She sat upon the wooden steps of the cottage, stretching her legs and gazing at the stars while the whisper of trees filled the night. The village paths lay empty; the poor boys would never risk missing their share of supper, if supper was to be had at all. Inside, her elder sister helped their mother with the meal, while Nayla pretended to watch the heavens. The breeze teased the hem of her dress at her ankle. She gripped the fabric in her hand, baring more of her leg—perhaps he would pass by soon, as always. She looked over the plains beneath the stars, toward the distant trees swaying in the dark. Perhaps he had been hiding there since dusk without her knowing... for wandering the night and vanishing into its shadows was one of his strange habits.
⸻
He watched her from the shrouded trees: her hair stirred by the wind, her legs, and most of all... her white neck. In all his sixteen years, he had never seen a beauty like hers. Even if she was poor, it did not matter. He stared at her legs and swallowed hard. The neighborhood was still, everyone busy devouring their meal; nothing stirred but rustling leaves and the flickering lanterns at doorways, their flames swayed by the air until the distant ones looked like stars. His eyes fell to her hand tugging at her caftan. Surely she was tempting him again. His chest thundered with the storm of possibilities if he were alone with her, as though his heart might leap straight from him into her arms.
⸻
From the dark fields he emerged, slipping from a tree like a shadow-born ghost, eyes glowing red in the night like embers. She couldn't keep the smile from her lips—how could she, when her plan of baring her legs had finally worked? But this time... he didn't just pass by as usual... he was coming toward her!
She glanced back at the cottage. Her sister laughed with their mother; inside came the clatter of spoons and plates. If her family saw her here with him, she would be ruined... her father would kill her without hesitation.
He stopped before her, tall frame looming, his glowing eyes locked on hers, as if he no longer cared who saw them together. Her pulse raced. He wasn't retreating—was he truly refusing to step back this time? She looked over her shoulder again; her father would surely kill her if he found them together. All her hopes would be scattered like dust.
She dropped her caftan to hide her legs and whispered, "What are you doing, you fool?... they'll see us!"
He stared at her, breath ragged. "I don't care... I can't endure this any longer."
Her mouth fell open as she gasped, her nostrils unable to keep pace with her pounding heart. This fool would drag her into disaster tonight.
⸻
Hand in hand, they ran breathless along the dirt road between the meadow torches, beneath the gaze of the stars. They hurried toward the dark beeches. She herself did not resist, and so he must seize his chance, or else wait long again for another... it would be quick, and he would return her to the cottage—
Yes.
—before her family noticed.
He pressed her against the beech trunk. Both of them panting, their eyes locked amid the loud buzz of crickets. He leaned closer, staring at her lips struggling for breath. "It's your fault! You started this first."
Still gasping, she whispered, "Raf... we should return before my father notices I'm gone."
He heard only the stillness of night, the rustling leaves... and her frantic breaths. He swallowed hard, scarcely believing they were finally alone. His eyes roved over her white neck, drinking in her breathing. Fire rose in his chest.
"You'll return?!... No! You want this, or else why would you run with me all the way here?"
"Raf... please... stop."
"Stop what?" He edged closer to her face. "I promise it will be quick."
"But—"
He brushed her cheek with his hand. "I barely held myself back when everyone was around you... how can you ask me to stop now, when at last we're alone? You don't know how long I've waited for this moment... and then you come, tempting me, only to demand I stop?!"
"I was only—"
"Silence! Don't feign innocence. We're no longer children, Nayla... we can do this... we can do as we please."
Pinned between him and the beech trunk, the girl who had always been proud and stubborn now seemed weak before him. He could no longer resist. Let the laws be damned; he would not waste the chance now that she had finally fallen into his hands.
Clutching his arm with her warm fingers, she pleaded, "Raf... for the Creator's sake, why do you keep staring at my neck? And how is it you grow so large when night falls... your eyes glowing and—"
He whispered at her ear, "Do you want to know my secret?"
The breeze faltered for a heartbeat before rising again, carrying to his nose the chill of jasmine. Gooseflesh crawled down his back like a centipede at the memory of that scent.
⸻
A deep voice cut through the night behind them. "I'm eager to hear your little secret!"
Both Nayla and Raf shuddered, turning. Five men stood there, cloaked in white robes, their eyes burning red like Raf's. They were massive as bears, larger than Raf himself, hoods shadowing their faces as they fixed them with cold gazes. Raf clutched Nayla's hand, trembling.
The bearded leader tilted his head, eyes on her, and smiled. "Why not tell her what you were about to confess?"
Raf edged back as if to shield her behind him, pressing her against the beech. His voice shook. "I wasn't going to tell her anything... believe me, Black."
"Why not tell her of the Chief's laws—that none of us may be alone with humans without his leave?"
"Black... please... we met by chance... yes, chance... you must believe me."
"I believe you," Black said, drawing a slip of paper between his fingers. "But this paper says you've been circling her house since sunset."
"Lies!"
"Lies!... even if I said it came from the Owl."
"The Owl! What has the Owl to do with me?! By your life, Black... her perch is three days' journey at least! How could she see me here?... don't tell me you believe such nonsense."
