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“What do you mean, Thessaleo Fells has been caught in a fiasco of flames?”
“Well, it's true.” Her informant sounds almost affronted that she should doubt the information at all, as if it weren't the most utterly bizzare piece of news to receive on a regular weekday. “It's spreading through Ragunna, at least. And it's been verified by onlookers. the grand Porto-Veno Castle of Thessaleo Fells was definitely aflame—”
“Repeat that.”
“Porto-Veno Castle—”
“As in, the Porto-Veno Castle which overlooks Thessaleo Fells. As in, the one which has the cliff end of Thessaleo Fells with a magnificantly cascading waterfall down into the depths?”
“As in, the land belonging to the Fisalia Family, yes, Lady Changli.”
The silence takes at least ten counts before Changli breathes again.
“And you're saying this fire burned on for, approximately, how long?”
“…four hours?”
“Atop a literal waterfall.”
“Well, yes…”
“And were there casualties?”
“According to rumours, some of the servants were injured. According to more insider info, it was only the Head of Family. According to all insider info, however, the Fisalias have declared no deaths, and have not held any funerals. And, they have not directly verified news of the fire, though it was definitely visible even from Ragunna City itself. The Montellis have reached out for clarification on behalf of the rest of Ragunna, but the Fisalias have yet released any statements to confirm nor deny the happenings of their crépuscule fiasco.”
“So, no casualties have been reported despite a fire that ravaged the entirety of Porto-Veno Castle? Certainly at least it must have been someone's Forte, in that case, or no natural fire would behave that way. Has any culprit been apprehended?”
“…there is, unfortunately, Lady Changli, still no news from the Fisalias at all. Not even an official statement to clear the air about the rumours of how the fire started — which I doubt would be the case if they'd had any inkling already as to how the fire arose…”
Which means, no one knows what happened at the Fisalia's main threshold. No one knows what happened in the elusive depths of Porto-Veno Castle, a stronghold with an age by the centuries, and certainly has never faced anything quite as traumatic as a four-hour-long fire that could not be put out by the water and humidity of directly nesting adjacent to a waterfall.
“Though I doubt there would have been any real danger, Lady Changli, or we'd at least be definiteively hearing from the Fisalias—eh? Lady Changli—!?”
What an ill choice of words to have said, but it's not the time now to dwell on just how little people seem to understand her, nor understand the gravity of the information that's just been reported to her as though she might respond like someone fishing for the latest gossip.
“Jinhsi, have you a moment at present? I do apologise, but this is quite the pressing matter at hand; it is rather urgent.”
In all her years of living, Jinhsi has remarkably never seen someone mention the words “pressing matter” and “urgent” the way her mentor addresses them like the weatherman may report a cloudy day like every other.
And better yet; in all her years of being brought up under Changli's careful guidance, mentorship, tutelage, and so on — she's never truly heard the words “pressing matter” and “urgent” be used within the same breath before. It's almost as if those two things meant exactly the same thing, and that the regular side of Changli would long have presumed Jinhsi understood her enough to understand that a repetition for emphasis on the imperative was no longer necessary thereafter. It's almost as if Changli herself didn't have the habit of never repeating herself, to top that Changli always used such words ever sparingly.
In fact, there's been more occasions where Jinhsi has glimpsed bruises, abrasions, cuts and some of the nastiest gashes be brushed away with the ease of accepting a cup of tea, a humouring remark about the weather lately, and a quiet reminder that Jinhsi's brushstrokes have fallen out of practice. The last time Changli had ever called something pressing, had been right around the corner of Jinzhou's major troubles against the looming threat of the Ovathrax.
So, naturally, with no Threnodian trouble at hand, at the moment, it certainly is open grounds for concern, to hear the slightest fry in her mentor's words that come unprompted. “There's been a fire at Porto-Veno Castle. For four hours it burned ceaselessly, and I've verified that till now, rescue efforts are still underway, and thick plumes of smoke have still been sighted from the residence. Additionally, the Head of the Fisalias has remained uncontactable, which remains a pressing concern for the Ragunna economy we have been monitoring—”
“Shifu,” The young Magistrate cuts in quietly, resting her chin on her folded hands. “Take a moment, and breathe.”
