To be quite honest with herself, Kishi was frankly annoyed.
Kishi rarely showed herself, even at night, and even then only to unlucky enemies who would never live to tell the tale. She saw no reason, morally or immorally, to allow herself a duel with the guardsman who was currently roaming the forest and spewing challenges.
Unless noise counted as a reason.
Still, if he got much closer to her grove, she might have to do something–daylight or not.
Kishi made her way to another branch delicately, studying the soldier's face as he so kindly turned it to the apparently offensive sky.
"I'm not scared of you, rakhai!"
Naturally. Of course he wasn't.
Kishi wasn't scared of him, either.
She strangled a laugh before it ever left her throat as the soldier tripped on a small log and went hurtling face-first into the devastatingly welcome texture of the forest floor.
The man's howl was surprisingly short-lived. Maybe he had some spunk in him after all.
Kishi reached thoughtfully for an arrow and fitted it to her bow as the soldier scrambled to his feet. Then she blinked as he bent down and snatched up the branch.
Oh. It was the one she had attacked the other day.
The soldier hurled it somewhere into the other side of the forest.
"Ha! I know you're around here, khur!" he taunted.
A scream tore from between his lips as an arrow caught the branch in midair.
Kishi casually nocked another arrow.
"Where…where are you?"
His tone of voice had totally changed. Strange.
Kishi didn't deign to give him a reply. But her fingers paused before she let fly.
Maybe…
Maybe the soldier would be a waste of an arrow.
Or maybe she just realized now would be a good time for actual practice.
Kishi didn't want to break her bow. Deliberately flicking the arrow out of place, she released. The arrow spiralled to the ground, landing some feet behind the man and stabbing through a leaf before it fell clumsily.
Her mouth dropped open beneath her mask as the soldier laughed almost wildly.
"You…you missed!"
Well. His rashness was impressive.
Even if nothing else about him was.
The leaves crackled softly beneath her boots as she swung her bow over a branch and dropped to the ground behind the trunk. Leaning against it, she listened for a moment to catch the soldier's reaction.
"You…you don't scare me!"
Kishi whistled softly as she reached for both blades. They whistled back to her as she pulled them free, the breath of unnatural wind gesturing the danger in the way her hair sprung aside.
Both swords in hand, Kishi stepped out from behind the tree.
The soldier's face turned just about as white as Kishi's blades were silver. He took a step backwards and promptly tripped on the other half of the branch Kishi had sliced through the other day.
Kishi waited.
By the time the soldier was back up and struggling to draw his own sword, Kishi was smiling.
Though he couldn't see that through her mask.
The soldier stared her down, his hands shaking for a few seconds before they steadied around the hilt of his sword.
"You seem to like the dirt," Kishi observed, taking in his grime-smeared face. "Unfortunately, I do only river funerals."
"Khur," he hissed.
Kishi's eyes widened slightly.
"Well?" she asked finally. "Are you going to do anything?"
Spitting onto the leaf-strewn ground, the guardsman rushed at her, flailing his sword as he went.
Kishi's left blade–Musuko–barely twitched as she flicked his weapon out of his hand and into the air. It landed in a trunk and quivered for a few seconds before its weight pulled it out and onto the dirt.
The guardsman wrung his bleeding wrist, his face tight. The mask had half-fallen off by now, but he didn't seem to care.
"Just finish it," he snarled, his eyes blazing.
Kishi winced.
Well, he wasn't going to actually fight, apparently.
So she finished it.
Normally she tried to lead them closer to the river. But…
Kishi scowled to herself as she cleaned her blades on the almost offensively green grass. Then she slipped them into their sheathes.
A weight exercise would do her good, anyway.
Even if she hated it.
~~~
"I apologize, my Lady." Shiro bowed deeply to the thirteen-year-old princess. "I was preoccupied yesterday."
"Huh," she snorted, unsheathing her rapier-like sword–light, but powerful. Shiro eyed it thoughtfully.
"You're not wearing armor," Aneka went on, her eyes narrowing.
He shrugged. "I believe in my Lady's mercy."
This time she laughed. "Oh, well."
Shiro smiled indulgently. "What are the rules, my Lady?"