"The Chief believes her, and we believe the Chief."
"Black... please don't! Let me speak to him... my father will surely believe me."
Black yawned, then laughed, while the others fanned out around the beech. "I never thought the Chief himself would send me to kill his adopted son."
"Black! Black, listen, please—"
They closed in. Raf cried out, "I'll go with you!... just leave her be."
Nayla clung to his shirt, her trembling fingers digging into his shoulder. How could she not, when her lover Raf—whose strength had always terrified—now shook at her side?
Black's smile faded. "You were His Grace's favorite... all our lives we could not touch you. Believe me, we rejoiced when he said he no longer needed you. I nearly shattered my knee running here."
Another gestured to his fellows. "Be careful, don't let his age or size deceive you... he's still the Chief's son."
⸻
One man hurled himself at Raf like a stormwind, fist swinging. Raf shoved Nayla to the ground and ducked; the blow ripped the air above his head. Raf thrust his left palm into the man's chest, flinging him back at Black. Black caught him, shook him by the collar until his face went slack.
"I expect no less from the Chief's blood," Black said. "Even if it flows in a filthy boy."
He dragged the limp body like a sack of grain and flung it at Nayla. Raf leapt to shield her, seizing the cloak midair. His wrist tore under the force of Black's throw, pain striking like lightning. Raf groaned, clutching his hand.
Black laughed. "Seems I'm still stronger than you, spoiled brat."
He didn't notice the man beside him until a boot slammed into his ribs. Raf heard bones break as his body crashed against rocks, rolling down.
He gasped at the jeweled sky, coughing blood.
All it took was one kick...
He staggered up.
"Come on, boy," Black taunted, "four left... perhaps you can manage."
One seized Nayla by the hair, dangling her screaming. Raf forgot his pain and flashed forward, fist severing the man's arm. Nayla fell as the man slammed against the trunk, shrieking. Rage consumed Raf. He hammered the man's face; the blow thundered like a bolt. The man's head crushed, the beech split in two, crashing in a storm of leaves.
Raf panted, clutching his ruined wrist.
Black whistled. "Such power... but what waste."
Then Raf saw it: one of the men biting into Nayla's neck, lips drenched in her blood. Her eyes rolled before he flung her body down the slope. Raf's sight swam. His gaze darted between her body beneath the stars and her killer. Her legs lay stretched on the grass. Rage seized him. He roared and lunged—but hands gripped his head.
"What a pity, Raf... you might have lived had you fled earlier." Black's voice chilled his ear. "Our lord sends his farewell... and thanks you for sixteen beautiful years."
Raf's last sight was his beloved's body under the stars... as his neck tore with a crack like breaking glass.
⸻
⸻
The youth fell to his knees in the mud before her. Nani had no idea what struck him. People turned: old women peered from their windows, children watched from barrels, vegetable sellers and their wives from awnings. Silence blanketed the market.
Nani's mind froze. She didn't know what to do beneath so many eyes.
A voice she knew came from behind. "What's happening here?"
She turned. Tai—her younger brother—green eyes on the youth her age. "Why is the south gate open?! And why is he here? Didn't the Lady say we must tell her the instant he woke? We'll be in trouble if she sees him!"
Her thoughts jolted back. She grabbed the youth's shoulder. "Tai, hush, don't add more... move, help me quickly."
They slung his arms around their necks, lifting him. Their shoes sank in the muck as they trudged. She didn't dare think of the mud—only of hurrying back. Boys called her name; she didn't look. They bore him through the south gate into the garden.
He never stirred, never spoke, eyes fixed down at the grass dragging beneath his bare feet.
⸻
Out of the corner of her eye, Nani saw men swarming toward the gate they had left ajar. She told her brother to wait, then ran and slammed it shut. More and more gathered—dozens—pressing their chests to the bars, arms thrust through the gaps, grinning.
One, dust caked on his robe, pleaded, "Please, Lady Nani... let us speak to Lady Samar this once. Tell her a handsome man seeks her audience."
Nani no longer felt headaches from these antics, but their persistence had begun to gnaw at her.
Another, round and heavy, shoved forward. "No! I'll be the one to speak to Lady Samar." He slicked his black hair. "Lady Samar does not speak to the ugly. Look at my hair, black and smooth as coal... just like hers."
A younger man lunged, yanking the fat one's hair. "Don't you dare compare your filthy hair to my lady's, you—#$*!"
"Get your hands off me, wretch!"
A broad giant, shoulders like stone, seized them both and hurled them aside. He too reached his arm through the bars. Muscles rippled beneath his ragged clothes, his face still striking despite the dirt. "Lady Nani... just this once. Look at me yourself." He brushed his sea-blue eyes, stroked his trimmed beard. "Am I not the most worthy among them to meet her? Please... let me see her."
Nani shook her head, stepping back. "I am no lady... forgive me." She hurried to help her brother lift the youth again. She knew too well: no words could ever turn them from their devotion to her mistress.
