[Reminder: This story contains explicit sensual content, violence, mature themes, and references to trauma/abuse. Reader discretion is advised.]
[Note: Some lines and dialogue have been lightly censored to respect WebNovel's guidelines.]
"Of course, I won that bet. He almost always wins."
"He's lost a few times."
"Yeah, but that's why I said almost always. And it's always because the other zazi played foul. I had a good feeling about tonight; why'd you think we're feasting so good?"
"I thought you've just been hiding out on us and wanted to treat us for being good friends."
"Good friends? Don't make me laugh. You're a bunch of leeches, all of you. And I'm no better. Really thinking I'm living like I shit gold? What am I, the king of Amari? I've got no more than the skin on my back. But those bets make it worth it."
Salīa realized what they had been betting on. It was common on more relaxed days for zazi to occasionally train through practice combat in a communal area for some to watch and bet.
While gambling isn't especially encouraged in Salazā, many Salazāhns enjoyed watching their guardians battle with one another.
Since times had been peaceful, it was rare to see many zazi in such an impassioned yet serious state. And since this land was founded by warrior siblings, it only made sense that demonstrations of warriorship would stir the blood of those who would go on to be born here.
She'd always enjoy watching the zazi herself and would also try to train amongst them. But she only ever got as far as the zazu training for children and never got to the official zaza, or lady zazi, training.
One fond memory she remembered was with the last person she fought as a training zazu.
Not many would dare to spar with her as the nation's young heir, but some child training to be a guardian in Bhuan had visited Salazā with some royals and nobles on a trip.
This short-haired little girl didn't seem to have a title, nor the proper etiquette, but she was mighty, and Salīa was incredibly intrigued.
Seeing Salīa training and winning against the other zazu, this girl ran up determinedly and said, "You will face me!"
Her obstinate and driven nature was highly amusing and led to this girl quickly becoming Salīa's sparring partner for a few weeks. Yet without fail, they always landed in a draw.
Neither could take the other out, and both were too stubborn to quit, even when their bodies went numb and their breath became sparse.
The only thing that closed their sessions was when they were called to eat or sleep. Despite wanting to go on, a battle with their elders was one they knew they'd never win.
As soon as the next came, that girl would run up to Salīa yet again, and with an incensed expression, she'd say, "You will face me!"
Salīa chuckled to herself just thinking about it.
"My bets are usually on him."
"Ay," they nodded. "That's a good one."
"'Course it is. All zazi born from the Chief always rise quick, don't they? It's 'cause they've got descendants' blood, I heard. Somewhere linked to Shaka."
"Ahh, that's not fair on the others. Shaka was one of the strongest. But I guess Silio too."
"Can't forget Salazā."
"Well, we can't forget any of them, can we? But Salazā was obviously the strongest. I mean, she's the one whose name isn't just of one of the villages, but of the whole land. Doubt she got that title by just crawling around and begging for favor."
"You think Salazā was stronger than Shaka and Silio?"
"You think there's any reason she shouldn't be? Either way, there's no record of them ever battling then like the zazi now. Back then they had more to defend so they didn't have time to play enemies with each other. Also, I couldn't care less about the ways of all those hundreds of years ago. I got a new wager. Heard another son of the Chief is going through his rites to be a zazu to an official zazi, so I bet he'll win his first battle."
"You're too eager to gamble. One day you might lose, so I'll take that wager. I bet he won't make it easy. I know the son you're talking about. My nephew is in the zazu too and said he's strong, but a bit clumsy. Ay."
Salīa furrowed her brows.
She knew exactly who they were talking about and had half a mind to throw a potato at him for saying such things about her friend. But that would've been a waste of a potato. And it wouldn't exactly help her listen quietly. She turned a page and continued.
"I don't believe you. I bet he'll take that one out."
"I believe him," said another. "I've seen him too. He's got a bad habit of falling flimsily. So, I'm in on the bet too."
She clenched her
fists at this. Once upon a time, she did bet on these things too, but Magi Inio scolded her when he found she had snuck out of her lessons and sent her to study the tables throughout the night until she passed out.
"I'm telling you, Chief's sons are quick on it," insisted the jeweled one who had been filling the table with food. "Remember last time when the latest son joined? Ever since his first battle, he's been undefeated."
"Oh, but he was an obvious winner. Always so grim and angry all the time, training ceaselessly and battling relentlessly, even when worn out. How can he not be undefeated?"
Everyone agreed and cheered on. Yet Salīa felt a sinking feeling. It wasn't hard to figure out who they were talking about.
"That Rakire is something else. Always battling nonstop as if he's trying to beat a ghost out of its corpse."
No, it's not that. He's probably just seeing each of his opponents as me. It's enough to stir a wildfire of anger within him. I feel just as angry, too, but it's not like anyone will cheer me on for it. It just makes me look pitiful.
"He might be good at it, but he's a bit too beastly sometimes. You heard about that battle where he broke that one zazi's leg?"