In almost an irritated response, she gets a raised eyebrow, but nevertheless a deliberately deep breath from the woman before her. The same woman whom has plotted the downfall of many more important political figures without so much as putting a dent in any of her finely polished brows, is now scrutinising Jinhsi in mild, pleasant frustration, an unspoken lecture hidden somewhere within that amber gaze.
And yet even so, any good Magistrate is never meant to fold so easily under light pressure. Much less the young and capable Magistrate of Jinzhou, even if she's faced with her mentor's words that, her Counsellor, and precisely the very same woman whom has used to be the Secretary-General of Mingting.
“Is this about the Lady Fisalia you last mentioned to me?” asks Jinhsi, though she's not as cruel as to employ her mentor's own techniques onto her poor Shifu. Empathy must be used in situations which call for it, in which case has become highly apt, considering Changli looks faintly ready to down her entire teapot's worth of tea. “The 36th Matriarch of the Fisalias, that very good friend of yours which you've always told me about?”
Jinhsi takes two cups from the rack, pouring the tea out neatly, careful to ignore the vein she'd clearly witnessed jumping in a repressed twitch between aforementioned cultivated brows.
“I know this doesn't fall within my discretion, nor loyalties, as the Counsellor to the Jinzhou Magistrate,” Instead Changli decides to reopen the conversation after a moment's worth of composing herself, with the tea blend that very inconveniently reminds her of her current cause, worrying over a certain lavender-haired matriarch gone non-contactable across the sea. “However, I assure you that I have completely caught up with my due tasks and will be able to schedule my quick visit to Rinascita without any further delays nor impacts to Jinzhou's logistical arrangements—”
“—therefore, approved.”
The Counsellor looks almost ready to continue with words to form her second argument, if not for the way her mouth has closed halfway, her gaze dulled with a polite pause from her previous sharpness. “Pardon?”
“I said, approved.” Silver eyes blink at her innocently, almost, if not for the small smile that plays out, poorly concealed on Jinhsi's lips. “Shifu, you do know you didn't have to say all that. You didn't even have to come in person, you could have just sent me a WavesLine and it would have done just fine.”
“Official notice is always required regardless of urgency.” Changli laughs, though it leaves her in a deeper, graver choke that sounded more than a stone's throw away from what a laugh ought to have sounded. “I would scarce be leading by example if I had simply ditched my position and ran off like a child to their whims.”
“And yet, Shifu, I remain suitably capable of handling Jinzhou even if you were to have indulged your anxieties.” Jinhsi chuckles as well, nursing the teacup by her lips, gesturing towards the door. “So, Shifu, please follow your heart yet again this once — and write to me from Ragunna, if there are further arrangements to be made there. And send the Matriarch of Fisalias my regards, when all has been assuredly settled and well.”
“I'll make sure of that.” The teacup is set upon the table so abruptly that Jinhsi has no chance to say a word further, beyond raising her eyebrows at the woman presently fleeing her office. “Thank you, Hsi.”
Is it even any surprise that as the door slams in her wake, said teacup falls apart, cracked neatly into halves?
The Magistrate of Jinzhou only sighs.
Oh, Shifu…
The journey between Ragunna and Jinzhou felt remarkably short. And remarkably long. And remarkably stifling, from all the questioning, confused gazes she'd been tossed from all around, while she strayed from one end of the vessel to the other end and back. Her footfalls were always silent; a practice from her trade, and yet on a vessel so small, it was undeniably obvious when a person decided to pace, and found themselves back within the same spot within minutes alone.
But if she had to be objective — the journey itself was not quite a short one, even if the vessels these days seem to cruise the seas between Ragunna and Jinzhou with greater ease. It makes her think about the inevitable thought that form, between the context of why she's travelling on a regular weekday, or where she's headed. It makes her think about how many times Cantarella had to board a vessel like this, possibly better disguised than Changli presently remains, in her regular dressing with quite clearly the air of elegance not yet dispelled from her attire. It makes her think about the many times that Cantarella had come forth from Ragunna, alone on these little ships and boats, running to Jinzhou over and over again with the freedom one could have as an elusive Matriarch of a noble house. In these years since she'd been in Jinzhou, it's only been the recent years or so after Ragunna's seas had calmed again that Cantarella came quite as often as she used to frequent Mingting, much younger back then with lists full of questions on Imperator.
