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Chapter Text

Sweat and screams waft upward from the colosseum like incense. The smell of fifteen thousand spectators in the afternoon heat overwhelms Kougyoku’s court-refined senses, and she’s in search of a place to retch. Pandemonium intensifies; she stumbles across the winding vomitorium and, bracing herself against one of the pillars, takes a moment to regain her bearings.

Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this. You’re a Ren, remember? You are — were — Kou’s princess, not some spineless fool! 

She sighs, clammy skin and jarring noise and everywhere she turns is a bloodthirsty ocean.

And I wondered why they wouldn’t let me be a general.

Her sole consolation is that the only person who could actually enjoy this would be her brother Kouha — crazy, mad, crazy-mad Kouha. Who is nowhere to be found.

The third imperial prince is busy leading his troops to some far-flung nation to amass more territory for an already sprawling empire. And she is stuck here in an oversized butcher’s lair pretending the rivulets of scarlet from mangled corpses are the most fascinating sight in the world.

People call this place an amphitheater. She can hardly fathom why.

Kougyoku takes a drink from a nearby fountain to refresh herself, grateful for the breeze that starts to ruffle the great awning. Relief, however, is short-lived; around her, stucco chants a tale of death, damnatio ad bestias, enthralling in brutality. Like an enormous folding screen, hundreds of stories lie tethered to the walls, each panel yet another fragment of Reim’s lore, to which she is now held prisoner.

The screech of chains and treadwheels signals his turn; she hurries back to the final tier to witness a trapdoor spring open and a young man step forward to battle a growling dungeon beast. Shouts of “A-li-baba! A-li-baba!” increase in volume as young and old alike rise from their seats, clamoring for a bloody fight.

His name is Alibaba Saluja, third prince of the kingdom of Balbadd, exiled from his homeland on account of looting and treason, currently making a name for himself as one of Reim’s finest bestiarii.

He’s also her husband.

The youngest son from a bankrupt desert state with the slime of commoners in his veins — a perfect match, don’t you agree? Her father had laughed, and she knew then not to expect much. Still, she bit her lip and bowed her head, the paragon of submission, even while her insides revolted at the thought of being cast away.

The truth of it all was that her father was getting rid of her. To appease the officials, to erase the blight on his name. For the eighth princess, there could be no greater shame than this.

Be grateful. I could have thrown you out in the streets. Never forget, the life of a gladiator’s mistress is preferable to that of a beggar.

A gladiator is a warrior in chains, a glorified slave and nothing more; a gladiator’s wife is a woman of scorn — so the saying goes. Either way, the same reality awaits. No silk robes to caress her skin, no face paint accentuating her features, and not a single maid or guard at her side, the emperor’s daughter blends into the crowd, unseen and unheard, in a giant slaughterhouse overflowing with exaltation and mockery of one man’s name.

Why did things have to end up like this? she asks herself again. And still no answer. Maybe she’ll pester Alibaba about it later until he figures out some kind of explanation for the weft of snarls that is her life. If he pulls through, that is. “In this profession, we number the days and pray the crowd will be in our favor,” he would often say, and it’s the most terrifying thing she’s ever heard.

Here comes the snarling beast, poised to launch an assault. Alibaba crouches low, eyes never leaving his adversary. It lunges at him; he swerves, aims his javelin at his foe’s breast, and hurls — SMACK! With a well-timed thud, the weapon penetrates its hide. The lion roars in pain and begins to pace, dripping crimson arcs on the floorboards. The gladiator, too, is on the move, inching side ward to where his weapon lies clattered on the ground, as his other hand reaches to grip the sword still sheathed in his belt. The lion bounds forward, canines bared, and he barely manages to grab the spear before it can sink its teeth into his flesh. A menacing growl, the sound of death’s door, and the audience goes into a frenzy.

As volleys of screams erupt all around, Kougyoku does her best to hold still against the pounding in her head, the shudders, the squeezing of her heart. She has but a slightly cracked potshard ticket, and she clutches it with all her strength, hoping against hope he makes it out alive.

Hurry up and win, Alibaba Saluja, and get me out of here. It’s a sham, every single thing, and all I want is to go home and cry.

Stay with me, [please] stay with me

Tonight, don’t leave me alone

At last the fight comes to an end. Kougyoku silently thanks the approaching youth for saving her from prolonged anguish at the mercy of the crowd. She doesn’t know why, but seeing him exit the Porta Sanvivaria unharmed — save for a nasty scratch mark on his left arm — dispels the earlier urge to weep.

“Sorry for taking too long. Some of my comrades stayed to congratulate me, so I had to hang around a bit,” he apologizes, and she smiles despite herself. It’s touching to know a stranger like him cares for her wellbeing when her own sire had no qualms about throwing her to the dogs.

“It’s alright. Um, congratulations. I’m glad you won.”

“Thanks,” he says, with a shy blush that seems out of place for someone of his stature. “I wasn’t that good, you know…”

“No, it was amazing! I never did learn a thing about hunting, but your combat skills were impressive!” She means to say more, for such feats of strength would have garnered acclaim in her country, yet her lips are pursed.

He shrugs, suddenly intrigued by some random engraving on one of the columns. Nothing significant, just two stick figures – clearly an act of vandalism, but Alibaba’s face is red. What on earth could have triggered such a reaction? Kougyoku wonders, until her father’s words come to mind.

“The youngest prince, tainted with peasants’ blood — what a fitting match,” he had said, to spite her. That’s it, she realizes. This person isn’t used to receiving compliments. Even if he was treated like a member of the royal family until his exile, he would still have been despised for his impure heritage. Just like she was.

It dawns on her, finally, that even if she feels trapped in this farce of a marriage, even if in her heart she rails against such a fate, even if she wishes with all her might to return to Kou, she can’t hate this man. It would be unfair to pin the blame on him, especially now that she understands a little bit of what he’s gone through.

If only there was something she could do to help...

Abandoned by her family, married to a stranger, and sent to live in a foreign land, there’s very little for Kougyoku to call her own. But her knowledge and skill in swordplay, that is one thing disinheritance and culture shock can never erase from her being. So on she goes, past marble figures and stone arches, praising her companion’s skills, pointing out mistakes, giving suggestions. It’s the first real conversation they’ve had since she was dropped off at his doorstep last week.

They turn the corner; the humble abode is now in sight. Alibaba starts fidgeting all of a sudden, distracted by something, and their animated conversation dies down.

“Here you go,” he says, just yards away from their insula. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a crude bamboo fan with a dragon inked in gold on one side. “Before the games started, I saw a peddler selling some merchandise from overseas and, uh, I thought this would remind you of your homeland.”

Startled by the gesture, Kougyoku can only gawk at the present. She glances at him, then at the handcrafted wood, and the hem of her linen stolla, unsure of her next move.

There’s a ringing in her ears that is not her advisor’s perpetual this-is-what-you-must-do-in-such-and-such-situation in his whiny sing-song voice, and she’s lost. If this were the court, I would decline the offer twice before accepting, leave a few compliments, and go. But here… what do I say? Oh, if only Ka Koubun were around!

Finally he reaches for her hand and places the object on her palm. When she still doesn’t react, he unfurls the leaves to reveal a peach tree design on scarlet cloth. Her eyes widen; it is, as he said, a little piece of home. But how? How could he have known how much she misses her family? And how dearly she longs for the scent of mulberries and peaches, for the earthy reds and blacks and golds that the best dyes in this place can barely replicate?

“Pretty, don’t you think? Sorry, I didn’t know what else to get you. There were other stuff — trinkets, vases, carvings and all sorts of jewelry — but I figured you’d fancy something actually useful.”

