. Kougyoku has seen him coming, but she stumbles back in surprise when she realizes that he’s going to drop on her.
Judal lands on his own two feet, sturdy on the swaying surface, and bundles up the magic carpet under one arm, glancing around with that dizzying smile playing at his mouth. How inane, Kougyoku thinks, frowning—she cannot quite forget his behavior in Sindria. “Hello, Judal.” She says, cheerful and confused, “Hakuryuu isn’t here.”
“I know that,” he says, all careless exasperation that evaporates in seconds. Fickle as he is, he must have a reason for being there. Or something. “Ah! But, so, how was Sindria?”
She furrows her eyebrows, lips settling into a thin line. He’s not one for idle conversation, she knows that much. And he hasn’t truly taken an interest in her for ages now, a fact that had taken some getting used to but had mostly lost its sting. “Judal,” she says pointedly, “what is it that you want? Where did you come from?”
“Places,” he responds, dismissive as he wags a hand at her. “I just want to talk is all. Alone.”
“Very well,” Kougyoku says, her brave front on. She turns to her convoy with one sure movement, looking at him expectantly.
“Ka Kobun,” is all she says, but behind the princess, Judal levels a gaze of pure chill at him. He flinches.
“Yes, well, we’ll be within sight,” Ka Kobun says with uncertainty. He knew there was no blatant danger in letting both of them alone, but quite understandably, the magi gave him some bad vibes. “If you need anything.”
“We won’t,” Judal says, smiling like an angel, and loops his arm around Kougyoku’s shoulders, roughly turning her to face the sea. She bristles at the touch, as usual—he waits for the fading footsteps of her guards, throws a glance over his shoulder to be sure they’d left properly. Then, with the disregard of familiarity, he dips his head, inches from her face.
“So, what the hell were you thinking?”
He relishes the second her blood runs cold, tightens his grip on her arm. A tiny girl like Kougyoku—she can’t exactly tear herself away. But her brave front sustains—yeah, he supposes, the pride of a whore’s daughter is a formidable thing.
“I am not sure what you are talking about,” she says, all cool, collected priss. “Don’t you have something to be doing? Someone to be making miserable?” That’s a little sharp, but he glides over it—it’s true, and he doesn’t care, he’s proud that it’s true. If Kougyoku thinks to wound him, she should find some other sword.
“Oh, I do. But they’re next. You are so caught,” he says. “You know, it’s your choice—“
“Huh?”
“It is your choice, I said. Are you deaf? Deaf and dumb, our precious princess, that would sure explain a lot!” She turns her eyes to him then, a full-force glare. He smiles.
“I am not big on loyalty shit. Honestly, you know I don’t care if you decide to turn tail on us. One less dungeon capturer—big deal—I would hardly beg for you to come back.” Her chest hurts again. She reminds herself, pointedly, that she is done crying, but he senses the quaver and loves it, pushes on and on and on.
“I have eyes and ears everywhere. You don’t want to be a general in the great empire we’ve made? You want to be a Sindrian whore?”
“You will stop,” she grinds out through her teeth. “I will be no such thing.”
“You’re not going to be his queen, that’s for sure—“
“No, I will not.” She says, solid and firm. He stops, then. “And I will not turn my back on my country.” That doesn’t mean I always have to agree with it.
He seems bewildered.
“You can stop trying to scare me now.” She says, more softly. Someone like Judal—if she thinks hard enough, she could construe their discourse as something else, as if he’s trying to shame her into staying with them. And she would. The Empire, with all its flaws and fallouts, is the only thing close to home that she has. Same as Judal. But there was no way to convince Judal out of a war. She’d have to wait for her brother. “Do you want something to eat?”
He smiles again, tight—his suspicions still haven’t subsided, but she's not sure how to play her cards. Does she even have any to play?
“You listen, Kougyoku.” His eyes flash like roiling fire, eager to consume her secret thoughts. “If you are not on our side, you are against us, and we will destroy you.”
“And you don’t wish to do that?” she asks, alight with a shred of hope. He shakes his head, vicious.
“No. I’d love to.”
She chokes down her hurt and she stifles her pain and she takes it as a compliment, as praise, because Judal loves to crush those he thinks strong, and he thinks her strong, and all along that was the basis of what they had, the foundation that bound her to him. Strength, power. The things Judal lived for and thrived on—the things Kougyoku had thought she wanted very much, once.
Maybe it’s shock. She swallows thickly, her throat is full of bile at the easy betrayal, and her head is pulsing with incomprehensible heartbreak. Judal slips his hand down her shoulder, down her arm, and the movement would be soothing were she not suddenly terrified of him.
“As for food…” he says, drawing away from her and patting his lithe abdomen. “Don’t mind if I do.” He brushes past her like sea wind, and Kougyoku realizes Judal was never a constant to begin with. Whether he’s on her side or not, he’s no good. He is… lost. Lost to her, most of all. She feels as though she's shipwrecked, insular and stranded, drifting in a bone-chilling ocean. The strength leaves her-- she's on her own, she's always been on her own, not Sindria nor Kou will take her whole. Both Sinbad and Judal will not ever...
The tears come, and don’t stop.