So it feels displaced, to visit Ragunna without formal invitation, to see the workers and traders by the dock eyeing her as she descends the plank in her heels, perhaps looking not at all the image of the fact that she was presently trying not to trip. Sea travels were always inevitable in her time as Secretary-General, but perhaps Jinzhou has pampered her in ways Mingting never did, and coming off a vessel any larger than a rowboat in tall heels still posed its own difficulty, regardless of how well-versed one might be in very seasoned heels.
But that being said, perhaps what displaces her even more is to see a familiar face when she habitually scans through the waiting crowd. There are faces that are anxious, waiting for their vessels, waiting for their loved ones, or perhaps waiting to punch their debtor, considering the cries she hears behind her, someone being yanked off halfway down the plank. There's a face that she didn't quite expect that she would recognise, though it'd taken her a moment or almost two, to classify the features of the slightly more aged man who stood by the dock calmly, his arms folded in habitual practice, back mildly bent in a half bow.
Sebastian, Cantarella's personal butler, if she did not forget a face quite as solemn yet composed as the man who stood before her — presently with none the air of either mentioned. Largely attributed to the blotches that cover his face, it is with pursed lips that Changli holds back any potentially offensive humorous opening to small talk, instead reaching for a handkerchief and for the softest voice she can manage. “Sebastian, is that right? Is everything alright within Porto-Veno Castle?”
Kudos to him, to the butler who smiles anyway, wiping of the soot with little help to the problem, when the ashes smudge further, and Changli is about to offer him a short bathroom break to cleanse whatever is going on, between his deeply smoked garments, the silver streaks of ash rigging through his hair at random, and the coarseness of his voice like someone who's smoked too much in too little time. “I fear the explanation might be a little lengthy to manage at the moment, Lady Changli, and that Milady would perhaps prefer to explain the circumstances to you in person. However, as Milady has advised, she sent me forth in the good expectation that I might find you here, Lady Changli, and offer you a quicker journey towards Porto-Veno Castle.”
That makes her pause, while the people around them slowly scatter back into their own businesses. “Your Lady informed you that I would likely be here?”
“Milady estimated you would be here as soon as you heard the rumours, which would have spread quite widely by dawn, if your Ladyship's network was as privy as she assumed.”
Meaning to say, Cantarella had assumed she would catch the drifting news. Or, more accurately, Cantarella had expected her to catch up on the news fresh off the stove, so to speak.
So, then, why had Cantarella not simply shortened the process a little more, and gone maybe an inch more to have sent her, perhaps, a very convenient little message by WavesLine that could have been expressed in two comparatively easier to conceive words.
Like perhaps even a message like "I'm fine", or maybe "All's good", would have sufficed, and yet instead here they are, playing games first thing in the morning, between the three poor clues of a burnt castle, an ashen butler, and the cryptic orders said butler was acting upon to escort her quietly on the Gondola taking her up the precise waterfall that should have extinguished the fire. Her thoughts at the moment were rather convoluted to even begin to compress, and Changli had — for her sanity, at least — deigned to let them on the loose while the Gondola made careful progress in rebellion against gravity, travelling up the waterfall.
But all lamenting of the lack of normalcy escapes her by the time the Gondola finishes its ascent. In many regards Changli has long come to terms with the fact that maybe the men she'd fought didn't call her a crazy woman for no reason — but of whatever sanity she had left in her, there wasn't a single breath she had left to complain when faced with the castle slowly coming into view.
