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At the center of a wooden table, placed almost reverently upon a ceramic riser, sat a small sakura tree. Its petals were in perpetual flush, the sea breeze leading it in careful sway along with the gossamer curtains, left undone to move as they pleased. Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the open window, the tree was a textbook example of a ward perfectly cast.
McQueen hated it. Regardless of the fact, she spent a significant amount of every morning ensuring that the tree remained as perfect as it could be.
After checking the ward around her property and straightening the covers of her too-large bed, McQueen would pad upon too-cold floors, make her way across the too-quiet living room, and stare at that too-perfect tree until the colors began to blur together, a blob of pinks and browns that made her every breath ache.
When McQueen had had enough, she would close her eyes, focus on the power thrumming in her veins, and murmur seven syllables — by now, an instinct; by now, an incantation, even if it didn’t start out as one; even now, still a plea, the one prayer her mouth never struggled around.
Then, she would open her eyes and watch nothing happen. No ripple of light emanating from the trunk, no silence deafening the rustling petals, no wave of pressure slamming her against the wall. Just her words eaten up by the sea breeze, her self and the sting in her chest its only witness.
Day by day, McQueen would run through this routine. As fruitless as it may be, she couldn't bring herself to stop. The ache in her chest that grew stronger with each cast, the sheer nothingness that came with every murmur, the almost mocking way in which the wind brushed through ever-present petals — it was all proof that even after all these years, there was a chance, as sliver as it may be, that she would one day wake to the sound of music from a bard long gone.
Just a sliver of a chance. McQueen could work with that.
“I don’t get you at all, McQueen,” Tokai Teio declared, idly plucking her biwa. Perched upon a tree branch, she could be mistaken for just another free-spirited bard traveling the outer lands, were it not for the intricate designs on her instrument and the ivory sheen of her bachi. “You're the heiress to the Mejiro house, and maybe one of the best mages around! But you're in a hero party of all things — and not even The Hero Party either!”
McQueen said nothing in response, thumbing through her spellbook. She could have sworn she had a spell to ward off the sounds of the forest. Maybe next time she'll combine it with her protective ward and have a decent night of sleep for once.
“They call you the Greatest Stayer,” Teio continued to an audience of none, particularly harsh strikes against the strings punctuating her words. “Your wards would be more useful to The Hero Party. So why are you part of the backup team instead?”
McQueen snapped her spellbook shut and looked up. “I could ask the same of you. Why is the Joy of the Emperor lounging upon a tree in the central lands rather than singing up a storm in the north?”
“The Joy of the Emperor sings at the Emperor’s behest.” Teio grinned, a razor-sharp thing that almost made her shiver. “But she still gave me a choice. Whatever the reason, she thought it important enough to ask. But you?” She plucked several notes in succession, each one discordant against the other. “You never even wanted to be here.”
“What I want,” said McQueen, the ridges of her spellbook surely imprinted onto her palms now, “is to guarantee the future of the Mejiro house. Everything else is secondary.”
“Sure.” Teio strummed, the notes low and nearly drowned out by the crackling fire. “Say it enough and maybe someone will believe you.”
“It is the truth.” McQueen glared. “Whether you believe it matters not.”
The notes stopped. The fire hissed and popped, as if it had been waiting for the opportunity to fill the silence.
Blue eyes shone against the firelight, bright enough that McQueen almost looked away. “In a few years’ time, every single bard within the kingdom will have every word of my epics known by heart.” She tapped her bachi against the fretboard. “Every single line, every single note they sing will be of the truth I present to them. I wonder if you'll still say the same then.”
With that, Teio jumped off the branch and headed to the outer wards. The sounds of her plucked notes faded until all that filled the air was the buzz of cicadas, loud and incessant.
On the same day each year, McQueen would cast several wards around her property, lock the front door, and head to town.
By now, the townspeople were ready for this occurrence and knew not to bother her. They had all heard the rumors about the seaside cottage and the mage that lived there. The murmured whispers and the weight of stares slipped off of her back like raindrops on a ward, not a single trace left behind. As for whether they saw these rumors as truth— well, McQueen never paid any mind to such unimportant matters, then and now.
Her mind was focused entirely on this yearly routine. Make a left at the square right outside of the town hall to find someone from the grocer's family, clutching a small box filled with fresh citrus and a letter that McQueen always chose to defer to a later date. Go straight to the other side of town to find the hunters’ lodge sparse of people, save for the attendant with a stalk in her mouth, tasked with sliding her a jar of fresh exquisite honey, its lid emblazoned with a familiar seal that they both pretended wasn’t there. Turn around and go to the town outskirts to find an old well, nestled within a grove of trees, a wooden bucket filled and left untouched. Rest for a moment, feel the breeze and listen to the birds chirp, and imagine how they would sound if tapped out by a bachi, then make her way back to her cottage.
Only for her trek back would McQueen use her magic, casting levitation spells upon her supplies. She couldn’t afford to be careless with her reserves, after all.
“You are far too careless with your funds,” said McQueen, once the view of the merchant cart faded into the horizon. “We still have a few weeks left until we get to the nearest city.”
Teio waved her away with her free hand, the other preoccupied with swirling her drink as they walked. “One honeyade won’t be enough to make a dent. And, technically, I’m helping the local merchants, right?” She took a sip, her tail wagging and ears fluffing up as she sighed. “Wow, that really hits the spot.”
The sunlight reflected off the glass, cold moisture turning the smooth orange honeyade inside into an appetizing display. Their last several days of travel had been met with rising temperatures as they drew away from the mild climate of the central cities. Truth be told, McQueen would have elected to purchase a drink as well, were it not for the need to save for more spell materials and to maintain her diet.
