CHAPTER 19: THE LANTERN

The fire in Robin’s hand guttered as a roll of thunder graced them with another shower of rain. He made a dissatisfied noise in his throat.

“We might have to switch to that thing soon,” he said, nodding to the unlit kayiri lantern swinging from Misaki’s fingers. “If it rains harder, I won’t make a good light.”

“You’ve been a fine light, Robin. We’re already there.” Misaki pointed to the small light ahead—the street lamp that marked Ishihama’s only bus stop.

“Your father predicted this,” Robin said, staring up at the evening sky, now nearly black with clouds. “Right down to the volume of the thunder and the size of the raindrops.”

“He does that.”

“How?”

“If I knew that, I’d have applied for a job in weather forecasting instead of emergency medical treatment.”

“I should have asked him to teach me,” Robin mused as they reached the bus stop, marked only by a wooden sign affixed to the lamppost.

“I don’t know how that would have gone.”

“Because I’m a tajaka?”

“No. I think it’s a matter of experience. He was born in the Arashiki, you know. The more storms you experience, the more you pick up on the signs.”

The rain fell harder and Robin’s flame finally went out, leaving only the light of the bus stop’s solitary street lamp.

“Sorry about this,” Misaki laughed. She extended an open hand above Robin’s head—no easy feat as the tajaka was several koyinu taller than she was—diverting the raindrops around him. “We really should have tried to come up with an umbrella for you.”

“Hindsight.” He shrugged, seemingly not at all bothered as the ocean wind blew rain through Misaki’s guard to spray his neck and face.

They were quiet for a moment. Misaki stood close in order to shield him from the rain, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body through his black coat. She sighed, melting into the warmth, trying to let herself savor it, just in case this was the last time... but, no. She wouldn’t think about that. Robin couldn’t know she was thinking that. If she was going to do this right, he had to go on ahead.

“So?” he said, and she blinked up at him, coming out of her darkening thoughts. “Did I do alright? Or were they just pretending to like me?”

“Pretending? Robin, no. They loved you—Kazu especially.”

“He smacked me around a lot for someone who likes me,” Robin said, rubbing a bruise on his chin where Kazu’s fist had clipped him in a hand-to-hand bout.

“You accepted the invitation to training,” she pointed out. “Anyway, he’s a sixteen-year-old Tsusano. That’s how he shows affection. I’d be more worried if he hadn’t bruised you a bit.”

“Alright then,” Robin laughed. “I’ll take your word for it and be flattered.”

“Thank you for not burning him,” she said, “and for giving him a few wins. That was gracious of you.”

“Giving him?” Robin repeated. “He fought well.”

Misaki just raised an eyebrow at her friend in a knowing expression.

Robin sighed. “He was trying so hard,” he said and Misaki rolled her eyes.

“Gods, you’re soft, Thundyil.”

Tsusanos were masterful with the sword, but hand-to-hand combat was Robin’s domain. Kazu had been far out of his depth challenging their foreign guest to an empty-handed match. While Robin was not one to back down from a challenge, he was also not the sort of person who reveled in humiliating a younger fighter who was doing his best. Where Misaki was used to simply thrashing Kazu and walking out with an imperious toss of her hair, Robin had let the boy have his pride.

“Besides,” Robin added after a moment, “I thought the idea here was to get your parents to like me. I thought throwing their heir all over the dojo was maybe not a good way to do that?”

“Oh, Robin,” Misaki laughed a sigh. “You really don’t understand Shirojima culture. Being the strongest is a good thing. That’s why all these powerhouse Shirojima families are always intermarrying. I would say letting Kazu get a few hits in was a mistake except that my father knows a thrown fight when he sees one. He was sufficiently impressed.” She hoped.

“Power,” Robin said. “That’s really the thing people use to decide who they marry?”

Misaki nodded. “This whole betrothal business...” She had avoided bringing it up this whole time; she didn’t know why she brought it up now. “My parents scoured the region for the most powerful house that would take me.”

“And did you land a good house?” Robin asked casually, but Misaki could sense the tension in his voice.

“Who do you think you’re talking to? Of course, I did,” Misaki said, equally tense, though she tried to pass it off as indignation. “Matsuda, House of the Whispering Blade.”

“Langana, Misaki, not bad!” Robin was still trying a little too hard to sound casual. He shook his head. “It just all seems so... old-fashioned.”

