Tamoko
She was everything Cat was not. Cat was pretty, but she was exotic. Cat, once scrawny was now a wisp; she was lean, confident and a warrior. Two swords she carried. Eyes of black and hair like night, skin washed golden by a dying sun. He couldn't help but be drawn to her strength. Here was someone who finally understood. He didn't need to speak, he only had to stand. She saw he despised the petty little nobles and their games, their barbed words and small-talk. Their niceties and coy insinuations. There was an honesty in what she was, and she was despised for it, for being a warrior.
She was everything he could hope for in a woman.
From Kozakura, her accents and looks said. Master had taught him different tongues, different dialects. Her swords were strange, curved with one edge and a spear-like tip. He read all he could about her people. Honour drove them. Honour and duty. He felt a kinship with these concepts, but knew he lacked them. Rieltar cared nothing for either; his only duty was his ambition.
Now she walked with him. It was not how the noble ladies walked, with their gloved hands resting lightly on their man's arm, tucked beneath their parasol, a scented handkerchief to their nose. It was the walk of a warrior. Bold, long-legged, always alert. They spoke of her homeland. Of poetry. Before reading about Kozakura, he had never encountered poetry. It was not the sort of the noble ladies here, or of the bards. It was the subtle, short verse of life and death, painted by nature and seasons.
He did not appreciate the words, but acknowledged their meaning. Life was short, and could end at any point. Each moment existed for its own. He could not believe a lack of past or future, living only for the moment, but he longed for and treasured each moment with her.
The court gossiped. Questions were asked. A scandal was afoot. His look silenced any who dared ask him. They never held hands, never kissed. She was composure personified, perfectly measured, always polite. He never knew her thoughts, but loved to watch her eyes light, to see the corners of her mouth lift that special fraction. He learned to watch for the minute changes. It was so different to anything he was used to. Silence was his companion, and her face, voice and words filled his meditation.
One day, she told him her name's meaning. It made him realise he had no name, only the badge he wore as Rieltar's possession. In her tongue, he brokenly translated 'Anchev' as 'slave'. She understood, and lightly touched his forearm. Her eyes never left his.
That night, he dreamed of her. Cat had not come to his bed for several days; he had not kissed her, but let her sleep on the other half undisturbed. She grew sulky, jealous. It vexed him. He counted the days and knew when to leave her be, but something had changed. She was not with child; the food they ate prevented that, but they were no longer close. He rarely spoke to her before; now he didn't speak a word. She snuggled against him, tried to please him, but he didn't return it. Confused, hurt and scared, she backed away. Anger grew inside her.
The next day, she lashed out; he hit her. He had not hit her since the first time, but irritation overwhelmed him. It was the way Mother hit him when she was cross; he didn't hurt her skin, but it hurt her deeply. Bursting into tears, she ran away and hid. He let her burrow herself in blankets in the corner, and walked out. When he returned at dusk, she shyly peeked out, crawled over and hugged his legs. He hugged her but didn't kiss her. Touching her face, he thought of Tamoko and how different she was. Cat kissed his lips softly, desperate to please him, but when he climbed on top of her, his thoughts were of another.