In another town, the dry air carried the smell of sandalwood, dirt and moss. It could be drier for the time of year, and it wasn’t, thankfully mother nature was forgiving. 

With her fingers stretched out, Nikase followed the outline of the mountain range in the distance. The mountain range that sourced many Dofec myths, and would always stand as a sign of home. 

Her heart fluttered, like it did once at love, and when she felt music. She would give anything to keep it there. Keep it fluttering. 

A favorite piece of music of hers was called ‘a Lago caz’, or ‘Not at Home’. The song was both a longing and an effort to capture the moment, the adrenaline, that one felt a long way from home. Standing before the god of a mountain, the whistling wind sang a song—’a Lago caz’. A timeless, eternal movement that spoke no languages and all of them at once. An emotion evolutions away from becoming raw magic. 

Nikase was alone on the rooftop terrace of the inn they were staying in, hoping these inner ramblings would stir her heart once again and give her the satisfaction of loving music again. 

Down on the street, locals were setting up their market stalls and eager to start the week, with energy that would peak mid-week and falter by the end of it. Liorit and her traveling companion were eating breakfast at the café across the square. It was the same young woman that she watched Lior tease on a hike before. 

Despite Val calling her Lior’s secretary, Nikase long suspected that their relationship went beyond that. Although, her mind, in its boredom, could be fabricating stories. Maybe she wanted warmness, and if she could not have it, she would at least want her friend to have it.  

“Nika, are you up here?” Valkom’s head poked over the railing at the top of the stairs. 

His hair had grown longer in their month of travel. An inch or so of hair went unnoticed on women with typically long hair, but Valkom’s hair had the most of its length on top, so the extra inch on the sides made him look unlike himself. 

“Good morning,” she waved. 

He joined her in the chair next to hers and whipped open a newspaper in another language that wasn’t Bevij. He didn’t even glance at it before starting a conversation. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked. “Oh, it’s Lior. I’m surprised she’s up this early.“

The man never thought twice about his friend’s pursuit of women. From what Nikase knew, it was against the law in Bevij. They both shared an emotional detachment when it came to the women they were with, and would as a result spend very little time talking about their relationships. Regardless of the lack of romantic love between the two of them, there was definitely an attachment to one another. And so Nikase, having observed the two women for a minute, wondered if Valkom was the sort to feel threatened if Liorit ever took a serious interest in anyone. 

 She brought up the possibility to him. “I think… I think she likes her.”

He dismissed it quickly, without consideration. “That’s impossible, Liorit doesn’t like anyone…” 

Confident with his assessment, his eyes narrowed on the scene below, curiosity getting the better of him. 

“By god, I think she likes her! Huh… well, I have no idea who she is, but she is cute.”

So he didn’t doubt Lior’s loyalty.

In Dofev, the law condemned marriages of the same sex, but relationships of the same sex were largely accepted. Perhaps there was a chance Bevij would adopt similar views. 

Although the rules in Dofev regarding the matter had its caveats. For one, relations with the same gender were acceptable across people who were already married. They were referred to as ‘swingers’ and both partners had to be in agreement before they were allowed to pursue additional partners. 

But this didn’t apply to visiting nobles from other nations, they were often invited to participate regardless of marital status. 

Nikase suspected that part of the rule played a big part in Valkom and Liorit’s frequent visits to the country. From behind his newspaper, Valkom read her thoughts.

 “Did you ever swing?” he asked. 

She looked at the words on the front page, then at him. “Are you—are you even reading that?”

“I can read Idon, I assure you,” he chuckled. “Just… not well.” 

Hardly convinced, she answered his question, “No, I never had an interest in it. And neither did Junas. If he’d asked me to, I would’ve given it a try, I think.”

 Naming her late husband was a slip up. She tried to play it off cooly, but her tone or expression must’ve betrayed her because Valkom realized of the inappropriateness of his inquiry. 

“You don’t have to answer the questions I throw at you if you don’t want to,” he remarked.

She knew that, and she said so. “Oh, I know.” 

He was a man constantly surrounded by fascinating situations. Understandably, with his upbringing, that was natural. What she had learned, by witnessing it first hand, was that it wasn’t all glamorous. Parts of it were and parts of her weren’t. 

In contrast, her own life had been far less eventful, save for the one situation everyone wanted to hear about, and she wanted nothing to with. Valkom too. That’s what he had wanted to know from the beginning, and she was nearing the point of not caring what he thought about her.  

“If I open the door for you right now—let you ask me anything—will that be enough for you to get it out of your system?” she asked. “You’ve been tiptoeing around the subject, and I'd much rather get it out of the way.” 