The observation made Misaki laugh in earnest. “You’re just now noticing that we’re old-fashioned? Did you not notice how we light our house?” She jiggled the kayiri lantern in her left hand—her right was still guarding Robin from the rain—“Or the fact that my father kept calling you Son of Kri?” a title that had been used centuries ago to address tajakalu of unknown parentage. “We keep to the old warrior traditions the rest of the world has forgotten and we’re proud of it.”

The rain thickened from a patter to a deluge and Robin caught her hand, letting the water pour down on him. Creatures of fire usually wilted and shivered in the rain, but Robin Thundyil never seemed to fit in with the rest of his kind. His Disanka skin, so much darker than Misaki’s but lighter than a Yammanka’s had a luminous quality to it, like the aura of a littigi but warmer. He glowed in the downpour. Raindrops evaporated as they fell on him, hissing softly. The mist they created caught the fiery light of his skin, cloaking him in flame-like vapors.

“I don’t want to leave without you,” he said.

Misaki looked at him through the rain and saw an unfamiliar emotion in those coal black eyes. Robin Thundyil, Firebird, the crime-fighter who made hardened criminals quake at his shadow, was afraid.

“I’ll be right behind you.” She squeezed his arm. “Just like we planned.”

“One week,” Robin said firmly. “You’ll be back in Carytha in one week?”

“Yes.” If everything really does go to plan. “I will.”

If this didn’t go to plan... well... Misaki couldn’t think about that now. If she let her mind wander in that direction, she would never be able to let go of Robin’s sleeve.

“Right.” Robin was nodding, seemingly more to himself than Misaki. “You’re smarter about this stuff than I am. I trust you.”

Stupid boy, a voice in her head scoffed, but it was drowned out by a part of her that hoped to all the gods that Robin was not being stupid, that his trust was not misplaced. Still caught in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Robin leaning in until his lips met hers.

She stiffened with a small noise of surprise. The water that had managed to seep into Robin’s clothes, heated by taya, hissed to steam when it touched Misaki’s cold skin. Instead of recoiling from the threat of frostbite like a sane tajaka, Robin sank into it, drinking the cold like a parched man at a half-frozen river. Misaki melted.

Kissing was one of those bizarre Carythian practices that had first repulsed Misaki and later seduced her. Apparently, the romantic custom had been introduced to Carytha by the white slaves imported from Hades during the height of Yammanka colonialism. Most tajakalu did not kiss, but Misaki remembered thinking the first time Robin’s lips met hers that she had never been happier that this particular tajaka had grown up in a barbaric white slum.

Wound up in his heat, she had to wonder what appeal this held for the white adyns with no jiya or taya. Where was the magic in something that didn’t seethe between extremes? Where was the excitement in a kiss that didn’t spark, and steam, and burn like this? Robin held her there, wound in tendrils of steam, before breaking the kiss.

“Sorry,” he said as Misaki raised a hand to tingling lips, doing her best to look affronted rather than melted. “I just had to—just in case—I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“Why?” Misaki laughed to cover the fact that she was just as anxious, if not more so. “You did your part. You were wonderful.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?” Robin asked. “What if they say no?”

“They won’t.”

“But if they do?”

Misaki shrugged. “Then the answer is no.”

“It just seems weird to me that you would let someone else have the final say on who you spend the rest of your life with.”

“Not just anyone else,” Misaki said. “They’re my parents. They know me better than anyone, and I trust their judgment. That’s how I knew they would like you.” She smiled.

“If you say so... I guess I’ll have to defer to your expertise,” Robin laughed. “I don’t have much experience with… family stuff.”

Robin had lost both his parents and all his siblings except his twin brother, Rakesh, in the border skirmishes between Ranga and Disa when he was only five. A loss like that was enough to shatter a child beyond repair, but somehow Robin had put those pieces back together into a broad smile and a heart open to everyone. A voice for the silenced, a shelter for the defenseless, a pair of fists for the powerless.

It happened against Misaki’s better judgment: she tipped onto her toes as if falling upward and caught Robin’s mouth in another kiss. The lantern slipped from her fingers and splashed to the ground, forgotten, as her hands tangled in Robin’s hair. Coarser than Kaigenese hair, straighter than Yammanka curls—an anomaly, like everything about him. Her fighter who preserved life. Her theonite who kissed like an adyn. Her tajaka who drank the cold like it could sustain him.

