“JEALOUSY!”

“Jealousy?” many campers murmured, entranced by the elated look in Sir Niklas Braun’s sparkling blue eyes. “Is he about to recite a poem called ‘Jealousy’?”

“His voice is so strong,” several people swooned. “What a man!”

“Jealousy!” Niklas continued, shouting and waving his arms as though he was addressing every feaster present. Instructor Wei dropped his face into his hands, hiding an exasperated expression.

“Tell me, you!” Niklas jabbed a finger at a young man seated at a nearby table. The man wore a river-blue headband around his forehead and had warm brown eyes. It was Wu Dafu! He looked up and blinked, mouth full of dumplings, then chewed fiercely and swallowed in moments.

“Yes, Sir Niklas!” he answered, half-choking while scrambling to stand and bow his head.

“Tell me! Do you like women?”

Wu Dafu froze. His eyes darted almost imperceptibly to Abrial, then rebounded embarrassedly away.

“Um…Yes…Sir Niklas?”

“That’s what I thought! Now, imagine this: the girl you like eats breakfast, lunch, and dinner with you every day. You two laugh and talk and enjoy eating together. But! Suddenly, one day, many other boys start eyeing her and coming to sit and eat with you two. Now you two have no time alone at meals, and those boys are always eyeing her like hawks, trying to kiss up to her and make a move! How would that make you feel?”

Wu Dafu cleared his throat nervously. The clearing had gone entirely silent by now. Everyone was intently watching this strange show unfold.

“I might feel…jealous…Sir Niklas?” Wu Dafu answered hesitantly.

“I can’t hear you — what was that? Louder!”

“Jealous!” Wu Da-Fu repeated, shouting obediently. “Jealousy is what a person might feel in that situation, Sir Niklas!”

“AHA!” Sir Niklas stabbed a finger towards Wu Dafu, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. It flashed so brightly that several people in the feasting crowd squinted. He swiveled to Abrial and winked. “My point exactly. It’s jealousy!”

Niklas sat back down, folding his hands proudly and saying no more.

After a long, perplexed silence, the watching crowd of feasters broke into a smattering of hesitant applause. After all, it was Sir Niklas who had just given that speech. Even though it had been strange and meaningless, it was still very grand and eye-catching. Then, everyone returned to eating, and the din of conversation grew to its height again.

Abrial grabbed her temples suddenly. A splitting pain had torn through her forehead as she squinted from trying to process Niklas’s diagnosis.

“Why would she be jealous?” she muttered, bewildered. “Because I ate with other people? I don’t get it…”

“Listen here, friend.” Sir Niklas flopped around and laid his head comfortably right in Instructor Wei’s lap, staring up seriously at Abrial. “It’s like this. I heard some kind of rumor today about a handsome girl in red and black running around camp followed by a bunch of young suitors. That’s you, isn’t it? Red and black? Handsome? Young suitors? Yep, it’s gotta be. So I’ll bet this Finley was getting fed up with all of those little suitors hanging around and trying to move in on you. Jealousy. She’s drinking vinegar!”

“But — but…” Abrial stammered. Wooziness was washing over her in waves now. Combined with the splitting headache, she felt as though the world was tilting back and forth. Her voice seemed to echo from above a layer of water. Though she was outside in the cool summer night air, her skin seemed to be burning, like it would in scorching sunlight. “Finley’s not like that…Those students weren’t being suitors, they’re just friends…I’ve never heard a rumor like that…”

A wave of nausea rolled over her, coursing through her stomach.

Abrial rolled off her cushion, leaned over…

And vomited violently into the grass.

At the same time, two pale porcelain hands yanked Niklas off Instructor Wei’s lap, picked up a jar of freezing water, and dumped it over his head. His pale hair flattened against his forehead, and he jerked upright, staring around with now totally-sober blue eyes.

“What’s happened?” he murmured, water dripping from his lips. “What’s going on? Why am I wet?”

“Come on, you,” Bi Gho growled, pulling a dazed Niklas to his feet. “You’re going to sleep before you start dancing on tables and break your neck in two.”

Bi Gho dragged him away easily. Meanwhile, Instructor Wei rose to his feet and crouched down by Abrial’s limp form, which lay curled in the grass. Abrial was mumbling to herself unintelligibly.

Instructor Wei sighed, his eyes resting grimly on her pale face. Her dark eyes, usually sparkling with life, were clouded with liquor and sleep.

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He lifted two fingers gently. A soft breeze came and lifted Abrial a little ways off the ground, supporting her body comfortably. Then it whisked her away through the tents, careful not to let any part of her bump into anything, even her fluttering, glimmering dark strands of hair.

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Minutes later, Finley’s tent flap fluttered open.

Finley, who had just finished eating by herself, was sitting with her knees curled up to her chest on a floor cushion. She looked up when the breeze wafted into her tent, lifting her honey braids slightly above her shoulders and lowering them again softly.

Something pushed into the tent a moment after.

Finley blinked.

A curled-up female form drifted in on the soft air and landed with a quiet flump on Abrial’s bedroll. When the figure rolled over, uncurling from the fetal position and stretching out sleepily, the pale moonlight revealed long, dark lashes, shining black hair, and a handsome jaw. It was Abrial, looking half-asleep and mumbling quietly to herself.

