Their whistling melted into the lilting voices, which softly faded behind the sprightly plucking of the gayageum zither, which was so light it could run across clouds.
Yet another tune sank into the earth, a harmonic sobbing melody brought to life by the haegeum, deep enough to be felt yet clever enough to not sink too far.
The rhythm was happy but bound, caught between that which was celestial and earthly, an everlasting reverie.
True to its name, this flower-house looked exactly as that. Colorful, gleaming curtains draped from the ceiling to the walls.
Some silks were bundled into flower-like patterns. Painted in excruciating detail, right to the shadings of the bulbs were the walls of various flowers, each tucked into the other like a patterned labyrinth.
Plum blossoms and cherry blossoms filled the most space and were met with chrysanthemums, lilies, and orchids galore.
Vines and bamboo also spaced out the colorful bloom. And roses freely scattered their way throughout.
Yet those other red spindly flowers seemed to be abundant in equal accord.
She knew flowers had a language of their own, and no two nations completely agreed on its meaning. Yet ancestors of Khī were known to cryptically share messages throughout the realm.
Though there were too many flowers to choose meaning from in the flower-house, right down to the bundled ones in vases. Even the lanterns, which brought a soft glow throughout the place, had flowers drawn onto them.
Flower-shaped incense burners were propped at each corner with a waft of lightly floral fragrances breezing through.
Outstretched on each shelf between shimmery wooden screens were small glazed and glossy glass crystal sculptures, often jewel-colored and floral-patterned.
There were occasionally other statuettes made of dragons, tigers, birds, people, and everything in between, yet flowers always took center.
It almost reminded her of Shimbali, a land renowned for its flowers and forests, yet with a distinct opulence Timbana was known for.
Though for all the flowers in all their forms, those which could not be missed were all the flower-girls, lithe as they swayed from table to table like dandelions in the wind.
Even their vivid rib-high skirts and upper garments were linked with fabric belts tied as if petals.
So, these were the pretty flowers of Chiro tucked deep in the garden of Echo?
Salīa couldn't do anything but blush each time a flower-girl's eyes swayed to hers. She's always had a soft spot for pretty people. That much was evident upon looking at the ledgers showcasing how much she spent at brothels just to talk.
And going on the Noblas Veiros did stretch her taste for foreign beauties.
One time, a noble asked her who she considered marrying. Being so young at the time, she said, "At the moment it's between a Priean princess or a Timbani lady dancer."
This noble instantly reprimanded her, being an old man devoted to propriety.
He even pointed out that never in history has a king made another king or a queen made another queen through marriage, and that would always be so.
But Salīa felt insulted, and noticing his wandering eyes as some visiting Timbani girls passed by, she asked jokingly if he was blind to beauty.
The noble's wife happened to be there and noticed young Salīa's biting humor and muttered, "How precocious."
Queen Saoa seemed lightly amused but knew to still scold her and said that as a royal heir, continuing the line will always be essential to royal nations, even if her lover is not the provider of such.
Even then, Salīa didn't quite understand. Because her young eyes had also wandered back to the Timbani girls, and while she thought herself to appear perverse, she couldn't help but want to spoil all the beauties she saw.
The habit still seemed to stay with her as she eyed the beauties passing by; most were Timbani or mixed with Timbani features here and there. It was mostly in their upturned, black jade eyes and smooth skin.
Each had a hairpin; it seemed only the mother of the house had two. But the sole hairpin of each flower-girl seemed to have a hierarchy as well, from the type of material, intricacy of design, and number of adorning gems.
Some had a stringlike chain which clipped onto their hairpin in a uniquely styled way, depending on how they coiffed their hair. From the confidence those particular flower-girls carried, it seemed they were the most favored.
Salīa spied a flower-girl being given one of those chains, reminding her of an erotic story she once read.
About how a flower girl was gifted a token by a 'gardener,' which was akin to a husband-like patron who took care of her mundane expenses, such as tenancy, food, and various other things.
Having glanced around the main floor, she looked up to the dimmer upper tier, which held private rooms, indicated by the wooden screens that only offered glimpses of silhouettes to those lurking.
What she could make out on one of the walls was a triptych of portraits, particularly of the three blind kings that were known to be auspicious in Timbana.
The first was one of its five founders, King Zhōngyāng, a beloved ruler. The second was a friend of Salazā during her rule, King Makahoto.
And the last blind ruler of Timbana was King Kamon, about three or four generations ago, who approved of expanding flower-houses and other little keepsakes around the realm for his people to latch onto when they travel, and to give those far from Timbana a taste of its culture…and wealth.
"Look at me."
Who said that?
Her face went dour, tightening until it gnarled. Yet it seemed she had just mistaken the winds for talking, so she walked on, then—It happened suddenly.
Her thoughts cleared as the air shifted – sharp and consuming.
All floral perfumes faded in the grasp of a warmer, earthier fragrance, deeper than anything else. Her head nearly cracked right off as it cocked to the side, her gaze colliding with a tall, imposing presence that was just about to pass her.
Her heart fluttered, stripped of its locks, and opened wide as if in bloom. She crouched back to try to cover it from the looming threat that exposed her.
Whoever they were was a mystery, for their disguise was even more impressive than hers. Their conical sedge hat was longer at the brim, letting them shadow themselves from any angle.
It took everything in her to resist the wild, gnawing urge to rip it off them.
She sidestepped to let the person pass, but they took no further step, letting Salīa stew in this unnerving discomfort. This person's shoulders were broad, his chest thrust forward, and his corded arms flexed.
Though his statuesque stance feigned indifference, any martially trained eye could tell he was guarded.
While his true form was mostly concealed in a black robe with cuffs and collars of gold, Salīa knew the hints of a warrior when she saw one. No doubt there were some curved weapons sheathed on his person.
She could just sense it.
Her eyes searched for his, feeling the scorching weight of his hidden gaze. But even then, he never revealed them.
She could even tell when he glanced down at her bosom and back up. Though only seeing a hint of his curved lips, he seemed amused as he unapologetically looked at each inch of her at a leisurely, unsettling pace.
Her first thought when seeing the black hat with elegant markings was…relief.
Did I finally reunite with Magi Rai? she wondered.
And just as she thought then, when she first met Magi Rai, she reasoned that those overwhelming sensations were simply because of how enchanted she was by him, from his dress to his fragrance. Though this man was certainly not Magi Rai, for his presence was increasingly agitating and aggravating.
Something deep within her wanted to strike him. Her eyes flittered, nerves surged, and fingers trembled frenetically as if readying to brace his strike.
The air had certainly thickened with whatever suffocating hold was keeping them no further than an incense stick apart.
What is this feeling? Why do I want to fight? Is he a demon?
She felt as if the floors became groundless, the ceilings roofless. It's as if all the bricks and wood that bound them trembled until they dissolved, immersing her in an ever-changing vista.
It went from dark to light to dark, to red skies to blue skies, to pink, to purple, to none.
There was sand, then mud, then desert, then grass, then water, then nothing.
And trees, then plants, then snow, then mountains, then caves, then air, then…it was too much!
These places were like everywhere she had been before, but nowhere she could recall ever having gone. Yet she couldn't stop from being there, nor could she trace where it came from.
Erratic thoughts eddied in her mind, stacking atop one another. It ached to ignore it, and as this person stayed in place, not shy to observe her, she was beyond irate.
Whatever boiled within her chest had her click her jaw and lunge at him.
Yet as she charged, kicking her leg up at his head in a clean strike, the figure smoothly spun around and slid ahead, only a glint of his earrings flashing as he slipped past her.
He made no other immediate move.
What just happened?!
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