They broke apart just as the bus came rattling up the path, headlights glowing in the rain. Cheeks flushed, they scrambled to stand an appropriate distance apart as the headlights brushed over their dispersing steam and the bus squeaked to a halt. The driver stepped out, squinting to see the teenagers through the driving rain.

“Two?” he asked in Shirojima Dialect, rounded with a full Ishihama accent.

“No.” Misaki shook her head, indicating Robin. “Just the one. He doesn’t speak Kaigengua or Dialect, so please make sure he doesn’t miss his stop. Shirojima Grand Station.”

“Of course, Ojou-sama,” the driver spoke respectfully, noting the Tsusano crest on Misaki’s yukata. “He’ll be taken care of. Any big bags?” he asked, gesturing toward the luggage compartment under the passenger seating.

“No,” Misaki said as Robin picked up his single waterproof bag and slung it over his shoulder. While the Thundyil twins had recently come into a ridiculous amount of money, Robin’s habits had not yet adjusted for it. He still packed like a boy who had grown up in an orphanage.

“Well,” Robin straightened out his thoroughly sodden coat. “Goodbye, Ojou-sama.” He bowed at the waist and put his first two knuckles to his lips in a charmingly strange combination of a Yammanka parting and the Kaigenese one he had just learned.

“Ah, wait!” Misaki snatched the lantern from the puddle where she had dropped it. “Wait, Robin!” She dried the lantern with a quick pull of her jiya and held it out. “Before you go...”

“Oh.” Robin smiled. “Of course.” Putting his hand into the lantern, he struck a flame at his fingertip. Steam hissed and he ignited the little wick inside.

The lantern illuminated Robin as he boarded the bus and gave her one last smile. The doors closed and the vehicle rolled away, gravel crunching beneath its tires.

It was a long way back to the Arashiki, but Misaki’s lantern stayed alight the whole way, even as the rain persisted. The kisses lingered, tingling on Misaki’s lips, along with her promise: I’ll be right behind you. As she came out of the trees near the cliff’s edge and picked her way down the rain-slick staircase carved out of the rock face, more lantern flames winked in return, illuminating the windows of the mighty Stormfort. Most of the region used electricity to light their houses these days, but the storms that battered the Arashiki made electricity unreliable. They still used portable kayiri lanterns for light.

The stairs down to the Arashiki had a sturdy railing running alongside them, to keep the Tsusanos and their visitors from plummeting to the ocean below. Misaki no longer worried about falling as she had when she was a child. She no longer formed the thin layer of clinging ice beneath her tabi to keep each step anchored to the stone in the wind. Things like rocks and heights had ceased to frighten her. Somewhere in the past four years, her fears had grown bigger and less physical.

“Ah, Misaki.” Tou-sama gave her a broad smile as she came in. “Did your friend make it to the bus alright?”

“Yes.” Misaki’s hair and yukata were soaked, but a quick wave of her hands turned the water to vapor.

“For his sake, I hope you got there before the rain.”

“No, but he’ll live. It does rain, on occasion, in Carytha. He just isn’t used to the amount we get here.”

Robin had spent a week at the Arashiki. Several people had commented that it seemed silly for someone to cross the world only to stay such a short time, but there was only so long Robin could stay away from his city without things starting to fall apart. In the few days he had stayed in the Tsusanos’ home, he had managed to make friends with everyone, despite the language barrier. That was what Robin did. He had done his part to make this work. Now Misaki just had to do hers.

She took a breath, sick with nervousness.

“Is something wrong, Misaki?”

“Now that he’s gone, I... I need to talk to you, Tou-sama.”

She had planned to wait until the next day. It was late now and her father would want to sleep soon, but she couldn’t wait. She wouldn’t be able to rest if she had to lie down with the question still squirming through her mind.

“The storm is just beginning,” he said. “We should talk further inside.”

Misaki followed her father into one of the Arashiki’s interior sitting rooms, so deep that it was essentially a finished cave, carved into the cliff side. Even here, the sheets of rain were still loud against the Arashiki’s walls, mixing with the sound of waves on the rocks below. Misaki knelt opposite her father, setting the lantern between them.

“Now, Misaki,” Tou-sama said gently, “what is it, child?”