He’s right. A month ago, she could scarcely imagine herself dressed in plain garb, divested of any fashionable ornaments. Now, such impractical displays hold no meaning. In the real world, food, a bed, clothes, and a roof over one’s head is enough; anything beyond is only for the very wealthy, or the very naïve. Once again, it strikes her just how wise her husband is.

“Kougyoku?” he asks, obviously perplexed by her silence.

“I have nothing to give you,” the flustered half-princess admits. “I was almost bare-handed when I left the palace.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry. Besides clothes and a little money, the dowry was really all I had.”

His look is one of pure confusion and Kougyoku isn’t sure whether to flinch or stiffen at the sight. Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said that. Now he knows how poor I am. What will he think of me? Will he send me away? Please, please, don’t. I don’t have anywhere to go.

His expression relaxes. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s a gift; I don’t expect anything in return.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah.”

At last she calms down and accepts the offering, supremely relieved to know she won't need to drain the last few coins in her stash.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, and for moment her brain can’t decide whether it’s referring to his gift or his inherent kindness. Too beautiful, in fact, not to be reciprocated...even if he claims he wants nothing in exchange. Yet what can she do?

“You could thank me, you know.”

It’s a reprimand, of course. But then why is he smiling like that? It’s as if…as if he’s teasing me?

“Th—thank you. Thank you very much.” She says this with as much emotion as she can gather, but will simple words suffice to express her gratitude?

“You’re welcome,” he says, putting an end to the awkward tension in the air. “Oh, it’s almost the third hour! You must be hungry.”

“My goodness, is it time for the cena already? I’m sorry, I forgot to purchase food from the—”

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of everything,” he reaches for the doorknob, “and now we shall feast! It’s been ages since I had pork for dinner and I’m starving!”

Walk with me, come and walk with me

To the edge of all we’ve ever known

The next morning, Alibaba introduces her to the Yambala Gladiators. He’s touring her around town and one of their stopovers is a training facility situated next to the enormous amphitheater. The distinct stench of cages greets her from the entrance, and it takes all her willpower to make it all the way up the courtyard steps.

“This is it, the famed Ludus Matutinus. And over there is Master Shambal himself,” he announces, gesturing to a pot-bellied man at the gambling tables brandishing a wooden shaker. Taking a swig from his bottle, the man tosses one of the dice and begins shouting something undecipherable.

“Your vices will be the death of you, Old Man!” Alibaba hollers, but his warning goes unnoticed, and a gold tooth rolls on the floor with an exultant whoop.

“SACRED CHICKENS!!!”

“Hah! Even the consul’s beloved chickens can’t save you now!”

Ch-chickens? What on earth—?

“Ignore what he’s saying. He’s got this tendency to spout nonsense when he’s drunk,” Alibaba explains to his flabbergasted wife.

Drunk? At ten in the morning?

She’s heard rumors about their lifestyle. Gangs of uncouth, half-clothed mercenaries swearing all kinds of obscenities. Sinners in shackles, vulgar, filthy, doomed. It’s enough to make her cringe, but she keeps her thoughts to herself. Perhaps this visit will shed light on the person Alibaba is behind the glamor of the arena.

“So the first thing that crossed your mind today was to invite me to a drinking spree?” she frowns, as her heart begins a marathon in her chest.

“No! No, I just thought you’d like to meet my friends. Come on, I’ll, uh, show you where the animals are kept.”

The animals. Right. Nothing to fear, just a bunch of ferocious beasts that could rip an army apart in minutes — yes, absolutely no reason to be nervous. As the sister of Kou’s Western Subjugation Army Commander, she’s seen much, much worse. But her grip on his arm tightens.

I really should have brought a sword.

He takes her to the cages where the exotic menagerie is being showcased. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but to Kougyoku, all there is to see are frightened hostages awaiting a vicious end in the grand stadium. Desperation paints their moves; with every pitiful, defiant yelp, she sees herself trapped in their shadows. The place reeks of excrement, but she bites back a look of disgust and plods on, holding her breath until her lungs expire and she becomes one with the air of this hopeless dungeon.

“So, these are the lions. They’re quite popular so we’ve got lots of them here. Over there you’ll find bears, tigers, panthers, a few rhinos … I think there’s even an ostrich or two…Ouch!” He flinches, gingerly rubbing his arm where long claw marks twist down his biceps.

“Are you alright?” she inquires, and in that instant she knows regret.

“Yeah. I’m okay. Just a scratch.” He bears the inconvenience with a stoic front that would have fooled her, had she been someone else. But Kougyoku was raised in the bosom of conquerors. She has seen that look a hundred times in her brothers’ men.

“Perhaps we should leave now. You probably need some rest so your injuries can heal.” At her insistence, they retreat to the courtyard, where they encounter more trainees spending their leisure time ambling about.

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry. This sort of thing happens all the time. When the capstan turns, you know.”

“Uh..huh?”

“Oh, it’s a saying. When the—”

“Well, well, if it isn’t Yambala’s number one auctoratus, the one and only Wonderman Alibaba!” someone drawls out in rich, rumbling bass.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Varja,” Alibaba replies, snickering. “He’s one of the beast handlers,” he informs Kougyoku, who nods, taking in the man’s appearance. Split lip, scarred face, muscles bulging. Certainly not someone to be taken lightly. She tries to mask this growing apprehension with a polite smile.

He returns the greeting with a congenial grin, surprising her with dimples and rotting incisors in full display. Somehow that takes the edge off her fear.

“What a splendid match yesterday! The fans went wild!” And he launches into a tale of how a wealthy noblewoman was shrieking so hysterically that her husband had to drag her outside.

“Please, it was nothing special to be honest, but at least I got something for my efforts,” Alibaba says, showing off his bandaged arm like a trophy of valor.

“Feeling up to another round?” The stocky man gestures to one of the tables, his eyes afire with a challenge. The board is ready; Alibaba sits down for a game of latrunculi, explaining the basics to Kougyoku along the way.

“It’s all about technique,” he says. With a clever gambit, he traps the enemy in arrays of parallel lines and captures three soldiers without losing one of his own. Kougyoku watches enthralled as armies of light and dark glass pieces dance on a wooden battlefield, advancing and retreating like actual military flanks. War strategy is Koumei’s forte, but Alibaba is faring unexpectedly well; half an hour into the game, he’s on a winning streak.

“Nooo! My dux! My dux! Alas, o bittersweet defeat, I taste thine fruit once again! Oh, how have I wronged thee that thou hast sentenced thy liege to such a cruel fate?” his opponent wails, turning heads in their direction. Mortified, Kougyoku wishes her hair wasn’t pinned up in braids so she could hide her flushed cheeks.

Alibaba, on the other hand, seems to be at ease with all the unwanted attention. That, or he’s grown used to spontaneous bouts of public frivolousness. “Well, Kougyoku? What can you say?” he asks, in a playfully smug tone.

“I think he should give up. He’s nearly cornered.” And we should get out of here before he disgraces us completely!

“Never! For as long as there is breath in this vessel, and blood rushes through its sinews, I shall never surrender! Until my dying breath, I shall persevere, I shall press on, I shall — ahah?”

Alibaba makes his final move, snatching victory just as someone slaps a steaming plate before them.

“Eat up, you narcissistic fool,” a woman’s voice rebukes.

“Ah…thou dost wound me! Is there no mercy in thine heart of stone? Must thou torment one who hath already suffered loss at the hands of AUCKG!!!” Their boisterous companion quiets down, busy trying not to gag on the hot spoonful of porridge shoved into his mouth.

“Too noisy. You’ll scare our guest.” Shaking her head, the newcomer turns to Kougyoku. “My apologies. This fellow here…is deluded. Normally he’s not into theatrics, but it appears there are terrible side effects to skipping breakfast.”