Porto-Veno Castle. Intact in the general silhouette as she remembered it, looming magnificently like a gentle guardian cloaked in soft periwinkle, overlooking both its cliff-end waterfall into the seas, and the greater parts of Thessaleo Fells land that stretched towards Egla Town. And yet there was lesser justice she can do to describe the number of injustice done upon such a beautifully solemn stronghold, with the walls from its back now deeply marred with soot marks, charring burns with grease of surrounding incinerated plants dripping down along water streaks indicating desperate attempts to have extinguished the fire that had devastated its design.
Safe to say, Changli thought, observing even only the Castle defaced by its newly hideous facade of terrible arson; perhaps Cantarella really didn't have any heart, nor time at all to have spared her the sentiments of a tiny text to grace her anxiety.
And as though Sebastian had not spent the whole of the Gondola journey recounting to her the necessary details of the fire, she turns back to the butler slowly, as though any faster might startle him enough to scare off his soot. “The fire burned for four hours, you say.”
“Yes, your Ladyship.”
“And with but a single casualty?”
“With,” Sebastian hesitates once more, with that strange look of obvious secrecy, and yet words he cannot quite spill are the precise words he does not say, in folded hands and half bows. “Not a single person among the staff or the family, harmed. Not a single soul in Porto-Veno Castle has been hurt in the mysterious fire — and, not even the plants that were looked after by the Matriarch herself personally.”
A fire that can discriminate by circumstance? — Unheard of. It was essentially impossible by nature alone, though again if it was an act of premeditated arson, by someone whose Forte well controlled flames, then this was certainly a highly plausible, orchestrated ploy, that…yet again, however, did not harm a single person within the Fisalia stronghold. Nothing seemed to explain it, all the more not the next thought that came unbidden, and all of a sudden horrifyingly sharp in its acute scope addressing the clues gathered at hand.
The fact that Changli herself could control pure heat, fire, and flames.
And the fact that even she does not know anyone else who can control them quite as exceptionally well as she can.
Was this a setup for me?
Was this why Cantarella had not alerted me at all — had she not wanted me to come at all?
Have I inadvertently fallen into a scheme meant to entrap me?
What part of all this does Cantarella have to play — furthermore as the only member of the injured resulting from this case of immolation?
“Lady Changli,” The butler beside her clears his throat again, though it's not quite clear whther he did it to politely regain her attention, or that his smoked throat required another round of clearing. “Milady still awaits your audience in her room.”
The answers await her audience in that next room, and yet somehow she feels not even the slightest anticipation for the resolution to this mystery that's kept her up since the news reached her in the day's earliest hours. It cannot be trepidation, the shiver in her shoulders when she flattens her hand against the broad of the door, and realises it's closer akin to anxiety that surges through her, to nudge open the room door, and hear the footsteps pause behind her, clothes ruffling with yet another half bow.
But either way, she's about to find out, anyway. And, hopefully, maybe, the story she'll be writing in that message back to Jinhsi won't be one that's any too thrilling at all.
“As expected, your liaisons work swift as always; you came swifter than I thought you would, Lady Changli.”
It's not unusual to see servants scatter around her. Even from her days in Mingting, most officials with lower ranks didn't quite fancy meeting her eyes unless necessary in courts and meetings. It's certainly quite the common occurence that her presence seems to overwhelm others easily, at minimum, or intimidate, to be more accurately in line with the expressions she's seen over the years.
But this time it's unusual, to see soot-covered servants bow out in their usual haste, and with a surprising amount of relief woven into their tight-pressed lips, and the allegro of feet shuffling out the narrow doorway she'd only just stepped out from. It's certainly an unexpected change from seeing others fear her, to seeing others fear her less than something else more deserving of fear in the room, no matter if it seemed no more than an ordinary room.
An ordinary room that looks by far the most charred room in the entire castle, that is. In the corner, on some warped little metal cauldron, there's some blanket corners poking out from within. The blankets that could otherwise have been the same luxurious, silken type that lined Cantarella's bed in her memory, are now singed at the hems, seams running apart from scorch marks seared unevenly through ends that peek out from over the side of its thick metal rim. But what really catches her eye, is the small flashes of light that come from within the cauldron, flickers of little light bursts that swell along the inner reflection of the cauldron before disappearing again.
