I

"I think it'll work out," Kaze reassured her.

"No. They're asking for too much."

They sat together at the Great Fire Pit, low voices drowned out by the commotion around them. A young couple had just gotten engaged, and as was customary the entire tribe gathered to celebrate. There was music; there was wine; there was conversation. Married people danced around the fire with their spouses, a plea to The God of Flame to bless the newly engaged couple.

Rinkah and Kaze sat to the right of her father, who oversaw everything with the dignity of a man who'd lead his tribe from obscurity to prosperity over his thirty-year reign. Rinkah could do little to effect any of his decisions, but she kept herself up to date on the political workings of the tribe. One day she would become chief herself, and every decision she made would be built off of what he'd established.

"We often produce more than we consume," Kaze continued. "By the guidelines of his plan, we should be getting enough back to sustain ourselves."

She might have found his ignorance on the matter endearing, if the situation weren't so deeply troubling. As an Outsider Kaze was not allowed to lay eyes on any official Flame Tribe document. He could only go by King Ryoma's edict, which naturally cast the new policy in a favorable light.

"But how can he judge what we need? This new king has never stepped foot in Flame Tribe territory."

Kaze shrugged, turning away to stare at the Great Fire Pit. "I'm sure our demographics speak for themselves."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in until she was sure only he could hear her. Through clenched teeth she finally told him, "Kaze, the quota equals out to thirty percent of our crops."

She felt his muscles tense beneath her hand, his pulse picking up for a moment before settling back to it's slow, lulling beat. Slowly he turned to her, eyes flat with alarm. "… but surely we'll get something in return. I've known King Ryoma since we were both children. His judgment is sound, and he holds no ill-will against any of the tribes." He placed his cool hand over hers, leaning in close. "If he thinks this is a good plan, we need to trust his judgment."

(Just as their chief said. Rinkah knew they'd get along famously, if her father would only talk to her husband.)

"But let's not think about that right now," he quickly added. "The sun is shining, the fire is going strong, and love is the theme of this bright-night." He smiled, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Surly it wouldn't turn too many heads if we danced together."

Rinkah's stomach flipped in that funny, flighty way she hated. She knew Outsiders referred to the sensation as 'butterflies'. The Flame Tribe had no official word for it, preferring to leave such base signals of weakness without words of description. They believed that when something didn't have a name, it was cast in the realm of illusion.

But that wasn't true—Rinkah knew this because she lived it. When she first laid eyes on Kaze two years before, the ninja had came to deliver a message from the capital. She saw him approaching from beyond the mountains that surrounded their valley, sun catching in his hair and circulate. With him in her sights the sky was a deeper shade of blue, the mountains stood sturdy with purpose, and the wind parted their fields of wheat as though welcoming him to their lands.

These were not things she could have imagined—from that moment on, he belonged to the Flame Tribe. He came in early fall and by winter they were married in the witness of the God of the Flame, Igasato's matron, and the Dawn Dragon. Mixed marriages in their tribe were rare. Why bring in an Outsider when it was their way to stress isolation? But Kaze was a gift to her from the God of Flame, couldn't they see that? How could they look at him and not love him as she did?

So they rose. Rinkah danced with him, watching the light sway in his eyes, blind to the murmurs and disparaging looks. Together they became lost in their plea to the God of Flame: yes, please, let this young couple have this. I want everyone to feel what I feel right now.

The next bright-night, when everyone was asleep and Rinkah was sure no one would overhear, she further explained the policy to Kaze.

"So you see, children and elders will be receiving three cups of grain per day, and two of vegetable. Able-bodied adults will receive half that amount."

Kaze nodded, running his thumb across his bottom lip as he stared at the numbers. She'd rewritten the figures from one of their official documents, and they sat close with their heads bent over the copy as Rinkah broke down the figures even further.

"It goes without saying," she concluded, "that we'll be getting the same amount as everyone else."

"Of course," he murmured. "But this is only until the first import, yes?"

"Right. Hopefully it'll be enough that we won't have to ration things so strictly anymore."

He sighed. "Well, we have no choice. We can't let some starve while others go on as usual." He side-eyed the copy as though the piece of paper were guilty of something. Turning his head away, he reminded her that it was only temporary.

Days later, the policy went into effect. Over the course of the next month Rinkah was tasked with overseeing the collection of crops. Wheat and root vegetables and herbs and hearty grains were collected into barrels and crates, strapped onto the backs of capable Flame Tribesmen, and escorted by court officials to the mainland.

They sent the quota, setting their sights on what they were guaranteed in return with crops from elsewhere in Hoshido. As Rinkah watched the last of the exports go out, and when she was sure they were out of earshot, she sighed loudly. "This doesn't make any sense!"

Kaze dropped down from the tree above her. "Perhaps the point of this is to tie our tribe to the crown."

"But we've never rebelled against the royal family. It would be a crime against the Dawn Dragon to do so."

"Of course, but you know there are ambitious young rulers who will risk the hereafter for success on earth."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Kaze shrugged. "King Ryoma doesn't know you. He may be preparing for the day your father becomes one with the sun. If our tribe is made dependent on the mainland, it wouldn't matter if you prove to be a disruptive chief. A rebellion would only end in failure."

