Chapter XXI: You Were Always There
For a moment Sansonis didn’t know what to do. Should he leave Ifaut be or chase after her? Before he could decide, she’d gone, sprinting across the bridge before at last disappearing into the forest.
“Just let the poor girl go,” he heard Richo saying. His voice was as cocky as ever. “She’s a woman. She’ll come back when she’s finished crying. Trust me, I understand them.” He flashed a smile and Sansonis felt what he at first thought was the old darkness descending on his mind. It wasn’t darkness. The emotion that fell across him gleamed bright red, sharpening his consciousness as his vision narrowed to include only Richo’s laughing face. You hurt Ifaut, he thought, his fists becoming bundles of taut anger.
“Sansonis?”
He was dimly aware of Stefi’s voice behind him. It sounded distant, like she was calling across the gap between worlds. At last he wrenched his gaze from the Arigan Furosan, and his rage soothed as Stefi’s crystalline eyes bored into his. His fists, ready to pummel Richo into a bloody pulp, uncurled, though his fingers ached with the effort.
“Ignore him,” Stefi said, her face so close to his he could smell the scent of Alzandian lavender soap still lingering in her hair. “Go after her before she does something rash.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, drawing him further into comfort until he felt like he would drown in her eyes.
For a moment he thought he saw a star gleaming in each of her pupils, though he couldn’t be sure if it was only his imagination.
“We’ll stall him if he tries to follow,” she continued, her forehead resting against his.
“Of course,” Cédes agreed. “You are our friend. We care for you and Ifaut, and we want you both to be happy.”
“The white Furosan is right,” Rhaka said. “We are the Fieretka. Do you think we could continue our journey without her? We have lost one of our number. We shan’t lose any more.”
“Exactly,” Stefi chimed in. Then she did something Sansonis didn’t understand. She kissed his forehead. At once a determination flooded his body, spurring every part of him into action.
“Thank you,” he said as Stefi released him, “for being my family.” Then he ran.
Sansonis’s boots slipped across the slick grass, stepping in puddles of water and moonlight. Night had fallen as he walked and ran, bringing blue and gold light with it. There had been no sign of Ifaut except broken underbrush and footprints. That only drove his tired legs even harder. He stopped every half hour or so, pausing long enough to listen and catch his breath. Several times he thought he saw a flash of her dirty-blonde hair, but it was only startled deer bounding off into the forest.
“Let her be okay, let her be okay,” he repeated, each syllable pounding out in time with his feet. Of course, he knew, she probably wouldn’t do something as stupid as kill herself with grief. But she had always been silly. Immature, even. Who knew what she might do with her emotions as tumultuous as they were?
After a long time he at last came to a small clearing, his legs and lungs burning in protest. And there, fingering a length of rope and with her back to him, sat Ifaut.
Sansonis at once recognized it as the very same clearing where he’d saved her what seemed like a lifetime ago, and the rope in her hands as the snare from which he’d saved her, dropping her from the tree and into his debt. That debt had been repaid in blood on what remained of Minhera. Yet there was one more thing he owed her.
“Come to take me in?” she said, not turning around, her voice dark and defeated. “Mafouras not enough for you stinking humans? Always wanting to hurt just one more Furosan?”
“Always wanting just one,” he corrected.
“I may be sad,” she said, not recognizing Sansonis’s exhausted voice, “but I will still fight.” Carefully placing the rope on the ground, she stood up and shook her arm that had been fractured in Alzandia. Aching, yes, but no pain beneath the splint and tight bandage thanks to the attentiveness of her healers at Alzandia. She stood up as Sansonis drew closer behind her,.
As one footstep fell just behind her, she spun around, bringing a balled fist through the air with her. It stopped as Sansonis’s crossed arms crashed against her forearm. Reacting quickly, her left hand shot out and punched his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him staggering to the ground. The next second she sat astride his chest, her clawed fingers pressed against his throat.
“This counts as the dance I owe you,” he wheezed, somehow managing a laugh to accompany it.
“Huh?” The rage at once dissolved from her face as she recognized her kamae. She relaxed her fingers but didn’t get up.
“It’s you!” she squeaked. “I thought… I thought…”
“It would be fun to kill me?” he offered.
“No, silly boy! I thought you were a human or Richo. The last person I expected was you.” Her face beamed as she slid her knees back until she lay sprawled across him, her face on his chest. She giggled.
Suddenly Sansonis found himself joining in. Their chorus of laughter bubbled up, blue and gold, delicate moonlight given sound. It only stopped when Ifaut planted her lips on his and grabbed the back of his head, holding him tightly as if afraid he might vanish.
After a minute of passionate kissing that left Sansonis quite bewildered, she pulled away with a loud smack and giddy grin. “Still not quite as good as the fish,” she whispered and blushed bright red, “but getting better.”