Like a familiar dance of fluctuations, like a dance she can recognise, patterns of firelight shimmering across the dark colours of a used medicinal cauldron, igniting sparks along the inside, following the tracing path of the tiny fingers in the air—
Tiny fingers?
The bundle of burnt blankets seemingly shifts under her gaze, before another puff of flames erupt from nowhere, and the bunched linen burst into flames once more.
Almost on instinct, Changli lifts a hand to siphon away the flames; with almost no resistance at all, the vermilion light dissipates along with the flames she extinguishes as easily as she could control her own flames.
Then the charred blankets fall apart loosely, and for a moment at all Changli isn't sure what exactly she's looking at.
Wide, bright blue eyes.
Soft wisps of pink hair, delicately combed back into the blankets.
A mark of red like a lick of flames, at the corner of the left blue eye.
Ten small fingers, flexing and curling of their own will, unscathed by the glow that swallows them within its light and heat, burning flames circling both tiny hands.
“Isn't she adorable?” The silence is broken by a laugh from the figure who'd spoken earlier, miraculously cleaner than every other person who'd been in the room. Her soft, pale skin seems almost aglow in the dark of the burnt room, clearly cleaned with quite some effort and quite a lot of haste, considering the faint smears of ashen grease that still mark her lavender tresses at its ends. “Though I would hesitate to call her a spitting image — I daresay those eyes are more mine than yours.”
By every means, Changli has always considered herself a clever woman.
“What do you mean, mine?”
The words come out as hoarse as Sebastian's voice had been. Like she, too, has smoked too much in too little time at all. But perhaps reality didn't have either the subtlety or nuances of the soft smile playing out on Cantarella's lips, when Changli's gaze roves back to the matriarch laying quietly in bed, seemingly bound to the confines of her bed, when she slowly rolls down the fresh blankets piled upon her in dutiful covers, only to lift a hand and gesture in the vague direction of the cauldron.
“Behold, the entire cause of why my abode has been sieged by endless flames since early in the wee hours of morning,” says Cantarella, with a casual tone that might ordinarily match Changli's composure. But, of course, composure is not something might so easily command while standing next to a cauldron, with the apparent little squirming bundle gradually dawning upon her just why exactly there was a cauldron in the middle of Cantarella's bedroom. “That was the best alternative we had, for a lack of cribs readily available, and for a lack of any further notably fireproof options among those that were more dignified.”
Changli looks up, speechless, and Cantarella has the decency to blush a little, twisting her fingers apologetically before chuckling. “At least, I managed to talk the servants out of leaving her in a pot.”
And what difference would that make from a cauldron…? More importantly, is that even the point?!
“I'll be needing a much clearer explanation, Canta.” The deep breath takes even more out of her, when she glances back down into the cauldron, where she can no longer gaslight herself into ignoring the very obvious blue eyes staring back at her, cooing quietly in the form of an infant with a pair of eyes identical to the woman now bedridden, her hair loosely arranged down her shoulders, and her nightgown now quite clearly sweat-stained where Changli had missed earlier. “What…whose child is…?”
Cantarella opens her mouth, as though to protest, before it falls shut into the thoroughly affronted gaze that surges to control over the matriarch's expression. As though Changli's attempt for more clarification was insult to injury at all, when Cantarella sighs and slowly swings her legs off the side of the bed, rolling away her blankets and crossing the room in noticeably unsteady steps amidst a considerably slower gait.
“You don't see the resemblance?” If she hadn't known better, it would be too easy to fall for the hurt in Cantarella's voice, the offended tone and the furrowed brow of indignance and such moving, utter heartbreak. “And here I thought to myself, surely she's quite the handsome infant, with her stunningly beautiful blue eyes, or so the servants have been convicted to convince me the whole time that her eyes bear a striking resemblance to mine—”
“Canta,” There's a deeper edge to Changli's voice now, and a sharper hint of desperation, or urgency. “Now's not the time to beat around the bush.”
“As I am aware.” Cantarella's voice is soft, her tone and gaze just as serene. “I was only about to get to the main point.”
“Which is…?”
