[Reminder: This story contains explicit sensual content, violence, mature themes, and references to trauma/abuse. Reader discretion is advised.]
She hurtled forth, turning her back away from him to distance herself, yet he pressed ahead, having her stumble into the muddied lake.
Relentless, this rugged man cut away, trying to hack at her.
She rolled over, then up, trying to grasp her blade while hindered by the wet dirt in her eyes.
Instinctively, she dodged, using her sensing of his essence to miss the hit. Though it was so slight, he still got nicks on her arms and legs.
Unable to endure, she leapt back and quickly wiped her eyes, then crouched and feinted, hurling back.
My blade. Where is it?
This man was burly but agile, and readily showed off the talents of both.
He slashed forth mercilessly and countered her retreats with swift knocks to her side.
She withstood it, but was at the mercy of split seconds. Though she caught a glimpse of this cloaked man, with a glint of armor flashing from under his garments.
His attacks were imperious, but his face timid.
Seeing a glimmer of hope, she breathlessly said, "Let's talk this out." He still mindlessly charged ahead, but she continued talking. "It doesn't have to be like this."
The sword pinched at her hip, but she spun away before it hooked her.
I can't keep on like this.
As he jumped to her, she said, "Talk to me!"
Just like that, the man stilled. She stared into his eyes, watching them shake as he began to tremble.
If I can see the memory disturbing his aura, this might stop him.
With that, she let one hand raise to reach out to him and let the other search for the blade in her pocket, just in case.
The man's eyes suddenly went cold and calm. He thrust his sword at Salīa's chest, only to have a xira drive through his own.
The sword dropped.
She had frozen stiff, her heart running its race, as she saw the metal still plunged deep through him and coated in a river of red. Bazil pulled it out in a quick, cleaving motion, causing blood to splatter on her.
When the man fell limp before them, Salīa could see Bazil's face.
Droplets of blood scattered over him, and his hands were painted in it. Yet there wasn't even a speck of remorse as he looked down at the lifeless body.
He even wiped his xira on it as if he were punishing this worthless stranger for daring to get it dirty.
Bazil crouched and flipped the man over callously, ruthlessly plucking at him, as a hawk does with its prey, until he found something.
Taped just behind the man's breastplate was a golden scorpion sigil without a tail.
"Tailless?"
"We need to go," Bazil stood up.
"We need to bury him."
"Līa, please."
"I don't say this often, but I'm your Queen, and I say we need to bury him."
"What if there's more of him?"
"Then I'll protect you if it comes to it."
He laughed disdainfully and didn't argue, just hacked at the ground with the man's sword, viciously.
She tried helping, yet he continued hammering until the hole could just about fit a body if you rolled into as much of a ball as possible.
Salīa couldn't watch further as Bazil shoved the sword in too.
Instead, she continued to look out for other intruders alongside Hawking. There was some rustling, but it seemed to just be the wind. Fortunately, no one else passed by.
"Done," Bazil kicked the last bit of sand over.
Once they wiped themselves of blood, they rode off on the horses until they found a cavern-like crevice under a sloped hill, far from a natural path.
They lit no fires and quietly ate sandwiches.
Bazil kept glancing at her, ticking his jaw. Eventually, he got so irritable she edged to her, and once she nodded, he rubbed her cuts and scrapes with the jackalberry ointment the Ogglan women had gifted him.
"You know, you didn't have to be so quick to kill him."
"Out here, there are many who are quick to kill you. They might not kill you quickly, but that's not because they want to save you."
It didn't take much to deduce what he meant.
"You'd never let that happen."
"You're right," he said simply. "I promise to protect our promises. I promise to protect our people, near and far, noble or plain. I promise to protect Queen Sxvage, protector of sxvages. Queen Salīa, third of her name, keeper of Salazā. And The Protector, guardian of Khī."
These were the words that a guardian would say when chosen as a personal protector to a Salazāhn leader.
"I also protect Līa," he added. "My longest friend. Or whichever you wish to be called. Either way, you'll always be my Queen. And I'll always watch over you."
She blinked several times.
This seemed to spurn his ire. He clicked his jaw relentlessly but stayed gentle when tending to her.
Once he closed the tin, Salīa recalled a similar situation back in Oggl, where this ointment was also used.
He was angry then, too, as I stepped in front of an arrow to shield him. But this time was different. So why is he still mad?
Bazil hadn't moved, his eyes lingering on her wrapped arms, quivering. Oh, yes. Because he wanted to protect me. That's all he ever wanted.
"I can't stand to see you bleed," he whispered. "It's my duty to stop any weapon formed against you. I failed you once more."
"You didn't."
"I did. But you know what? It will never happen again."
With a resolute exhale, he kneeled and made an x.
Does he mean to make it official? But he said he didn't care before.
"I get it now. I can't be both your lover and your guardian."
"Are you still thinking about what she said? Didn't you call her words curses and spells?"
"It's not about her words, but my own. I've chosen. I return your words, too. You chose me as your zazi. But is that really how you see me, or just something you say to pacify me?"
Has it come to this? If we swear it, it's an oath. Of course, I don't have the Sword of Salazā that knights zazi to head guardians of rulers, but it's not like there aren't other ways.
"You told me before that it didn't matter."
"You don't have to swear me in if it's not in your heart."
How crafty. It's not like I can refuse him. He's my sworn guardian in everything but paper. Yet once I grant this, he'll never dare cross the line between us again. But I can't keep being selfish. I care about him too much.
She stood, then tried lifting his xira, sheathed in a black-tree leather scabbard, and patted him, shoulder to shoulder, then kissed the eye of his forehead.
The kiss lingered for a moment longer as she wanted to embrace the last bit of closeness he'd grant.
"I don't know the words of 'The Promise of the Protectors,'" she said, ashamed, and placed his heavy xira down. "It won't be said as elegantly as our true Queen, yet I do promise to trust you as my guardian, respect you as my keeper, and praise you as my protector."
"And I don't need more than that promise."
To lock in the oath, he took her offered hands and kissed them. Yet there was no lingering. And once it was done, he drew back.
"Thank you, my Queen."
My Queen? So that's his way of fortifying this rigid wall that demarcates us?
As much as she wanted to be settled with these sworn words, there was still a barbed sting in her chest whenever he pushed up a barricade. Yet this was the first planted that she couldn't justify knocking down.
She knew he only put it in place for the better. But still…
"You must be worn after earlier. Why not rest for a bit?" he encouraged.
An irreverent laugh almost escaped her.
I guess this is what I promised, isn't it? To trust him, respect him, and praise him. Well, I certainly trust that he wants me to rest.
I also respect that he phrased it as a suggestion when he didn't mean it as such. And I praise him for pretending that he didn't just say that, so he can read that letter.
"My guardian," she said sweetly. "I'm too awake from the excitement of it all. But if you're feeling worn, you can rest for a bit."
Bazil slicked his tongue over his teeth in resignation.
Neither was willing to close their eyes, so they just let the evening drift until dawn found them, gifting enough light that they could walk on without attracting any searching eyes.
Both were definitely worn by the time the misty, blue skies welcomed the softened warmth of the peeking sun.
Even still, Bazil said nothing of the letter or admitted to what he hoped its contents would be. Salīa said nothing of what she gathered about it or when she hoped he would speak on it.
And so, they rode on, offering each other nothing but mild smiles and genial words.
I said I'll believe you. Please don't make me regret it.
She might not have read the letter, but saw the name that signed it.
Rakire.
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