“You don’t taste so good yourself,” he laughed, rolling her off so they lay side by side, arms touching. “You’ll do, though.”
“I love you,” she said suddenly, still on her back, gazing skywards. She rolled against him and placed a protective arm across his chest. “I have to marry Richo, but know it’s you I love. Not him.”
“This is where we really met, you know,” he said almost casually, not acknowledging her. “It’s where you gave me these scratches.” He touched the four scars on his cheek that now gleamed in the moonlight. “It may even be where we part ways for good.”
“What do you mean?” she said, alarm in her voice.
“I can’t stop your marriage to Richo.”
“Then we can run! All the way to Acharn if we have to. He’ll never find us there, we can settle down together, that’s where our little farm will be, our lives together!” Her voice grew steadily more excited and she gripped him tighter. “Come on, what do you say?”
“I say wherever Ifaut goes, I go!” He turned to face her and kissed her cheek. He’d never realized it before, but even after everything she’d been through she still looked beautiful, both in body and spirit. He’d thought she even looked nice in Sol-Acrima, streaked in blood and sweat. Now, perhaps, she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Or ever would. So, then, how could he let her go, even if she would be rich and powerful? She didn’t want that. She wanted love.
“Can we stay here tonight?” she said quietly and gave a toothy yawn.
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?” She propped herself up on one elbow.
“You hold me until morning.”
“I’d do that anyway, silly,” she said, and the next minute she’d fallen asleep, soon followed by Sansonis. Neither dreamed anything that night. What had just happened was dream enough.
“Have you remembered, Miss Ifaut, who I am?” Cédes, a pencil tucked behind her bullet-pierced ear, fiddled with a long roll of paper in her hand.
Ifaut stared, biting her bottom lip in concentration. In all the excitement of finding Sansonis again she’d completely forgotten Cédes’s comment at Alzandia. “I think,” she said at length, “you want me to say Seventh Sajana.”
“Yes, dear girl. Now tell me,” she said, a smile playing across her face, “if you bothered to pay attention in class, what that entails.”
“That you can preside over funerals, weddings, rituals, prayers, that sort of thing?”
Cédes nodded. “And to whom do I answer?”
“The
rulers of Mafouras?”
“You ought to speak with more certainty, for you are correct. And the ruler, in a limited capacity at least, is you.” Her words and smile nudged Ifaut, hopefully prodding her to a fate that would make her happy.
“Wait!” Ifaut squeaked. She leapt to her feet, accidentally knocking Sansonis to the ground. “You’re the only one here who can marry me to Richo! If I tell you not to, then… then…”
“Close, but no bandana.”
Just then Stefi interrupted, barely able to contain herself. Of course she herself was privy to Cédes’s plan, having been told it as they walked through the night to find their friends. “She can marry you to anyone, not just Richo.” She only hoped it wasn’t too obvious; Cédes had been adamant that any explicit explanation traced back to her could have unpleasant ramifications.
Ifaut’s subsequent squeal, a piercing cry that sounded decidedly pained, sent birds flying and Rhaka cowering. She sprang forward and, seizing Cédes about the waist, let out a staccato of dooks. “Lady Cédes,” she said, blue eyes shining, “will you marry us? Me and Sansonis, I mean. Not you and me, of course, that would be-”
“Shh, my dear.” Unlatching Ifaut’s strong grip, she unrolled the paper and handed it to the beaming Furosan. “With Stefi’s help I have drawn up the necessary documentation. Excuse the handwriting. I rarely write for obvious reasons.”
“Oh, Cédes!” Ifaut gushed, barely able to contain her happiness. “I could kiss you. No, wait, I will!” And indeed she did, though not with the same passion as with Sansonis the previous night. Rather, restraining herself, she pecked Cédes’s forehead, leaving her flushing pink.
“Of course, there is a more serious matter,” Cédes continued as her usual paleness at last returned. “The old contract of ahiyau stipulates you may only marry the other party mentioned within.”
The smile at once fell from Ifaut’s face. She glanced nervously at Sansonis.
“However, the contract applies only to Ifaut Bayaurun Mafouras, Princess of Mafouras, and Richo Gelen Ouransa Ariga, Prince of Ariga.”
“If you know a hole I can squeeze through,” Ifaut whispered, her elation dissolving to a heavy weight in her stomach, “please show me now.”
“If you were to be just plain ol’ Ifaut Bayaurun Mafouras,” Stefi interrupted with a smile, “you should find a big enough hole to hide both you and Sansonis, with no room for a certain cocky Furosan.”
At once Ifaut saw what was coming, and the prospect of doing so didn’t bother her in the slightest. To marry Sansonis she would have to relinquish her position, cast aside her royal title and everything with it.
It seemed as if Cédes read Ifaut’s mind, for she said, “Also taken care of.” She reached into her robes and removed another roll of paper. Although the writing was tiny it filled both sides. “Sign this document and you become just another Furosan. Of course, by that I mean in terms of status. You are still exceedingly special to us all.”