Finley sat there for a moment longer, stunned.

Then she quietly rose to her feet and tiptoed to Abrial’s shifting form. A sweet, sharp smell wafted up from Abrial: the scent of strong liquor.

Finley sighed. She had told Abrial not to drink so many times at the house. But Abrial had never been the kind of person to listen, especially if listening meant missing out on a novel experience.

Silently, she crouched down and began to cover Abrial with the thin summer blanket with gentle hands. As her pale hands brushed Abrial’s shoulders, Abrial’s hand shot out, snatching Finley by the wrist.

Finley froze. She shook her head, righting herself, and struggled lightly for a moment. But Abrial’s grasp was strong; her fingers were each like thin vises wrapping tight around Finley’s skin.

Abrial gazed woozily up at Finley. It was clear she was drunk silly. Her dark eyes seemed glazed over and unusually pale, as though her vision was obscured by a fog.

With surprising force, she pulled Finley down.

Finley’s breath caught.

With that one pull, Finley’s face hovered only a few fingers’ widths from Abrial’s, so close that she could feel Abrial’s hot, sweet liquor-scented breath on her nose. Her skin tingled.

Abrial’s dark eyes seemed to bore into her, oscillating between an intensely glittering obsidian and a dazed, foggy gray. Her pale cheeks were blotched rosy from the wine, and she seemed slightly out of breath, her inhales and exhales erratic and shallow.

Every muscle in Finley’s body froze. The air in the tent was warm, suddenly. Too warm.

“Finley,” Abrial breathed. “It’s you.”

Finley blinked back, her expression unreadable apart from the wideness of her hazel eyes. Meanwhile, Abrial’s grip tightened on Finley’s wrists. She pulled again, and Finley was forced even closer. Their noses almost touched, both of their faces illuminated by the sliver of moonlight streaming through the thin gap between the tent flaps.

“Finley,” Abrial repeated breathlessly. “You smell good. You always smell good, did you know that? Like flowers, and honey…” She breathed in deeply, a delirious smile spreading over her lips. She giggled. “Did you know…you’re really pretty? Do you know…how pretty you are? When I stayed with Shin Minyeo eonnie, d’you know what she asked me? That was silly, heh…”

She stared expectantly at Finley with sleepy, hazy eyes.

“What did she ask you?” Finley asked, her voice calm, besides the slight tremble if you listened closely.

“She asked me…if I liked you.”

Finley’s breath caught.

Abrial giggled, sending tickling hot air into Finley’s eyes. “She said, of course women…can like other women like that. But I got scared. That scared me.” Her misty gaze transformed into a serious one suddenly, her dark eyes locking onto Finley’s with an inexplicable intensity. “Do you think things can be like that, Finley?” Her chest rose and fell deeply directly beneath Finley, the shadows along her jawline sharpening. “I never know what you’re thinking. What…do you think?”

“I…” Finley murmured, hazel eyes wide. Her inhales had become short and shallow, like muted gasps. “...I…”

Suddenly, she twisted her arm free and broke away from Abrial, stumbling backward. She fell onto a bamboo mat, heart beating loudly in her ears.

Abrial lay on the bedroll for a moment longer, then shifted to feel around in the dark for where Finley had gone. When she couldn’t find her, she pouted and flopped messily onto the roll again, going silent.

It seemed she had immediately fallen asleep.

Finley sat there for a long time, the sliver of moonlight illuminating a slice of her face silver, the rest submerged in shadow. A long, long time. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Her calm expression never changed as she stared absently at Abrial, and the hours swept by.

At last, when the sun began to crawl over the camp, Finley tucked Abrial beneath the summer blanket again, crawled into her own bedroll, and went to sleep.

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The next morning, Abrial had a splitting headache and a deathly pale face, so Finley forced her to stay in the tent until the afternoon and eat her meals in bed. She also made Abrial promise to never drink more than half a cup of any liquor unless Finley was around.

While they ate lunch together, the atmosphere was…kind of awkward. Actually, super awkward.

Abrial had a splitting headache from yesterday, so every time she tried to say something, she got a searing pain in her head and decided to shut up. Usually, Finley might say a word or two, passing Abrial some of her own food and reminding her not to eat too quickly. But…no, not today, apparently.

Finley was as silent as a rock. She wouldn’t even look Abrial in the eyes.

Abrial slurped the hangover soup Finley, smacking her lips at the yummy savory flavor. She eyes Finley curiously over the bowl. Why…did Finley look a little more pale than usual? Or was she just seeing things? Abrial frowned to herself, slurping down the rest of the soup.

When she was done, she clanked the bowl loudly down onto the table and leaned forward, her face serious.

“Finley, I need to ask you something.”

Across the table, Finley looked up, her right eye twitching for some reason. She must be tired.

“What is it, Abrial?”

Abrial frowned, rubbing her knuckles together. “I…had this dream last night. I think it was about the Emperor.”

A weird thing happened. Finley’s posture seemed to relax suddenly, and she closed her eyes for a moment, as though…relieved? Or, no…was she disappointed? What kind of emotion was that?

Finley opened her eyes and nodded. “What was your dream?”