In the past months since arriving at the capital, Zen had begun looking forward to the mornings. He still had yet to best Ito, but he could feel the increasing ease with which he yielded a sword, and he swore that the prince sometimes appeared winded after a particularly good fight. The two rarely spoke, but occasionally Ito would throw out pieces of advice like he had done that night in the armory. On the days the sword master had them run drills or listen to his instruction, Zen would find himself longing to swing his blade through the air instead.

Zen felt similarly every afternoon, when the trainees had to listen to lectures about history and civics and grammar and so on. He had taken to drawing in his notes book instead. He wasn’t a particularly good artist; in fact, calling those drawings anything but scribbles would be an insult to art itself.

Zen was particularly impatient one fall afternoon. He was sitting towards the back. Ayue sat to his left, listening attentively to the teacher. Zen had promised to accompany him on a “spirit-hunting” adventure that night after curfew. He was a little anxious; though he had broken curfew to go to the armory that one time, and once more with Ayue to buy sweets in the market, their track record was poor. They had been caught half of the time, and by the prince no less. However, Zen was itching to go beyond the city walls unsupervised.

Imagining different worst-case scenarios and how to navigate them, Zen was even more unfocused than usual. As a result, his scribbles were almost indecipherable. He had tried to draw his house and the magnificent magnolia tree that towered above it. The flowers that fell from its branches looked more like snowballs, and the woods in the background like carrots. He frowned and put down his quill, glancing to his right. Ito had joined the class that day; he attended maybe a quarter of their classes. Zen didn’t understand why: surely he’s learned all this already. Maybe his cousin forced him to be here.

When Ito had chosen the seat next to him, Zen had pretended to be a good student at first. Luckily, he didn’t have to keep up the façade for long. To his surprise, the prince was as terrible of a student as he, albeit more talented—and conspicuous—in his manner of distraction. He would tear pages out of his book and sculpt them into delicate objects. He’d make birds, or foxes, or butterflies. When the lecture was over, he’d crumple his creation in his palm and stuff it into the pocket of his robe. This was all very baffling to Zen.

Today, Ito had folded his paper into an owl, and he was now using his quill to add details. He was adding a geometric pattern to its wings when he felt Zen’s eyes on him. He glanced over, first at Zen, and then at Zen’s book. When Zen realized he was studying his drawings, he quickly flipped the page. The prince just smirked and turned back to his bird.

Sighing, Zen rested his chin on his hand and stared blankly at the teacher for the remainder of the class.

—

Zen and Ayue had escaped through the window, not daring to breathe a word to each other until they were past the city gates. They didn’t expect much trouble, but just the week before, one kid had run into the sword master in the market past curfew and been punished so severely he couldn’t hold his weapon the next day.

“We made it!” Ayue said excitedly once the two had scaled the city walls and were safely hidden among the bushes.

“We still have to make it back,” Zen pointed out. “Now, where would you like to look?”

“Well, we should go where there is more resentment. You know the river by our village? I think it reaches all the way up here. Rivers breed resentment, you know. Ritual drownings and all that.”

Zen looked at him askance. “I think you just made that up.”

“I did not! What, do you have a better idea?”

“No, but I feel like you would have told me this before...if it were true.” Seeing Ayue’s indignant frown, he laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

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They walked between the trees, just a few meters away from the trail that they suspected would lead them straight to the river. Zen hadn’t felt so at ease since arriving. He soaked in the cool smell of pine needles and the warm scent of the soil. He felt the crisp fall breeze run its hands through his loose hair and the collar of his shirt. He felt...serene.

Ayue was indifferent to nature’s beauty. He was focused on his task; he would pause and cock his head at every sound, be it an owl’s hoot or the crackle of dead leaves underfoot. Sometimes, he’d cling to Zen’s shirt to make him stop moving and close his eyes, as if trying to sense a spirit’s presence with his soul. Zen didn’t mind. He knew they’d find nothing; at the very least, they could relax by the river for a little before returning. He’d let the water rush through his toes and his fingers. Maybe he’d even splash his face with it, letting cold droplets drip down his eyelashes and the tip of his nose.

Zen felt a tug on his sleeve. “Do you hear that?” Ayue whispered from behind him.

Zen listened to the soft sounds of the forest that enveloped them. “The river?” He thought he could hear something bubbling nearby.

“No, voices.”

He listened again. Indeed, he could just barely make out the sounds of someone talking. The sounds were getting closer, too, and he could tell that there were two people. A man and a young woman.

Ayue and Zen crouched down behind the largest tree they could find, barely breathing. Ayue hid behind Zen, clutching onto his shirt with one hand, knuckles white. As the strangers approached, their voices became discernible.

“I’ll help you.” It was the woman. She chuckled slightly. “You knew I would, otherwise you wouldn’t have dared ask.”

The man hummed in agreement. “That’s true. Take your time with it.” His voice was low and rough, and he spoke with a distinct Tangi accent. Zen was glad they were hiding; if he were a guard, he’d easily recognize them as trainees.

“I will.” There was a lull in the conversation for a minute. Zen could tell that the pair were just about to pass by them. He bit his lip, straining to hear their words more clearly. There was an itch in the back of his mind. He couldn’t tell if perhaps he was experiencing déjà vu, or if he recognized one of their voices, or if maybe their words were just vague enough to be suspicious.

“How did you find me, anyway?” It was the woman again. Hmm, no, I don’t think I know that voice.

“Your father and I are acquainted.”

The voices grew softer, heading in the direction of the city gates. It was a while before Zen and Ayue dared to speak again.

“Do we know them?” Zen asked.

“I don’t think so, why? What were they talking about?”

Zen shrugged. “I had a strange feeling about them. Can’t put my finger on it, though.”

Ayue realized he was still grabbing onto Zen’s clothing and let his hand fall limply to his side. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to the river after all,” he said uneasily.

Zen snorted in response. “Fine. Let’s just wait here a bit before returning. Don’t want to run into them on our way back.”

“Good idea. I can tell you a scary story in the meantime!” Ayue had perked up slightly, knowing he had a captive audience.

“Wh- Ah.” There was no point in arguing.

—

Zen could feel himself nodding off in his seat. After returning to the palace, he and Ayue had discovered that it was much easier to leave the palace undetected than to enter. It was one thing to find a way down three stories; it was another matter entirely to climb up. Instead, they’d had to wait for an opening to sneak through the front entrance. As a result, he’d slept quite poorly. The sleep deprivation hit him after lunch, once the morning’s adrenaline had worn off.

The teacher’s words were slurring in his ears. The soothing crackle of folded paper from beside him sounded distant. He propped his cheek up in his palm, leaning into his elbow. His eyelids felt heavy, and it felt so comfortable to close them. Just for a minute.

He felt someone shake his shoulder. “Zen,” they whispered in his ear.

Zen opened his eyes, blinking slowly. Oh, I guess I did fall asleep. “I’m up,” he mumbled. “I’m coming.”

Ayue was the one who’d shook him awake. The last of the class was filing out through the door. “Alright.” Zen heard him turn and leave as well.

Zen sighed and looked down at his book. The page he had turned to was completely blank. On top of his book sat an unfamiliar object. It was a magnolia flower, delicate and white, neat lines of black ink decorating its paper petals.