That brings a pair of chuckles. I think I like her, Kougyoku decides, mentally comparing an image of the first princess returning from battle with this vision of bronze greaves, breastplate, and shoulder guard, a gold hoop hanging from a thick dreadlock, and the solemn glare of someone who never backs down from any fight. Hmm...looks like we’ll get along.

Alibaba stops laughing and does the introductions. “This here is Toto, the best gladiatrix in our entire troupe.”

“The only one, you might add,” Toto says, arms crossed, the harshness in her voice a warning to cease this overdone praise.

“One of our best fighters, then,” he amends. “Toto, this is my wife, Kougyoku.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Kougyoku.”

“Please, just Kougyoku. Re— Kougyoku Saluja.” And in that statement, her last remaining ties to the homeland dissipate like water on the hearth.

Might as well get used to this. I’m not a Ren anymore.

“Kougyoku it is.”

“Toto-chan. Greetings.” Out of habit, she folds her hands to wish happiness before realizing the gladiatrix could not possibly decipher the gesture. “May all be well with you,” she quickly adds, resolving to find out the local counterpart of wanfu.

It seems to work, for Toto’s irritation melts away. The customary exchange of pleasantries now over, Kougyoku finds herself burning with curiosity. Just how skilled is this person? As good as herself? As good as Hakuei? Better, even? No, that can’t be. She hasn’t seen a single female warrior who could hold a candle to the Kou princesses.

“I didn’t know Reim had female gladiators,” she says, testing the waters, hoping there wouldn’t be too many out there who could outdo her in battle.

“Our numbers are not too large, but we are not uncommon,” Toto informs her. “So, what brings you here, Alibaba?”

“Kougyoku wanted to see where we train, and I thought it would be good to let her meet our familia. I was just about to show her the living quarters. By the way, when it comes to the craft, Toto’s the real expert here. Would you like to talk with her for a moment?”

She looks to Alibaba for guidance. He smiles and calls his defeated comrade over to another game, and the aspiring orator belts out another declamation, much to the chagrin of everyone else. Toto continues the tour, and Kougyoku quizzes her companion about their lifestyle, by turns impressed and scandalized by her frank speech. She hasn’t met another girl with such a sense of self.

“So, you had a sword—”

“Spatha.”

“Spatha. And shield—”

“Parma.”

“Parma. As I was saying, you were armed with spatha and parma and Alibaba still beat you at sparring practice with a dagger — I mean, a pugio?”

“Your husband is very talented. He is well-versed in multiple variations of swordplay. He’s practically unbeatable when he uses his jambiya,” she adds, referring to that curved blade that never seems to leave his person.

“Do you think he’s familiar with Kou style?”

“It’s possible.”

“Are you?”

“I have witnessed it once or twice, but I am far from adept at oriental techniques. You seem very interested in this topic. Can you handle a sword yourself, Kougyoku-chan?”

“Well…I’m not too ignorant of the basics. I had a really good master, and my brothers were exceptional,” she says, before she can stop herself. It doesn’t occur to her until later that it might be deadly to brag of one's fighting skills to an experienced gladiator.

“Would you like to practice with me?” the taller woman offers, and the prospect of crossing swords thrills Kougyoku to no end.

“I would love to! But perhaps some other time? Alibaba and I have a few more places to visit.”

“Very well, the next time you visit, look for me and we shall have a friendly match using the weapon of your choice.” With that promise, they head back to where Alibaba is waiting. By now, it’s almost noon, and the aroma of fresh barley loaves tantalizes Kougyoku’s rice-deprived stomach.

They find a circle of bystanders flocking around a latrunculi set, openly criticizing the players’ moves. Alibaba loses this round, but the sly twinkle in his eye means it was anything but defeat.

“‘Tis a pity you must go. Please, you must bring your lovely wife more often,” says the one called Varja, who looks torn between wanting to gloat and suspecting his opponent of throwing the game.

“See you, Alibaba, Kougyoku.” Excusing themselves, Kougyoku’s new acquaintances take their leave, one to his room, the other to practice with the palus before lunch is served.

“You have some very interesting friends, Alibaba,” she remarks, as he rearranges the pieces scattered on the board.

“You think they’re weird, right?”

“Not exactly. They’re just…not what I expected.”

“But they have a good heart.”

“Yes. They do.”

He faces her now, a question in his gaze, as if seeing her in a new light. “Come,” he says at length, “you should meet my master.”

He takes her to meet the honorable lanista, who is busy mourning the loss of his last denarius. Kougyoku averts her gaze; his belly is on full display, the hairs on his chest a pitiful substitute for a missing toga.

“Alibaba, my boy! And this pretty woman, is she your bride?”

“My name,” she tells him, “is Kougyoku.”

“Ah, what a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Tell me, young lady, what do you think about the games held this week?”

She thinks back, from the prancing around of the paegniarii in the opening act to the first coup de grace. Alibaba expected her to be more delicate, lady-like, but she proved that day that she was so much more than a dainty, spoiled rich, courtesan’s daughter.

The fights, though more ruthless than she preferred, were actually quite entertaining. It was the executions that gripped her cold. Granted, some of the methods used back home were far worse, but, she realizes, for all her training in the code of the warrior, not once could she actually bring herself to witness the infamous death by a thousand cuts. Never in all those practice sessions had she truly dwelt on the repercussions of taking a life.

The worst part was when props and scenery were being moved into place and actors paraded onstage looking every bit as sullen as members of a funeral procession. Expecting a local version of zaju, she found to her horror people dying left and right.

A play?

No. A public hanging.

Theatre had never been this deadly. She shrunk into the crowd, and the crowd watched with morbid fascination as the drama of sickening violence played out in ever-increasing shades of horror and gore, shredding and dyeing and reshaping her soul until at the end, after the last beheading was carried out, she could not tell herself apart from that crowd anymore.

“Speak up, lass. No one will fault you for it,” Shambal encourages, looking twice as calm as the most patient eunuchs in court.

“It was…a thrilling spectacle. But horrid.”

A loud guffaw escapes his lips. “Indeed! For where else can you find bloodshed this great except in warfare?”

There was one time, one dark page in Kou’s history. The queen went on a killing spree, and the massacre in the palace took the lives of a hundred retainers. There were rumors that she had gone mad, but the next morning the corpses were gone and her eyes were clearer than ever and no one dared say a word. No one save the boy perched up in the peach tree knew how terrified Kougyoku had been.

What’s wrong with me? I should be the last one affected by these sights.

“You do not accept our ways,” he states calmly, as to a child, which is how she probably looks right now.

No. I…I do not know!

“Losing one’s life in battle is considerably more dignified than getting mauled to death without even having a chance to defend oneself. And those who do, merely fight in the name of entertainment. What honor is there in that?”

“Ah, but we are of a different class altogether!” he exclaims. She worries she offended Alibaba’s master somehow, but the candid expression on his face puts her fears to rest.

“The legacy of the famous venatores is infused into our blood. Times are better now; we who were once condemned and murdered have a chance to prove ourselves. When the capstan turns, fate stands at a crossroad. Nothing compares to seeing your life flash before your eyes, gladius in hand, knowing this hour could be your last.”

“So this is what you live for? The thrill of it? The profit? The adoration?”

“No. We live to conquer. The beasts, and ourselves.”

Another twist in this labyrinth, Kougyoku mutters to herself as they bid goodbye; the visit has left her with more questions than answers to occupy her thoughts. If I could turn back time, I would have prepared better for this. But no one ever told her anything and she never cared to look past the basics the royal tutors required her to memorize, so caught up in daydreams of elegant silk and a general’s crest and raising a brood of future magistrates as her greatest service to the country. Fantasies and illusions they were, and now, they too have run away.