"Yeah, they disciplined him, right? But he's Chief's son, so it's not like they were going to stop him from being a zazi. Especially not since he's one of the strongest."
"Still, doesn't give him the right to take advantage. And it's not like it's the only time he took it too far. Don't forget the time he…"
Salīa tuned out.
Her ears traveled over many others. It was mostly boring babble about the trading tariffs in each land and how one land competed with another.
Some were comparing Crystali wines to Priea's rakia. Some were comparing Bhuan's custom weaponry to the ornate designs of the blacksmiths of Palosa. And which had a better variety of crops between Shi and Mbali of Shimbali.
How Timbana had the best selection of spices and Salazā the greatest abundance of earth fruit and hoodjah.
Hearing of these lands excited the part of Salīa that wished to travel again, yet she couldn't care less about Palosa owning the biggest port in Priea or that Bhuan selectively sold certain trades to some lands and not to others.
She certainly understood that these matters had to be considered as a ruler of a land, but until then, she'd rather just go study the tables.
"You heard the Protector is supposed to return, right?"
"Pfft," one wavered. "Unlikely. You're saying the Protector that hasn't existed for three hundred years is suddenly coming here to this lifetime?"
She perked her ears up at that.
"Doesn't the Protector only appear during times of looming darkness or whatever?"
"That's what the old-timers say. But it's really just a legend, isn't it? And anyway, I heard the Protector is kind of a false name since it's known as being a Destroyer too."
"It was only known as being a Destroyer because it broke the quadrant lands into this world."
"No, that's not true. Do you know how much blood had to be shed before any of that happened? The Curo-Cari period was a time of peace, but it didn't just happen out of nowhere. It's after that Destroyer wiped out half the realm."
"I don't know where you heard your legends from, but that incarnation of the Protector was known as a prophet for a reason. It helped save the realm from even more bloodshed that would've happened."
"Ay, ay, ay," chimed in another. "You're both focusing on the wrong incarnation. Salazā is the only Protector to really look to. She's the one who actually made this realm better with how many demons she expelled and the barriers she placed. This land has been safe ever since."
"You must be an old-timer, losing your memory like that. You're forgetting about the breach that happened not too many years ago. Those demons that entered our land were a nasty bunch. Clearly, Salazā didn't know how to make that strong of a barrier."
"It's not Salazā's fault. Anyway, barriers have to be reinforced through our gathering during the Freedom Festival. So, it's up to all of us."
"But we do it every year, don't we? It's really the fault of that demon princess."
"Shh," another warned. "Don't call her that."
"But it is her fault. She's the one who was playing around with those outlander demons and welcomed them through the barrier. If it wasn't for her, demons wouldn't have ever entered the realm again and followed her through all the lands."
Salīa pulled the hood of her coat further over. She didn't have much to counter when it came to that incident. It was her fault.
Demons truly hadn't touched Salazā in hundreds of years until she unknowingly befriended them, and they were scarcely spotted in the realm until Salīa travelled and had them trailing along. It's not like they were just catching rain in a desert, it was her who brought the storms.
"Enough."
"I'm just saying—"
"Enough," repeated the booming voice.
There was a silence in the chattering group. Salīa saw that the voice belonged to a handsome man. When she narrowed in, she recognized him as someone she'd play ala-bala with when she was young.
While he wasn't from here, he was the usual choice for the opposing maghān. Being that neither of them were easy to beat, it was always a thrill to see who'd win between the two.
They never really spoke with each other, but she once used healing in the forest when he knocked his knee into a rock.
While mild healing was permitted, using deep healing was only allowed by those with given rights due to the magic ban law. Yet Salīa had worried about how much blood he was losing and didn't want to leave him alone to call someone.
While he lightly scolded her for doing it, he also thanked her and told her to never do it again.
"Whatever, then," one of them said. "You still like the Princess? You know she won't marry a commoner, so why are you still hopeful?"
Like me?
She was used to many confessing their affections, but telling the true from the false was always a gift of hers. Most spoke out of lust for her vessel or for the desire to conquer one that's seemingly untouchable.
So, hearing that one liked her wasn't surprising, yet she still felt happy to hear it from those she somewhat liked as well. Even if nothing was to come of it.
"Unless you already got close with her?" he went on, but the maghān ignored him. "Oh, come on. I'm sure it's not that hard. Now that I think about it, it's not exactly like the Princess is pure.
Wasn't it around that time that it was discovered that the Princess had gotten close to a demon? So much for a noble one. But I guess that does make it easier for someone like you to—"
The maghān slammed his fist on the table, enough to rattle those around them. He was seething but calmed as eyes followed.
Salīa wasn't sure what to feel. It wasn't like there weren't people who wouldn't speak up for her. But usually, it came from those she shared her extra homemade cake with or the children she helped get their ala-bala ball back when it flung into a high tree. But for someone who she barely shared more than a handful of words with, she was truly stunned.
Although she did secretly wish he would've punched that man on her behalf. Instead, he tossed a few coins onto the table and left.
