[Warning: Contains references to past assault and emotional trauma.]
She woke the next morning in a panic, having dreamed about Bazil abandoning her and telling her he'd rather guard the more honorable noblewoman than a corrupted royal such as herself.
Perhaps still influenced by the remnants of drink, she sped out of her room and searched for him. Yet even when she peeked through his window, she couldn't see.
"Bazil? Bazil? Bazil?!"
"No need to let the birds know I'm here."
On the roof of his room, he was sitting in lotus position. His eyes cast away from a letter he had read, marked with a lion crest.
He crumbled the paper, his mood even more settled.
He had sensed some unease from the words within, but wasn't sure whether to mention it. Instead, he blinked his heavy lids and looked down at the one he chose to serve.
Then he dropped down.
Before he could speak, she hugged him tightly, whispering, "Sorry." And when pulling back, she stared deeply into his eyes.
He too was taken in trance, and both only realized how close their lips were as they almost touched at their prolonged exhales.
She stepped back, but only slightly, and took a large gulp before speaking.
"I'm sorry, Bazil. I have taken your role as a protector for granted. I love that you have always been by my side and that you have always sworn to protect me. I do. But I also love when we are laughing and holding and…"
They both inhaled again.
"You know my mother never married. Yet, I was born, and so were my brother and sister. The seed belonging to peasants…if the rumors are true."
He flinched, not wanting to agree.
"If my mother can follow her own path and still be one of the greatest rulers in this realm, why can I not do the same?"
His eyes flashed to her, searching.
"I do respect you, Bazil," she dared to hold his hands.
He didn't pull away, and instead dared to hold hers too.
"If your heart's desire is to become the greatest warrior this realm has ever known, then I will honor that, no matter what."
A smile curved up on his face. It was something he once said as a child, and he was surprised she still remembered. Her grip firmed.
"However, if your heart's desire is not only that, I will honor that as well."
He'd never been as brave before, yet he took her in for a hug this time.
There were no words he could offer, because that would mean he'd have to reveal his own desired interpretation of her words. And she wasn't going to say more, not wanting to close the gap her vague words left.
The moment was quickly undone when Bazil pushed her away at the sound of footsteps.
Prince Naca appeared, having observed both.
Other servants might have already heard and seen them. They were the owls of the realm, after all.
Yet Prince Naca didn't say anything of it, just glanced between the two of them, before telling the servants to show them where to wash up.
They broke their fast alone and readied themselves. Presented to them were two muscled destriers strapped with plant-leather saddles.
It was only as they were about to leave that Prince Naca appeared, in elegant robes of black and brown with hints of gold.
He stared at Salīa for a long while, but this time Bazil did not interfere, relieved that in moments, they'd be away from him.
Prince Naca wasted no time in indulging in this, having hugged Salīa for even longer than Bazil had. He whispered in her ear and smirked upon seeing Bazil grit his teeth.
"I wish we could travel together," Prince Naca sighed.
"But you can't," Bazil muttered to himself.
Fortunately, Salīa spoke louder and at the same moment said, "Your people need you. And I'll be sure to see you upon my return as promised."
"I'll take your word for it," he kissed her hand. Then looked to Bazil and said, "Do not forget what we spoke about."
Whatever it was they spoke about, Salīa was certain Bazil was upset by it from his cold stare and stiff bow as he blandly said, "Blessings to you, your majesty."
The horses tired faster than the tigers, and Salīa and Bazil were no different.
This road was as winding as promised. It would be straight for one day and curled and coiled the next.
After some days, they had to walk them up a hill so steep that had they been mounted on them, they would've rolled down like an ala-bala ball.
They'd either sleep in a hidden part of the land between trees and water or in small inns where guard could be kept. Yet Bazil was finding himself sneaking glances at her while she tended to caring for herself.
Salīa had always been quite fastidious in how she cleaned herself. From what fragrances she blended in her baths to how she'd coat herself in oils as if anointing.
When she woke, she undid each knot that snuck through her curls carefully and wrapped her hair in satin before resting.
If they were between places, she'd soak cloth in fragrance to tend to her underarms, powder the insides of her shoes before a long journey, and meticulously pick and prod at any shreds of food clinging to her teeth.
"Are you alright?" she asked sweetly.
He woke from his daze, realizing he had been staring at her, rubbing oil over her legs for longer than just a moment. He turned his face away.
"I was just thinking about how we should set up camp over there," he lied, pointing to the mysterious map Prince Naca had given her. "Then we'll make our way over to that small land. Although…I'm uncertain."
"Uncertain?"
"It's a land I've heard of, and I know it was originally formed by a distant Timbana royal, but it is blended with the lowest lands and outlanders.
The note that shows says to beware of scams and thieves, but that they have pretty flowers. I mean, what does it matter if there are pretty flowers?"
Salīa laughed. And so Bazil couldn't help but smile too.
"I like pretty flowers," she said. "The note also says there are great places to rest and a variety of delicious foods. I'm a simple lady, Bazil, you must know that upon hearing the latter, that I'm already swayed."
Bazil studied the map hard and then got out some paper to write notes, before nodding to himself.
"Very well. Then this is how we will approach it…"
And so, he went on to explain.
It was hard for her not to flush at the sight of him whenever he revealed his assiduous nature.
He was so devoted to his meticulous ways of doing things, whether choosing a sleeping ground, finding the best foods, or even how he'd prepare for a fight.
This simmered all the way to how he folded clothes without creasing, made a bath just right, and prepared the perfect cup of tea. The more she saw him do it, the more delighted she became.
Each passing day revealed more and more nuances of Bazil.