She shows me everything she used to know, picture frames and country roads

When the days were long, and the world was small

Tell me a story, Kougyoku.

Which one? There are too many.

Tell me about the little girl who hid in corners, who had more dolls than toes and fingers.

Ah yes, that little girl. The girl without lotus feet.

“Foot binding, eh? I’ve heard about that during my travels,” Alibaba remarks aloud, as they tell stories over a cup of cold tea. They’ve been having these little chats ever since her husband discovered her fondness for the drink. This afternoon he somehow convinced her to open up about her family, and what started with a lengthy description of her sisters’ quirks led to this.

“It’s an ancient form of torture, right?” he guesses.

“Er, no. It’s actually a beauty practice.”

“A what?!! That’s like saying slavery is the best job in the world! I know every country has its own cruel traditions, but this is outrageous! Who in her right mind would want four-inch deformed feet?”

She takes a sip of brownish liquid and ponders for a minute, trying to explain what she never understood herself. Be like the lotus, the aging masters would say, and she would repeat, repeat, repeat.

“In our culture, a lot of maidens use this technique to catch the eye of someone of high social standing. For some, it’s the only way to snag a rich husband and escape poverty. It’s especially popular among the lesser nobility, who aspire to preserve or elevate their status in court. Few think evil of a lifetime of broken toes.”

“Well, how come yours aren’t?”

“Father thought it would be pointless. After all, he said, a child of scandal will merely invite more shame. And for the longest time, I thought it was proof that he simply…didn’t care…but then Ka Koubun explained that I didn’t need the wraps anyway because father became the emperor. I would be guaranteed an excellent match, even with feet too large for a proper lady.”

Sip.

Exhale.

She refills his cup, and he does not tap the table in acknowledgement.

Sigh.

Maybe I’ll explain this custom to him someday...

“Over here it’s different,” she continues, immediately forgiving him for the absence of finger kowtow. “I don’t feel too bad about never becoming a silver lotus, like my sisters are.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your feet, Kougyoku.”

She wants to believe him. She wants to accept that he’s right and she shouldn’t aspire to be her sisters — her beautiful sisters with womanly gaits and peach-shaped faces and perfect almond eyes — but he’s not a child of Kou, and couldn’t possibly understand. He’ll probably ask, “You bathe in pig pancreas?” to which she’ll reply, “You soak your teeth in liquid waste?”

“I do not understand your world,” she says, and the knitting of his brows tells her he thinks the same.

“This country is quite strange, right? I thought so as well when I first came here, but it must be downright shocking for someone like you, a princess from the Imperial Palace, no less.” His tone is thick with accusation, or was that hurt? She pins him with a deep, searching stare, reading the layers of disguised shame, hearing the “it’s not my world, either” that goes unsaid.

So he also is lost.

And when Alibaba gulps down the rest of his drink and carelessly wipes the dribbles off his chin in a perfectly graceless breach of tea etiquette, Kougyoku knows better than to feel horrified. A pair of displaced semi-royalty with no remaining ties to the throne have no business fussing over the right way to pour a cup.

Ah, why bother? This tastes nothing like home-made tea, and there’s not a sliver of porcelain on the table. No maids will be gossiping tonight.

She’s not in Kou, and there’s no reason to dwell on that any longer. Setting aside her own horde of worries, she makes one last request before their conversation dies down.

“Tell me more about Reim.”

That seems to catch his attention. He leans back on the splintered backrest, crosses his arms, and prepares to play storyteller. “Which part?”

“How about the colosseum?”

“The colosseum,” he repeats, “that giant labyrinth where the floorboards are bathed in red. From what I heard, the design has slowly changed over the years. Some improvements were made, some repairs, some looting even. They added the underground hypogeum, where most of the action happens. You’re familiar with the four special arches, right?” She nods, and he continues. “There’s also the spolarium. That’s where the dead are brought.”

His expression grows distant, regretful. He brings down his palms to grip his empty cup and Kougyoku starts to feel tremors ripple through her skin. At first the vibrations surprise her, but then she sees how white his knuckles have become.

“Is something wrong?” she inquires.

“I hate that place.” A pause. She’s never seen him this way, overcome with emotion, with unseen tears threatening to spill over. “My best friend Kassim died last year. He was a rudiarius. He…would have left the arena for good. But his sister fell ill and he needed…needed money. I…I had nothing to give…he died the next day…fatal concussion…injuries slowed him down…he was a fighter…till the very end.” He chokes down the rest, sucking air in an effort to contain his sorrow.

“The sister?” she asks gently, like her mother — no, like her brother would whenever he found her whimpering in the dark.

“She died. We buried them both in a mass grave.”

No, she thinks. The girl shouldn’t have died. She was just a child!

“Was there no physician available?”

“There were, but times were hard, and…ack…altogether we could only produce a few silver coins. If she were a…a gladiator or someone important, maybe…maybe Mariam would still be alive!”

She rubs a soothing hand down his back in an effort to dispel some of the tension. The scar from his last fight has disappeared, she notices. If only memories could be revoked so easily.

“And I was supposed to kill you…” she blurts out, mostly to herself, but he hears, and it snaps him out of his grief.

“You…what?”

“I…no…I mean…” She tries, yet fails to backtrack this time. He heard it — he knows — all because of her careless mouth.

Now what?

He’s waiting.

No use hiding it any longer, eh? Very well. She takes a deep, deep breath and braces for the worst.

“Please don’t hate me for this. But I think you should know. Had things gone differently, you would have joined them in the afterlife.”

She stood by as it fell apart, separate rooms and broken hearts

But I won’t be the one to let you go

Once there were seven sisters, seven hills on the lush fields, seven stars to crown the sky. She is one of them, but her radiance is quickly fading in the aftermath of her betrothal.

Her father is a greedy man. And greed doesn’t recognize its own daughter.

News of her engagement is hailed as a good trade investment for Kou. Already she overhears the senior magistrates discussing the merits of Balbadd wine. It's a sickening to know a princess could be sold for a barrel of grape juice. But it's the truth. Strain grape essence into a goblet and you own the world.

Taciturn officials tell her nothing; it is only the second prince who cares to explain the emperor’s reasoning. “It was His Majesty’s intention for you to be given in marriage to the king of Balbadd, Rashid Saluja’s oldest son Ahbmad. However, we have received news that a coup broke out in the capital. The citizens’ increasing dissatisfaction with their ruler’s corruption and incompetence has reached its peak, and the second prince was forced to ascend the throne. According to our intelligence reports, he is of frail constitution and may not last the summer. The last remaining relative is the youngest son, currently exiled in Reim. He may have committed some misdeeds in the past, but the human heart is easily swayed. He is favored by the masses because of his mixed lineage. They will surely call him back, and when that happens, you shall become queen. This is our best chance of securing a trading stronghold without sacrificing the army.”

So that’s it. She’ll be a pawn.

No.

“But I want to be a soldier! I can fight! I can…be a general, just like Hakuei! Certainly after all these years of training I’ll be more useful serving my country from here than as an ambassador. Why does it have to be me who has to go to that faraway place?”

“Kougyoku. It is one thing to count the troops. To slay a fellow man is entirely different. Are you ready for that?” It is Kouen who addresses her this time. Yes, she wants to say, but her tongue won’t cooperate.

“Go. Fulfill your duty and bring honor to our nation.”

“But…”

I will be tied down to a wilderness and you do not care. Why, Brother? You were the one who believed in my abilities, back when I didn’t know my own strength. Was it all a lie? Am I truly nothing but a lowly concubine’s daughter after all?

