41

I can’t... I can’t accept. Please, Valerius—Emerens, please stand up.”

Valerius’ face tightened, dark eyes hooded and jaw ticking. He got to his feet heavily, all grace gone.

“Of course. I am unworthy of your trust. I should have—”

“No, nonono, you are not unworthy of trust. I already told you,” Hamasa gripped his arm, quickly let go, and stepped back. He hadn’t felt himself move, hadn’t felt himself reach out, until the smooth weave of Valerius’ kimono was already under his hand. Instead, Hamasa reached for the edge of his poncho, which he obviously wasn’t wearing nor had replaced yet, and began to twist his fingers together. “It’s me. It’s me who’s unworthy of trust. Of yours, of Marya’s, even Arash’s. I’ve been the liar all along.”

“You had a reason, my lord. Without your emblem how could—” Valerius broke off at Hamasa’s sudden, inexplicable laughter; harsh, grating cackles unlike any sound he had made before. Valerius’ eyes widened, darting over Hamasa’s twisting expression.

Hamasa buried his face in his hands and muffled the wretched sound of the laughter that wasn’t.

“You keep believing in me. In the dragon you think I am! Why won’t you stop? Why can’t you understand? That’s. Not. Me.”

Hands settled on Hamasa’s shoulders. Warm, for a mere human, solid and real, thickened with calluses that scratched against the beautifully woven linen Hamasa wore. He swallowed and looked up, willing himself not to cry. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve the relief or Valerius’ sympathy.

Valerius’ forehead touched his. A gentle bump and the silken brush of hair across his temples and cheeks. Over scars that he shouldn’t be able to feel so minutely. Hamasa’s breath knotted in his throat, choking on the words, the last confession. Against his better judgement, Hamasa let himself be swayed. His eyes slid closed on a hiccupped laugh, rocking up on his toes so Valerius wouldn’t have to lean so far down. Valerius’ hand stroked up and down Hamasa’s arms, past the short rough sleeves to bare skin. When his hands stopped, everywhere his hands weren’t, was suddenly cold. Colder than he’d been moments ago.

“I know that. You’re Hamasa, not just Kana’iro, not just the Shield,” Valerius said. He’d always been quiet, but this was gentle. Hamasa’s heart thudded, raced, shuddered in a chest that felt too small and too large all at once. “Hamasa, the Red dragon that chose us, chose Mekshi and everyone in it, and the one that chose his friends over his soul, that’s the one to who I pledge my loyalty. Allow me to make right my mistakes.”

The grass whistled around their ankles. An autumn breeze too cool to be comfortable stirring their clothes and whipping loose strands of their hair. In the distance the Salvatropas still sang and danced, the bonfire still crackled and burned. Valerius’ scent was linen and sweat and horse and spices he must have hated eating. And under it all was something uniquely him, something that this body Hamasa wore would never truly taste or smell. A part that Hamasa was missing, would always be missing, because of what Hamasa had done.

He slowly fell back on his heels. His forehead left Valerius’. And he stepped back. For a just one second, almost imperceptibly, Valerius’ hands tightened. Held on. And then let go. Fell to hang, unmoving, to his sides. Hamasa hissed in a short breath and raised his eyes. In the dark, far from the fire, Valerius’ face was masked in impenetrable shadows. The last thing, the very last thing, Hamasa wanted was to speak to the young man suddenly closed off and silent in front of him. More lies, or truth, neither would be what Valerius wanted to hear.

“I stole it.”

It dropped and hit the silence like a pin to glass. Clattering, ringing, ebbing back into silence. A silence waiting with bated breath for Hamasa to continue, to finally finish.

“I stole my emblem back from Aneya. While she slept.”

“No, you—” Valerius started, stopped.

Hamasa barrelled on. “I knew the Merciless was coming back. I could feel it, that presence they have, it echoed through Mekshi the moment they took flight. War was already coming, I was already so scared, so horrified at the idea I’d have to… that so many were calling for death, they wanted it, Valerius. So many were eager for it,” Hamasa whispered, the words falling out faster and faster, eyes widening and hands shaking. He gripped the loose fabric in front of his stomach, wrung it tight in both fists, and stared into the darkness beyond Valerius’ broad shoulder. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t think about it. In the middle of the night, when I knew she’d be sleeping, I snuck into her room and stole my Emblem back. I stole it back. I rejected my Chosen, and I left.”