“For you to say hello to my daughter, Changli.” Cantarella bends down, gently picking up the blinking infant from within the depths of the cauldron, careful to swaddle her well within her blankets, before cradling the baby up to her chest. “This is…well, my daughter. I haven't quite named her yet, you see, as there was a bit of an intense fiasco ongoing…and, well, I thought I ought to consult her other mother first, before deciding on something quite as important as a name.”
“Her other mother.” Changli repeats faintly, too faint to encompass the intensity of her deep alarm. “Whom happens to be…?”
The cerulean gaze which meets her almost seems to convey one sentiment — you cannot possibly be serious — before Cantarella takes a deep breath, and lets out an impossibly soft sigh.
“The only person I could be so comfortably acquainted with to have produced a carbon copy of, down to the exact same Resonance Ability which swiftly thereafter attempted to burn down my estate in the four hours ensuing her very unexpected arrival.”
Then, for good measure, Cantarella's gaze snaps firm on hers, before reaching to gently tuck away the tiny fingers attempting to set fire to her lavender ends once more. “And I do suppose this would be the moment in Hero Plays where you are well suited to gasp, in three different tones, and shrilly exclaim, it cannot be! while you glance towards the audience for confirmation of the conclusion you've long arrived at upon having seen our child at all?”
Our child.
Something snaps — they glance up at the same time, watching some flake of crispy charred wood collapse from the remnants of a bookshelf, while Changli allows herself the dramatic moment of covering her mouth, to the small smirk of satisfaction that blooms on the matriarch's lips, seemingly content with the final realisation of hypotheticals condensing into fact.
“That's…” The Counsellor reaches forward, pinching away the starting embers of baby fingers gripping the loose collar of Cantarella's nightgown. “This is our daughter?”
With the undertones of possibly more shock gone unvoiced—
How was this possible?
When did this even happen??
Why didn't you even tell me at all???
Did you even know? Did you not want to tell me at all?
—all of which, Cantarella seems to take in well with the grace as expected from her noble conduct, while she bounces their child a little more in her arms, like it's measure enough to stop the infant from attempting to set her less-fireproof mother ablaze.
“For the record,” The matriarch declares, all too cheerfully for the amount of information that's been disseminated for the past few minutes, and will possibly continue for the next few minutes more. “I had approximately only ten more hours of knowledge than you currently do.”
Suddenly Changli seems to understand, in overwhelming sympathy, why Sebastian's voice had sounded so hoarse in comparison to his usual — hers is no better, raspy with tears she didn't know existed until they began to burn in the rims of her eyes, announcing their new presence with prickling heat. “What do you mean by ten more hours?”
“Well,” Cantarella has the gall to appear thoughtful, still bouncing their daughter in her arms. “I thought I was being poisoned, actually, or that some of the old toxins were flaring up again, as they seasonally do. It felt — precisely and significantly — only a notch lesser than the combination of eating scones laced with mercury and being stung by a Jellyrose Medusa all at once. Following which, shortly after, I had three separate family members and medical candidates inform me — in absolute, thorough mortification — that I was likely in labour. Labour that lasted me six further hours even beyond that point. Believe me, I was certainly in a lot more shock than you are currently processing at the moment.”
“You didn't…you didn't know at all?? Not for the entirety—”
“I was informed with newly gained knowledge that apparently cryptic pregnancies do exist.” Cantarella continues calmly. “Which, was how our daughter made quite the unexpected entrance at one in the morning, before her first cries proceeded to set fire to Porto-Veno Castle for the ensuing four hours of morning. Though, thankfully, the little tyrant has had a little mercy; none of my people have been injured in her fire, which proves she might have a little prowess in that regard—”
“Canta—”
“—more or less talent as inherited from her highly talented other mother who came running as soon as she caught the rumours—”
“Canta.”
The matriarch looks up, as though she'd missed the first time. “Hm?”
“How are you feeling?”
A question that she hadn't quite had the time to consider, nor think about, ever since the abrupt pains flared deep into the night, wrenching her out of uneasy sleep.