Together they bore him slowly, muddy prints trailing the narrow white path, until they set him upon the servants' house steps facing the vineyard arbors. Mud streaked his shins, gleamed on his knees. He sat dazed, staring at his legs as if a child seeing mud for the first time.
"Bring him water," she told her brother.
Tai kicked off his shoes heavy with muck and dashed inside. Vineyard workers in white—old and young—peeked from under the trellises, curiosity flashing in their eyes. Surely their tongues had found fresh gossip for days to come.
⸻
He drifted in silence, eyes on the red ants swarming his bare foot, heedless if they bit. Their glossy legs scrambled across his skin, catching in the hair of his leg, fussing when they tangled with sisters.
The blonde girl beside him brushed them away, fingers smeared with his mud.
"Come, boy... let's go inside. Wash yourself," she urged.
He felt like a child, stretching his bare feet in the grass, black mud clinging thick. Watching her hand wipe them clean, memory seized him—his mother. How she used to wash his feet when he came in from play. She would wait at the courtyard gate, hose in hand, cheeks split with a smile. Always there at sunset... tireless... her hand gentle on his foot before they chased each other among the plants, splashing water—unless his father was near.
He stared at the matted hair on his legs. Back then his feet weren't so large, no hair had grown, and his mother had not yet weakened from long hours standing.
How everything changes! As if someone had fast-forwarded my life.
He longed for those days again. He would not mind his father's scolding; he would give him every painting to burn if only it brought her back. But what use now... she was most likely gone from this world.
True.
Frank would never have wept if it weren't true. But if it is... shouldn't I be by her side?... to bid farewell at least... to the soul who gave up everything for me... before she departs forever.
⸻
The youth leapt to his feet, breath ragged, tears burning in his reddened eyes. "Where did you find me?"
Nani faltered, pointing west. "By the spri—"
He bolted west across the garden. She chased, feet pounding the wet grass, eyes darting in every direction, praying the Lady wouldn't see them. At this pace, they would pass right before her palace.
"Stop!... don't go there... stop, please!"
But he never turned, racing like the wind... like a cat fleeing water. The distance widened, and moments later they tore past the Lady's white palace, rushing toward the west gate. Without meaning to, her eyes searched the grand hall for anyone to scold her—for the Lady herself. By fortune, none were there. She had to reach him, stop him from nearing that gate, no matter what... but he would not stop.
The wind shrieked in her ears, drowning all but her own panting. Her tongue was dry, her feet numb, her throat raw. She longed to stop, to pull him away—but the stubborn boy raced on.
They reached the rusted, shut west gate. The brook's babble grew louder with each step. The youth froze a few paces before it, gasping. Her lungs burned; she nearly collapsed.
She glanced back, fear clutching her. From afar, Tai came running across the green lawn before the palace, a water flask in hand.
She turned to the boy. His ears and cheeks flushed crimson. "We shouldn't be here... come, let us take you to your room."
He gave no reply, rooted, eyes fixed on the gate and the forest beyond.
⸻
He felt her there... waiting... as if alive still... behind that iron gate, beyond the towering trees, in the far west.
If only I could run to her, hold her...
But the sound ahead stopped him cold. The brook's murmur devoured his breath, as if watery fingers forced their way down his throat, gripping his lungs, strangling his cry.
Yearning for his mother crushed him. He took a step, and the babble swelled. His fingers shook, sweat poured, breath failed.
"What's wrong with your face?! Why so red?!" the blonde shouted.
Still he stared at the gate, at the trees. He couldn't go farther.
If just the sound drives me mad, what will happen if I see the spring itself?
His knees quivered, strength drained. He collapsed, gasping, skin crawling at the brook's voice... like a bell of torment tolling. His desire to see his mother warred with his terror of the spring. He longed to scream, to flee from that sound, from anything that moved like water. His breath fled his chest, his vision spun, and he toppled to the earth, watching the leaves above wheel and wheel.
⸻
He fell before her, face flushed, eyes rolling. She dropped to him, patting his cheek. "Tai!"
"On it."
Tai splashed water over his face, but he didn't stir—only muttered in fevered delirium. Tossing the flask aside, Tai hefted him, and Nani steadied him against her brother's back. His bare feet smeared mud across Tai's trousers, her new white caftan stained as well, but they had to hurry, lay him down before his state worsened.
What a morning!
She trailed behind, checking his face. She touched his brow. "Damn," she whispered.
His forehead burned like metal left beneath summer sun. Sweat streamed, hair matted with dirt and brittle leaves against Tai's shoulder.
If the Lady sees him like this, the day will be endless.
"Tai, faster... we must lay him in bed before it gets worse."
But Tai froze stiff. She bumped into him. "What's wrong! Move, before the Lady finds us... hurry!"
He stood pale, gaze fixed ahead. She followed it across the vast green meadow toward the Moon Palace doors.
There, in their path, stood a woman clad in black, black gloves gripping a black parasol. Beneath it, her face was expressionless, cold as frost. From afar she seemed a beautiful phantom, scythe in hand, awaiting them.
Nani knew at once—no one's beauty could terrify like this... except Lady Samar.