“You can’t just… She’s your Sovereign, your Chosen,” Valerius said, stepping back and shaking his head. He dragged a hand through his hair and glared at the ground. “You called her sister.”

“She’s not. Not my Chosen. She hasn’t been for… for a while,” Hamasa whispered. Valerius’ eyes closed, his nostrils flaring. Rather like Nerva, Hamasa thought stupidly. But it made him want to smile, if he didn’t feel like throwing up. “I didn’t go looking for the Merciless. I was running away. The Merciless found me running. I was alone, and terrified, and ran right into the very thing I was trying to avoid. And then I lost.”

Hamasa could feel it again. The burning of acid on his back, his wings, dripping down his legs and tail and face plate. The shrieks that rent the air torn out of his own mouth. He had been too much in pain, too terrified, to call on flame.

“This can’t be true,” Valerius snapped shortly. Caustically.

“For the first time, I’ve never been more honest,” Hamasa said hoarsely. Valerius turned away, his shoulders bowing as if under a weight he couldn’t shrug off. “When I realized I couldn’t win, I tore it out myself. I ripped my soul out of my own body and threw it. I rejected my soul the same way I rejected her. I Chose her, and Mekshi, seventeen years ago. But I threw them all away, threw myself and all my power away, because I’m a coward. A lying coward.”

Valerius’ hands curled into fists. His head dropped. There was only the shuddering inhale, exhale, of each breath, the lifting and falling of his bowed shoulders.

“You don’t need my forgiveness, Emerens. Whatever mistakes you made, whatever choices you made, you made them out of loyalty. You are more a Shield than I have ever been.” Hamasa’s gaze dropped to his toes, bare and chilled in the grass. “And I won’t ask you to forgive me.”

“Then, I won’t.”

The reply was whipcord thin and stung as badly. Hamasa flinched, shoulders drawing close to his ears, head ducking low. Exposed without his wings, without even his thick alpaca wool poncho.

“You warned me and I didn’t listen. Kana’iro the Red never existed. Who knows what you are.”

Hamasa cringed again, teeth baring in a silent hiss, hands digging into the soft give of his belly through his tunic. There were footsteps in the grass. Footsteps that moved farther and farther away.

Hamasa stood outside his tent long after the footsteps faded. Long after the bonfire died and the songs ended. The sky began to lighten and the first weak, trembling, grey rays of dawn’s sun spread over the grass, up his bare shins, up to his lowered face and closed eyes. And he still felt cold.

This shame hurt worse than fear, piercing straight into the deepest wound inside him where a soul used to lay.

When it was truly dawn, and the grey wisps of light had become autumn gold and the sleepy-eyed Marya stumbled towards him through the maze of tents and pavilions, Hamasa hadn’t slept a wink. Hadn’t even sat down. He trudged to the center clearing behind Marya. His feet stopped at the sound of Nerva’s huffing and click and creak of saddle tack, but his eyes didn’t raise. Couldn’t rise. The acid churning in his stomach grew, writhed, bubbled, and his gaze stayed on the grass crushed beneath hoof and boot alike. He didn’t need to look up to see Valerius’ face turned away. His broad shoulders and back were already the last sight of him Hamasa would see. What would looking again do?

“Do we gotta go so quick? Arash the Wonderful isn’t even back yet,” Marya complained around a yawn. “I’ll get my things.”

“Don’t. I’m going to Riyushu alone.”

Hamasa didn’t so much as grimace. Marya, though, inhaled sharply. Her gaze on the side of Hamasa’s face was a physical weight.

“Wha? But Hamasa’s emblem...? And you’re not a Lance, not really, won’t you get in trouble if you go back without Hamasa?”

There was a grunt and leather creaking against leather. Nerva huffed, hooves shuffling over dirt and immediately stilling.

“Okay, something is going on. We were good yesterday, we were celebrating! Hamasa, you fought the Merciless, you saved all of us! And Valerius wasn’t demanding we drag you back to Riyushu because I thought… I thought you were gonna go, we were all gonna go, together. When we got the emblem back.” Marya stammered to a stop when neither of them spoke.

