[b]Giriel![/b]

Of course, taking the time to finish the tea meant that Cathak Agata— her fires now merely a smolder, paying as much attention to the hazy rain outside as to you— is able to answer the question. You are unable to escape with that loose end dangling.

“I’ve asked myself the same question. As I said, I am not a witch, and I wouldn’t do you the dishonor of declaring to you the answers that you and your peers glean from the supernatural world that surrounds us all. But I imagine that being raised from the dead through desecration is much like being suddenly woken from slumber; and the shamans of the savage cat-women know your idioms better than we do, being your guests far from home.”

For a laywoman, not a bad guess. It’s certain that things are more complicated, but she has given you a hook for contextualization: that the ghosts of the highlands are being driven to chase off “intruders.” A tactic that would backfire on the N’yari, if they truly intended to linger in or pass through the land they drove to haunting, but— it is possible. Not certain. But possible. Fools and arrogant women alike call up what they cannot put down. That’s what falls to you, then.

“Now, Lady Giriel,” she adds— oooh, [i]Lady.[/i] “I have one more matter to ask of you before you leave. I’ve heard that you are one of the best interpreters of omens in this land.” How thoughtful of her to word it in such a way that you aren’t necessarily [i]obligated[/i] to correct her and tell her that Peregrine is [i]the[/i] best. “I haven’t had the chance yet to see your methods— would you be willing to read my fate?” And here she smiles like a wolf, beautiful and perilous.

***

[b]Zhaojun![/b]

The occupied shrine looms suddenly around a turn in the bend, heaped up on the high earth like a vulture clinging to a crag. It is lightless, bereft of lantern or candle; the shadows cling to wooden slats and coil within the inner shrine, its doors opened. There has been [i]desecration[/i] here, a perversion of Heaven’s laws. In such a place, even a celestial emissary might be— vulnerable.

The steep stone steps are mossy and wet, and the shrine is bereft of keeper to sweep it dry. The guide’s feet are sure, but the same cannot be said of Sagacious Crane; she stumbles and catches herself on Zhaojun’s sleeve. She stammers apologies and thanks, muddling them together, and then continues:

“...and of [i]course[/i] I know the steps of the Husband-Seducing Demon Dance, and the Lotus-Arousing Sequence, and the Removal of Petals— which, yes, that would seem to be— I do not have the special raiment, but I [i]am[/i] trained in the classical arts, as every priestess of my rank is expected to be, so that will be only the most minor of difficulties, o gracious and cunning Zhaojun...”

And so the three of you come to the shrine’s courtyard. Black fingers tighten on slats; a low hooting and screeching fills the air as the uncouth goblins, the [i]bandar-logi[/i], multiply in the shadows, each bone-white face in the midst of a dark mane ducking away before it can be seen. The guide takes up a fallen drum as Sagacious Crane lifts her poncho over her head and tosses it with practiced disdain to the stones; her top is covered in a river of beads, small and precious drops of lapis lazuli charting the deep current from shoulder to hip in amongst the many lighter glass beads in turquoise and sea-green.

She takes it by the hem and, with a shimmer of beads, with a circle of her hips, with pride in her goddess rather than herself, with a carefully-hidden seed of insecurity that an innkeeper’s daughter would be found pleasing in shape and motion to an emissary of Heaven, Sagacious Crane lifts the top a fatal fingerwidth, revealing olive skin around a stone-pierced navel, and begins her circuit around the courtyard, her eyes flashing, her feet never still, and one by one the [i]bandar-logi[/i] grow perilously quiet and begin to emerge by their ones and twos, long limbs splayed as widely as their curling fingers, obscenely scuttling and peering at Sagacious Crane with their dark eyes.

One takes up the drum from Six Sounds Starving and continues to play without missing a beat, as the guide melts into the mist and the moment, as Sagacious Crane reveals the merest flash of her breasts’ underside and [i]bandar-logi[/i] tumble down from rafters and flash their fangs in response, unable to tear their eyes away as the curves are again lost in a haze of beads and a spin that sends her skirt billowing.

She trusts in Zhaojun, but that trust is simply an extension of her trust in her training and order, which itself is an extension of her trust in herself, that she has chosen correctly, to the standard that she can expect from herself. If she is right, then the priestesses above her, who assigned her to this, must be right, and if they are right, then Zhaojun is right, and if Zhaojun is right, then she is capable of defeating all of these wicked things so long as Sagacious Crane keeps them enthralled. Therefore, she must do so; therefore, she has nothing to fear from the rough paws of the [i]bandar-logi[/i]; therefore, she dances as if before the sacred idols in the Temple of the Pure Lotus, beguiling but untouchable, serene save for the palpable disdain she has for this audience, which she cannot hide, which both attracts and repels them, bringing them closer and closer in spirals and waves.