She glared at him. "He doesn't know me to be making such rash assumptions!"

It was times like this that she hated the height difference between them. She could do without him staring down in that impassive way of his, eternally unmoved by her outbursts. "It's just a theory. I can't think of any other reason why he'd do this."

Rinkah turned back to stare at the tribesmen she'd sent out, mere specks in the horizon. As much as it infuriated her, she hoped her husband was right.

King Ryoma had the divine right to rule, and so his word was law. Everyone knew it. Everyone understood. Everyone went along.

Even so, one week into the rationing and there were already complaints, protests, and covert attempts at negotiating more food. Rinkah could hardly blame anyone for this, but what could she do? It was as Kaze said: to give some more food would be to starve others.

There was no limit to how much they could fish, and this was how they survived the first month. Flame Tribe members would gather around the river just outside their territory, rods in hand, hoping to catch some supplement for themselves and their families. Rinkah and Kaze joined them every few days, and Rinkah did her best to ignore the pointed stares they received.

It certainly never seemed to faze Kaze. Unlike Rinkah, he possessed the patience needed to actually enjoy fishing. They'd sit side-by-side by the edge of river, beneath one of the sycamore trees that acted as the unofficial Flame Tribe border.

"When I was a boy," he began one day as they waited for a fish to bite, "going out fishing was both a chore and an event for my brother and I. We were only ever taken to help fish outside of Igasato when the harvest season was bad and we needed to supplement. Between our education and training there was hardly time for anything else, so it was a nice break in routine."

Rinkah tried to visualize the picture Kaze was painting for her, but it was hard to picture a place she had never been invited to visit. Still, she could match his feelings. "That reminds me of when mother would take me to see her friends near the Nohrian border. She always made me lie to father about where we were going, which was a thrill all on its own. And then we'd go to the places stuck at sundown, which… was certainly interesting," she grinned. "I don't envy the Nohrians, but things just look different when it's dark out. It's almost nice."

"I agree. You can't see things clearly, which means they can be anything."

Rinkah remained silent for a moment, admiring the reflection of the sycamore leaves in the river's clear surface. "Nohr's gift is the illusion of infinite potential. However, Hoshido has reality. It's much better to see things as they are, isn't it?"

"It's interesting that you'd say that." Kaze kept his sights on the still river, where water met sky. "I always thought that despite what our leaders tell us, as humans we possess both light and darkness, neither of which is inherently good or evil. Isn't facing reality simply the first step in resignation? And isn't self-deception really just hope by another name? In that case, Nohr's gift is just as strong, and one that we need to make life worth living."

Rinkah raised an eyebrow, smiling wryly. "You sound like my mother's friends."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "It makes sense that they would see things that way. Minority groups have to form their own beliefs to avoid the decimation of their culture. Even the Flame Tribe is no different."

"Whatever you say," Rinkah drawled. She wished she'd brought her tobacco pipe with her. "Just don't forget what you promised on our wedding day."

Along with the standard declarations, Kaze made an additional show of humility by vowing to be 'a log of wood thrown into the pyre'. The vow of assimilation meant that he had to adopt the views of the tribe, no matter the cost to his previous self. He was usually quite good about it, but still needed the occasional reminder.

Kaze blinked hard, coming back to himself. He rested his head against the tree trunk and smiled like the sun. "But of course, reality is unwavering—as is the light and all that it reveals. The God of Flame is the epitome of that, illuminating everything in his path and burning what doesn't meet the standard of truth. Our god abhors mysteries and so do we."

Rinkah stroked his cheek affectionately. Kaze really was wonderful. If the gods were capable of error, she would surely think he'd been born into the wrong village.

The crops sent over from the mainland came one month later. Incorporating the imports, the tribe ultimately lost five percent of their crops overall, which was supplemented by hunting and fishing. The imports were timed coincide with their exports from that point forward. So long as things remained stable, the system would work fine.

But not all harvests were good. Rinkah sat with her father and Kaze around the Great Fire Pit again, at the communal feast held to celebrate the imports. She stared at the food in front of her, unable to bring herself to eat it.

Kaze bit into an apple. "What's wrong?"

"We have a fixed quota. Nowhere in the edict does is make room for any exceptions." She looked out at the people of her tribe. "If they caught us during a bad year, this could've gone another way."

The ninja swallowed what was in his mouth, and wrapped his arm around Rinkah's shoulders. "We'll be fine even if that comes to pass. There are the imports—"

"In which we'll never get back everything we export." She wormed her way out of his grasp. "You do realize that, don't you? I went over everything again last night and this is a terrible deal! It'll always be a loss for us!"

"You're overthinking this. King Ryoma is a reasonable man. I've never known him to take from those who can't afford to give. In fact, he probably put this policy in place to save some other Hoshidan village suffering from famine."

"Then he should have just sent the surplus from Shirasagi." She rolled her eyes at the incredulous look Kaze tried to give. "Oh, please! I remember how you described that place. It's the picture of opulence."

"Yes, and the children of the Dawn Dragon deserve no less."

"Look, all I'm saying is this doesn't convince me."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Why are you so pessimistic?"

"I'm not. I simply see things for what they are, as is the way of my tribe and my god." She pointed to the sky, to the deity who would blind her if she stared at him for too long. "You best start doing the same."