She could almost imagine how it would taste. Pure cold to stave off the heat of the southern lands, the subtle kick of the lemon juice, somehow both sour and bitter at the same time, the sweetness of that honey—
A quiet huff brought McQueen back to the present. Her gaze met Teio's, blue eyes alight with amusement, a teasing grin already forming on her lips.
McQueen looked away, clearing her throat as she said, “You know, it would be easier to learn how to make it. Honey, lemon, and water with sugar would suffice.”
When the silence stretched a second too long, McQueen turned, only to be met with the sensation of cool glass against her lips.
She leaned back. “Wha—?”
“Have a taste,” said Teio.
“Oh,” McQueen began to shake her head, even as that enticingly sweet smell tickled her nose. “I’m alright, thank you.”
The honeyade sloshed as Teio shook the glass, tone lilting as she said: “Are you sure? It tastes amazing.”
McQueen faltered. Surely, just a small taste wouldn’t be an issue? No, she had to stay firm. “It is far too sweet for my tastes.”
Teio fixed her with a deadpan look. “You haven’t even tried it yet.”
“I don’t need to, I can practically taste the sugar just from looking at it.”
“Trust me, I can tell you’ve been looking.”
Her cheeks burned. “Out of simple curiosity! Like I said, it would be far more convenient to learn how it is made.”
“How can you expect to learn how to make it when you don’t even know how it tastes?” Teio took a sip and let out a long-suffering sigh. “But I guess that just means you’re fine with making mediocre honeyade.”
Her eye twitched. This was clearly an attempt on her pride to get her to have a drink. McQueen was above this, of course. She was a Mage of the Mejiro family, for Goddesses’ sake! There was no way she would fall for such a childish tactic.
“As for me? I’ve had honeyade since I was little.” Teio continued with a shrug, taking a gulp that left little more than a sip’s worth at the bottom of the glass. “Even if you did have a taste, anything I make will be leagues better than—!”
McQueen did not know why she did it. Perhaps it was that annoyingly boastful tone Teio had adopted. Perhaps it was the sudden clarity of the glass, near-empty and shining in the midday sun. Perhaps— and McQueen loathed to even consider this— perhaps she truly was childish enough to fall for such bait. Regardless of the cause, it ended up like this: her finger, pressed against the Joy of the Emperor’s lips.
The birds chirped and the increasingly distant sound of their companions’ footsteps filled the ensuing silence.
“So this is all it takes to get you to be quiet,” McQueen said, voice sounding odd even to her own ears.
Teio let out a breath in response, a warm puff of air against her fingertip clashing against the feeling of her lips, cold from the drink. Something akin to a challenge flashed in her eyes as she said, “It'll take much more than this to do that, McQueen.”
Her words sparked a foreign heat in her chest, anticipation mixed with something more primal, and McQueen wanted to follow where it led. She stepped closer—
“Oy! You two! You're too slow!”
—only for Gold Ship's voice from the front to snap her out from whatever lull she had fallen into. McQueen jerked away from Teio, refusing to meet her gaze as she looked up ahead and called out: “My apologies. We are on our way.”
“Sure, sure.” A pause. Then: “Also, Scarlet said to hurry up, it's her and Vodka's turn to flirt no—ow!”
An indignant screech cut her off, followed by a series of yelps, each more concerning than the last. McQueen could hardly hear them, though. Her mind was still processing what Gold Ship said. Flirting? Her and Teio? Not at all! Not even in the slightest! If it weren’t for the numerous etiquette lessons in her youth, she was sure that her tail would have curled up in objection.
It would behoove her to deny such an accusation, especially when the Joy of the Emperor was so prone to fixate on anything that could stroke her ego. And yet, McQueen couldn’t bring herself to do so. The words were already chosen, the sentiments already formed; but it felt as if they must remain unsaid, as if the mere act of uttering them aloud would break something more than that tenuous silence that had befallen them.
Still, she had to say something. McQueen took a deep breath and turned back to Teio and said, “We must get…”
The state of the bard in front of her led McQueen to silence. Ears flicking, tail swishing, cheeks as pink as her cravat, Tokai Teio was the very definition of fluster, a sight so unusual that McQueen felt her own embarrassment return.
Why did Gold Ship say that of all things? She could have said quite literally anything else, and it would have been fine. Then again, it was McQueen who had let her get under her skin— and Teio, too! They both knew Gold Ship liked to poke purely for the fun of it, so why did it affect them so much?
Though, perhaps the better question would be why McQueen did what she had done. And, perhaps, the better solution would be an apology. Then, they could put all of this behind and be on their way.
“Listen, about—”
“Just have it!”
McQueen watched agape as Teio shoved the near-empty glass towards her and jogged away, pulling her biwa around and playing a set of notes that sped up her stride. She glanced at the glass now in her hand, the remnant liquid in it just enough for a taste, a faint outline of lips on its rim.
She’ll clean it when they camp but otherwise — it would be a waste not to finish the drink, right? McQueen raised the glass to her lips, only then noticing the sudden dryness to her mouth, no doubt from the heat of the sun. Sweetness burst upon her tongue as she tipped the glass back, overpowering the aftertaste of sour juice and bitter rind. Far too sweet, just as she predicted, but with a simple flavor that seemed easy enough to recreate.
McQueen smiled to herself as she caught up with the party, thoughts filled with ingredients and flavors and the look of awe Tokai Teio will no doubt level her way once she gets a taste.