“Tou-sama... I don’t want to disrespect you...”

“You haven’t, Misaki.” His tone was light, humorous. “Are you planning to?”

“It’s just... I know you went to a lot of trouble to secure my betrothal to Matsuda Takeru. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate that. I do. But... I-I just...” Nagi’s Sky, why was she stammering so much? She took a breath to collect her words. “I know Robin told you—I had him tell you—that he was here as part of a research project.”

“That’s not why you brought him here.” Tou-sama had probably seen through the lie the moment she told it; he could read people as he read weather patterns, like no one else.

“I’m sorry for lying, Tou-sama.” She bowed her head. “I needed you to meet him, so you would understand what I... what I’m about to ask you.”

“Well, flower, you’ve got me curious now. Spit it out.”

“I um... I don’t want to marry Matsuda Takeru.” She said it all in one breath, her eyes closed. “I want to follow Robin back to Carytha.”

She opened her eyes and found Tou-sama’s expression unreadable in the wavering lantern light.

“He’s agreed to marry me,” she added hastily, feeling light-headed, as if there wasn’t enough breath in her chest for all the words she needed to make her father understand, “since I know Kaa-san really wants me to marry young, and you’re concerned about my future being secure. You saw what a good fighter he is, he’s just inherited more than enough money to support a family, and I would still be marrying according to my station—technically, above my station, since the Thundyils are honorary manga koronu in their homeland. Of course, you’re my father. I wouldn’t without your permission...”

She looked to Tou-sama, anxious, aching. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails were driving crescent moons into her palms.

“Oh, Misaki... he is a good boy.” Tou-sama’s voice sounded sincere, so why did he seem so deeply sad?

“So,” she said when she could bear the silence no longer. “Your answer?”

“No.”

Misaki fought back the surge of anger—of grief—that rose in her chest. She had expected the answer. She had known there was only a slim chance. She couldn’t be angry at her father. She could only be angry at herself for hoping, for letting Robin hope. When the Thundyil twins had found out about their inheritance, Misaki had seen a chance. Robin was a good fighter, the son of a good family, heir to a good fortune. Suddenly, he had met all the qualifications for marriage to the daughter of a great house. There had been a chance...

“Misaki,” Tou-sama said and even through the irrational anger, she couldn’t bear to hear him sound so sad. “I’m sor—”

“Please,” Misaki said in a small, strained voice that seemed too fragile to belong to her. “Don’t apologize, Tou-sama. I understand.”

She really did. Robin was Disanka. His people had inherited their powers by mixing with their Yammanka conquerors, meaning his blood was impure. Misaki had of course seen enough to know that bloodline purity didn’t have nearly as much bearing on a person’s ability as people here thought, but she hardly expected her own experience to change deep-seated Kaigenese notions of propriety.

If Misaki were to marry Robin, their children would be even more mixed, and thereby worse off by traditional standards. Fire and water might balance each other, but they didn’t mix well when it came to offspring. She knew that. Why had she done this? How could she have even entertained the thought that her parents would allow her to marry a foreigner? Why had she thought this would work? Why had she thought meeting Robin would change her father’s mind?

“So...” She tried to breathe normally. “You’re going to force me to marry the Matsuda?”

“No, Misaki. I have no illusion that I can force you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re a Tsusano—tamable as a storm—but I order you to marry Matsuda Takeru.”

His meaning was clear. She could abandon her betrothal. She could go to Carytha with Robin, but she would do so in defiance of her father. The realization twisted like physical pain in her chest. Why? Gods, why would he do this to her?

“Misaki...” Tou-sama’s voice was not stern or cruel. In his quiet way, he sounded like he was in as much pain as she was. “I don’t do this to hurt you.”

“But why?” Misaki couldn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks. “Is this just because Robin’s not a jijaka? Because his powers aren’t genetically compatible with mine? Why should that matter? I’m a girl; I wasn’t going to continue the Tsusano line anyway—”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Tou-sama said resolutely. “He could be another jijaka or he could be an adyn with no power and no family name; my answer would be the same.”

“I don’t understand. If it’s not about blood, then what is it? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing, sweet girl. Nothing. I didn’t need to meet him in person to know that. I may not have been a perfect father to you, but Nagi knows I didn’t raise an idiot. You would never attach yourself to anything less than brilliance—and he is that. Brilliant, and driven, and kind…” He sighed, “but you must not follow him down the path he walks. You certainly cannot be allowed to marry him.”