Hooves came from behind and Hamasa finally looked up. Huimitl stood there, one hand lying easy and lax on a quiver hanging from a belt across her waist. One elongated ear twitched as wind whistled through the beaten-down grass and the surrounding forest of their large tent-filled clearing. Her startling amber eyes moved over Hamasa’s face, and, deliberately obvious, she looked towards the knight packing the last of his things. Hamasa dropped his chin, eyes on the ground again.

“This is an interesting development,” Huimitl said mildly.

“I don’t understand what’s happening!” Marya exclaimed, throwing her hands up and letting out a wordless shout right after.

“I’m returning to Riyushu to face the consequences of my actions. I never should have forsaken my duty,” Valerius said flatly.

There was another wordless exclamation from Marya, somewhere between rage and confusion. Although he saw her body turn towards him from under his hair, Hamasa didn’t bother lifting his head.

Why doesn’t he just tell them? Tell them I’m a fraud?

Valerius swung himself up off the ground as a quiet sound of disdain escaped Huimitl and the saddle creaked.

“Marya Garsia, I underestimated your worth and your strength many times since I’ve met you. I sincerely offer my apologies.”

“Wh—uh, do you—? Are you serious?” A pregnant silence. “Ay, all right, yes, thank you. But why are you leaving?!”

“Take care of yourselves. Don’t get killed.”

Hamasa flinched.

“Wait, you can’t just go like this—Valerius!”

A quiet click of tongue against teeth, and Nerva shot forward. Grass and dirt flew from under her heavy, iron-shod hooves. Hamasa stared at his feet.

“Asa, what happened?” Marya demanded, grabbing his shoulders and jerking him around.

He cringed away from under her hands. Her touch dropped immediately, but she moved to stand in front of him again, not even a full pace away.

“Hamasa?”

“He’s doing what he should’ve done weeks ago,” Hamasa said at last.

“That doesn’t make anymore sense…”

“It was frustratingly vague,” Huimitl agreed.

The strange pitch and stress of her tone made Hamasa look up. She was gazing down at him, light eyes boring through him like a beam of sunlight controlled by a glass lens, and smiling. That crooked smirk of a smile. She looked down on him with that infuriating smirk on her face. Knowing more than him, seeing through him. He never disliked anyone as much as he did in this very moment, meeting her stare for stare. He wanted to hiss or snarl or shout. Anything to wipe that look away.

But that sounded exhausting just in his head. So he kept staring back, too tired to frown, to smile, to raise an eyebrow. He looked until her eyes pulled away. Towards Marya, who was speaking again.

“Ay, we don’t need him anyway. We’ve got each other. And the shiny lizard whenever he gets back,” Marya said, reaching out to grasp his shoulder, only to quickly change direction and ruffle her own hair.

“Marya  you don’t... you don’t have to stay either. I can find it on my own. Or with Arash when he—”

“What, you don’t need me anymore now you’ve got your dragon friend?” Marya demanded, fists on her hips and black eyes flashing.

Hamasa sighed, lips curving upwards gradually. “No one can replace you.”

Unlike Hamasa’s pitiful excuse for a smile, Marya’s fairly outshone the sun. For the first time since Valerius walked away outside the tent, Hamasa felt warmth trickle into his heart, responding involuntarily to Marya’s joy. She scratched her cheek and pretended like her face wasn’t rose red.

“You’re damn right.” She clapped her hands together and met his expectant gaze. “I still have that token. We’ll go find that emblem ourselves and we’ll go down to Harenae and find that ancient Green dragon. Between us, we’ll convince them to stop the war. We can do it, I know we can.”

His smile spread a little wider and a little thinner. Her enthusiasm and hope was so contagious, filling up so many empty spaces inside him. But he also knew how small a shot they had. How uninspiring he himself was. The emptiness she soothed was made by himself, by secrets he still hoarded like dragons of ancient fable. Secrets he had given away which had been thrown back in his face. As he deserved.

But… She was holding out her hand.

His champion. His friend.

He reached out, clasped her large, farm-calloused hand in his, and forced his smile to be more: more real, more hopeful, more bright.

“If anyone can stop a war before it begins, it’ll be you, Marya Garsia.”

And he told himself he believed it as she gripped his hand tight enough to hurt.

“I think this will be a fun little adventure. Averting a war? Finding a single rock lost in the mountains? Saving the Empire? Sounds like a good song for the storytellers.”