It was not often that Mejiro McQueen entertained guests.
Not that there were never any requests or attempts to do so. The first two years had been rife with such: members of her family wondering when she’d come home, friends looking to catch up after the war, people looking to express gratitude to the mage who helped kill the Demon of the South; and, of course, her party — their grief-filled eyes and worried mouths hoping against hope that when the door opened, they'd be greeted by the familiar twangs of a biwa and the fragmented hums of a mage learning to sing once more.
Lately, McQueen only saw them once a year, if at all. It did not bother her. They had responsibilities to tend to, lives that ebbed and flowed and moved forward. Vodka and Scarlet roamed all over to help clear remaining pockets of conflict, and Gold Ship had done everything everywhere, if her letters and stories were to be believed. All McQueen had was this task of hers, throughout the years still fruitless, still stagnant.
This, the Emperor was more than aware of. Before the war began, McQueen had only seen Her Majesty twice. First was at a noble gathering held in the palace. Second was at the induction ceremony for the Mage Association. The Emperor struck an imposing figure even then, as if Her Majesty deigned to grace her people with her presence only as befitting someone of her station — something that still rang true, even more so after the war.
McQueen took a sip of her drink, the sweetness of it a grounding taste. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having Her Majesty in my humble abode?”
Her Majesty steepled her fingers, cup of tea left untouched. Her gaze remained distant, no doubt focused on the open window and that too-perfect tree, rustling in the breeze. “Has there been any development?”
“No, your Majesty.” She took a deep breath, then continued: “I need more time.”
“More time?” Purple eyes met her own, still piercing, dulled and lightless as they were. “You have had five years and you have nothing to show for it. Yet you ask for more?”
If McQueen had been anyone else, she would have averted her eyes, a shadow scattered by the arrow of Her Majesty's gaze.
But she was Mejiro McQueen. The only Mejiro to master all of her family's Wards. The Greatest Stayer of the Association. The mage of the party that defeated the Demon of the South, who held the Ward of Illusion for twelve hours straight. The mage who held and continued to hold the Ward of Preservation for five years and counting, all in the hopes that one day, the Joy of the Emperor would return.
The Emperor’s might may be frightening, but there were worse things to fear.
McQueen held her gaze. “Five years is not enough. My power ebbs and wanes even as we speak, which means something in that tree is consuming it, and if we just continue for a year more—”
“To do what? For you to continue to waste your power on something like this?” The Emperor scoffed. “You have deferred your post at the Association for too long. It is time to return.”
“The Association has managed this long without me,” McQueen said, “another year will make no diff—”
“Would you say the same if innocents die due to your absence?”
“That—” Her ear twitched, a reaction surely noticed by Her Majesty’s gaze. “There has been nothing—”
“Enough,” said the Emperor, voice harder than stone. “I have been gracious enough to grant you half a decade to attempt this. But your duty is towards the nation, and that means returning to your post. Even the rest of your party understands this.”
“I do understand,” McQueen said past the twinge in her chest. “But a year, or six months even—”
“This is not a negotiation—”
“—and I can bring her back, I know—”
“McQueen of House Mejiro.”
McQueen stilled. Her tail swayed behind her.
“As the Emperor of the proud nation of Tracen,” the coldness of her voice made McQueen shiver, ”the inheritor of the divine might of Heaven and its Three Goddesses, the Ruler of the Noble Houses and its Courts. I hereby command you—”
“Emperor, please—”
“—to cease any and all magical expenditures and activities in pursuit of Tokai Teio’s resurrection. You will return to your post at the Capital, else forfeit your status as a member of House Mejiro and thus sully the honor of this noble House and all its retainers, past, present, and future.”
Silence fell. The Emperor watched her, face impassive, a dulled nothing in her eyes. McQueen could almost laugh at it, the cruelness of her apathy.
The Emperor rose from her seat, turning to the door. “Be at the Capital by week's end. Two days is enough to finish saying goodbye.” Then, in a voice almost soft enough to be kind: “Let her go, McQueen. Teio would have wanted you to.”
“You have no right to speak on her behalf.” Her tone was far too harsh for someone addressing the chosen of the Three Goddesses.“You know nothing about her. Or what she would have done.” The hard edge of the teacup handle dug into her skin. “If it had been you, she would have followed you all the way down and dragged you back herself. And you can’t even find it in yourself to wait another year?” Her voice rose to a volume that would be grounds for her execution right on the spot. “You titled her the ‘Joy of the Emperor’ and yet you threw her aside like she meant nothing to you.”
“The joy of the Emperor,” said Her Majesty, back still turned to McQueen, “lies in the well-being of her nation. Nothing else.”
With that, the Emperor walked away, leaving McQueen alone, two cups of cold tea and the silence her only companions.
The rays of morning sunlight filtered through gently swaying leaves, enveloping McQueen in its warmth. She held back a yawn as she left her tent, following a sweet smell wafting through the air. It smelled familiar to her, somehow, though she couldn’t quite place why.
As she shuffled towards the fire, she caught sight of Scarlet, focused on the pot in front of her.
“Good morning, Scarlet.”
Scarlet blinked up at her. “Oh! You’re awake. How’s your arm?”
McQueen stretched out her arm. “Just a bit of soreness. I’m sure it will disappear by tomorrow.”
A bit of guilt crept into her expression. “Sorry. If I had been quicker—”
“There’s no need to apologize,” interrupted McQueen gently. "I should have cast a ward on myself. Without you, I would be in far worse shape.”
After a pause, Scarlet smiled up at her. “Thanks, McQueen.”