In the days that pass, she confers with her adviser, but he gives her no definite reply.

“We must never presume to comprehend the mind of our ruler, for we are but his loyal subjects,” he says, dodging he question.

Somewhere, a door is slamming.

"Why? Why don't you—" Why don't you care? Why aren't you helping me? Are you hiding something, Ka Koubun?

His eyes are fiexed on the wall. It's over.

“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?” It’s a last resort, but at least even if she loses everything else, she won’t be entirely helpless.

He isn’t.

“Why not?” she demands, panic rising. What do they plan to do, just send her off to some part of civilization and leave her there to fend for herself? Isn’t there any consolation for this ordeal?

“My deepest apologies. I am simply following Her Majesty’s orders,” he says, with the cold disinterest of someone threatened or bribed.

“What? The dowager empress? What does she have to do with this?”

She is still talking when the queen enters, accompanied by those creepy masked men who seem to materialize from her footsteps. Ka Koubun and the other men are dismissed, leaving Kougyoku alone in the presence of this woman whose porcelain doll face makes her skin want to hide under itself.

“Poor child. A princess should be precious, but alas! Your father seems intent on giving you away,” she says, in the same deceptively reverent manner by which she pronounces omens. “Tell me, little girl, you dream of becoming a soldier, do you not? I can grant your wish. Your father pays no heed to your talents; he is blind to your strength. If you truly desire to serve your country, listen to me. What can your husband-to-be promise you? All the sand in the wilderness? Hah! Balbadd may be a merchant's haven, but it is unworthy. As for that man you are betrothed to, I heard he is but a poor wanderer who will do us no good. For your own sake, you must dispose of such a hindrance to your future.”

What is she insinuating?

“You need not worry. One who courts death cannot live long. He might die within the year…even sooner, if you wish it.”

What? Why does she always have to say such confusing things? As if my brain isn’t muddled enough already. “My apologies, Your Highness. I fear I do not understand your intent.”

She smiles, that deathly smile that belongs to nightmares and executioners. “There are so many ways to make a heart forget to beat.”

Kougyoku gasps. The meaning behind those half-cryptic words is now clear as day. She wants me to murder him.

“Consider this a service to your country. Your father thinks he knows the world, but he does not.”

Bride. Assassin. They don't belong together. The only thing worse than a low-born princess is a widowed low-born princess, and she doesn’t want to become one. Still, this is a solution to her problem, cruel and reckless it may be. There is one other choice: to blindly accept the path chosen for her, but to do so would be to give up her future — hopes, dreams, everything.

"The desert shall be your downfall," a fortuneteller once said.

As a parting gift, Ka Koubun presents her with an intricately carved knife — “for self-defense” he claims. She wraps it carefully and hides it in her sleeves until the day she sets her eyes on her future groom.

One, a ring

Two, a dagger

Three, you always knew she was a liar.

Her wedding is lovely. Hold blade, clench, unclench, feel its weight, forewarning murder in the guise of vows, and seeing red red red, begging the wine to kill this man…this husband — not hers, never hers — so she won't have to.

“I wasn’t aware of such a need for a wedding letter. How do I write this?” he asks. “She keeps a respectful distance, only leaning closer once to inspect the roll of parchment before he hands it over to the messenger. He smells of grapes and olives and newborn sawdust, and it’s not unpleasant at all.

The envoy is leaving and she’s begging him to stay, but no words are coming out, and she’s clinging to his shadow with unmoving fingers, and he is gone. The six etiquettes are now over. The torture begins again.

How hard is it to slit a throat?

To make matters worse, Alibaba looks about as awkward and disoriented as she is. They make small talk — Who are you again and what are we doing here?  — and she discovers that his reason for agreeing to this marriage was her eldest brother’s personal guarantee that Kou wouldn’t reduce Balbadd to shambles.

How strange, the prodigal son cares for the country he abandoned. She hesitates for the hundredth time that night. Someone with a noble heart certainly does not deserve a death sentence on his wedding bed.

What is one death among others? You never looked away before.

“You look tired. Won’t you sleep yet?” he asks, concern shining in those weary amber hues.

Tired? Her face appeared flushed when she last checked the mirror, but she blamed it on the make-up.

“We can't have you sick the day after your wedding. If you're not feeling well, then you should rest.”

“I’m fine.” She folds her arms on her lap, fingers tightening around the weapon concealed beneath her ceremonial robes.

He lightly touches his palm to her forehead. “You don't have a fever. But are you sure you're alright?

"I'm not dying tonight," she croaks. He blinks, confused, as someone who hears his death sentence without an inkling of what is being said.

How do I feel? Like a murderer, thank you.

“Goodnight,” he says. And his tone is gentle and she’s sinking in fear, not because she won’t be able to kill him but that she might.

That’s it? You were supposed to make me hate you. You should have been more selfish. Then it would be easier to destroy you. There's a pulsing in her head where it shouldn't be. This is not how she envisioned her first assassination attempt.

Kougyoku knows she’s stronger than her sisters. The crown prince himself called her brave, once. But which is bravery? To change fate, or to obey? To risk it all and find her destiny in a foreign land, or to fight to keep her place here in Kou? These kinds of decisions, the mind can't handle, and she feels so very, very tired.

He stirs in his sleep. She points the dagger to his throat, ready if ever he wakes up. He rolls over, grabs the pillow, and, mumbling a word or two, returns to his dreams. It occurs to her that he looks better alive than a ghost.

This is not how warriors deserve to die. It’s dishonorable. Kouen told her that. He wouldn’t approve of this madness.

Scorpions, you know, aren’t pretty.

Arrrgghhh! She has to decide once and for all, before this mounting desperation eats her to pieces. Minutes pass, sowing one crazy idea after another in her conscious. She could challenge him to a sword fight, and if she happens to kill him she can write it off as a casualty of one-on-one combat. But would she win? She can't risk everything on that.

Kill him, kill him not, kill him, kill him not…

Perhaps her brother would forgive her, yet nothing can appease a guilty conscience. If he dies, she will carry this burden all her life. No, she will not let that happen. She has too many regrets in life already; he shall not become one of them.

I give up. Go and live, and one day you better pay me back, Alibaba Saluja!

The dagger drops, and she bursts into tears.

The next morning, she wakes up, and there is no blood spilled anywhere. There is still one more option. He’s going to Balbadd, right? She can still live comfortably at court somehow…

“I’m not going back. Not yet. They don’t need me. Ahbmad’s reign ended four months ago. Sahbmad is taking his place. When he steps down, Balbadd will become a republic, for this is what is best for the people. The King of Sindria has already pledged his support.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. There goes her last hope. The walls close in, she cannot go back and she cannot move forward. With both Kou and Balbadd written off her near future, the only thing remaining is the life of a plebian in Reim.

Will she survive?

The maids are the first to go. Apparently, her husband is not wealthy enough to indulge in such expenses.

“Expenses!” she screams, “Then who will take care of me? Who will do my hair? It’s going to take hours to put on all this make-up! And I can’t possibly be expected to prepare my own bath!”

And no, she learns from his vague descriptions of their destination, she can’t have hot baths on command. Unless she’s a member of the aristocratic class and thus entitled to such luxuries — which, in this country, she isn’t — she’ll have to share with everyone else.

Kougyoku is nervous, bored, and completely exhausted when they reach Reim. Her body aches for a warm bath and a good night’s rest, with barely enough strength to ask, “Where is our residence?”

He takes her to one of the apartments and opens the door. She feels like fainting on the spot.

Here? This ugly, cramped space? Is this a joke?

“You can’t be serious.”

He is.

Ugh! I hate it. I hate you. I should have just killed you when I had the chance.