“I'm…” For a moment she considers brushing it off, lying as casually as she's been in order to hold the calm of the family as their Matriarch. For a moment she considers absolutely lying her way out of this, but what kind of person was Changli, if not extremely observant? The type of person who could infer half a person's background simply within moments of meeting her; and even more inconveniently, the same woman she's slept with on more than enough occasions that they'd eventually reached this particular outcome, their current predicament. For that moment she hesitates, soft guilt flushes a fluctuating ache through her chest, from her heart, when she gazes down at their daughter, and finally manages a genuine sigh, the smile slipping at its edges. “Tired, if I were to be frank. Thoroughly exhausted. I feel as though if I were to close my eyes right now as we speak, I might simply drop to the floor, deep asleep.”
“Then by no means should you still be on your feet,” says the Jinzhou Counsellor. Says the woman who's looked like she wanted to faint the moment she stepped through the door and saw the ruined state of the room that had seen the exact source of the flames. Says the same woman who escorts Cantarella with unnatural grace for the amount of strength directed into nudging her back into bed, short of having just swept her off her feet and tucked right into bed. The same woman who — since when did the baby even go into her arms?! — currently swaddles their child with more ease than Cantarella had managed, though there's definitely the same awkward angle in both their arms, which teases a quiet giggle out of her. “By the Sentinels, Canta, you should be resting. You've just given birth, our child can be handed to wet nurses—”
“—who've all fled out of fear of being burned, and out of relief that the one who can handle the flames has arrived uninvitedly welcome.” Her back may be sore, but the current impulse is of greater tenderness, watching Changli unconsciously bounce their child just as she'd been attempting too earlier. Just as prepared, just as unprepared, as Cantarella had been up until the midwife handed her a crying ball of flames, and she'd figured out eventually that her newborn fancied being rocked. “You look adorable.”
“And so did you.”
“My love, one must not lie in front of children—”
“You still look impeccable.” Changli corrects softly, smiling at her for the first time since she'd entered the room. “And you looked absolutely breathtaking, when you were holding our daughter.”
Horrifyingly, that makes her eyes sting, which makes two of them, because Changli's still trying to wipe her errant tears from earlier when Cantarella's already borrowing the edge of her blankets to wipe hers away too. “You're terribly smooth with the compliments for someone who's just unexpectedly found out she's become a mother overnight.”
“And you've been handling the situation with absolute flawless finesse for someone who's just given birth to a baby with a Forte of flames.”
The silence comes unexpected; perhaps they'd both assumed the other would continue with the banter, but the air falls into the quiet while they stare at each other, holding out the gaze that's turned oddly affectionate, and the sounds of the room now filled by two quiet breathings, and the waaa? of their curious daughter.
And then suddenly things have become even softer yet.
“Do you blame me for not having reached out to you at the immediate first point in time?”
“Blame you? How could I? Only that I felt overwhelming guilt — that I was not there for you at all, in moments so crucial and critical. Not there while you were bringing our daughter into this world, into our lives; not there while you had to handle the mess of fires caused by a Forte like mine, that I could have handled much easier than your family and people had to go through.”
“Well…” She sighs, a little quieter this time, tugging her blankets up to her waist. Their child has long stopped babbling, and it's with a little anxious hope that she peers over, wondering if their daughter has fallen asleep yet. “I thought to myself, even if I had to settle the aftermath alone…it would be better I did so, lest I provoke your…unhappier memories.”
“Oh, Canta.” Unfortunately, only a pair of boundless blues peer back at her from within the blankets, held tight to Changli's chest, only at last blinking slower than before, sleepy at last. “And yet this is the creation of a new life, new memories — happier memories, all the more — with you, and our daughter. The past has long passed; and only the future awaits our witnessing of its making.”
The future awaits our witnessing of its making.
“Then,” She lowers her voice, soft enough that Changli crosses over with a final stride, and finally sits by her side, in her bed, right where she taps lightly with her fingers, making space for her lover. “Tomorrow, shall we spend the day giving our future a rightful name?”
“We shall.” Changli smiles in return, and finally, small blue eyes are shut softly, tiny breaths puffing away the little embers that still linger from fingers curled around seared blanket hems. “Let's do it together from now on, my dearest Canta.”