McQueen hummed. “Can I help you cook?”
“No need to,” Scarlet said, putting out the fire, “it’s pretty much done.”
Red bean porridge simmered in the pot, and as Scarlet added pieces of mochi to a bowl, it finally dawned on McQueen. No wonder it smelled so familiar: Grandmother used to make this for her when she was younger and sick with the cold. It tasted different — Grandmother had used white paste — but it was close enough that it brought about that same feeling of warmth and comfort.
“How does it taste?”
“It tastes good,” said McQueen, as she had another spoon. “Very good.”
“Great,” said Scarlet, clear relief in her tone. “Teio said you would like it, but I wasn’t sure if that was true. But it worked out anyways, since we needed to finish off all the red beans.” She shot a look of annoyance at Gold Ship’s tent. “Honestly, why she thought we needed a whole sack is beyond me.”
Since when did Teio know she liked oshiruko? Absent-mindedly, McQueen said, "She’s beyond any of us, really. Is everyone else asleep?”
“Teio took Vodka to the river,” said Scarlet. “She was already awake when Golshi and I switched.”
“I see.” The mochi pieces bobbed cheerily as McQueen had another bite. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. In any case, that Teio even thought of her was warrant for appreciation.
“Actually,” said Scarlet. “Could you tell them to come eat? We need to be out of here in a few hours if we want to make it to the next town. Once you’re done, of course.”
The river ran south of their camp, far enough to be visibly obscured by the dense forest, but not so far that the sound of its rush disappeared. Birdsong interrupted its melody, and as McQueen got closer, a different sound joined its tune — the now-familiar tones of biwa strings being played. Yet, as much as she recognized the sound, something about the song itself rang different.
When McQueen finally reached the forest edge, she was met with the sight of Vodka and Teio, ankle-deep in the river and— to her surprise —engaged in a spar.
It was a rare occasion for their party to spar with each other. There was no pressing need to do so, with their travels taking them through enemy territory. But what was more surprising was the fact that the spar was between the bard and the fighter. Vodka never pulled her punches and Teio was far from the sturdiest one in the party; between herself and Teio, McQueen ended up being the one with more energy to spare. After their battle yesterday, she would have thought the bard would also be at rest, having exhausted much of her reserves.
She watched as Vodka sprinted towards Teio, fist reared back to strike. Teio struck a familiar set of notes, and a magic barrier appeared between her and Vodka, just in time to block her attack. Without even flinching, Vodka used the momentum to aim a kick at her side. It was the same maneuver from the previous battle that sent Teio barreling against her mid-cast, slamming them against a tree and breaking McQueen’s arm in the process.
McQueen expected Teio to block the attack, just as yesterday. Instead, she strummed an unfamiliar series of chords, each punctuated with harsh and aggressive strikes that gave McQueen goosebumps, left her tail thrashing in agitation. Vodka missed her target entirely, barely finding her footing as she stumbled back, ears pinned to her head. Taking advantage of the opening, Teio plucked yet another unfamiliar combination of notes and sang, melody at a pitch low enough that McQueen could barely hear. As she kept singing, the sounds themselves coalesced, drawn into each other until they became a sphere. With a loud thwack of her bachi against the fretboard, the sphere descended upon Vodka far too quickly for her to dodge.
As McQueen watched Vodka paw at her ears, tail sticking straight up behind her, it dawned on her. Teio had written and learned two entirely new songs in the span of one night. The speed in which she did so did not surprise her— Teio was titled the Joy of the Emperor, after all— but rather, her proactiveness made her wonder: did yesterday's enemies truly warrant such effort? As tiring as the battle had been, the demons had been of the standard sort, numbers barely worth logging for their reports.
Though, perhaps that was the point. That even the most ordinary demons should be treated with the same weight as the ones that lorded over them, that the opportunity to improve did not lie solely in reaching for their target but in every step on the way. Ranked or not, demons were all the same to the people they swore to protect, weren't they?
The thought roused a restlessness in McQueen, energy thrumming beneath her fingertips, aching to be let out. They may not be The Hero Party, but they were still a party aiming to be heroes. If Teio was training herself to perfection over something as unremarkable, then she needed to do the same.
McQueen made her way to the riverbank just as Teio strummed another song, familiar this time around. Just as quickly as the sphere had formed, it disappeared. As soon as it did, Vodka made her way to Teio, discussed something, then went back to her original spot and stance, fist reared back and ready.
Before they could start, McQueen stopped just shy of the water and called out: “Vodka! Teio! We need to leave in a few hours. Scarlet has breakfast ready.”
“Sounds good!” Vodka called out, stretching her arms above her head with a grunt. “Teio, you coming?”
“Ah,” Teio shook her head. “I'll practice for a little bit longer.”
“You sure?” When she nodded, Vodka shrugged. “Suit yourself. Better come back before Golshi wakes up though.”
Teio flashed her a thumbs-up, then went back to strumming her biwa, eyes closed in concentration as she began to hum.
Vodka went to McQueen and asked, “Hey, did you eat already?”
“Before I came here, yes,” said McQueen. “Why?”
Vodka shot Teio a glance, then said quietly, “Can you keep an eye on her? She pulled me to train, but Golshi’s pretty sure she stayed up all of last night. ”
“Oh, sure,” nodded McQueen. “I’ll make sure she rests soon.”
Vodka grinned. “Thanks. I’ll see you both at camp. Goddesses, I’m starving.”
With that, she left. McQueen watched as Teio stood in the water, still and alone. Her eyes stayed closed and she kept singing senseless words and phrases as she played in earnest— another song that made McQueen’s tail twitch.
