She was quiet.
He sighed in acceptance."It doesn't matter," he said."Wherever you go.Whatever you become.You'll be my sister.That doesn't—it doesn't change with distance.Or time.Or whatever comes next."
Azul's throat tightened.
"How do you know?"she asked."You barely—"
"You kept the throne for me," he said simply."You didn't have to.You had nothing to gain from it and everything to lose, and you did it anyway."He looked at the hall, at the assembled company, at the evidence of the world his sister had built for him to inherit."How else can I honour you, Kihaana?"
She looked at him.
He looked away, his eyes stinging."Besides," he added, "I suspect you won't be so bored much longer.He's been looking at you like that all evening.If you only have one child, I’d be surprised."
"Like what?"
Borji's eyes moved back to her with a disgusted expression on his face."I really don't want to explain."
Azul laughed, and the sound startled her slightly, coming out freer than she intended.
Borji’s eyes widened in surprise.Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Go," he said."He's been waiting all evening."
She looked across the hall.Found Ragnar looking back, as he had been every time she'd checked, apparently incapable of doing otherwise.
"He's so obvious," she said.
"Terribly," Borji agreed."It pains me to even see him."
A presence arrived at her shoulder—respectful distance maintained.
Ragnar inclined his head to Borji first, in acknowledgement of a man recognising whose company he was interrupting, and then to her.
"Khatun," he said."If you're willing."
Borji rolled his eyes and downed his wine."She's willing," he said.
Azul shot him a look.
He smiled dryly and raised his wine cup.
The courtyard he found was small and forgotten, just a square of stone and sky tucked between two wings of the palace, with a single torch burning in a bracket and the sound of the banquet audible but distant.
He had clearly found it in advance.
"My Lord, you wanted to dance?"
"I wanted to ask, but you were constantly preoccupied."
She looked at the courtyard."There's no music."
An anxious look flashed in his eyes.
“No matter,” she said quickly.“I don’t need music.Just this once."
"Just this once," he agreed.
They were not well-matched for dancing—they were working from different traditions with different steps.For the first several exchanges, this was apparent.She told him so.He agreed.She corrected his footwork, and he followed suit.