“What makes you think I’ll ever set foot in such a disgusting place? I don’t belong here! I’m a princess! I’m not…I’m not poor!”

Have you forgotten? A peasant’s wife is a peasant no less.

Why? Why is this happening? Everything I strived for, so I wouldn’t follow my mother’s footsteps…everything…all that hard work…led to this?

Betrayal slices deep. She holes up in the room for three days, staring at the unchanging brick walls, convincing herself it’s all a nightmare, that one day she’ll wake up if she tries hard enough, but her imagination is wrung dry by the sleepless nights and playing pretend can only get her so far. The husband comes, bringing food she almost never touches, and sometimes he watches her with a forlorn expression that matches the bleakness of the floor.

“Please,” he beseeches her on the fourth mourning she wakes up trapped in this hovel, “you have to stop crying. I’m sorry this happened, I truly am. But if you don’t start eating a proper meal, you’re going to die.”

She hates her tears, hates herself for being weak. She hates him and she hates her father and she hates Ka Koubun for not coming to her rescue.

“I want tea,” she says. “Tea and some rice. And a parasol. I’m getting out of here.”

He brings her a loaf of bread and water. She raises her eyebrow, expecting him to produce the missing items; he shrugs. So, no tea and no rice and no chopsticks. A perfect excuse to wallow in misery once more.

He sets aside her empty plate and pulls over a stool to sit beside her depressed self. “Hey, let’s go outside. I’ll show you something.” And before she can reply, he takes her by the hand and drags her out for some fresh air.

It’s been a while since she’s been out in the sun. Kougyoku lifts her hand to shade her eyes from the glare, and then she sees it, that beautiful thing Alibaba was so excited about. Life.

Leaves in their hammocks sway together like spiders shivering on the branches, like green tongues lapping up sun breath. It brings to mind verses from the ancient scrolls, Trees do not fall prostrate before kings; they only bow to the monsoon.

Yes, she decides, I will be that tree. I will bend like the bamboo, but I will not break. I will not fall.

The morning is perfect for a leisurely stroll down the road. The husband — her husband tells her of his adoptive sister’s excessive fondness for dates. She giggles and talks about dark-haired princes forced to choke down inedible plum pudding. They share a lot of stories that day, of camels and siroccos and mulberries dripping white cocoons. For they are the illegitimate, those neither here and nor there,but always in between, fame and infamy, need and prosperity, and all the costumed colors of the soul.

No vultures disturb her sleep tonight.

And it’s hard to love again when the only way it’s been,

When the only love you know just walked away

Days turn like the whorls of a nautilus, a little here and a little there, and it’s not always pretty.

A woman stands shivering in the unseasonal chill of veiled stars. She wraps her palla tighter around her shoulders, but it’s futile, even the thickest shawl cannot shield off those voices.

“What’s wrong, Kougyoku?”

Memories gather, beautiful and bitter — tales of dresses and war campaigns and a little girl playing soldiers. “Look at me!” she screams. “I’m not a princess anymore! I’m an exile!”

Alibaba’s here to catch her; it’s just them and the night and her wails and his soothing whispers. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just let it all out.

She grips the window ledge. “My family…I—I’ll never see them a-again. I’m a…an…orphan now.”

“I see,” he says, when her sobs have quieted down. “That makes two of us.”

It’s a strange thing, finding solace in the company of a stranger, but, she amends, he’s not a stranger anymore.

“Thanks, Alibaba…chan.”

She wipes the last tear.

If it’s something that you want…

You don’t have to run; you don’t have to go

If there’s one thing Kougyoku cannot understand, it’s this country’s fixation on wine. She’s at the market one day to purchase a jug of that tinted liquid, when she overhears snatches of conversation from a pair of tunic-clad men loafing in the corner.

“My friend, last night I dreamed of owning bundles and bundles of purple fabric, enough to fill the entire colosseum!” one of them boasts, with a yawn and a loud stomach growl to match.

“Ah, but listen to this!” says the other. “A fortnight ago I dreamed that I stood before a legion of soldiers when all of a sudden one of them stepped forward and placed a crown of grass on my head. It was a grass crown, I tell you! A grass crown!”

“Enough with that foolish talk! Get back to work, you slaves! Load those wine barrels on the cart at once!” the flabby-faced merchant booms out, lashing his whip on a post.

The idlers are on their feet in seconds. “Yes, Master Budel!” they say, and hurry off to do his bidding.

“Watch it! If even a single drop spills, I’ll have you pay thrice its weight in salt!” Whether he makes good on his threat or not, she’ll never know, for right now she’s busy perusing the merchandise. Glazed earthenware, a dragon brooch, exotic spices, and...is it really? Tea! Authentic Kou tea!

She clears her throat to catch his attention. “Excuse me, how much do these cost?”

“Ahhh, those are special varieties sourced all the way from the Wuyi Mountains.”

“Yancha?”

“Why, yes, I believe that’s what they are called. I assume you are a tea-lover?”

“Tie Luo Han, Shui Jin Gui, Bai Ji Guan, and Da Hong Pao,” she recites, making his eyes sparkle giddily at the prospect of a buyer. Hmm…sorry, but I’ll have to pass. “Do you have anything less pricey?”

He frowns.

The cheapest black tea costs her every last coin in her pocket. When she gets home, Alibaba takes one look at the single tea bag in one hand and the lack of food in the other and jokes that their meal must have grown wings and flown out the window, and she blushes in embarrassment.

“I needed the tea! I’m parched dry without it!” she says in defense, but he’s busy wiping away stale barley crumbs from the table.

For dinner they have lentils and silence and her stomach feels bloated all night. She buries her head in the threadbare pillow and she dreams herself back in the royal residence with more servants than she can count and porcelain and fine silk and everything to her hearts content.

The next day she peers into her tiny oval mirror and curses her reflection. She always knew she wasn’t beautiful. Such a plain face won’t do, her own guardian had said. She never thought she could be ugly.

She inspects her hands next and finds more blemishes. A scrape here, a bruise there. Fingertips no longer soft like before.

Am I pretty? I am not pretty at all.

That evening, Alibaba finds her with thick mung bean paste on her face and asks her if, after scraping it off with a strigil, it might still be edible.

It's too much.

They decide on a compromise. There is wine for Alibaba to go with every meal, and steeped fig or olive leaves for Kougyoku. They eat and are happy and she gets her bean paste skin treatment once a week.

“What did you think of me back then?” she asks him during one of their late afternoon walks.

“Hmm…I thought…how much would I profit from selling your make-up?”

“You sound like a thief.”

“I used to be one.”

“Ehhh…” What twist in fortune is this — pairing the daughter of a throne usurper with a former robber? If her brothers found out — Koumei would be horrified, for sure. Kouen would take in the information with his typical stone-faced expression. Kouha, however...surely he’d challenge Alibaba to a fight. Maybe she could join, too. It would be a good opportunity to show off the skills she picked up from observing the gladiators in combat...

“Hey, watch out for garbage!” Alibaba calls out.

“Huh? Where?”

As if on cue, something splatters just inches away from where she stands. “Uckkk! Is that—?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t say it falls from the sky!”

“Oh, I forgot to mention, some folks toss it out the window.”

“What?!!”

He rubs his head sheepishly. “Sorry. I should have warned you earlier.”

“That’s the fourth thing in a row that happened to me today! First, I accidentally broke my chopsticks this morning, which means I’ll be forced to use spoons until I get a new pair of ivory. Then some thief stole my favorite hanfu in the apodyterium. When I got back I saw the fuller already on his way and wasn’t able to catch him in time, and it so happens we’re down to our very last urn. And finally, this piece of trash almost fell right on my head! It’s terrible!”

