This she couldn't deny.
"It's no secret that your uncle hated anyone speaking to you crudely or touching you unbidden. He'd have their tongues and hands cut off instantly.
Your mother listened to your denial and preserved Rakire's life, but he wasn't satisfied and sought a balance by taking Rakire with him to the islands for reformation training."
This was also true.
"Tell me why. What was it that he saw when he found you with my brother that made him so angry that he wanted to take Rakire's life, even when the demons, the ones you accused, were all slain?"
Salīa turned her head, clicking her own jaw.
"Did Raki touch you?!"
Bazil finally asked the question he had always skirted around, yet his voice was so drained in its pleading. Salīa wanted to answer. And she really thought she would. But in the end, she stayed quiet.
Something softened in him, as if he realized something while looking at her. It was he who reached for her hands now, warming them from the cold.
"I don't mind waiting, Līa. I just can't stand to see you hurt. I'll trust you as you trust me, even with our secrets. If you say he didn't, then I'll take that in stride.
But the truth remains.
Neither of you has been able to look at the other for about fifteen years without getting upset. That means there are feelings, even if it's just deep hatred, that needs to be resolved," he said. "It's selfish of me, but that's what I hoped for when writing that letter to you."
With this, he closed the gap between them and whispered in her ear.
"You left one line out when you asked about all the things I said in daze," he then paused, watching her shiver. "She's mine, not yours, brother."
Salīa's heart spiked at hearing it again, especially with how sharply he said it.
"I meant exactly what I said."
She looked up to him, but couldn't hold for he was boring into her, quite intently. As she could sense all vibrations in her wakened state, his presence was especially resonant.
"You wanted to know that three-eye owl provoked me with. He mentioned how in battle, a lion might win with its brute strength, yet owls are especially aware and can foresee things that make them the victor."
He cracked his neck and scoffed.
"Then he said that you might not choose him despite his desires. And while that's a bitter drink to swallow, he said, seeing us made it sweeten. Then spoke all princely, patted me on the back, and said he had no worries about you and me, even if we travelled all the realm together.
For he and I share a fate when it comes to you."
Salīa finally dared to look at him.
"Bazil—"
He shook his head and said, "It's okay. I'm proud to be a lion and do not fear those who challenge me. I might not have the wisdom of an owl or the wits of a leopard, but I will not long for that which I cannot have while forsaking the things I do."
The breaths merged as he breathed in her essence.
Both were looking at each other, yet neither was able to do so furtively. They even instinctively wanted to pull away and protect what was being seen in each other.
Despite that, no one moved.
His fingers thumbed over her neck. While his marks faded, there were deeper purplish ones from when she was choked by the demon.
Salīa couldn't make out what he was thinking, but she was sure it was bothering him. Her fingers tugged at his to pull away, yet he kept them there, tracing over the marks.
"You can make more—to cover those ones—if it bothers you—"
Each word surged forth, stumbling over the other.
Feeling the intensity of his gaze was too much for her heart and so she spoke without thought. Expecting him to shove her, she braced herself, closing her eyes.
They shot open immediately when she felt his lips pressing against her neck.
"We'll be in Palosa soon. It wouldn't be right to have the Queen marked in that way. But…" He kissed her softly, gently pressing at her neck, his lips feathering down to her collarbone. "That doesn't mean I don't want to."
Wait, what?
"You want to mark me?"
"All the time."
He trailed across her shoulder, kissing unhurriedly.
Each time he curved his face, flashes of memories of another life merged with the present.
It was all rooted in what she had seen in the animated images Salazā had revealed to her.
While Raki resembled Shaka more with a sharper jaw and harsher glare, it was his softened gaze and tender smile that was demonstrated best in Bazil. But that was no surprise.
Many years after Salazā was founded, many gravitated to the land. Some of those people were relatives of Shaka, although quite distant.
Of these relatives, came the closest cousin who looked like Shaka in many ways and served as the second-in-command and then chief of the zazi upon Shaka's passing.
It was from those descendants that Chief Rainowas was born. And it was this ancestor that temporarily ruled the village of Shaka, yet passed it on to his own cousin when of age so that he could continue being the chief zazi.
Had such a thing not happened, it's almost likely that Chief Raino would've been a council member long before her asking. Yet she knew that deep down, Chief Raino is no different than Shaka's cousin; he too would sooner lose his life than lose his xira.
When she was a child, watching Raki and Bazil play fight, she recalled a faint image she'd seen then after looking at the statue of Shaka.
"I had a dream of a strong warrior."
"Saving you?" asked Bazil.
"No," she said simply. "Standing by my side."
Raki and Bazil glanced at each other, then pumped their arms and took a stance before looking back at her.
"Am I the strong warrior?" both asked. "Since I'll be the zazi chief."
Both looked at each other, harrumphed, and gave a shove as they pushed in front of each other. Yet the young Salīa just shrugged and said, "I'm not sure."
Just like that, they wrestled on as if that would help her be sure. Yet she could only shrug again while watching boats pull into the Senai Seas.
Then clumsy, little Bazil had worked up the courage, after nearly a month had passed since that day, and said to her softly but resolutely, "I know I can't battle a dream, but I'll still try. So just know that I'll be the strong warrior standing by your side."
Back then, she just giggled and gave him a pat. Yet now she truly realized how much he meant it.
She felt such a warm surge of emotions, so lively and jubilant within her, that it had her pulling them together, skin against skin.
He inhaled deep by the jolt, yet she didn't pause, her desire fully stirred.
It was her now kissing against his neck, his shoulders, his collar. Even tracing up his face again and wrapping her arms around him. And having also been quite stirred, he did the same, feasting on her.
It was no different than the day he marked her. She led his hands to the same places and was surprised to feel them skating up to other places.
Her breathing shallowed as he sucked her in, hungry but still careful not to mark her.
She was greedier, finally trying to take a bite of her own, out of longing regret that she hadn't marked him before.
She looked up to his face, cupping his cheek, stroking his hair, and then tracing his headband. And she remembered something.
Her eyes locked with his, both staring rapaciously.
Low grumbles and growls were let out as they continued to taste each other, the tongues licking across their skin and flickering wherever would invoke a gasp.
Having reached her limit, she licked her lips and leaned in to taste his.
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