#sigtan

In Begnion’s long history, the mighty Empire had never before suffered such a long period without an Apostle.

Tanith had only been seven when her father sat her down next to her brothers and told them of Apostle Misaha’s tragic end. Her father’s voice trembled and cracked. Her mother said nothing, just kept scrubbing her face dry with her handkerchief.

Tanith had cried, then, even without understanding the full ramifications of what had happened.

It was the first and only time she had seen her mother with tears in her eyes, and that alone made her feel as though the world itself was falling apart. Her father did not scold Tanith for crying, and that made her sob harder.

And yet, life continued on. The days were longer, filled with uncertainty, but they continued just the same.

—

At thirteen, Tanith of House Deshret joined the Holy Guard.

Even without an Apostle to serve, Misaha’s bloodline had not been entirely extinguished, and thus they had sworn themselves to Prince Regent Gavaril, Misaha’s singular son.

Gavaril was a somber, dispassionate man, frequently bending to the voices of the Senate. He avoided all social events, only leaving his private chambers to aimlessly wander the halls in his dark mourning clothes. And yet, having lost both his mother and wife in one savage attack, it was difficult to hold his all-consuming grief against him.

Difficult, but necessary.

That is why, shortly after she finally settled into her new role within the Holy Guard, Tanith was relieved beyond measure to hear that Prince Regent Gavaril had begrudgingly agreed to attend Sienne’s Grand Yuletide Ball that winter.

She was a little less pleased to learn that this meant she was also required to attend.

—

At her childhood home at the Miscale Delta, Tanith rarely had need to attend formal events.

The Deshret estate housed the only noble family for miles, and they primarily kept to themselves. Nor was Tanith ever pressured to socialize with others. It was understood that she was to follow in her aunt’s footsteps, to join the Holy Guard, and to leave the future of the estate and the continuation of the family bloodline to her brothers.

Suitors and courtships were to be avoided at all cost. Only chaste maidens of noble birth could ride pegasi, and only pegasi riders could serve the Apostle.

Thus, Tanith felt like a sore thumb as she hovered at the edges of the ballroom, concentrating hard on not fidgeting with the ruffles on her dress. She shuffled from foot to foot to keep her toes from going numb. They were throbbing from being pinched into pointed shows, but she found the pain kept her present and grounded.

Behind her, the band played an upbeat waltz. Hovering on his throne on the raised dais, Prince Regent Gavalin observed the dancers with an impassive expression.

The Senators would be pleased if he didn’t socialize. But the Commander of the Holy Guard wished for him to meet someone new, or so Tanith had surmised from gossip in the barracks. And Tanith had to agree. The sooner Gavaril could remarry and produce Misaha’s true heir, the better.

Tanith watched him for a moment longer. He was getting old now, his beard newly trimmed, but it could not distract from the bruise-like shadows under his eyes.

He was not handsome, at least not in Tanith’s estimation. But perhaps that spoke more to her personal inclinations.

In light of that…

Like a moth drawn to flame, Tanith found her gaze returning to the dance floor. A shimmer of light across sea-green hair drew her eyes to the lovely Sigrun, a Holy Guard knight just a year older than Tanith herself. Her ethereal beauty was further enhanced by her simple but elegant eggshell blue ballgown. The skirt lifted as her dancing partner twirled her, revealing the delicate bend of a fair-skinned ankle.

A strange pressure filled Tanith’s chest.

Sigrun of House Svann was every bit Tanith’s opposite. Descended from a line of high nobles and raised within the Sienne court, she was regal, graceful, and unendingly kind. She had swept into the ballroom with the confidence of one who knew she belonged there.

Everyone in the Holy Guard adored her.

Tanith was no exception.

She could watch Sigrun dance for hours. Her partners went unnoticed, Tanith forgetting their faces as soon as they moved onto the next girl. But Sigrun herself was impossible to ignore. Her porcelain skin made her seem like a living statue, her eyes sparkling like polished turquoise each time she smiled.

Tanith never felt so rough and unsophisticated as she did in Sigrun’s presence.

It occurred to her, again, how embarrassing it was that she had never been taught to dance. Her father had taught her how to fight, how to survive in the wilderness, how to approach an enemy without being detected, and many other skills that had proven useful towards her goal of joining the Holy Guard. Yet dancing had been utterly absent from her training.

Her father and mother never danced. But in Sienne, it was assumed that all nobles knew how to dance.

And so Tanith could only watch.

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. The only one Tanith wished to dance with was Sigrun, and that sort of thing was not done, not in public. She had been in the Holy Guard long enough to know that her fellow soldiers had strange habits, that they often practiced at being in love with one another in private, for they were not allowed to have the real thing, lest their maidenhood be tarnished.

Yet the idea, which had initially seemed silly to Tanith, grew on her with time.

She thought she might like to have Sigrun pretend to be her lover. In her secret heart, she thought she’d like it even better were it not pretend.

But such thoughts were bordering on blasphemous, so Tanith kept them buried.

(Blasphemous, yes, but not uncommon. The longer Tanith stayed in Sienne, the more she learned about the secret lives of true nobility. She’d grown nauseous with terror the first time she heard the girls whisper about it, how Senator Valtome sometimes visited the men’s barracks to harass the young soldiers.

To think she shared anything in common with that vile rat chilled Tanith to the bone. But the difference between him and her, she reasoned, was that she had no plans to act on her feelings, even in pretend.

(Because it could not be pretend when her feelings were real.))

In any case, it was not her love life for which she ought to be concerned. Tanith looked again for the Prince Regent, and was unsurprised but unhappy to see that he had not moved from his perch on the throne.