“Hold on, isn’t this the second time you lost something in the public bath?”

“I didn’t lose it! I remember exactly which rack I put my things on. I was just there for half an hour, but when I went to get my belongings, my old robes were gone and only the fresh ones were left! Someone must have taken my clothes! Urggh! I’m switching to a proper, private balnea next week!”

“Try to be more careful, alright? You’re not in the palace anymore, remember?”

“Okay, I know, but it’s just…so…irritating! Why does all this have to happen in one single day?”

Alibaba chuckles. “Trust me, you’ll get the hang of it.”

She has questions, many questions, and the only willing listener is one demented gray-haired man she finds beside a huge oak whose breath stinks of onions and despair.

“When Reim falls, the world falls; when the world falls, we will have muddy knees,” he declares to his bare feet, and she pretends he isn’t having a one-sided conversation with a homeless, stomach-groaning prophet of doom.

“You remind me of someone I know,” she thinks aloud, suddenly hit by a memory of her most faithful attendant. “He wasn’t as….uhm…profound, but he was very knowledgeable. He even topped the national exams.”

His expression clears up, and he raises his head to see his visitor, finally acknowledging her presence after minutes of her trying to get him to quit speaking to himself. “I was once a scholar from the empire,” he tells her. “I was respected, famous. People from the farthermost provinces came to visit me. Now I am no better than a slave. Alas! There is no difference, for a student of learning is a slave to books.”

“You’re from Kou?” she asks, unable to imagine how this destitute wayfarer could have been a high-ranking official. “Your family, are they—?”

He shakes his head and sighs. How pitiful, she thinks, already feeling a strange kinship with this strange man.

“Did they abandon you, too?”

“No. I did.”

Why? Were you forced to leave? Did you not love them?

“I couldn’t bear it anymore. There was too much bloodshed everywhere. Wars were being waged every day in the name of unification. How could my heart stand the thought of sending our young men abroad only to lose their lives? When the new emperor ascended the throne, I decided to leave Kou for good,” he reveals. “I left everything behind and travelled to Reim, and for a while it seemed better, but the day came when I realized there is no real peace in this nation either. I began to long for home, yet had no money for the journey back. And even if were to return, what would I do? I did not possess the skills for any trade, and my soul had become too disillusioned to pick up where I had left, so I remained here.”

“Reim is not too bad,” she offers, hoping to ease his pain. “There are plums here, like the ones we have. And though the waters of the Huang Ho do not reach us, there are the aqueducts to make up for it.”

But I really miss home.

You’ll miss Alibaba.

Yes, but I also want to see my brothers again. It feels lonely without them.

You have friends here. There’s Toto, and who knows how many more to come?

But Toto-chan is busy. I wish Ka Koubun were here. Or my brother Kouha. Or Judar.

They barely noticed you all these years. Do you honestly believe they will be overjoyed to see you?

Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t help it. I miss everyone.

Even the Empress?

No, not her. I don’t want to see that person ever again.

“I once thought myself very wise. But I have learned many, many truths under this tree,” he continues.

She smiles sadly. There is so much to learn when you are so far away from home, and so much to let go of. They shatter every day she spends here, one illusion after another, one facade and then the other, drowned in too many unfamiliar shades of meaning, until she isn’t sure if she ever knew anything at all.

“If you would be so kind, please share them with me.”

“Ah, of course. The first lesson: If you work, you can eat. The more you work, the more you can eat.”

“Yes,” she affirms. “I know that now.” She feels guilty realizing she has lived a sheltered, privileged life. “Peasants, I looked down on them. I despised the commoner blood in me, blamed it for my misfortunes and status at the palace. But coming here has opened my eyes. People are people, noble or lowborn, and being a prince or a pauper is no way to measure one’s worth, my brother would often say, but I never understood until now. I haven’t lost who I am, even if I can’t afford any of those dresses I used to have.”

“You have grown up,” he observes. “Poverty can do that to a person. Be not discouraged, for in time acceptance comes to those who seek it.”

“And those who still suffer?”

“Must find a way to live on.”

Kougyoku gets up and shakes off a few coppers from her pocket and hands them over to her companion. “Here, for your next meal.” He thanks her and she goes on her way, happy to part with what little she had saved up for buying lip paint. Perhaps for the rest of her life, a part of her will always miss the home she left behind. That longing might not ever be erased. But she does not hate this place.

“Did you find your answer?” he shouts when she is some distance away.

She cups her hands around her mouth and yells back, “Not yet. But I know where to look.”

We’ll I’m not sure what this is gonna be

But with my eyes closed all I see

Is the skyline through the window

The moon above you and the streets below

“Kougyoku, have you seen my dagger?” the blonde asks, amid the clanging of pots in their makeshift kitchen.

“I borrowed it, Alibaba-chan!” And a great crash is heard that sounds suspiciously like a smashed plate.

He peers inside. “Kougyoku? Are you alright? What do you need a dagger for — uh, Kougyoku, exactly what are you doing?”

The girl in question pokes at the wall with her sword, shrieks, and hurls the shorter weapon at some unseen target. It bounces off and falls to the floor, completely missing a blur of gray twitching down a pipe. “There’s a spider! It crawled on my feet while I was washing! Aaauugghh!” She proceeds to furiously stab a trail of dents in adobe before letting out a final, exasperated shriek and giving up.

Alibaba, on the other hand, finds the whole situation amusing. “Hmm…never thought I’d see a princess of Kou armed with real blades against one completely harmless spider.”

“Well, I never thought I’d ever see a prince of Balbadd yelping like a lunatic at five in the morning!” she snaps in retort. “I thought you were attacked by a snake or some deadly creature!”

“I was! Those ants were nasty! I can’t believe I stepped right on that anthill.”

“You should have seen yourself. It was riddddiiiiculous! Better hope our neighbors didn’t figure out the source of all that insane howling.”

“Hey, is this the thanks I get for chopping firewood because someone said she wanted to cook?”

She sticks her tongue out and pouts, something she never dared attempt before. It’s becoming a habit, doing weird and unthinkable things just for the fun of it, and she has Alibaba to blame for that.

“Need a hand scrubbing those pots?” he offers, finally – finally taking pity on her for the impromptu scuffle.

“No thank you. I need to get the hang of this.”

This is life with no servants to cater to her every whim. She’s learning to cook because there’s no one else to do it. She sells all her jewelry except the ruby-studded hairpin she received from Ka Koubun during her coming-of-age ceremony.

Alibaba has one fight left in his contract, and plans to start a business afterwards, but there’s the cloying stigma of infamia that could take years to erase. From his present earnings, they have hardly enough for meals and basic necessities.

I need to work, she realizes.

She’s polishing floors now. Her back aches all over, her knees have turned to whirlpools, and her ears sting with the harsh reprimand from one of the next door matrons.

“The girl doesn’t know the first thing about making bread!” the woman scoffed after Kougyoku accidentally spilled a one-third of a basket of emmer at the bakery. In retrospect, it would probably have been a good idea to ask her cousin Hakuryuu to instruct her in these things. Even Hakuei, incapable she may have been at preparing decent food, was never this careless.

I’m really useless, huh.

She bends over to reach a difficult spot, burning with fever and humiliation, confronted by the harsh truth that without a trail of attendants, she hasn’t a clue how to function in society.

Alibaba — kind, thoughtful, silly Alibaba gives his wholehearted support, and it’s to him that she pours out her woes. He tells her she whines quite a lot compared to most guys he’s met.

No, I don’t! Just a little…mostly to myself…oops, I do whine a lot.

The next morning she goes, swallows her pride, and learns to bake.