Now that she was closer, it was obvious that Teio hadn't slept. Her voice lacked its usual pep, her plucking and strums running together with less and less clarity, her form lacking the relaxed air she usually carried herself with.
“Teio.”
She did not answer.
McQueen called louder. “Teio.”
She still did not answer. With a sigh, McQueen stepped into the water, sloshing her way to the bard. She stood in front of her and repeated herself: “Teio.”
Blue eyes blinked open, focusing on her. “McQueen?” Confusion colored her gaze. “I thought you left with Vodka?”
“I already ate.” The dark circles under her eyes gave McQueen pause. “Are you alright?”
Teio nodded. “Just need to get more practice done. I've almost figured the melody out.”
McQueen crossed her arms. “They said you were up all night. You need rest.”
Teio shook her head. “I'm fine. I'll rest on the way.”
McQueen sighed. “Teio—”
Teio gestured to her arm, furrow to her brow. “Besides, you should be the one resting, not me.”
“My arm is fine, thank you very much,” said McQueen. When Teio didn't budge, she waggled her fingers, summoning little orbs of light that danced on her palms. “Perfectly functional.”
Teio still looked unconvinced. “You should still head back. I’ll be here for a bit longer.”
“What a coincidence,” said McQueen. “So am I.”
Teio’s stare turned sharp. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“I am here to train.”McQueen pulled out her spellbook. “Nothing else.”
“But you—”
“Teio,” McQueen leveled her with a glare. “If you mention my arm again, I will push you into the river. I broke it. Scarlet healed me. It is fine.” She added: “Besides, it isn’t like I’m a bard. My spells work even with just one hand.”
“I know that, it’s just…” Teio looked away, ears flicking once. “You… It sounded like it caused a lot of pain. That’s all.”
Her tone gave her pause. McQueen stared at Teio for a moment, her irritation fading as she took in the concern in her eyes, the frown on her face that she realized now was from guilt, and said, “It hurt, of course. But that was nobody’s fault but my own.”
Teio frowned at her. “If I had another song—”
"If I had cast my wards, if Scarlet had been faster, if Gold Ship landed her hit, if Vodka struck harder,” McQueen shook her head. “We could go in circles at this rate. We’ve all been hurt before, this is nothing new.”
“You haven’t,” said Teio with a sudden fierceness. “Not before this.”
“Perhaps not,” McQueen agreed. “But it would have happened at some point, so why would that matter?”
McQueen watched as a curious flush made its way across her face. Teio turned her attention to her biwa, fiddling with the pegs, and mumbled, “Because it’s you, McQueen.”
McQueen was at a loss for words. “Teio…”
“I hate seeing the others hurt,” Teio continued, still not looking at her. “And if anything happened to them, I would chase down whoever did it. But if it was you?” Her bachi tapped lightly at the strings, soft notes filling the space between them. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”
Night fell. As the waves roiled, and the evening breeze rustled the perfectly pink petals of her belovedly hated tree, McQueen hatched a plan.
The Emperor had given her two days to reach the Capital. With the new transportation circle in town, that effectively gave her at least a day and a half to do what she needed before Her Majesty sent someone to her cottage to investigate.
Her plan was quite simple, really. For every single day of the last five years, McQueen had offered the tree fractions of her power. For every single day of the last five years, the tree had absorbed everything she had offered and more. If she offered up as much of her power as possible in the next thirty-six hours, the tree could reach its limits and finally bring Teio back.
How much would she need to offer? How would she know when enough is enough? How could she be so sure that this was the only way to go?
None of these mattered now. If it worked, Teio could come back. That was all she needed to know.
McQueen held on to a petal and closed her eyes.
“Teio. Come back to me.”
“A toast!” lauded Gold Ship. “To the Emperor and The Hero Party!”
Everyone raised their drinks and cheered, the campfire casting them in comforting light. Along with the gentle sound of the night tides and the coolness of the breeze, it was easily the most peaceful night of their entire expedition.
McQueen raised her glass, then savored the sweet taste of honeyade, a smile finding its way onto her lips. Earlier in the day, they heard word that The Hero Party had succeeded in their mission, slaying the Demon King and decimating their forces far north of the continent. All that was left to do was wait for the rest of the hero parties to handle their targets, and the war would be completely over.
Their target was only a few days’ journey south, and while the battle will no doubt be arduous, McQueen knew— logically —that they were prepared as best as they could be. A night like tonight, centered solely on celebration and on allowing themselves to look forward to the end of their journeys, was more than reasonable given the circumstances.
Still, McQueen couldn’t help but mentally go through all of their preparations. Their weapons, their spells and abilities and songs, everything they had gleaned about their target over the last few years, their supplies, their travel route, their—
A nudge against her shoulder broke her out of her thoughts. She turned to the bard sitting beside her. “What is it?”
Teio leveled her with a deadpan stare. “You’re thinking too hard again, McQueen.” She strummed. “Let loose a little! We’re going home soon!”
The excitement in her tone was palpable. After all this time, after all the battles, after all of their travels, they could finally go home. Just a few more days, and everyone in their party will see their loved ones again.”
“My apologies,” said McQueen, offering Teio a smile. “You’re right.” She raised her glass and cleared her throat. “To Tracen!”
They all raised their drinks once again. “To Tracen!”
Gold Ship downed her drink and stood. “Now, let’s get this party started!” She clapped Teio on the shoulder, drawing a mildly pained grunt from the bard. “Hit the tunes!”