And yet there is no sign of their rakshasa-queen. Clearly, there is improvement to be found; why else would the rakshasa remain elusive? Clearly, the sweetener must be sweetened; the snack made irresistible. Or was distraction of the simple [i]bandar-logi[/i] in and of itself the goal? Will the priestess raise her head and find no sign of Zhaojun, and disaster if she falters, and disaster when they come close enough to seize her fast— save that Zhaojun find the queen of this dream-hive and rebuke her?

***

[b]Kalaya![/b]

Petony swings wild. That’s a part of her reputation, too; that she can go from high to low quickly, and from low to high just as fast. And attention from a princess (who is also a knight) perks her up like a tiger who’s scented something delicious to eat.

Soon enough she’s back to laughing and lets you carefully maneuver her cup away from her. “I’m not one of the Twelve,” she says, with something almost approaching humility to those legendary knights, “but I’d go blow for blow with any one of them! And we should show the little princess— the little [i]knight[/i] here some real action before she realizes it’s mostly flower wars and court politics!” Say what you like about Petony; she has the loyalty of her retinue, who roar wild and happy as she springs to her feet, cheeks flushed and smile dangerous.

Take a String on Petony or a benefit, and then— quick, before she leaves the room— figure out how you’re going to get her to [i]pay.[/i] She’s supposed to have credit from her kingdom, but she’s on the outs with Rose, and she’s been racking up a major bill here, what with all she’s been drinking. An appeal to chivalry might work, but that’s still very easily a downer to her mood— and Petony swings fast.

“Say,” she adds, while you’re still thinking, “what kingdom are you sworn to, what princess caught a princess? Is it Hyacinth? It had better not be!” She throws back her head and laughs.

The Knights of the Accord of the Thorn have always been sworn to sisterhood in principle, but to the various kingdoms in practice. Thus, your sword-sister one day may be your enemy the next. This, when combined with the divisiveness of the Flower Kingdoms, means that talented knights are sought eagerly by the kingdoms, and kept close through chains of love as much as by loyalty. Many a princess has been instructed to seduce a talented knight into accepting her parents’ offer.

(This means that you, yourself, likely have: insight into the situation with Princess Meli and how her dalliance with the Red Wolf has threatened her kingdom; Opinions about the Red Wolf using her troops as mercenaries without lasting allegiance, which is making royal politics even more unstable; explaining to do about your relationship with your own kingdom and how it has [i]nothing[/i] to do with fancying your sisters.)

***

[b]Piripiri![/b]

So. Here’s an [i]idea.[/i] An idea inspired by making it to the end of the street and seeing one side fork off down a switchback to the very edge of the ward’s petal, and the barges coming and going, the people releasing lotus blossoms on the water, the people taking their lunch or their tea out on the water, and, ah, the freedom, the comparative privacy, the lack of places for Azazuka to buy you more gifts and put you into even deeper debt! The kind of place where you can look at the city again from the outside, all lit up in the rain, and sneak glances at Azazuka’s warm, beaming face (because glances are all you are getting, ma’am), and work hard on figuring out that present without a host of distractions on all sides: street vendors and people pushing past and outrageous umbrellas and landmarks and all of that, left behind you as you’re poled out into the vast lake around the city.

It is, in fact, such a flawless and excellent idea that you will receive XP if you choose to do it, maneuver Azazuka down to the docks, and hop into the barge being steered by the young woman with the scuffed trousers and the greasy ponytail. What could possibly go wrong?

***

[b]Han![/b]

It’s not your fault. It’s totally not your fault. It is completely not your fault.

It is not as if, say, you glared a hole through an anxious and vulnerable young woman, letting the moment stretch on longer and longer, giving her more time to compound worry upon worry, until she’s squirming and fidgeting and desperate to know if she’s done something horribly wrong after all, and then you laughed at her and told her she wasn’t like other priestesses and was thus failing at being one.

“Oh,” she says, in a devastated little voice. Her shoulders tremble with effort. “I’m s—“ She chokes on the word. “Sorry for bothering you, ma’am.”

And then? You know what she does? She doesn’t stand up and in a huff lecture you about how good fortune comes to those who respect the spiritual hierarchy of the land. She doesn’t get up all snooty and walk away to leave you to get rained on. She doesn’t even burst into tears so that everybody knows that you, Han, are the terror of every priestess from here to Lake Zenba.

She leans over (and her veil trails ever so slightly against you) as she sets the umbrella down, wedging it against the deck, so that you [i]can keep it[/i] when she slinks away. Do you realize your mistake and act while she’s still hunched over you, or do you sit there like a slack-jawed cow until she has her palms on the deck and is starting to stand up, muttering something too small to be heard about having a good night?