Salīa was never one to fantasize about a friend, as that would corrupt what a friendship was to her. But something strange was stirring within her whenever she glanced at him.
When she was young and close with both Raki and Bazil, they'd often ask, as many children do, which of them she'd marry.
She'd say that whoever chopped the most potatoes for those at the orphanage would get her hand.
Then another time, she'd say whoever mended the most clothes for the refugees would. Then whoever brought the ala-bala balls to the outlander children to play with first. And since the brothers loved competing with each other, they took to the task.
Is that what Bazil was so upset about the night we drank? But back then, we were barely old enough to reach the top of a door.
Surely, that hasn't stayed on his mind for that long?
When she thought back, Raki was charming but made her shy, while Bazil was clumsy but made her feel free. Both made her feel safe and made her realize that if she were ever to like someone, they'd at least need to have a warrior's spirit.
If she was being honest, only part of her was joking with them, while the other was contemplating.
Yet any feelings she had for Raki seeped into the unrelenting pain left by the incident, twisting it in with confusion, anger, shame, anguish, and many other things she couldn't name.
From that day, Raki's expressions only ranged between being annoyed or aggravated.
They never truly spoke to each other again. In fact, the most they'd spoken in years had been just before she left.
Her feelings for Bazil hadn't shifted, though she struggled to speak as freely. Yet he'd still find ways to cheer her up despite that.
Though it seemed the more words he spared for her, the less he spared for Raki, cementing the growing strain between them.
The incident brought light to the demons lurking within the outlands, even those they were close to. Surprisingly, Bazil showed more contempt for his own brother than for them, despite Salīa denying his involvement.
She wanted to ask why, but then that would allow him to ask his own questions.
"How did a demon get close enough to get you alone?"
"What exactly happened that night?"
"Are you okay?"
The last was the question he'd wanted to ask the most, but the one she cared to answer the least.
It had all been a mess for so long – a wound so deep that a scar had no choice but to show itself. And with each biting rumor, new slashes whipped through the old, leaving more scars to gnarl over the other.
Her skin thickened through it all, yet the phantom aches still lurked – as if the blade had never truly been pulled out, but buried within, as the flesh sealed over, letting all sorts of things fester.
By then, the roots of her had been rotting for so long that she couldn't bring herself to confess it.
"Are you alright?"
It was now Bazil who asked her, after setting up a fire in the woods and making a bed for her.
"Hmm-mm," she smiled. "I'm grateful for all this time we've been sharing together."
He looked away, shyly, letting her smile grow.
Having been cleaning through his back, he noticed something he hadn't before. In the part of his bag that was so far down and unused was a container he didn't recall packing.
The container itself was one of the most expensive ice boxes, one that had so many layers to it, it could keep whatever was within cool for a long enough time.
"Oh," he pulled out two ribbon-wrapped brown boxes within it.
"What's that?"
Bazil just stared at it for a while.
Then he leaned over and untied one. His eyes lit up, yet he appeared both delighted and confused. He then lifted a piece and ate it. He closed his eyes and sighed sweetly as he swallowed it.
"I haven't had this since I was a kid," he smiled. "There's one for you too."
He handed over the other chocolate tiger painted with gold stripes. She wasted no time biting off the ear and sucking in the creamy chocolate held within it.
"Oh, it's been just as long for me," she cried in bliss. "Who made this? Your mother?"
He paused, looking at the writing, then said, "Raki."
She froze, and they were both as perplexed as the other.
On one hand, it made sense. They both last had these chocolate tigers as kids, because the one who made them was Raki. And he had not made it for them ever since then.
They ate it in silence, yet biting into it got harder, despite the chocolate melting. Both were lost in thought, and the taste of it changed whenever their thoughts did.
There was even a momentary belief that both shared that it might have been poisoned. Yet it was too late to do much about it now.
They were both down to the last foot.
Salīa held onto the box for a long time, long after Bazil asked if he could dispose of it. She was staring out, but not to anything in particular. Both wondered why he'd do such a thing.
"Līa," he started, knowing she'd flinch. "I know I've asked you before, many years ago…"
"Then please don't ask again."
"Please. Did he—"
"No!" she yelled, standing up.
He stared at her, waiting for her to calm.
If she got upset, he'd usually just apologize and stop. But as if having had too much to drink, he dared to be bolder.
"Līa," he said firmly. "If my brother didn't hurt you all those years ago, why do you get angry when I ask? Why can you never hear the question? Why can you two never be around each other?"
"I've answered this," she snapped. "Many, many times."
"Then tell me again. You said it was the demon who hurt you, remember?"
She remembered all too well. The demons. And how they returned to Salazā after not being seen for so long. Only for them to appear in great abundance at Salīa's mention of them.
"I've been thinking about that night a lot lately," he admitted. "And you were just as surprised to see demons as I was."
Her heart clenched. Bazil had never been one to deny her truth. Yet suddenly he felt so brave to.
"We hadn't seen demons in Salazā in a long time, Bazilani. Of course, I'd be surprised."
"Of course," he repeated, with a menacing tone that challenged her harshened one in saying his name. "But it was a demon you said ravaged you. And yet when we found the demons, you didn't look angry and relieved. You looked sad and ashamed."
Salīa panted hard, hiding her face under her hair, not letting him see the tears.
"It wasn't your brother, alright?" she cried.
He couldn't help but hug her and rub her back, wanting to ease the restlessness in her heart. Yet as if unable to stop himself, he whispered, "But why don't I believe you?"
She shook more, too worn to push him away.
"Everyone suspected had been punished already, including Raki. There's no need to talk more about this. And I have nothing left to say."
The words were whispered, but Bazil heard them clearly. Back to jokes and old tales it was.
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