Ifaut looked about her, her eyes coming to rest upon her fellow Fieretka. Traveling Feregana with them in such a short time she had lived more than all her years as a sheltered princess of Mafouras. Being a Fieretka had burdened her with dozens of new emotions. She had grown up, matured, even if only slightly. But most importantly she had turned an obsessive clinging into love.
With only a second’s hesitation she snatched the document from Cédes’s hand, plucked the pencil from behind her ear, and printed her name in the Mafouran syllabary.
“Henceforth, I pronounce you Ifaut Bayaurun Mafouras, ordinary Furosan.” Cédes nodded as Ifaut pressed the contract into her hand. “We shall present this to Richo. How I wish I could see the look on his face! It is nice to get one up on that intolerant jerk.”
“Who rules now?” Ifaut asked suddenly, the thought only just occurring to her. “Surely not Richo?”
Cédes giggled. “You really should read something before you sign it. To put it in simple terms, the Kingdom of Mafouras is now a democracy. I got the idea from Alzandia. Any who wish to take a hand in ruling shall put their names forward, and everyone will vote for whoever they feel most suited to the task. Those five highest voted are then in charge. Of course, they must still answer to the people. I have named a few of your parents’ trusted friends to help organize things in the meantime. That is it, more or less. Oh, and Richo has authority over Ariga only.”
“Cédes, I could kiss you. Again!”
“Save it for Sansonis.”
Ifaut skipped over to where the remains of the snare lay on the ground, fiddled with it for a few moments, then came back to Sansonis. Her heart beat so fast that she felt sick, like it would seize up at any moment and leave her standing there dead from nervousness. She breathed deeply, sucking in air until her heart at last slowed.
“Sansonis,” she said, clutching his hands in hers, “I know I’m just a silly little obsessive Furosan who leads you about on a leash. But I can promise you, as long as you’re on my leash, I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy.” She stared into his eyes before continuing. “You know, for like five minutes I’ve owned nothing. I’ve never felt more free, because I’ve got you. And a future.”
He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he should say anything. But his watery eyes said everything. For the first time ever he felt on the same level as her. No longer was she propped up by an entire kingdom, a princess sitting eternally beyond his reach. Left with nothing she had everything. And so did he. Suddenly his reason for leaving her seemed stupid. Trivial, even. Especially after what came next.
“Sansonis whatever-your-first-name-really-is,” she said, slipping a ring of twisted rope fibers about his middle finger, “will you marry me?”
“O-of course,” he stammered, his heart about to leap from his chest. After what she’d just said, he doubted anyone could refuse her offer.
“Good.” She placed a second ring in his hand. “Put this on my middle finger. And we’re done.”
He did just that, and Ifaut unrolled the first contract, signing her name at the bottom.
“Your turn.” She thrust it and the pencil at him. Taking it, he did the same and glanced over it. It was written in both the Mafouran syllabary and Common Language alphabet, containing just what he thought it would. “Exchange rings… witnessed by Cédes, Seventh Sajana of Mafouras… seems pretty serious,” he mumbled. “Hey, what’s this about taking your last name?”
“You need one,” Cédes answered. “Having signed the modified marriage contract, Sansonis has become your first name, Mafouras your last. You do not like it?”
“I love it,” he said with a grin.
“Then, I, Cédes, Priestess of Lidae, Seventh Sajana, declare you two… Miss Ifaut, if you could please wait?” Ifaut had eased forward, attempting to kiss Sansonis. She stopped, looking quite guilty.
“How did you see me?”.
“I did not,” Cédes said with a knowing smile. “I know you too well, my dear. As I was saying, you two are now married. Look after each other and all that, and now you may kiss him.”
With a squeak Ifaut lurched forward, clutched Sansonis’s head, and pressed her lips to his. “When this is over,” she said, pulling away, her face glowing, “we’re going to settle down, all right, Mr. Mafouras?”
“All right.” The name felt awkward to Sansonis, yet somehow comfortable. He could get used to it, he thought. And perhaps married life. After all, everything they’d been through had been like being married: the ups, the downs, the stabbing your partner. Or maybe not the last one, anyway.
“Congratulations, you two,” Stefi said, catching them both in a hug. “I hate to admit, but I’m kinda jealous of you. I just hope I can feel something like this one day.”
“You will,” Ifaut said, still holding fast to Sansonis. “A lovely girl like you, there’s every chance.”
Stefi wasn’t so sure. With the scars of losing Radus still gleaming red on her spirit, it seemed impossible ever to feel the same emotions a
gain. And even if she could, what man would ever see her as an equal? Sansonis had thought himself beneath Ifaut when she was a princess and he had nothing. What were the odds anyone else besides Radus would approach her, the Fieretsi, destined savior or damner of Feregana? Zero, she knew. And that’s what hurt the most.