“Why?”

“That boy—the man he is going to become—would lead you into danger and, inevitably, to tragedy. I haven’t pressed you about the violent business you’ve gotten yourself into at Daybreak Academy, but he is the source of it, isn’t he?”

“I...” Misaki couldn’t deny the observation, but neither could she voice the deeper problem. I’m attracted to danger. “Yes, Tou-sama,” she said quietly.

“I understand,” Tou-sama said, “that this is part of the allure. Don’t think I can’t recognize that. When I was your age, training to wield the Riptide, I wished for another war.”

“You what?” Misaki said in surprise. Tou-sama had always been something of a pacifist, as forgiving as he was strong. Wishing for a war didn’t sound like him at all.

“I was raised on the glorious stories of the Keleba and the days before it, when our people sank ships and battled invaders. As I trained, I thirsted for a chance to flex my skill in battle like the heroes from our legends. I dreamed of the Ranganese or some as-yet-unknown enemy sailing against our Stormfort, just so I could slake that thirst. Then one day, the thirst disappeared. Do you know what day that was?”

Misaki shook her head.

“It was the day you were born, Misaki. Since I started building something better and more beautiful than a fighter’s glory, the idea of war has made me sick. The idea that my little girl might suffer or that my boys would be forced to go to war... That’s not something a loving parent wants to contemplate, even the most hardened warrior. Now that I’m an old man, far past my fighting prime, I consider it a great blessing that I have never had to unsheathe my sword in a real battle. I would not see you or your brothers in danger for all the glory in the world.”

“I understand, Tou-sama,” Misaki said, the tears still wet on her cheeks. At the very least, she understood the logic of it. “But what does that have to do with—”

“A life of dangerous adventures might seem worth it now, when you are young and seemingly invincible, but one day, you will have children, and you will not want that life for them.”

“Robin wouldn’t endanger his children,” she protested. “The work he does is all about saving children. He would never put his own at risk.”

“Not on purpose, I’m sure. But men like that one... evil follows them everywhere. He is a good boy,” Tou-sama said again, “but he is a gamble, and I can’t gamble my daughter’s life. You’ll understand when you have children of your own.”

Misaki ducked her head to conceal the pain on her face. She had lost the argument. Had she expected anything else? Her father was wiser and more methodical than anyone she knew. He thought through everything. How could she have expected to overcome that with nothing but a full heart and her tears?

“Matsuda Takeru has all the capabilities of a warrior, but he also has the good sense to give you and your future children a stable, peaceful life,” Tou-sama said. “He is not the sort of person who will seek out trouble and bring it down on you. He will keep you safe.”

Tou-sama seemed to sense the agony in his daughter and to understand, resigned, that there was nothing he could say to ease the pain.

“I will let you be,” he said and left the room, as the storm rose to a howl.

The light in the lantern flickered out.

A month later, Misaki was married to Takeru, second son of the Matsuda house, master of the Whispering Blade. Takayubi was eerily quiet. She ached for the Arashiki’s crashing waves or Livingston’s constant traffic, anything to stave off the silence pressing around her. Perhaps it was thanks to that silence that a footstep on the front deck immediately drew her attention. She went and opened the door, expecting to find another neighbor with another belated wedding gift. She was unprepared to find the glow and smoky scent she had been trying so hard to forget.

“Robin!” Her heart jumped with too many emotions—shock, horror, and something that should not have been there at all. Hope? That wasn’t right. That didn’t make any sense.

“Misaki!” His face split into a smile of relief. “So, that does say ‘Matsuda.’” He glanced from a note in his hand to the stone sign above the compound doors.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you.”

“So, you came to my husband’s house? All the way from Carytha? Are you insane?” Even with Robin’s newfound fortune, it was an expensive trip, one he appeared to have made alone.

“I had to make sure you were okay... and help you get away if you weren’t.”

“Help me get away?” Misaki meant it to sound indignant, but it came out too high—breathless, helpless. “Robin, I married Matsuda Takeru. This is my home now. I can’t leave.”

“Of course, you can,” Robin said, his eyes alight with that ferocious determination that had first drawn Misaki to him. “You’re no one’s prisoner. You’re Sirawu, the Shadow. You can go anywhere.”

