“Val said you agreed to travel to Dofev with us– or something of the other way around.”

It was a strange sight to see Liorit alone at an event. The warm sweet scent of maple accompanied her in lieu of her usual admirer. She took a seat next to Nikase and extended the paper bag in her hand. Inside was a concoction of spun sugar. 

Nikase thanked her and took a corner. The treat melted into a sandy texture in her mouth, leaving a stickiness in the corners of her mouth. She wasn't sure if she was a fan of that.

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?” she asked the woman, knowing she would hear the truth from Liorit. Despite the brevity of their interactions, Nikase knew Lior wouldn’t lie to her for the sake of being liked. It was something she respected about her.

“If the idea was Valkom’s, then most likely.” And although her words were harsh, her expression was indulgent. “But I’m glad you’re coming with us. He’s twice as irrational when you’re not around.”

A breeze shuffled around the column standing behind the two women, and from their spot at the top of the wide stone staircase they took in the active landscape. 

At the Palace of Gaidos, there was always something to be celebrated, and it was often a god whose name had too many syllables and escaped Nikase’s memory. Celebrations of the sort were surface level theatrics. When Bevij severed ties with the motherland, Idon, they severed their ties to the organized religion that governed the country. 

In a way, the grandiose festivities that took place below them were a challenge to those very gods. Look how we party like gods.

“I don’t know if I’d call him irrational,” she mused. “I would say that his optimism rationalizes for him.”

Lior emitted a half snort. “You’re right. It makes him a bit of a fool as well, but I imagine he only keeps at it on the odd chance it works out.” 

She crumpled the paper bag and tossed it towards a distant bin. The crumpled ball bounced off the rim and toppled flat onto the floor. 

With a laugh, she rose and walked over to properly dispose of it. Her bright orange curls fell over her eyes as she dipped forward to collect the paper ball. She moved with a swagger of a woman who knew how attractive she was and what people were willing to forgive because of it. Nikase made a mental note to emulate that character the next time she had to tell someone off. 

On her walk back, her thin brow arched. “I’ll admit that I envy whatever part of him that continues to fuel his optimism. In truth, despite his stories, he’s had fewer successes than failures.” 

“Perhaps it’s that when he falls, he’s not as high up from the ground as the rest of us.”

“That is true, although his father would argue the opposite.”  She leaned back against the base of the column, the gesture again natural. Liorit was old money, old class, a stark contrast to Valkom. “It helps that the successes he has had, have been… loud.”

Nikase didn’t fully understand, but thankfully Liorit elaborated. 

“Valkom’s mother was from Idon, and she had a great talent for the bow. She was actually a bit of a starlet back home. At the time however, women were not allowed to compete in the sport here in Bevij. His highness, King Artmit resented her constant presence at the archery range, until Valkom pointed out that his mother was, without a doubt, the better shot between the two of them. In his audacity, he told the King to appreciate his wife’s talent instead of harboring disdain for it.” 

Valkom as a kid was easy to picture, because he continued to be that kid. 

Lior went on, “He wasn’t punished for the comment. Instead, his highness accepted his wife as the better shot and let her train Valkom. Nowadays, no one questions the presence of a woman at the archery range, and that was a result of Valkom. He planted an idea, and it became a sapling, and now he’s convinced he can make a tree of it.” Her nose wrinkled, “But he forgets that trees can take centuries to grow, and often outlive us mere mortals.”

An interesting anecdote. “But, he’s okay planting ideas that he knows won’t grow?”

“Yes, he’ll plant them even if all they do is piss people off.  What do you think this trip is? He’ll tell me it’s for my benefit, and he’ll tell you it's for yours, but really it’s to spite his father.”

So he’d given Lior a different reason for their traveling to Dofev. That was too much like him for Nikase to doubt, and she wasn’t angered to hear it. She used the comment as an anchoring point for her tangent.

“I’m not under some false impression that Valkom and I have some deep connection or that we are anything beyond passing friends, and I would never question your analysis of his character. You’ve known him your whole life, but I wonder if there is an added layer to his motives. Yes, he approached me because it would anger his father, that is the first layer. The second, I wonder if it is because he has his doubts. I think he needs to hear me say it outright, that I didn’t kill my husband.”

And Nikase could never ease those doubts, because she would have to believe those words to give them life. She didn’t now, and she might not ever. 

Liorit took her concerns to heart. The ones said out loud anyway.

“I hadn’t thought of that… I’d say historically, he hasn’t proven to be patient. He’d demand the information out of you if he didn’t respect you.” She broached the topic with a rare hesitation for her person. “I have things I’ve kept from him in the past. He’d never fully pry, but he’d poke – for my sake rather than his own – like he wanted me to face them for my own peace of mind.” The corner of her mouth tugged upwards and she shrugged. “Or I’m giving him too much credit and he’s a nosy bitch. A charzi chirsoma.”

She used the Dofec expression for a ‘gossip’ with a flawless accent.

“Ah, you know your Dofec,” the visitor observed. 

“It's a favorite language of mine. I don’t know what you’ve heard about my family, but it's a lot like yours. With interpreters instead of solicitors. It's why I’m allowed to travel with Val.” 

That was a story Nikase had heard through the grapevine. Although at times it was difficult to sift through what was likely and unlikely, it was innocuous enough that she saw no harm in regarding it as true.

The talk of language and travel reminded her to warn Liorit about her overprotective brother while they were on the topic. “Right, about that… if we meet my brother, I want to apologize in advance–“

“Oh I’ve met the Lieutenant. Nikome, right?” Lior cut her off. Her mouth twitched, suppressing her reactionary expression to the mention of the man.

Nikase wouldn’t have blamed her if she had reacted, as she recognized the extent of her brother’s arrogance. All the same, he wasn’t capable of real harm. He had grown up with two very spirited sisters, and in secret he had a soft spot for women that spoke their minds. 

Besides… she had witnessed firsthand how her trial affected him. For the first time in his life, the solid building blocks of their legal system – one his ancestors helped establish – were beginning to crack. Perhaps Dofev wasn’t as forward-thinking as he had been led to believe. 

“Yes.”

She nodded. “We toured the Avarda Royal building, he was very vocal about my presence disrupting others.” 

Aside from his position as Saigar of Rites, Nikome had earned multiple titles through Dofev’s national guard, the Avarda Royal. 

“That sounds like him,” she mustered a smile. “I apologize on his behalf. Although I can’t promise he won’t be just as vocal this time around.”

With a carefree half snort, Liorit shrugged again. “Oh, no worries, I’m used to the slander. He was relatively courteous about it compared to others.”

The first half of the statement caught the visitor off guard. “Oh… you say you are used to it… does it mean that at some point it stops hurting?”

The woman’s frown faltered, and her gaze dropped to her hands. Subconsciously, Nikase did the same.

“Unfortunately, no,” she said. “I do what Valkom says and lean into it, but that doesn’t make it better. I’m only deluding myself into thinking I control the narrative.”

The statement seemed to surprise Liorit as much as it surprised Nikase. 

“Control of the narrative…”  the musician muttered into the night. 

What kind of person would she have to be to have control of her own narrative?