Kan-e-Senna. First lady of Gridania. She was the muse that eluded the Old Masters, the purity of fresh-fallen snow, and the piercing radiance of the winter sun. That same brilliant sun was setting now. It dimmed to orange-red on the horizon, throwing rays of amber light across the treetops of the Shroud. Long shadows streaked the freshly-fallen snow. It sparkled here and there, as the fading sun-streaks reflected. Kan-e-Senna waited by the window. Ice crystals grew on the rippling leaded glass. The world smelled of rosewood and burning candles.
Thin fingers toyed with the ribbon that held her white fur cape in place. She didn't feel the need to bundle up against the cold. To the contrary, the cape exposed too much of her collarbone and showed off her gold necklaces. The fur parted down to her swelling chest. The exposed alabaster flesh and indifference to the chill gave Kan-e-Senna a certain liminal quality. Even here, in a reborn realm saturated with sorcery, Our Lady of Solemn Peace seemed detached and ethereal. It was as if the world didn't touch her. She was too perfect to be touched, like an angel that walked on fresh-fallen snow but left behind no prints or marks.
This was her mask.
Untouchable, unburdened, indifferent to pain or fear or want. This was the mask she wore for her people: A porcelain goddess come to life; a spirit set apart from the profane. She was calm. She was grace. She was a pensive adagio in a minor key because that is what the people needed her to be. And that was what she let them see. The finger unconsciously touching the inner lining of the fur, just inches above her breast, betrayed the anxiety she hid beneath the placid surface. No one was allowed to see how Kan-e's heart trembled.
"Kupo?" the Mail-Moogle asked.
Kan-e gasped at the unexpected sound. She bit her soft lip, and forced herself to relax before she turned. 'Kupo' was, as ever, the undifferentiated catch-all word of the Moogle people. Kupopolo waited patiently, with his absurd postman's hat and oversized mailbag. Like all Moogles he floated in mid air, unencumbered by pedestrian gravity, propelling himself with the occasional flap of his too-small Moogle wings.
"Not today," she said. "Thank you."
The Moogle looked disappointed. Earnest as ever. The silly thing took so much pride in his duty that he saw the lack of correspondence as if it were his own personal failure. Kan-e crossed the room and let her fingers rest on a scroll. For a moment she turned it between her fingers, contemplating whether she should let the Moogle have it just for the sake of giving him the satisfaction. Or was she just looking for a distraction to burn the nervous energy?
In that moment Kan-e glanced at the mirror. Her reflection looked back at her with sharp green eyes. Golden hair. Unblemished skin touched with the embarrassed pink creeping into her cheeks. Her face was framed by the silverleaf crown on either temple. Seedseer, Oracle, Forest-Saint-and-Queen. A part of her hated the artifice. The illusion. The cage of her own perfection that set her above and apart from the world. Would that she could crawl in the Moogle's sack and let him fly her to Vesper Bay. Just for a weekend. Maybe. She smirked at the thought.
"Kupo," the Mail-Moogle said.
Kan-e's eyes widened. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Already?" she asked.
Kupopolo had turned and drifted out of the room, and she hadn't even noticed. The Moogle's indolent levitation made them effortlessly silent. But that wasn't the real reason she hadn't paid attention, and she knew it. For the second time in as many minutes, she had been caught daydreaming. 'What is wrong with me?' she wanted to ask herself. But she didn't, because she knew the answer.
Clutching her fur around her chest, Kan-e followed the Moogle onto the mezzanine. The visitor was a dark shape mounted on a Chocobo. He ducked his head beneath frozen willow-branches, dismounted the animal, and led it to a watering trough. The water had frozen over. The visitor jabbed it with the tip of his sword three times to break the ice. Then he unclipped the Chocobo's bridle while it dipped its comical beak for a drink. No one ever bothered to secure a Chocobo with something as mundane as a rope or chain. They were exceptionally loyal animals who knew exactly where they were supposed to be. And as he did all of this, the visitor pretended not to look up at her.
But of course he did. And she saw him do it. The fact that they both feigned polite indifference was part of the absurd fiction that ground on her nerves more often than anyone knew.