He reached out to take her arm but she snatched it back.

“Don’t touch me. You can’t—I mean... Robin, I’m married.”

“I know. I tried to get in contact with you as soon as I heard. Misaki... why?” His voice broke and she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “How did this happen?”

“It... it doesn’t matter,” she said toward her feet. “It happened. It’s done now.”

“No.” Robin was shaking his head. “I don’t accept that. You can’t just give up.”

“Who said anything about ‘giving up’? I made a decision.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” For the first time, the hurt leached into Robin’s voice. “You just disappeared. Why?”

Hope and denial tangled in Misaki, grappling as she tried to find words. But there were none. There was no way she could explain...

“You need to leave,” she said stiffly.

“No. Misaki, I won’t. I can’t.”

“I’m fine here, Robin,” she lied. “You need to go now. I promise, everything is okay.”

“That’s what you said last time.” He sounded so betrayed. “I shouldn’t have left you then, and I won’t do it again.”

Of course, a simple ‘you need to leave’ wouldn’t be good enough for Robin. If she wanted him to walk away, she had to wound him, make herself the enemy. That way he could steel himself against her and overcome. Robin could always overcome an enemy; he had just never been good with guilt. She had always been more eloquent and ruthless than her friend. For years, she had used that to support him, filling in the gaps his temperament left in his work. Now she would use it to hurt him.

“I said I would talk to my parents. I never made any promises to decide on you, or to tell you when the decision was made.”

“That’s ridiculous. You—”

“I humored you, Thundyil,” she said, “out of respect for the experiences we shared in Carytha, but you should have known this couldn’t happen. Did you really think I would marry a Disanka orphan? A boy who grew up on the street?”

Robin twitched. “Don’t,” he said very quietly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Misaki snapped. “Tell the truth?”

“Try to protect me.”

“Protect you?” Misaki scoffed, trying to conceal the way his gentle words shook her. “I’m trying to get you to leave—”

“You’re trying to hurt me,” he said, “so I can leave you here without any guilt.”

Her jaw clenched.

“I know your tactics, Misaki. They won’t work on me.” His voice had gotten so tender, so unbearably understanding—

“And I know yours,” she said sharply. “Don’t use that voice on me. I’m not a crazy person with a machete to someone’s neck.” But she might as well have been. The tension and frantic, impotent fury between them could have rivaled any hostage situation. “You’re the one who traveled all this way to barge in where you weren’t invited. If anyone needs talking down, it’s you.”

“You didn’t respond to any of my messages.”

Misaki hesitated for a moment in confusion. She had never gotten any messages. Why? Had her husband or father-in-law been intercepting them? Would they really—? No. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have responded anyway.

“Did you ever consider,” she said, “that I just didn’t feel like talking to you?”

She had thought she could avoid upsetting anyone. If she did as her father said and then just never had any contact with Robin again, her old friend would forget about her, move on, and she would never have to confront him. Damn Robin for ruining that. Damn him!

“I just need to understand,” he said. “I need you to be honest with me. Is this what you want?”

Misaki drew herself up, employing the posture she had learned to tower over taller theonites. “It is,” she said, voice icy. She didn’t feel tall.

“I don’t believe you.” His gentle tone sent a spike of rage through Misaki.

Her fists clenched. “How dare you?”

“What?”

“How dare you claim to respect my choices and then deny them because you don’t agree with them? How dare you claim to respect my autonomy and then deny it because it means you don’t get to keep me.”

“I—That’s not what I—”

“Which is it, Thundyil? Do you respect my decisions or not?”

“I do,” Robin insisted, his own voice rising. “You know that, Misaki! That’s why I’m worried about you. This...” he gestured vaguely around him—from Misaki’s restrictive kimono, to the rest of the quiet little village, and the frigid mountain surrounding it—“This doesn’t seem like something you would have chosen of your own free will.”

“Well, it is,” Misaki said stubbornly—and damn it, why were there tears pressing at the back of her throat? Why had Robin come here? Why was he doing this to her? “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“But—”

“You presume to understand me because we went to school together for a few years?” She hardened herself against the tears. “Who do you think you are?”