There is so much to wade through. It isn’t easy to adjust to the mundane work. It isn't normal for a princess to work. Yet there are two things that keep her going: her husband’s unflagging support, the sense of fulfillment from her efforts, and her promise to Alibaba and herself never to give up.

“In the arena, if all you ever do is run away, you’ll never win. Eventually, your opponent will destroy you. You have to face the battle. If you desire to live, you must fight,” is his well-seasoned advice.

Besides, if she makes a run for it, just where would she go? It would be the same, anywhere. An act of cowardice, as well. Here she has a chance to prove her worth, maybe not as a soldier, but there are other ways, other battlefields. Now, more than ever, is the time to be strong.

And that strength keeps growing, for her travails are many. A palpable loneliness eats away her idle hours, replacing the empty spaces with doubts and suppressed fears. Gossipmongers find her in a gladiator’s house and tattle for hours of her nonexistent scandalous deeds. Filth reveals itself, they say. She brushes it off with a dignified smirk, burying the pain with self-reminders that these insults shouldn’t sting too much since she’s heard far worse as a child.

They shut up eventually. With Alibaba's encouragement, and the assistance of the friends she's met, she knows she’ll be alright.

My dear brothers, if our paths cross again, let’s have a long talk over tea. We’ll have rice and tofu and peaches for desert. Tell me if you missed me, if you regretted sending me here. I still haven’t given up on swordsmanship, even if I already accepted the fact that I can’t be a general. Balbadd and Kou are allies now, so perhaps I’ll be able to visit you soon. I'll make you proud, I promise! You won’t forget me, right?

“Never, for you are one of us,” the scintillating light seems to reply. It makes her heart skip with joy.

Alibaba claims that supper is exceptionally delicious tonight.

(Don’t let go)

“Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…”

“Kougyoku, what’s wrong? Why are you counting the entrance arches?” a beautiful gladiatrix asks after watching her march in circles around the colosseum for two quarters of an hour.

“Sixty-two. Sixty three,” Kougyoku huffs. “Toto-chan, it’s because--”

Seventy-four, seventy five…

“Because I’m furious!”

“Did Alibaba do something?”

She stops dead in her tracks, puzzled by the query. “No. Why would it be Alibaba’s fault?”

The other girl ponders for a few moments before agreeing. “Yes, considering how it is between the two of you, whatever’s bothering you doesn’t appear to be something he caused. But of course, there are other ways to blow off steam. Come with me.”

She invites Kougyoku to the Ludus Magnus. “We know some folks here. Sometimes we drop by to watch them practice, learn a few tricks that we could apply in our own battles with the beasts.”

“Oh, so even Alibaba-chan and others in the troupe pay a visit every now and then?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, he’s here right now.”

“Really? Where?”

Toto doesn’t know. “Let’s search for him,” she suggests. They head to the arena proper, where a one-handed, trident-wielding retiarius drags a wide net in hopes of ensnaring a much taller secutor.

“That’s Olba. He’s got one or two fights left until freedom. He’s a skilled fighter, despite having a hook in place of half of one arm.”

Ehh….Toto is blushing? Then, is this a secret romance? I can’t wait to ask Alibaba about this! 

Kougyoku giggles. “Are you sure he stands a chance? Even if he’s good, his opponent has a helmet and a shield. That’s gotta be tough to defeat.”

“You’ll see. Olba will surely be the one running around with a palm branch later.”

After the bout, Toto takes Kougyoku to the weaponry. There they find Alibaba standing next to an assortment of weapons on the benches.

Kougyoku lifts one of the blades to appraise it. “This is good,” she says, showing Alibaba the finely-crafted hilt.

“Careful,” he warns her, “that thing can slice fingers.”

“Uh-hm. Uh, can someone give me a rundown of how these work? Alibaba-chan? Toto-chan?” She runs her knuckles along the flat side of one of the swords, feeling nostalgic.

“H-hey, I’m not kidding. That blade is newly polished! Meaning, it’s very, very sharp!”

“I know. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt myself.”

“Perhaps Kougyoku-chan wishes to try it out?” comments the gladiatrix, surprising them both.

“What? Toto, you can’t be serious!”

“I am. She looks like she can handle it. So, shall we have a duel, just for fun?”

Kougyoku smirks. “I’ll take the sword.”

When the time comes, baby don’t run

Just…

 Love. Duty. How can you tell the difference when you never had a choice to begin with? she muses between the clashing of swords.

Ah, but does it matter now? She won’t be queen, so what? So what if Alibaba ever returns to Balbadd anyway, or anywhere, and if all traces of royalty are permanently stamped out from her features?

“Alibaba-chan!”

“Yes, Kougyoku?”

“You’re next!”

And they draw swords, slamming steel over and over, and when it ends, they’re both sprawled on the ground laughing.

“That…was…fun. You’re good,” she pants, worried yet strangely pleased that the few minutes of exercise have taxed all her strength for the day.

“Not too bad yourself," he compliments her. "Maybe you should apply for this job."

“So, do I get a reward or something?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Close your eyes.”

She does. Her heart thumps in her chest as she feels him coming closer, closer... she can’t take the suspense any longer, and her eyelids flutter open just in time to see him dump a handful of mud on her head.

“ALIBABA-CHAN!!! YOU’LL REGRET THAT!!!”

“Is there someone you love?”

“Mmm-hmm. I think…I think there is.”

Chapter Text

Apodyterium = the changing room at the entrance of a public bath complex

Auctoratus = a gladiator who was originally a freeman (unlike the others who were primarily slaves or prisoners of war) yet chose to enter a contract to fight in the arena for profit or glory

Balnea = public bath

Bestiarius = “beast fighter”; a gladiator who fought wild beasts

Cena = evening meal

Damnatio ad bestias = literally “death by the beasts”; a form of punishment in which the criminals and condemned were sentenced to be devoured by wild animals to the delight of the spectators; this usually took place in the early part of the day

Familia = troupe of gladiators

Finger kowtow = tea drinking etiquette involving tapping one’s fingers on the table to show respect  

Gladius = sword commonly used by gladiators

Grass crown = the highest military accolade in ancient Rome; woven from plants taken at the battlefield, it was awarded to an officer whose actions saved the army

Hanfu = ancient Chinese robes for women

Infamia = stigma attached to an auctoratus for voluntarily giving up his freedom and choosing the life of a gladiator

Insula = apartment-type housing

Lanista = trainer of gladiators

Latrunculi = ancient game similar to chess

Ludus Magnus = the greatest of the four great gladiator training camps in Rome

Ludus Matutinus = one of the four great gladiator schools in Rome; catered to the bestiarii

Paegniarius = a gladiator who fought against wild animals with a whip; often featured in the opening act of the games

Pallus = wooden sword used for training

Palla = mantle worn by ancient Roman women

Porta Sanvivaria = “Gate of Life”; at the east entrance to the coliseum, this was where the gladiators would parade in front of the audience before the games began, and where they would exit if they successfully won the match

Retiarius = a gladiator armed with a trident and a net; typically fought against a secutor

Sacred chickens = chickens raised by ancient Roman oracles for use in fortune telling; they were often consulted regarding matters of great political importance, and their approval or disapproval was gauged by how eagerly they ate the food offered to them

Secutor = a gladiator armed with a heavy shield and a sword; was often the opponent of a retiarius

Stolla = robe worn by ancient Roman women; counterpart of the male toga

Venatores = often considered gladiators themselves, they specialized in hunting wild animals in the arena

Vomitorium = passageways in the coliseum

Wanfu = traditional Chinese greeting involving hand gestures

Yan cha = “rock tea”; a class of teas grown in the rocky Wuyi Mountains

Zaju = traditional Chinese drama containing a mix of song, dance, and a variety of other entertainment