The sound of battle resounded through the crisp morning air of the palace courtyard.

A young man, a lean and powerful drake, lunged forward with the sleek wooden blade in his hands. His motions were fluid and easy, the movements of someone to whom the frenzied dance of battle was second nature. At just the last moment, Tomoe raised her own blade to deflect the blow, gritting her teeth with the effort required to meet the man’s powerful attack and rebuff it. Capitalising on the momentum, she rushed forward and launched a merciless flurry of attacks, each arc of her blade wild and exaggerated — at first, each one was only hastily parried, but with each successive strike, the drake became more confident, and then--!

“Gotcha!”

The long wooden blade struck Tomoe in her side, taking the wind out of her lungs as she was sent hurtling to the ground, panting for breath and with a sword point held to her chest.

“Almost had me there,” grinned the drake as he held out a scaled hand, which she took, “emphasis on almost.”

Tomoe scoffed, wiping powdery snow off of her hakama, “I’m still in the lead, Arata.”

“Yeah? How’d you figure? You countin’ tail size and eating competitions in that tally?”

“Pretty much any time I’ve beaten you at something,” She said, sticking out her tongue.

Snow crunched underfoot, the sound of their instructor approaching from his spot against the palace wall.

“A majestic effort from both of you today,” spoke the wizened, scarred wolf, rubbing at the grey fur of his chin with his only hand, “however, Arata, you were slipping on your footing today!”

Tomoe’s feeling of smugness was fleeting, gone as soon as Espen turned his gaze toward her.

“And you, Miss Suzaku, still put far too much emphasis on raw strength despite possessing your own gifts! Pace yourself, and strike with precision — you must remember that your stature is not a weakness unless you choose to make it so!”

“Yes, Master Espen,” The two trainees intoned in unison, though it was clear as day to all present that Tomoe was biting down the urge to defend herself. It was easy to think of the Norlyssian wolf as just their combat instructor, but he was the leader of the Burning Plume in all but name, owing to his disdain for titles. The actual title of Dynast's Blade went to an individual Tomoe had never paid any attention to. It seemed only fitting to her that the Isles' finest were truly guided by Espen, as he was Lord Fumito’s own honour guard, much as Arata was to Tomoe — chosen personally, not chained to the role by duty.

“Good, good! Now, that will be all for today, I think,” Espen said, emptying his pipe on the snow and making a move to pick up his ornate scabbard from against the wall. The items were not of Isles-make; the pipe was not crafted from expensive dracwood unlike so many of the knickknacks of Namitori’s well-off, and both the sword and scabbard were distinctly foreign in design.

“So soon, Master?” Arata questioned, the dismay evident in his tone.

“Indeed, young Takao, and my apologies for it to both of you. Silver tongues have sharper edges than even the finest of blades, it seems. The realm of politics in Namitori appears to have experienced a rebirth of its own in recent days.”

“The Burning Plume barracks have certainly been tense since the attack,” Arata nodded.

“That’d explain why Asahi’s been even more high-strung than usual as of late.” Tomoe kicked at the snow before clearing her throat to prepare her deep-voiced imitation. “Finish your sparkeel, Tomoe, lest your father hear of your wastefulness!”

“Hah! If only you knew the worst of it, Miss Suzaku!” The wolf grinned, stepping over and ruffling her hair, his hand practically as large as her head. “Within an advisory convene, that man becomes a dragon with razor wit for a weapon. He may seem overbearing, but Asahi has only your best interests at heart.” Hesitating for a moment, he leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering to a loud whisper. “But, between you and me, I think you have the right idea with skipping on the sparkeel...” With a wink, he pulled away, giving Arata’s shoulder a gentle bump. “Have a good day, younglings! Beautiful Namitori is your deliciously cold oyster, and you’d do well to indulge!”

“Have a good one, Master!” Arata called, waving a claw after him lazily.

“Bye, Espen!”

As Espen rounded the corner out of sight, Phee bobbed over to join the pair, abandoning his previous fixation with a particularly well-tended trellis. The spirit usually did lose interest during sword practice, after more than a few incidents that proved just how distracting a hyperactive ball of fire could be in the midst of a fight.

“Well,” Arata drawled, stretching out, “you heard the man! City’s our oyster.”

“I feel kind of listless now that sword practice is over early,” Tomoe said, kneeling to roll the snow between her hands. “Don’t you have some top secret Burning Plume mission to attend to?”

“My mission is to protect you, dummy,” he chided, “and that’s hardly top secret… but no. Free for the rest of the mornin’. I’m helping with the repair efforts in the afternoon, though.”