She had an urge to follow and thank him, but couldn't bring herself to do it. The men at the table continued talking.
"You just had to push him like that. You know he's no better than Rakire. That's probably why they're such close friends."
He and Rakire are friends? What an unlikely pair.
"He was making himself go insane. It's not like I lied."
"No, but you made it sound like it's something the Princess wanted."
"But didn't she?" the man sighed. "Either way, I was just talking about the Protector. You think the Protector is really coming back after all these years?"
"I mean, there's a lot going on in the realm. I hear so much swelling up through rumors when I travel. If the Protector does return, then it's meant to be. And I've always wanted to meet the Protector anyway, so I'll live on until I do."
At this point, Salīa felt dizzy and drained.
Everyone's voices were hammering over each other and jarringly so, making her come undone. She placed her coin down, having had her fill for the night.
Yet in that sweep, four tall, broad-backed soldiers of Palosa huddled up to their table, their mail clinking as they laughed and cheered, bumping froth off their mazers.
She was so close she could see the engraved scorpion crests on their gilded hilts. It wasn't until she saw the length of their swords and heard their brazen voices that she wanted to leave. Yet to leave, she had to slip past them.
A trick it would be, as she had been bordered in the shadows behind them.
The four-player game of esche was laid out, and they played on while drinking on, and their chatter was even coarser than everything else Salīa had just swallowed.
"The Salazāhn gave birth again a few years back," said one with a chest-long gingery beard.
"That thing already has one bastard, and now she defiles herself with two more," said the one with the golden-threaded eye-patch and a pig-gut.
The youngest, no more than a boy, with neatly combed hair, asked, "Who's the father?"
"Some noble man she bedded on the voyage," said Beard, gurgling his drink.
"It was me who had the Queen," Patch-eye laughed. "I am the noble man."
"She might be a sxvage, but she wouldn't go near your shrimp-sized dragon."
"I'd show you my dragon right now if there were any to put it in. Where are they anyway? I didn't just choose this inn for the soft bedding."
The fourth was the biggest, and he looked around once, yet stayed quiet. His face remained concealed under a sewn-on hood of red and gold, Palosan colors, and a mouth drowning in drink.
"She gets all wet for lowly men, so she must have bedded some beggar like the one who fathered the first bastard," Beard laughed to himself, and swallowed another drink whole.
Salīa could feel herself seething. She had already had more than her fill of vulgar words for the night.
"I've met her," said the boy soldier. "She's too pretty to be a bastard."
"Oh, you want to have the Princess? You like them fresh, do you?"
The boy laughed, curling up Salīa's nose. These soldiers were not as polite as their charming faces, embossed armor, and groomed horses made them seem.
She'd never heard a zazi talk like this. And all this insult of her mother was boiling her blood and turning her stomach to acid.
"You know what I'd do to that Princess," Patch-eye snickered, then talked of some things Salīa had never wanted to think of. "Then I'd—"
She instantly stood, her heart running around her ribcage.
This is too much.
She held her hood down and held her breath as she passed through, hoping she'd go unnoticed. Yet Patch-eye whiffed loudly and smacked her bottom. She stiffened, with clenched fists, yet kept her head away.
"I like you," he said. "How much?"
Salīa said nothing, trying to breathe deeply, and started walking.
"You," he grabbed her wrist, "Look at me."
She jerked away, slapped him, and sped right into the innkeeper, knocking the mugs out of her hand.
"What do you think you…" the innkeeper began, then stopped, catching her eyes. "Are you…?"
"How much for this one?" Patch-eye laughed angrily, then got a good look at her face. "She's pretty. S'Might not be so pretty when I'm done with her."
The innkeeper looked back to Salīa, who her and her husband had known since a babe.
She exchanged a lit-wick glance to the door and back, nodding slightly to her. Salīa picked up quickly yet found it hard to move with the eyes of all those soldiers. The quiet one's gaze felt the heaviest.
Why did I come here? Why do I always have to get up to something? Why couldn't I just have continued my lessons?
Yet it did no good to dwell on that, as Patch-eye was huffing his chest as he got closer.
The shaking innkeeper was just a mere mouse in height to him, stepped in front of Salīa said in an overly grandiose voice, "You special gentlemen will actually be receiving a gift tonight. Son!"
She clapped her hands to signal him, and he nodded in his own trembling. "Bring the finest."
The innkeeper lady nudged Salīa with her ankle as she talked on. And Salīa slid further and further and—
"I want that one!"
He barged forth, knocking the table. All the chuckles and cheering ceased instantly, and heads turned. The innkeeper shivered, yet quickly stood strong.
Salīa had never seen this lady even flinch as much at a customer before, no matter how loud.
"She is not a resting woman."
"Then I will make her one."
The two other soldiers stood. The quiet one remained seated, his head tilted to Salīa, but she could not see his face.
Salīa felt her heart thrashing, then bolted through the crowd just as she heard—
"Come back here!"
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