“Provided she doesn't burn down my castle a second time, that is.”
“Even so; and even if the whole world's burning down—”
“We'll be there together, my love?”
The lips upon hers are soft, and still every bit as fiery warm as the small forehead they take turns to leave a blessing kiss upon, together.
(Epilogue)
Jinzhou, 1836Hrs.
To the sunset, the Jinzhou Magistrate laughs quietly, narrating the contents of her latest WavesLine to her closest personal bodyguard.
Dearest Jinhsi. Dear Madam Magistrate.
I am writing to inform you that all is well — except, of course, a very much devastated Porto-Veno Castle, though its occupants remain largely unscathed. I am also writing, in partial formal indication, though attached you will find the proper application, for the formalisation of citizenship for a Jinzhou citizen born abroad, out of wedlock, and to a prominent name in Ragunna, Rinascita.
…(redacted)…
Please ignore the above. It was highly incoherent, as tedious as one may find to attempt writing while swaddling an infant in one's arms. It was also largely ridiculous when factoring into consideration that my mental state at that moment had been quite in disarray, full of thoughts from every conceivable domain at the moment, including multiple which were the impulses of kissing my daughter on the tiny space of her little, wrinkles forehead. Which would have been largely unrecommended, of course, lest I woke the sleeping child and Cantarella would have even lesser peace than the negative she already had to begin with.
…and I fear I let myself be carried away, again. I apologise. I have not formally mentioned to you yet — I am now also the other mother of the eldest (for now, sole) daughter of Cantarella Fisalia, 36th Matriarch to the Fisalia Family of Rinascita's Ragunna State. As abrupt as these news should find you, I was also merely acquainted with this knowledge by a handful of hours more ago, and Cantarella by another pinch of hours earlier than I. For your potential curiosity, I suggest you ask the Academy on what they know, more accurately than either of us can advise, on cryptic pregnancies, which has brought this child quite unexpectedly to both of us. Though she is, of course, welcome with our most sincere love and affection, and with much of an unfortunate helplessness that I find myself equipped with as a first time parent, after all. Considering you were must older when I first became your mentor, and one may find it certainly greater than marginally difficult attempting to negotiate or bargain with a being which knows only its basest needs. But, of course, should circumstances allow, I shall hope to be able to introduce her to you formally — that is, at a more conducive point in time, when Cantarella has sufficiently recovered enough for travelling without repercussions on her health and wellbeing, and when we have figured out a way to stop the little one from settling ablaze anything that comes within her perceivable range of neighbouring items.
And I have…digressed. My daughter is absolutely adorable. She has spent the last three minutes attempting to burn my finger; I fear this curiosity needs to be lightly tamed when she grows older. Regardless, attached you may find the completed forms as per Jinzhou legislations, appended with what has been completed of her birth certificate as established at the moment, seeing as how we presently lack a name for how sudden her arrival found us in an utter state of under-preparation. I shall look forward to the good news from your end shortly after on my daughter's legitimisation as a citizen of Huanglong, Jinzhou.
P.S. Last but not least, Cantarella and I have been briefly amusing ourselves with the discussion of the following question — would you prefer to be known as Godmother Jinhsi, or Step Sister Jinhsi? Cantarella has been adamant we may not give our daughter too many Godmothers, alas it appears we might soon begin to have a queue for the mantle once this news goes public. Do RSVP your preference such that we may reserve you an appropriate address of your liking, will you, Hsi? And, if you have any suggestions for names, we shall be accepting suggestions until noon, tomorrow, where we will certainly have to start registering our daughter for a proper Ragunnesi citizenship as well, after we have successfully filed for marriage to legitimise our daughter's birth for reasons pertaining to Cantarella's end with the Fisalias. It's certainly…a lot of paperwork, one could say. Not to mention the insurance papers for the burnt castle…
Best Regards,
Changli
Counsellor to the Magistrate, Jinzhou City Hall
Fiancée to the 36th Head of the Fisalia Family
Sent from Ragunna