Lively tunes began to fill the air as Teio started to play. Gold Ship danced along to the music, her movements graceful one second, then erratic the next. Teio, for her part, went along with her antics, changing the tempo at inopportune moments, holding a chord longer than necessary, or even just smacking her fretboard in lieu of playing notes. McQueen couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
“Wow,” Gold Ship pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. “Teio has me beat. I think…” her eyes scanned the group, the glint in her eyes somehow growing more mischievous. McQueen made sure to look away.
Vodka, however, was too slow. As soon as their gazes met, Gold Ship pounced, pulling her up by the arm and started twirling her around. “I think it’s Vodka’s turn to help out!”
“Oy!” Vodka grabbed onto her arms for dear life. “You’re going too fast!”
Scarlet laughed. “What, you can’t handle a little spinning?”
“Oh?” Gold Ship stopped, leaving Vodka to wobble, still clutching onto her arm. “Is Scarlet saying that she can spin better than yours truly?”
Scarlet started waving her hands, slight panic to her expression. “No, I’m good really—”
To no avail, of course. Gold Ship pulled her up, but instead of spinning Scarlet, she pried Vodka off of her arm and placed her hand on Scarlet instead. “I now pronounce you, cleric and fighter! You may now kiss the bride!”
“Wh—!”
“Golshi—!”
The two shouted, breaking apart from each other, their tails sticking straight out as they chased Gold Ship around the fire. The music had changed into something that sounded suspiciously wedding-like.
McQueen glanced at Teio, only to realize she was already looking at her. She tilted her head towards the antics ongoing around the fire, then raised a brow at the biwa. Teio simply shrugged, before giving her a small grin.
The entire exchange did not go unnoticed by Gold Ship. “What’s this?” she said, coming to a stop before the two of them. Behind her, Vodka and Scarlet were catching their breath. “A secret little joke between our bard and mage? Without sharing with the rest of us? Say it ain’t so!”
McQueen felt a modicum of dread at the look in her eyes. “Whatever shenanigans you’re planning, Gold Ship—”
“Me? Shenanigans?” she placed a hand on her heart, lower lip puffed out in an exaggerated pout. “Is that how you think of me, McQueen? After all of these years? Just comic relief? How hurtful. Nay, how heartbreaking.”
McQueen faltered. Beside her, the strikes of the bachi missed its mark. “Gold—”
“There’s only one cure for this broken heart,” she continued, a seriousness to her tone. “And that’s…”
McQueen straightened in her seat.
“… for you to perform the special Gold Ship: Firepit Waltz Second Edition…”
McQueen held back a yelp as Gold Ship grabbed her hand and pulled her to stand.
“…along with my new song, ‘Gold End’...”
“I don’t know that so— woah!” Teio cried out as it was her turn to be pulled up, the music coming to an abrupt halt. Gold Ship nudged the two of them together, then took the biwa and bachi as she plopped down on the sand.
“...performed by yours truly,” Gold Ship finished with a strum. Surprisingly enough, it sounded nearly identical to how it was supposed to be played.
Teio looked at her in awe. “Since when did you know how to play?”
Gold Ship tutted. “Buy my autobiography to find out.” She smacked the fretboard. “Everyone get ready to waltz!”
A melody started to play, the rhythm slow and deliberate, the notes suspended in the air. The crackle of the campfire and the distant swoop of the waves only heightened the atmosphere.
A hand gently touched her elbow. McQueen turned to see Teio, a smile on her face as she asked: “Would you care to dance?”
The hope in her gaze sent her heart stuttering. Wordlessly, McQueen placed her hand on her shoulder, the other onto her offered palm. With a grin, Teio led her into the sequence.
It had been a long time since she last danced properly, and longer still since her lessons, but McQueen could say that Teio was an amazing dancer. Her movements were smooth and confident, each stride and pull perfectly executed: gentle when the music yielded, strong when the song demanded it of them.
“I didn’t expect you to know how to dance like this,” admitted McQueen.
“The Court holds far too many dances for me not to know,” Teio chuckled as she led her into a slow spin. “And, it's a good way to get the crowd to join in on the fun.”
McQueen hummed. “I always thought bards would be too busy performing to dance.”
“Dance is part of the performance,” said Teio. She sighed, shaking her head as she pulled McQueen close. “Yet another gap in mage curriculum.”
“Well,” McQueen murmured, wanting nothing more than for Teio to pull her even closer, “then I suppose you'll have to help close that gap, won't you?”
“And how,” said Teio, voice taking on a lower pitch, the curve of her smile daring, “would the esteemed Mejiro McQueen want that to be done?”
Before McQueen could answer, the music stopped.
“Alright, lovebirds, pack it up, take it to the tents! My fingers hurt.”
She did not dare open her eyes, in fear of what she might see, in fear of what she might not.
McQueen could not falter. It was far too late to.
When the fire started dying down, they all bid each other goodnight and settled in for the night. For McQueen, that meant starting her watch by casting additional wards around their camp.
She was halfway finished with her last casting when she heard the rustle of a tent flap and the quiet thump of steps upon the sand.
A murmur came from beside her. “Hey, McQueen?”
“Hm?” McQueen turned to see Teio, hair down and feet bare and dressed for sleep. “Teio? Why are you still awake?”
Teio scratched her ear, a sheepish grin on her face. “Couldn't sleep. Just wanted to walk a little. Are you almost done?”
“Just a few more minutes,” said McQueen. Closing her eyes, she held her hand out to her near-finished ward, and murmured the rest of the spell. The weight of the stare upon her did not go unnoticed, and if she had been a lesser mage, it would have distracted her enough to a point of concern. Only when she finally felt that small burst of energy signaling the ward's completion did she allow herself to wonder, just for a moment, what Teio saw, what Teio felt when watching her.