What good did it do for him to attend the Yuletide Ball, if he did not socialize?

“Such a lovely ball, isn’t it?”

The voice, beautiful as birdsong, broke Tanith free of her increasingly critical rumination. She spun to face the one who addressed her, and though she knew who she’d find, the sight of Sigrun’s face still startled her.

She was flushed from all her dancing, dabbing at her forehead with a frilly cloth that she quickly returned to her pocket.

Tanith glanced around. When it became clear that she was the one that Sigrun was addressing, she wrangled with her brain, trying to cobble together a suitable response. After an uncomfortably long pause, all she managed was, “Yes, it is.”

As soon as she said it, Tanith realized she gave Sigrun nothing with which to continue the conversation. A rookie mistake!

But Sigrun didn’t even pause. “It’s a shame that Prince Gavaril seems so unhappy.”

Tanith realized then that Sigrun had caught her staring. She tried to force a neutral expression as she replied, “It’s terrible, yes.”

Sigrun hummed. Based on the arch of her brows, it seemed that Tanith hadn’t given her the response she wanted. But she went on to say, “I can’t imagine the weight he holds upon his shoulders.”

“Yes, well.” Tanith started, then stopped.

“Well, what?”

Tanith bit her lip. Her next words were uncharitable, she knew, but she was seized with a strong desire to voice them nonetheless. She could only hope that Sigrun would not judge her too harshly.

“Well,” she continued in a rough whisper. “I understand why Prince Gavaril feels the way he does. But he has the future of the Empire to think about! We need an Apostle to guide us.”

When Sigrun didn’t interrupt, and instead nodded for her to continue, Tanith found the words tumbling from her mouth like a breached dam.

“It’s clear that he has no desire to rule, for otherwise he would not leave Begnion’s fate to the whims of the Senate. So why not pick a new bride already? The sooner his wife births a daughter, the sooner he will be rid of the court. He can fade into the background again! And the those of us in the Holy Guard can finally stop twiddling our thumbs and do the work that we’ve trained our whole lives for!”

The final sentence left Tanith in a breathless rush, and immediately she knew she had gone too far, gotten too emotional.

Stupid, stupid! It was as if all of her mother’s lessons on etiquette had abandoned her!

“I’m sorry,” Tanith scrambled to salvage herself. “I know he is in mourning still, and it is not my place to question the decisions of the royal family.”

But, her thoughts continued, relentless and unapologetic, it has been five years now.

Sigrun lifted a hand to quiet her.

“It’s alright,” Sigrun spoke, her voice as calm and gentle as always. There was no judgement in her tone, no censure. “Your words are harsh, but true. Prince Regent Gavaril is a man in mourning, but he is also Apostle Misaha’s sole heir. He is responsible for the future of Begnion. While he hesitates, the people of Begnion suffer, and the Senate holds absolute power. To allow that when one has the ability to stop it… it’s unjust.”

Tanith’s chest tightened. Hearing Sigrun say such things in her elegant, measured tone was a wonder to behold. Tanith thought she might be in love with Sigrun.

“That is why,” Sigrun continued, “I am thinking that of asking him to dance.”

Tanith’s heart stopped. “What?”

“I think that I am still young enough that my impudence might be forgiven, or at least my punishment will not include a dishonorable discharge. And if accepts, then he might feel obliged to keep dancing.”

Tanith forced herself to breathe slowly and consider Sigrun’s request with a clear mind. “But,” she protested, voice cracking. “Your reputation. Your honor.”

Sigrun sighed. “That’s why I hesitate. I keep thinking of my mother and how disappointed she will be.”

Tanith watched her, and had to fight the urge to reach out and comfort her.

Then something within Sigrun shifted. She straightened, and her face became an impassable mask of polite tranquility. “But on the other hand, if this scheme succeeds, then it will benefit all of Begnion. One personal sacrifice for the good of the Empire. Put that way, am I not duty-bound to try?”

Tanith had no argument for that.

It didn’t matter. Sigrun did not wait for Tanith’s reply, for either endorsement or further protestations. She simply made her way towards the raised dais.

Tanith watched her go, unable to move. Her fear was so great that she could no longer feel it.

She watched without breathing while Sigrun curtsied and addressed the Prince Regent. Even from a distance, Tanith could see that Sigrun was playing up her youth, speaking with her whole body, her movements as dramatic as a child’s.

The whole room seemed to freeze, scattered conversations falling in volume as more and more people took notice of the impudent girl that had approached the prince. Even the music of the band grew quieter, as if to make it easier for people to eavesdrop.

Tanith thought she heard someone behind her whispering something mean about Sigrun, but it was hard to tell over her pulse pounding in her ears.

Sigrun is magnificent, Tanith thought.

And also, Sigrun has doomed herself. This is the end of her career.

Even so, Tanith knew then and there that she would never love another.

And then something miraculous happened. The melancholic Prince Regent smiled. And he braced his hands on the arms of his throne, and he stood up.

Tanith was struck with awe as Sigrun beckoned Gavaril down from the dais, and towards the dance floor.

The other dancers parted like the tide dances away from the shore.

Sigrun was so small, dwarfed by Gavaril’s superior height and bulk. Dancing together, they seemed like father and daughter, despite looking nothing alike.

And Gavaril smiled some more.

After what felt like an eternity, the song ended, and another began. Sigrun dropped into another flowery curtsy. She turned, and gracefully accepted an invitation to dance from a young nobleman.

Prince Regent Gavaril hesitated, but only a moment.

Then he bowed to a young lady to his right, and just like that, the strange tension in the air shattered, and everybody was laughing.

And Tanith fell in love a little bit harder.