“Your friend,” Robin said earnestly—and Nami damn it, Misaki had never seen so much pain in his piercing black eyes—“We didn’t just go to school together; we fought together, learned together, saved each other’s lives—”

“I’m a daughter of the Tsusano house.” Misaki’s voice rose and she struggled to keep it under control. “You assume your uncivilized little alleyway brawls were ever more than a hobby to me? You really expected me to stay there, in that dirty, adyn-ridden city?”

That struck a nerve, sending the first flicker of genuine anger through Robin’s expression. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said placidly, pressing her advantage, even as something in her screamed. “I thought you wanted honesty, but clearly, you don’t understand—”

“Then explain it to me,” Robin said, his voice simultaneously pleading and forceful. “Honestly. Because it looks an awful lot like a forced marriage.”

But Misaki couldn’t explain honestly. To do so, she would have to admit that she still loved him. And she couldn’t do that. Not to him. Not to herself. Not to anyone.

“Xuro, Misaki, I knew you loved your family. I didn’t think you were a coward.”

“Oh, is that what I am? I made a decision you don’t like, so I’m a coward?”

“This isn’t about me!” Robin burst out. “You don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to. You don’t have to come back to Carytha or ever see me again if you don’t want to, but please... you can’t stay here. As your friend, I can’t let you.”

Misaki didn’t recoil as Robin took her arm and tugged. She did, however, flinch at the wave of nyama that swept onto the front deck a moment later. Takeru.

“Misaki,” her husband said, appearing at her shoulder in a wall of solid cold. “What is going on here? Who is this person?”

“Oh—!” Misaki yanked her arm free, looking from Takeru to Robin in panic. “This is... um...”

Robin’s hands curled into fists. He was glaring at Takeru with a blazing fury he usually reserved for murderers, and Misaki realized that he must have noticed her flinch and inferred the worst. Gods, why had she flinched? Why?

Takeru’s jiya had crushed the temperature down to a shivering degree. He and Robin didn’t speak the same language, but the glares they exchanged needed no translation. Both said plainly that someone was about to die.

“Wait...” Misaki started weakly, but she had no idea what to say. What was she supposed to do in this situation?

Robin was doing a good job not trembling under the force of the cold, but Misaki could see on his face that it had him disconcerted. Theonites as powerful as Robin were not used to having their nyama completely overwhelmed by another.

“So, you’re Misaki’s husband, huh?” Robin switched to Yammaninke, though it was unlikely to do much good; Yammaninke instruction in rural Kaigen was not good enough to produce fluent speakers. “What are you, like, twice her age?”

Takeru took a step forward and sparks crackled at Robin’s fingertips.

He wouldn’t win.

Robin was a handy street fighter, far better than a self-taught orphan had any business being. His natural grace and his above-average taya made him unstoppable to the untrained, low-powered criminals of Livingston, but this wasn’t Carytha. This was the seat of a power that had guarded an Empire for years. Robin’s mix of critical thinking and inexhaustible willpower were good for fumbling through a fight with a stronger theonite, but Takeru was a caliber of fighter Robin had never encountered before. A direct clash with the Matsuda, here among so much ice and snow, would be a death sentence.

“Robin, don’t,” Misaki warned in Lindish. “You’re no match for him.”

“Is that why you’re staying here?” Robin demanded, looking disgusted. “Because you’re afraid of him?”

The look on his face spelled disaster. He was ready to beat someone bloody, but Takeru wouldn’t go down like a Livingston brawler or machete fighter. He would kill Robin if it came to it.

“Tell this man he isn’t welcome here,” Takeru said. “He should leave before he finds his head separated from his body.”

The words chilled Misaki. She tried not to look frightened as she translated them to Lindish for Robin.

“You’re afraid of him,” Robin said. “I can’t leave you here.”

Misaki’s mind reeled. There was now a very real threat to Robin’s safety. She wouldn’t convince him to back down by telling him that Takeru was too strong; she had to employ a different tactic. Stay calm, Misaki. Stay calm. Lifting her chin, she adopted the most scathing tone she could manage.

“Really, Robin? You honestly think I’m stupid enough to marry someone who might hurt me? Since you apparently need this spelled out for you, my husband is trying to protect me from a raving lunatic who showed up out of nowhere to harass me.”

Robin’s darkly glowing eyes, like live coals, flicked between her and Takeru. She knew that look. When he was searching for the right thing to do. Not the easy thing, but the right one. For the moment, he seemed stumped, but Robin always did the right thing, no matter how hard it was. That was why Misaki had always followed him, why she loved him.