McQueen blinked her eyes open to find Teio still looking at her, an almost adoring smile on her face. She ignored the flush threatening to creep up her cheeks and cleared her throat. “Where are you going to go?”
“Just to the water,” Teio replied. After a pause, she asked, “Join me?”
There was that hopeful look in her eyes once more, and there was that answering stutter in her heart once again. “I would love to.”
They walked towards the sea, McQueen a couple of steps behind Teio. Clouds glided across the night sky, the distant moon and the stars hidden behind its cover. Their feet sunk in the sand, less and less so as they moved closer and closer to the beach. A comfortable quiet fell between the two of them, the sound of waves breaking upon the shore their only music.
It was peaceful. A far cry from the hustle and bustle of life in the Capital; here, the demands of the Association, the weight of the future of the Mejiro House— it all seemed so distant, as inconsequential as seafoam sinking into sand. Would she have felt the same, if she had traveled with The Hero Party? Or would she have turned her nose, too focused on the destination to even look at her steps?
The sound of laughter brought her back into the present. They had reached the shore, and Teio had run up ahead, chasing the receding waves. Something in her chest twinged at the sight. As stressful as their travels had been, these little pockets of calm where the world slowed down were one of the things that made it all worthwhile.
Perhaps one day, thought McQueen, a smile on her face as she watched Teio run away from the water, when the war was over, when the work was finished…it would be nice to settle down somewhere like this.
Teio made eye contact with her and waved her over. When McQueen shook her head, Teio placed her hands on her hips and kept staring expectantly, even as the waves lapped up her shins, dampening the edge of her britches and her tail.
With a fond sigh, McQueen rolled up her pants and tucked in her tail before joining her. She held back a squeal as the cold water splashed her knees. Making her way over to Teio, she said, “If we get a cold from this, I am holding you fully responsible.”
“A little bit of water won’t hurt anyone,” said Teio, scooping up a handful of water. “Besides, that’s what clerics are for!”
She threw the water high up into the air. McQueen couldn’t hold back a small screech as pinpricks of cold hit her arms, her face, sputtering, “Teio! Oh, when I get you!”
Teio jogged away from her, laughing freely as McQueen gave chase. Muttering, she summoned four orbs of light around her, acting as a guiding beacon to where Teio was.
Teio squealed as a well-aimed handful of water drenched her front. “No fair! I don’t have my instrument!”
McQueen laughed, light and carefree. “That is entirely on you!”
Teio answered by kicking water towards her, pulling another peal of laughter from McQueen, and not for the first time that night did she wish for this moment to never end.
Even so, she wondered.
Would you have wanted this? Would you have done the same?
“Forgive me for being selfish, Teio.”
Eventually, they tired themselves out. By then, the clouds had drifted enough for slivers of moonlight to peek through, casting the ocean and the shore in gentle glow.
They sat beside each other— Teio with her hands behind her, legs spread out in the sand, McQueen hugging her knees —close enough that if either of them leaned over, their shoulders would brush.
McQueen fought the urge to do so. Instead, she cast furtive glances at the bard beside her. Teio had her eyes trained on the waves, a content smile on her face. Without her biwa and her bachi, her clothes still damp even after a drying spell, bits of sand and salt sticking to her tail, she was the epitome of unburdened and unfettered relaxation, and McQueen couldn’t bring herself to look away.
“You know,” said Teio, gaze still on the sea. “They used to call me the ‘Beach Monarch’ when I was younger.”
“I can imagine that,” McQueen propped her chin upon her knee. “You weren’t born in the Capital?”
Teio shook her head. “I grew up in the north. One of the seaside towns. I used to play on the beach all the time. I haven’t done that in a long time, so…” she turned her gaze towards McQueen and grinned. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” said McQueen softly. After a pause, she said, “I don’t normally have the chance to do these sorts of things so thank you as well.”
Teio hummed. “I bet. The Association sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is,” said McQueen. “But it is rewarding, so I don’t have any complaints.”
Teio turned her gaze to the sea once more. Then, she asked, “What are you looking forward to after the war?”
“Tea with my family,” said McQueen. “Seeing my friends. Sleeping in my own bedroom.. How about you?”
“The same things, really. Seeing the Emperor again. Listening to my friends’ new stories.” Teio leaned back to look up at the sky. “But right now, the victory banquet.”
“I see. Do you have any new songs to play?”
“I’m working on them. I think I’d rather be relaxing this time around.”
McQueen looked at her curiously. “The Joy of the Emperor willingly relinquishing the spotlight? How unheard of.”
“Relinquishing? Absolutely not.” Teio huffed, before flashing her a grin. “I have other ways to steal the show.”
“Is that so?” said McQueen, amused. “Please, enlighten me.”
“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise now, would I?”
“I can keep a secret.”
“Since you’re so eager to know,” said Teio with an exaggerated sigh as she sat up. “I plan to dance.”
“Oh?” McQueen looked at her in surprise. “That would be wonderful. You’re planning a performance?”
“Not by myself, of course,” said Teio. Her ears flicked, voice a bit shaky as she said: “I plan to dance with someone.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Who did you have in mind?”
“Naturally, it has to be someone who can dance.”
“Of course.”
Teio looked at her. “They have to be able to keep up with me.”
“An easy standard to meet.”
“Hey now.” Teio pouted.
McQueen giggled. “My apologies. Please continue.”