Hamasa and Marya started, hands dropping. They shared another quick smile before turning back to Huimitl.

“We’ll come back and tell you all about it,” Marya promised.

Huimitl shook her head oddly, tossing back her head and snorting. “Oh no, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. The Salvatropas could do with running themselves without me for a time.”

Hamasa and Marya exchanged a glance.

“I’m sorry, are you offering to come with us?” Hamasa asked hesitantly.

“I don’t think she’s offering, Asa. I think she’s telling,” Marya muttered from the side of her mouth.

The knowingly horrible smirk was back and Hamasa barely kept from hissing. Not at the offer. Just at that smile.

“You just lost your knight,” Hamasa cringed, “and your dragon hasn’t come back yet. You need someone with experience to help you. Not to mention someone to keep up your training. If I don’t come, you’ll both end up dead before you find the emblem.”

Marya scowled. “I don’t think we’ll end up dead. I’m doing a lot better with the spear and Hamasa can do magic again—”

She broke off at the soft dissenting sound that left Hamasa’s mouth unbidden. Marya turned to him, but he looked away, hand over his mouth, his brows low.

“Perhaps he can, but it takes a lot out of him. He’s still recovering and it’s been three days,” Huimitl pointed out. Marya’s eyes widened.

Hamasa shrugged. “It was a lot of magic. I can wield smaller amounts and human spells without much backlash.”

“Will it really be better after we get your emblem back?” Marya asked, eyes darting over Hamasa’s face and overall posture. Cataloging all the little hints of his unwellness for herself.

Hamasa smiled at her. “Of course.”

“Which makes you vulnerable until you find it or your dragon friend gets back,” Huimitl said, arms crossing over her chest, one hoof cutting turf. Marya glanced at her with pursed lips, looking frighteningly similar to Irmen. “And though you have improved with the spear, you are still a novice and require a teacher if you want to protect your friend and yourself. Unless Hamasa could take the knight’s place as an instructor?”

“No, I couldn’t,” Hamasa admitted. “All my knowledge comes from observation. Nothing practical.”

“I wouldn’t mind you coming,” Marya said slowly.

“Kind of you,” Huimitl said wryly. Marya laughed.

“But it’s not my quest, it’s yours, Asa.”

Hamasa glanced between them, at Marya’s concerned frown and Huimitl’s damnable smile. He held up a hand and shook his head.

“No, this isn’t my quest. If anyone’s the hero, it’s you, Marya.” She beamed, that rose red blush back. “Do you want her to join us?” Hamasa asked.

“Well… she’s right. About being sitting ducks and needing help. And I like her,” Marya said stoutly.

The smile on Huimitl’s face softened into something real and pleased. “I also like you. In fact, I like you both.”

Hamasa narrowed his eyes at her. He had a suspicion her feelings towards him were more amusement than actual liking. But... he did believe her about liking Marya and he couldn’t protect Marya, or teach her martial arts, the way Huimitl could.

“We’re honored by your offer and humbly accept,” Hamasa said, hands at his thighs as he bowed.

“Thank you.” Huimitl bowed in return, one foreleg curling under her body. “Are all dragons as polite as you?”

Marya burst into loud, rollicking guffaws with arms wrapped around her torso. “Definitely not!”

“You’ve only met three,” Hamasa said with a small laugh.

“Yeah, and one’s a gulero and one tried to kill us all. I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Marya flipped her hair over her shoulder as Hamasa laughed again despite himself. “Now that that’s settled, we’ve got a long road to walk.”

“We’ll spend today preparing and resting. Tomorrow at dawn we’ll head out,” Huimitl said firmly.

“We should head out right away. The Lances were called back to the Capital days ago. The war is coming fast!” Marya protested.

“Rest is important. As you said, the road ahead will be long. We need rest when we can get it. We can’t run out with a wish and a can-do attitude. I also have duties and responsibilities to discuss among my companions.”

Marya opened her mouth, brows pulled tight and low, but Hamasa cleared his throat.

“I could use a little more sleep.” Or any at all.

Marya’s mouth snapped shut and she squinted closely at him. “All right. Tomorrow at dawn.”

He gestured for her to walk ahead with Huimitl. He, however, stayed behind. He turned slowly towards the Great Road. And the south. He would be going back soon. For a moment, one nonsensical moment, he pretended he could see a tiny pinprick in the distance.