“You are not welcome here, outsider,” Takeru said again and this time Robin could not miss the meaning. “This is your last chance to leave unharmed.”

“I...” Robin seemed uncertain. “Misaki, I’m not leaving without you.”

Takeru took another step forward, the air grew colder. Robin shifted into a fighting stance—

“No!” Before she could stop herself, Misaki had grabbed the wrist of Takeru’s sword hand, disrupting his jiya before the fabled Whispering Blade could form in his fingers. Her new husband—still such a stranger—looked down at her in mild surprise.

“H-he’s just a boy,” she scrambled to explain. “He’s not right in the head. It wouldn’t be right for you to kill him, Takeru-sama. Please... I don’t want you to have that on your conscience.”

Matsuda Takeru stared down at her, his expression unreadable. “Can you compel the madman to leave you alone then?”

“Yes, sir.”

Misaki leveled a frigid glare at Robin, her best friend, the only person she had ever wanted.

“My husband is understandably concerned for my safety, but he has generously agreed not to kill you if you leave immediately and never show your face here again.” Robin still hesitated, so she made her voice ice. “If you really don’t respect my decision, then go ahead. Fight him. Die.”

Robin’s flames flickered his uncertainty. His wide eyes reflected confusion and betrayal, but Misaki had seen him fight his way through worse than that. Against all the odds, he always fought. He always did the right thing.

The flames between his fingers guttered and went out as he lowered his gaze. “If this is really what you want.”

“It is,” Misaki said through her teeth.

“Then I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Head down, Robin turned and walked away.

Beside Misaki, Takeru’s jiya eased back, the frigid bite receding from the water molecules around him. But Misaki found everything in her suddenly straining, frantic.

Robin was walking away? Robin was walking away.

Misaki opened her mouth to call after him—Come back! Come back! Please, Robin! Take me with you! But no sound came out. The breath had frozen in her chest.

Takeru’s hand closed on her arm. “Come, Misaki. You should be inside, where it is safe.”

She was numb, unable to resist as the cold creature she had married pulled her into the Matsuda compound and shut the doors.

Why did he walk away? an agonized voice screamed through Misaki. He’s Robin. Robin saves everyone. Robin never leaves a friend behind. Why did he walk away?

But the smothered, honest part of her knew the truth: he was just a boy. For all his abilities, and accomplishments, and superhuman spirit, Robin Thundyil was only nineteen. He had been out of his element, in a culture he didn’t understand, caught between people older and, he mistakenly thought, smarter than himself. By all accounts, he had done the right thing—the only thing he could do when she looked him in the eye and told him to leave.

Robin had always deferred to her when it came to matters of protocol, politics, and people. Why had she expected him to magically grasp things she barely understood herself? Why had she expected him to read her and react like a man? The answer lurked, unwelcome: because you’re too afraid to do it yourself. You are a coward, Misaki.

If she wasn’t woman enough to fight her own battles, then what right did she have to Robin’s help? How could she expect him to save her when she wasn’t willing to lift a finger to save herself? What had she thought Robin was going to do anyway? Fight the Whispering Blades and the rest of the mountain and then whisk her away? That wasn’t within his ability. He had never had any power to change this situation... only she had. And she had been too weak to make it happen.

A coward like her had no right to someone like Robin, no right to the future she had let herself imagine with him. Still, she crumpled in on herself and wept for it. Loud sobs would have disrupted the silence, drawing the attention of the men of the Matsuda house, so she smothered the sounds in her long sleeves.

Takeru found her there a waati later, curled up in the middle of the bedroom, shaking.

“Misaki...?” his usually frigid voice had taken on a note of worry. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” Hiding her face, Misaki forced her tears into water vapor and willed herself to stop trembling. “Yes, Takeru-sama.”

It was not until the next day that Misaki found the bag Robin had left her, tucked into a corner of the front deck. It contained only one thing: the sword that had been her companion through all their adventures—one last plea to remember everything they had had together.

She had knelt, holding Shadow’s Daughter for a long time, fingers playing over the Zilazen glass handle. Tou-sama said that there were better and more beautiful things than the rush of battle. You’ll understand when you have children. It would be worth it when she had children.

Tou-sama had promised.