“Someone elegant. Poised.” Her voice grew steadier. “Noble, even.”
“It is at the Court after all.”
Their elbows brushed as Teio moved closer. “Someone stubborn as a mule.”
McQueen huffed. “Tenacious is a better word.”
Teio nudged her shoulder. “Sure, sure. Tenacious.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Someone kind. Compassionate.”
This close, McQueen could see the reflection of moonlight in her eyes. “What else?”
“Someone…” her gaze slid down, “someone…”
Warm breath caressed her cheek as McQueen leaned in. “Someone?”
“Someone,” Teio murmured, eyes fluttering shut, “just like you.”
Her lips were soft, a slow slide of warmth against her own. Far gentler and far more careful than McQueen had expected, and that fact alone sparked that simmering want in her chest into a blaze. She drew away for a breath, then kissed her again, and again, each deeper than the last, each savoring how she tasted, how she felt, and McQueen wanted to find out more, wanted to kiss her until Teio laid bare before her, wanted wanted wanted—
“All I wanted—”
—and then the sea erupted into flames.
They sprung apart. Instinct took over as they woke the others, as they headed into the battle meant to send them home.
The next several hours were a symphony of pure chaos. Myriads of spells whizzing through the air. Wards sustained with blood. Armor shattered piece-by-piece. Fists broken and mended and broken over and over again. Prayers left unspoken and unanswered.
Then, a ripple of light. Then, a canopy of silence. Then, a wave of pressure.
“—was a little more time with you.”
Then, a song left unfinished, with nobody to sing its tune.
Sweat beaded upon her brow as she poured more and more of her energy into the sakura tree. Her reserves were low, almost dangerously so, but McQueen couldn’t stop. She could feel her power resonating within the tree, could feel it push and push and push against a barrier, and if she just kept going, just kept focusing, just kept thinking of Teio, then surely—!
A wave of pressure forced her eyes open, forced her to watch as the sakura tree glowed brighter and brighter and brighter, the light coming from within threatening to tear the branches apart.
Until it faded and a single pink petal drifted towards the floor.
It was the last thing McQueen saw before darkness claimed her.
Silence. Unbearable silence.
Still, even an unfinished song held a melody. All she needed to do was to keep it in suspense, until someone returned to bring it to a close.
Her eyes snapped open. The sight of the floor greeted her, hardwood littered with papers and stationery and quills and ink bottles and beautiful pink petals scattered all around.
McQueen scrambled up, grabbing the back of a chair as vertigo struck her. Her gaze skittered around before finally landing on the tree.
Her heart stopped at the sight. It sat at the same spot it had been for five years. But, its branches were barren. Petals and blossoms decorated the area around the riser and on the floor and windowsill. They stirred as the sea breeze blew into the room, cold air that made McQueen shiver and shiver and shiver.
The petals had fallen. The tree no longer held power.
Teio wasn't here.
Her breath stuttered. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes.
Teio was gone.
McQueen buried her face in her hands and cried, loud, heaving sobs that echoed in the lonely cottage, that shook her entirety with every shuddering breath. What else was there to do but to cry until her eyes ached, until her voice turned hoarse, until the pain on her body matched the pain in her heart? What else was there to do but grieve for the years passed by, for the hopes left unrealized, for the moments now locked only to memory? What else was there to do but let the broken pieces fall, let her bloodied fists rest, and let Teio go?
McQueen stared listlessly at the view outside her window, thumbing at the petals strewn on the desk. Outside, the sun was in the middle of setting, bright orange blurring the line between the sky and the sea. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore filled her ears, distracting her from her thoughts.
If she drew closer to the sea, perhaps the tide would be loud enough to drown her thoughts entirely. At the very least, she would be looking at something other than the pink petals scattered in her cottage.
The sand felt warm beneath her as she walked to the shoreline, a contrast against the cool breeze. This close to the water, all she could see and hear was the ebb and flow of the waves, drawing away from the shore and crashing back, over and over again, seafoam almost reaching her feet.
McQueen must have stood there for hours, watching, listening, letting it all fill that hollow pit in her chest.
That was, until she heard a sound, twined with the crashing waves, so quiet that she thought it merely a cruel trick of the sea.
But McQueen knew those sounds by heart, could pick them out in the loudest of taverns and in the deadliest of battles.
The sound of a bachi against a biwa. The sound of a voice singing along. The sound of a bard, creating songs and stories and everything in between.
McQueen ran. Ran as fast as she could, ran like her life depended on it, ran towards the music until she caught sight of a figure as familiar as her own reflection.
Teio, standing with her biwa and her bachi. Teio, swaying as she sang. Teio, staring straight at her, bright-eyed and smiling. Teio, Teio, Teio.
McQueen took one step, two, three, until she stood right in front of her.
“Teio?” She reached out a trembling hand, stopping just shy of touching her. What if this was just an illusion, her grief finally catching up to her? “Is it— is it really you?”
Teio set aside her instrument and took her outstretched hand. She pressed it against her cheek. “It's really me, McQueen.”
Her cheek was warm. Pure relief coursed through her, and McQueen couldn't hold back a sob as she threw her arms around her. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”
“I'm sorry.” Teio shuddered against her, voice muffled against her neck, clutching at her like a lifeline. “I took so long. I'm sorry.”
McQueen shook her head. “You came back. That’s all that matters.”
Teio pulled away and pressed a soft kiss upon her lips, once, twice, more and more, until they dissolved into quiet giggles, meant only for each other to hear.
There they stood, holding each other as they watched the setting sun give way to gentle moonlight, taking comfort in the existence of their tomorrow.