"Hm." She tapped her sword lightly against the dirt. "First blood loses."
Shiro nearly choked.
Well, he knew whose bloodshed was happening first.
Whatever. A bit of pain wouldn't kill him–
Then Aneka's eyes widened as she saw the bandage on his left hand.
"You're…hurt?" she gasped.
Shiro nodded apologetically. "An arrow."
Aneka thrust her sword back into its sheath so hard that Shiro thought she was going to break it.
"My Lady–"
"I'm not fighting a wounded man," she scowled, turning on her heels. "Should've told me earlier."
Shiro watched her go, but then he bit his lip.
"Princess Aneka! I thought you wanted a chance to defeat Valoren Tadashi!"
She half-spun around. There was something about her masked face that told Shiro she…something. He wasn't sure.
"You're the third rashei at court," she mumbled. "I can't fight the Valoren until I win against three."
Shiro nodded.
"Then train with me," he told her. "You can't win a war if you can't fight a wounded man. Because…"
Suddenly he lunged forward, his own sword screaming itself free.
"...a wounded man can still kill you, my Lady!"
Shiro wasn't surprised when her sword came out and twisted his away in a terrible crash of metal.
Aneka sidestepped slowly, staring at him and then at his fallen sword. A small trickle of crimson appeared on Shiro's right hand, and slowly he smiled.
"Very good, my Lady. You win."
"You…"
Aneka walked away, shaking her head.
"Don't forget to clean your sword," Shiro called after her.
He gripped his wounded wrist with his other, bandaged hand. The bloodflow ebbed away as it was met with pressure.
After a few minutes, Shiro bent down to pick up his own sword. Its blade was still clean–though the hilt was not.
"Impressive," he muttered as he slipped it into its sheath. "Princess Aneka…impressive."
~~~
"Dad, the sword is missing!"
Taro rolled over in bed and groaned.
What the khur was Sakue screaming about now? The sword–
The sword.
Taro leapt out of bed, the cold floor entirely ignored as he raced to his dresser.
The sword was still there. Still shining, still…expectant.
Outside, in the hall, he could hear his father calming the seven-year-old girl. But frankly, Taro didn't really care what she thought.
He dressed more quickly this morning than he ever had in his life.
He had some work to do at the tavern. And then…
then he had to find a sheath for Kunsha, the blade that belonged to the kingdom more than to Taro.
It would have to be a plain sheath, Taro decided as he fairly tore on his overshirt and shoved his mask down over his head. Otherwise it would cause too much of a sensation. Especially on a hunting trip like tomorrow's.
Taro winced as he touched the sword one last time and flung himself out the door to go walk Sakue to school. The stairs met his feet like a trainer's blade.
"Taro–" his mother began as she held out the roll like she always did.
"Thanks!" Taro called cheerfully, dashing towards the front door after his sisters.
Then his mother grabbed his sleeve.
"You're not going with them today, Taro."
Taro did not count how many times his eyes blinked before a response left his mouth.
"I'm…not?"
"No." Laughing, his mother pointed him towards the counter. "You're going to strengthen those warrior muscles by helping me roll out today's dough."
"Bye, Taro!" Sakue shouted to him–just before she slammed the door shut.
Taro stared at it as if the disappearance of the morning sunlight was a personal offense.
"Eat your breakfast." His mother wiped her already-floured hands on her apron. "And don't worry. This won't take all day."
Taro was frozen still for only another moment before he pulled down his mask and began to chew thoughtfully.
"Mom, what did my mother say, again?" he asked through a mouthful of bread.
Her eyebrows shot up.
"What, you mean when she…"
Her hands stopped kneading the dough as she frowned.
"Yeah." Taro swallowed, and his words came out more clearly. "Was 'take care of him' all she said?"
She bit her lip.
"No."
Taro waited, his own face tensing slightly as he watched hers.
"She said, 'I can't be his mother, but if you will, I will be happy.'"
Taro stared at what was left of his roll.
"Oh," he said finally.
It took him about ten seconds longer to finish. When he had, he crept up behind his mother and threw his arms around her.
"Thanks, Mom!"
"Uh-uh." She nudged him in the direction of the cutting board. "On with you!"