They travelled forth, and Bazil kept his finger on the slatted pendant given to him by the commander.
He had said, "Here's the token to present to get a royal entrance with your disguises. Although there'll likely be no need."
After hesitating, he answered just before Bazil could ask why.
"The Ogglan Prince will be very pleased to see her."
Salīa had heard the Ogglan servant women chattering about the same thing to her when helping her get ready. Yet they were bolder in their words.
"The crown prince favors you greatly."
"The crown prince is more than eager to reunite with you; he'll feel so blessed."
"The crown prince will no doubt mark your arrival as a day more celebratory than his own birthday."
Each time she asked why, they just giggled. It was likely that Bazil was speculating the reason of this at an increasing rate.
"So, I must tell others you're my brother?" Salīa smiled, finding the thought amusing.
Bazil didn't like the terms of address for their roles, but he nodded anyway.
If they were to be announced as husband and wife, some may think to attack first, just to get him out of the way.
It wasn't that Bazil feared they'd win. Quite the opposite. And since his father demanded that he abstain from unnecessary bloodshed, this was the most suitable choice.
As brother and sister, they could at least gather more information from travelers. Some may doubt it due to their differing features, yet in Salazā, it wasn't uncommon for some to have siblings of different skin and eye color due to all the mixing.
"Don't forget, I'm a wandering blacksmith eager to apprentice for someone in Palosa. And you're…"
"A travelling singer who wants to journey with my brother so that I can be inspired by sounds from that great land for my new music."
"Perfect," Bazil smiled, then tucked some of her golden curls behind her hood and wiped some dust off her.
She couldn't help but blush at his attentiveness. And he couldn't help but want to be more attentive.
They both exhaled deeply once their eyes met, then continued trudging through the hidden paths near the main roads.
"Bazil, about what you and your cousin spoke about. Would you like to be sworn in?"
"No." The answer prickled at Salīa's chest. "What I mean is, it's not necessary. I told you, I'm going to protect you regardless."
"Hmm. I understand, but—"
"Pipe down already," said a disgruntled woman. "My husband, my dearest khī, was a fine preceptor back when Luv was still a land."
"Now, my ama, you need not flatter me. It's long past my time," spoke a hushed man.
"Such a land never existed," boomed another man.
"You weren't more than a teat-sucker around the time that land existed, and my husband certainly was there. No other was better at handling the imperial records than him."
"Ha! I don't think I've ever seen someone go senile right before my eyes before."
"You!"
Salīa moved up ahead behind a tree, but Bazil pulled her back.
"I want to hear what's going on."
"Līa, we can't."
"We can," she said and pulled her hood further over her head. "We can always diverge again."
Hearing about this soft-spoken preceptor had more than perked her ears up.
When they finally reached the top of the main road, they saw a caravan neatly lined up down the road.
It was known that merchants and some ordinary wanderers would pay a fee or find a group willing to join for them to travel safely along.
This caravan had few people; the guarding ones were on horses, while some held unlit lanterns, and the others walked in between.
The voices she heard belonged to an elderly couple and a tall, brazen young man with a large chest and a stubbornly pulled-up face.
Beside him were a few other smaller men his age, carrying the bags.
Salīa and Bazil stayed far enough behind the trees that they could walk alongside them without being seen.
An old, haggard man passed the caravan, and the big-chested man pinched his face in disgust.
As if travelling with this man for long enough to understand, the older woman shook her head and muttered, "You and your superstitions."
"But it's true," he spat. "Every time I pass a homeless man, I lose one of my fortunes."
The quiet, elderly husband narrowed his eyes.
"Young man, please leave shed that belief and grow some new seeds to nurture."
The big-chested man scoffed.
"But it's true."
"It's only true if you believe it is. No need to talk negative cycles into existence when you could speak on positives instead. It's a choice whether you praise good or evil."
"Has this crazy bat made you senile, too, old man? You'd better stop speaking."
"I love my wife, and we are both well. It's just that the one you speak of most is the one you worship. So, worship good and speak of it more."
"I said stop," he grabbed the old man.
Salīa's eyes widened.
"Oh, but I can't," the old man continued. "I beg you to free yourself from slavery."
Triggered by those words, the big-chested man pulled out a knife to his neck. But before he could press, he felt something sharp pressed into his own.
It was no other than Salīa, whose dagger came out, and her legs ran ahead of her, before she could stop.
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