The Mail-Moogle drifted aside and tipped his hat as the visitor ascended the stairs. He was not exceptionally tall. The Miqo'te never were. Kan-e could look him in the eye if she ever stood toe-to-toe with him. He moved with feline grace, even as the fresh snow crunched beneath his feet. The ink-black coat could not have made a more startling contrast with the white winter landscape. Snowflakes dusted his shoulders. When he approached and threw back his hood, Kan-e's eyes traced the embroidered rococo scrollwork on his collar. A gloved hand rested on the hilt of the gunblade at his waist.
Avtandil Vhepki. Panther-Knight and Warden of the Twelveswood. X-shaped Miqo'te tattoos criss-crossed his angled face. A black eye patch covered his left eye. Long hair was plaited and coiled around his scalp, decorated with beads and the occasional bone ornament. When he looked up at her from beneath his heavy brow, Kan-e saw the twitch in his cheek that told her he was suppressing a smile.
She bit her lip. Just a little.
"My lady," Avtandil said. He knelt just low enough that his knee brushed the snow on the top step. She nodded politely, and he rose. There was a slowness in his movement, a momentary hesitation that revealed how much he secretly ached. Avtandil was not an old man but he was a warrior, and even the Miqo'te could not avoid the grinding pain that came with a lifetime of exertion.
"You bring news?" Kan-e-Senna asked.
"Yes, my lady," Avtandil said. He offered her a small box. The kind one might use for jewelry or confections. But it was neither and she knew it. "Not the sort of thing to be trusted to a delivery Moogle."
He stepped inside, removing his gloves and sniffing at the incense. An oversized ear twitched. He scanned the room slowly. Carefully. The way he might study a forest in hopes of picking out a treant. Desk. Bed. Chest. Wardrobe. The amber glow of candle light and the soft crush of a Sagolii rug. The snowflakes on his shoulders vanished immediately. "This is your home?" he asked.
"It is," she said, as she studied the offering. "Like you said. Not the kind of thing that can be trusted to others. I need a place I can be in control." The box was a plain wood thing with a crude latch. She opened it and found a set of three gold rings. Typical Girdanian work. The people here made jewelry that was plain and geometric. These were forest people, and they were not known for their metalwork. That fact made Avtandil all the more unusual. He was one of the few who had graduated from bowstring archery to using the unsubtle gunblade, soul of the forest be damned. "What am I looking at?" she asked.
"That's all that remains of Pawah Mujuuk."
"She is dead?"
"Yes, my lady."
That stung. Kan-e wondered why. Pawah Mujuuk was a poacher and a bandit. Merciless. Cruel. And this was a world of pirate kings and clockwork Magitek behemoths. Hadn't the world just re-emerged from apocalyptic calamity? There was no good reason why she should be concerned for the fate of a murderous criminal. Except, perhaps, that she had ordered the death. Through her lieutenants and the forest rangers, of course, but ordered all the same.
Now she glanced at Avtandil again. This man would kill for her. She just had to command it. That kind of power made her terrified, astonished... and excited. This is who she was behind the mask. Kan-e-Senna could say - or even just imply - that she wanted someone dead and it would happen. And that's why she had to stay in control. Her every thought, mood, and gesture had to be the result of care and deliberation.
Avtandil looked out the window, studying the forest that was his hunting ground. The fading light cut across his sharp features. Then he turned towards her again, and his remaining eye met hers. It was brilliant and blue. Wide and startling in its clarity. He was studying her the way a large cat studied an antelope. The merest twitch told her Avtandil was tracing the shape of her neck. Is that where he would sink his teeth, if given the chance?
The Panther-Knight was standing in the same place where she touched her fur-lined chest a few moments before. He sniffed just once, involuntarily, and Kan-e knew she was caught. What was a Miqo'te ranger, if not a predator above all else? Could he smell her from there? The oils in her hair? The scent of her skin? The embarrassing excitement she hid beneath her gown, and the creeping warmth in her most private place? She felt a sudden flood of heat and nervous anticipation, and she knew.