“Huh,” Tomoe hummed, tilting her head, snowball nearly finished. “They have the Burning Plume working on repairs?”

“Yup. I suppose it counts as maintaining peace in the capital? I'm happy to help out, either way.”

Maintaining peace in the capital — that was only the Burning Plume's second priority. Their first priority was to protect Suzaku's blood and serve as the sword arm of the dynast-ruler.

“Well, at least they’re putting that muscle brain of yours to use for something!”

Arata blew a raspberry at her. “Keeping track of you is hard work. Mentally taxing. They know I’m the only one fit for the job.”

“Pfft.” There was quiet for a moment, only interrupted by the gentle sound of paws patting down packed snow. “I wish I could help too.” Phee closed in on her, the gentle warmth he shed a welcome comfort.

“They’d never let you. Besides, I’d be the one who gets in trouble when you inevitably try to use the claw end of a hammer to hammer a nail—”

Tomoe lobbed the snowball at him, but he ducked just in time for it to graze past his head. “Good dodge. Wanna talk a walk, then?”

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

“Sure. Oh— right. Actually, that works. I have to pass by the textile guild.”

The young heir arched a brow. “Didn’t have you pegged for a seamster, Arata.”

"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents."

[https://i.imgur.com/j6ZLfDr.png]

Namitori’s skyline was a characteristically low one. Nowhere was this emphasised more than its central marketplace, a long, winding avenue where the cobbled road, absent of snow thanks to the heavy footfall, was lined with shops, market stalls, and all manner of decoration. It made the royal textile guild seem enormous in comparison, a mighty five-storey titan of gilded wood and ornamentation. The size was a necessity, one would assume, for what served as not just the source of the palace’s garments, but as the hub for much of the Vermilion Isles’ textile industry.

“Why is this place so busy?!” Tomoe exclaimed, eyes wide at just how bustling the building’s interior was. “Nobody’d better tread on my tail.”

“What’d you expect?” Arata shrugged, moving toward the reception desk.

It didn’t escape Tomoe’s notice as she weaved through the crowds that a few people had noticed her — some were even bowing as she passed — but other than forcing a smile when she met their eyes, she tried to put them out of mind. It made her uncomfortable when people acted like that.

“Err… I don't know, really. I thought it’d be quiet, and everyone would be working a loom.”

“Ha!” Arata scoffed, approaching the reception desk. “No, they sell surplus material and garments here, as well as take commissions. It isn’t just a load of people sat around stitching palace clothes.”

“One moment, please!” Said the petite calico behind the desk, almost literally worked off her feet between stumbling from one place to another with all manner of clothes and sheets of fabric. Her eyes were strikingly mismatched, one blue and one green, a trait that Tomoe had trouble trying to avoid staring at. Her clothes were contrastingly typical of Namitori’s working class — a simple cowled tunic and a long skirt, with only a kanzashi in her hair to add some colour and flare.

“Looks like we’ll be waiting around for a while,” Arata mumbled.

Over the din of chatter and commerce, Tomoe heard a familiar voice. It was airy, words spoken like a flowing river.

“You okay?” Arata pried, trying to follow her gaze as she surveyed the room. “Look, if it’s the people who noticed you, it’s my job to worry about them, not yours.” Still no response. “Uh, hello? Tomoe Suzaku? You been taken by the fairies?”

It was her. Elegant and refined in her middle age, clad in that long, thick dress dyed in midnight shades. This time, it was a delicate filigree clip that kept her long hair from spilling freely. Tomoe motioned loosely at the woman, vague enough that only Arata would notice. Amiya was engaged in conversation with another woman, someone mousy and small, at the mouth of a hallway that led deeper into the building.

“That lady was at the palace last night. She was talking to Asahi,” Tomoe said.

“Huh? Good ears… I can’t hear a thing she’s saying.” He stole another glance at the pair in the corner before leaning down to whisper to Tomoe. “You’re staring at them. Openly.”

His warning came too late. Amiya had seen the fennec, and the look of disdain that flashed across her features was immediate for as much as she tried to quash it. Quiet words were exchanged between her and her companion before the two disappeared away from prying eyes.

“Remind me not to recommend you for any top secret missions,” The drake quipped.

“Can I help mew, sir?” Called the calico at last from behind the counter.

“Oh, yup! Here to pick up a repaired garment. Should be under the family name Takao.”

“Understood, sir. One moment!” The calico’s enthusiasm shone through her exhaustion as she scurried over to the rack of clothes nearby.

“Arata, she was seriously scary,” Tomoe said in a low voice.

“What, the reception lady? No, she’s cute—“

“Not her! Amiya, that lady who just scowled at me and then disappeared into the back?”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah.” Tomoe looked around as if making sure nobody was overhearing. Phee mimicked the motion, much to Arata’s quiet amusement.