He turned to her and hesitated. “I don’t want to know for the sake of knowing, Nika. I don’t care for gossip.”

“I know.”

“I want to know because I don’t want to do or say anything hurtful, but then I wonder if by asking you to tell me, I’m doing exactly that. You can tell me when you want to tell me, I won't compel you otherwise.”

She squinted at him. The ruse was nearly genuine, if only his curiosity hadn’t betrayed him. 

“If you don’t ask me anything now, I’m never opening the door again,” she said flatly with a sly smirk. 

He relented, crossing his legs on the chair and leaning forward. 

“Alright.” He gave it a thought before diving in. “Was your marriage arranged? I know that’s common in Dofev, but you said you married for love. I’m mostly wondering if you were aware of his violent nature beforehand, or if it was something that came out after your marriage.”

“Our marriage wasn’t arranged. Because my brother and my sister are both older than me, there were no reservations about who I married as long as they were of the same social class. Junas was from a family of financial advisors, but a musician by trade. That is how we met. At the Institute of Dofev’s First Orchestra. 

“I was the second harp, and he was the third harp–” she paused, a question forming. “Did you care about girls when you were young?”

He shrugged, “in what context?”

“Do boys go through that period in youth, where all you talk about is girls? When girls are about twelve, they go on and on about boys. It’s unavoidable at that age.” 

“Oh, right. It’s not as openly discussed, like girls tend to do. But yes, I imagine everyone goes through that phase.” 

“I didn’t,” Nikase admitted. “At least not as vigorously. Until I met Junas, I’d only ever loved music. It took up all the space in my mind, and left room for little else. 

“And even when Junas came into the picture, I didn’t care for him straight away. He was a likable person, kind, and talented. What I liked about him firstly, was that he was okay with my being second chair.  In Dofev, by default, chair numbers are decided by gender first, then talent. Being the only woman harpist in the orchestra, I ought to have been third chair.

“ Junas’s predecessor was a woman, so that wasn’t an issue then, and when he auditioned, the director honored my seniority. I was appropriately cautious. You’re asking me if there was a sign of his—I won’t call it a violent nature—I’ll call it that side. That side of him wasn’t his true nature, I know that, I knew him. When he was angry, he was someone else. Far later, he confided in me, that when he was angry, he was his father, and he never liked that about himself.”

“We all fear turning into our fathers,” Valkom commented.

“His father is a man that strikes terror with a single look. He’s openly of a violent nature. In fact, most commend him for it.” Her smile was bittersweet, and dry, like her tone. “He’s the reason I am Nikase Ojeda again. He forbade the press from using my married name during the trial. He said his family name would not be tarnished. Furthermore, he’s trying to get the marriage annulled.”

“For defending yourself? That’s preposterous.” 

“To answer your question, that version of him didn’t surface until a year into our marriage. The first harpist moved on to a different company, and the director made me first chair. It was then Junas expressed resentment at my not retiring after we got married. I guess there was an expectation that I would step down, become a keeper of the home, or a mother. But I didn’t want to give up music, I loved it.”

“Loved?” He asked, putting emphasis on the tense.

“It’s difficult… to keep loving it. I never expected to have to pick between my two loves.”

“But given the choice, between having and losing love, or never experiencing it at all, you would choose the former wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” 

The wind fluttered, renewing the smell in the air, kicking up the smells of breakfast coming from downstairs.

“I envy that in people. Not necessarily having someone to love, have anything to love.” He spoke into the distance, then turned to her. “For example, Lior loves languages. Since she was a kid. She speaks at least five fluently, and spends the rest of her time devouring text. I want that. But I wonder… What if the thing I would love hasn’t been invented yet? Do you ever think about that? If you were born in a time before the harp, what would you have done? Would you know what you were missing? Or would you even realize you were missing anything?”

His questions were hidden pleas, she saw it in the irises of his eyes. 

What if the thing I would love hasn’t been invented yet? 

That wasn’t his entire question. 

What if the thing I would love hasn’t been invented—and is never invented?

To never experience love… even now, with her ambivalent sentiments towards her life-long love, music stood by her. She was never without. Never alone. Yet she missed its friendship, its willingness to devour her ails and misfortunes, and turn it into something beautiful. 

If music left her left her… she would seek it out, lunge herself into the void, on the off chance that they would touch fingers again. 

“People don’t usually miss things until they have them… but that said… I wouldn’t stop looking for it,” she answered, although it was as if the words had to be dragged out of her throat.

He nodded, realized himself, and shrugged off the seriousness. His eyes glazed over, and he returned to his usual character. 

“That… smells delicious, I’m going to go grab me whatever that is. Do you want me to bring you something?”