(2) Hope Rekindled

Keila stayed in the hot water bath longer than necessary to wash the stench of war from her body. The soothing warmth penetrated every stubborn muscle, coaxing them to relax and accept the reprieve from their hard work. Wyndham was emancipated, and Zordecai was dead. She’d accomplished everything she’d set out to do.

And if that hadn’t been enough justice, she’d been reunited with her father, believed to have been slain by the Azrahterans, and introduced to her mother, believed to have been dead most of her life. She was beyond grateful, but it was almost too much to process.

Lord Bel’ami had graciously granted her and Sekka each a room in M’klarin Keep as honored guests. Sekka politely declined, preferring to camp outside with the rest of the Nokri. Keila tried to follow suit, but he insisted she accept.

“You’re our queen,” he’d explained.

“All the more reason I should be with our people,” she’d argued. “I’m not above anyone else! Why should I rest in luxury while our people are lying on the cold hard ground?”

“This isn’t about privilege, it’s about diplomacy,” her mother had told her. “There’s much to discuss with Lord Bel’ami and his allies, and as my successor you need to be here. You alone walk in both worlds, so your voice will be critical in shaping the future between our people and the Avelirians.”

Keila wasn’t sure just how important she was while surrounded by rulers, guard captains and militia leaders, but she couldn’t deny her desire to be a part of such an historic opportunity.

She found the accommodations in the palace to be extravagant; the suite of rooms she was given was larger than her father’s house in Chastin had been. The ceramic tub in which she was submerged up to her chin wouldn’t have fit in the alcove she’d slept in beneath Hernok’s Falls.

She longed for those places. They were comfortable, familiar.

Exhausted after the battle, she’d slept soundly on the large feather-stuffed mattress. She was safe now, she kept telling herself, though a part of her didn’t believe it; she wondered if she’d remain forever paranoid, forever cynical, forever broken. Some wounds healed, but they always left scars.

She climbed out of the bath and toweled herself dry. She looked down at the filthy pile of fabric and animal hides she’d worn for the past month. They no longer resembled clothing. Her leather armor was useless now, bearing numerous deep gashes and tears. She shuddered at the thought of just how well it had served her.

Lord Bel’ami had a new outfit waiting. A seamstress had taken her measurements before the bath, then raced away to assemble a dress and procure a pair of shoes. She protested as politely as she dared, requesting something practical and comfortable instead. The seamstress smiled but ignored her.

Keila padded over to the bed where her new dress lay, but stopped as she passed a full-length mirror. She stared for a while, examining her naked body with a critical eye.

She first noticed the countless dark bruises and angry red cuts covering her frame from head to toe. Adrenaline ignored their creation, and the hot water masked their existence, but her reflection proclaimed the truth. The soreness and throbbing of a dozen places began vying for her immediate attention.

Her muscle tone had improved much, and the little fat she carried from a comfortable life in Chastin had dissolved. Her eyes traced the taut lines along her arms, legs, and abdomen. Her matted wet hair looked redder than it ever had, perhaps from the now-frequent exposure to the sun. She looked like a proper warrior.

She looked like a Nokri.

With that perspective she regarded her injuries in a new light. They testified to her victory, declaring her ferocity in battle. She straightened up a little as confidence drove out her insecurities like Azrahterans from the battlefield.

She finished her walk to the bed and began donning the outfit, despite her reticence. She couldn’t deny its beauty, or how the emerald fabric, black piping, and golden accents had been chosen deliberately to compliment her own natural colors.

Her thoughts drifted to Lark, and she grew anxious. He’d survived! And yet hesitation was also present in her heart, arguing for the right to stake its claim. She didn’t know why. She could still marry him. They could still have a family. They could rebuild Chastin together. Was that even her purpose?

With her mother’s guidance, she’d learned to make peace with her loss and cherish the time they’d shared. And then an unexpected thing happened. The lens of hindsight focused, and a host of questions came into view.

Had she truly been in love with Lark? Would he even accept her new heritage? She believed she knew him well enough to know he was above such prejudice, but there was more to her new world than just accepting the truth behind her features.

Her home was gone, along with her innocent belief that all people were inherently good. She had a new home now, with the Nokri, and they needed her. Moesa violence was a daily threat, and the Eja’s neutrality left the Jitsa alone and vulnerable.

Keila couldn’t let her people continue like this, but what could she do? Could she win them over? Would they even listen to a blasphemous half-breed? Was another war inevitable?

And would Lark come with her? Was it even fair to ask? He was kokitu; his place was here in Aveliria, and there were still Azrahterans to eliminate. Doubtless the accomplished archer would be called upon to join the hunt.

She smiled, recalling the instant his arrow appeared in the side of Zordecai’s neck. She wondered what Forizu would think of Lark’s archery prowess, having similar skills. Two masters from different worlds. Could they be friends? She released her uncertainty in a slow, languid sigh.

Keila returned to the mirror and inspected the new outfit. The dress looked much nicer than it felt, though her discomfort wasn’t reflected in the glass. The fabric’s design included the nefarious agenda to disguise what lay beneath and reveal only what others desired to see.

It was her, and at the same time it wasn’t. A stunning kokitu, and a fierce Nokri. Could she be both, or would she have to choose?