“… So?”

“So? So?!” Tomoe frowned. “Seriously, she even had Asahi sounding disarmed! I’ve never heard that before! They were talking about a ‘summit’, and how they agreed on something that’s going to be discussed at the next advisory convene.”

“Starting to wish I'd paid a little more attention to politics… goes without saying she’s one of your father’s advisers, then.”

"Don't you know her, Arata?"

"It is part of our duty to protect the advisers, but that doesn't mean I know them all by name... or at all, really."

“Your garment, sir! That’s for Arata Takao, correct?” Beamed the receptionist.

“Oh, yeah, that’s me. Thanks.” Clearing his throat, Arata nodded as he checked the tunic over. “Say, I don’t suppose you—“

“Sorry, sir, but there are other customers behind you!” She said, looking past him toward whoever was next in line. Clicking his tongue in dismay as his position was filled by another, he roamed back to the entrance, followed closely by Tomoe and Phee.

“Say, Arata, can you do some snooping around and find out if anyone at the barracks knows about this ‘summit’?”

No response.

“Arata?”

“Huh?”

Tomoe huffed, but the amusement on her face was evident. It was tinged with a little sympathy, too. “Maybe you should pay a visit with some 'nip, next time?”

“Oh, shove it.”

“So, the summit? Information gathering? Can you do it?”

“I’ll keep an ear out, but it’s probably nothing as dire as you’re imagining, Tomoe.”

“It doesn’t have to be dire! I just want to know what’s going on.” She crossed her arms, eyes trained on the far hallway that Amiya had disappeared into.

Arata shifted in place, averting his gaze. They both knew that Tomoe was unpopular with a great deal of Namitori’s elite. They didn’t discuss it often because, well, why would they? They found solace in one another’s company and always had since they were young. They’d said all that was to be said, and now, they just knew. Their sympathy for one another’s travails was unspoken and assumed, wordless in a way that can be communicated by a knowing look. So that was why, when he saw the look on her face — troubled, but determined — he knew what to do.

“I’ll see what I can dig up.”

[https://i.imgur.com/j6ZLfDr.png]

More sparkeel, and jellied again to boot.

Asahi seemed especially preoccupied, to the point that he wasn’t even scolding Tomoe for leaving half of her sparkeel uneaten. His nose was buried in a stack of papers instead. Frankly, Tomoe found the atmosphere uncomfortable. She hadn’t realized just how much their usual back and forth served to fill the air.

“Asahi?”

It took a moment for him to look up, pushing his reading glasses down. “Yes?”

“What’s the ‘summit’?”

Asahi folded his spectacles and placed them to the side, giving the girl a pointed look. “How do you know about that?”

Tomoe put down her chopsticks. “I have my sources.”

He regarded her for a few long moments, his unwavering gaze difficult for the girl to sit under. “Don’t worry yourself about it, Tomoe. It’s nothing that concerns you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you not the same girl who refused my offers to sit in on advisory convenes over the years? Why are you suddenly interested in this particular matter?”

“Well, that’s…” Tomoe struggled to summon up a good response, glancing away toward her half-empty bowl. “I’m tired of being told I need to grow up, only for people like you and Amiya to assume I’m a lost cause!”

"Me and—“ The old fox exhaled sharply, realization dawning on him. “Tomoe, you… you cannot simply pick and choose which matters take your interest.”

“Why not? It’s a start, isn’t it?” Her chair clattered back as she shot up, hands gripping the sides of the long table.

“Tomoe! With our deities gone, it is the responsibility of those such as yourself to see that the people of this land are safe in all circumstances, not just the ones that pique your curiosity!”

“And I want to do that more than anything, but you don’t like the way I am, so—“

“No, Tomoe! No! You are far too busy gallivanting around, reading fairytales and playing with a dangerous fire elemental! You do nothing to prove your detractors wrong, and you rebuff every single attempt at help I give you! Can you not see that I—“

“Right, I get it! You’d rather I stay in and spend all day learning about trade routes and decorum because you don't like the way I speak!” Scoffing, Tomoe made for the door, Phee whizzing from his spot at the back of the room to catch up with her. “Jubei didn’t take decorum lessons, Asahi! He didn’t need decorum when he saved everyone from The Final Sin!”

“Tomoe, where are you going?”

“The barracks! Don’t follow me.”

And off she went, slamming the door behind her.

A withering sigh followed. Sparing a glance at the half-eaten bowl of jellied sparkeel, Asahi rubbed at his temples. They seemed to throb more and more with each passing day.