Chapter One
Femi knew the third year of war games would be special. There is something momentous and magical about things that come in threes and she has been proven right in a most unanticipated way. While the last two years of war games between the kingdoms of Black and White have been enjoyable affairs, there’s been not much at all for Femi to do but enjoy the festivities, always with the trepidation that at any moment something could go wrong and ruin this tentative friendliness between two nations which, trapped together beneath an unbreakable magic barrier, have been warring for so long no one really recalls when or why the fighting began. Femi has served the Black Kingdom for half a decade now, and in that service has climbed ranks in the medical division of the Pawns, putting herself all the way at the top of that ranking with her medical skills and talent for numbing pain with magic. She thought that this year would be like the last two, that she might have to set someone’s broken shoulder or help stitch up and cut or two, but King Kalmin has decided that with her position comes new opportunities. He is… a very loud man, so when he told her that she would be responsible for delegating and overseeing the competitive events for the games as referee, she at first didn’t quite understand. He is so boisterous and excitable that it takes Femi a moment or two whenever in his presence to translate his booming proclamations into something digestible. The command had been given that she would have a job this year, an important job no less, and with that recognition she would not only be honored through her service, but she’d perhaps get something she’s been wanting a long time… the prestige and reputation within the court to be formally introduced by her lovers, the Bishop of Black and his Second. She has been with them for some time, but there’s been none of the traditions of her home about it– the court is different, and she is often reminded much to her frustration, but now… now when the King himself has given her a public task? Perhaps now it will be appropriate for Irastenys and Shifra to showcase their feelings for her, instead of keeping to the almost clandestine meetings they’ve shared since their relationships began.
Femi is heading to meet with them as soon as she’s dismissed, well aware of the quarters they’ve been assigned and how to get there after so much wandering around the fortress grounds. The beginning of the games is always hectic like someone has kicked an anthill, Pawns everywhere going back and forth, setting up tents and stalls, preparing the playing fields, ensuring everything is just right for the court members who are too esteemed to do any such labour. Femi could be with the other medical pawns setting up on the edge of the playing grounds for when someone is inevitably injured during the competitions, but she is not simply a medical Pawn this year, so she is free to slip away from those duties to go meet with her lovers. There are a pair of Pawns at the entry to the Black court wing, but she explains herself and they let her through with amused grins. These guards know her and have let her sneak by dozens of times before in the palace proper. They have the same work of guarding the royal chambers during the games, so while they are having a laugh at her expense, they allow her to head past them and right to Irastenys and Shifra’s door. She knocks, waits, presses her ear against the door– she is perhaps… over eager, to announce this news and see how her lovers might react to it, if this is the opportunity she thinks it is or if they will dash her hopes of being publicly acknowledged as their lover. She knocks again despite herself, pressing her fingers to the door. “Shifra, Irastenys, it’s Femi, let me in, I have news.”
“Oh, well, since you have news,” Shifra says playfully from behind the door. “I suppose we can unlock the door.” He laughs, and the deadbolt thumps as he lets Femi in. The Second Bishop of the Kingdom of Black has a face as sweet as his temper, the hawkishness of his features softened the moment that he smiles. Even the sun can’t help but kiss him, and his freckles stand out against his skin. He takes Femi’s face in his hands, leaning in to rest his brow against hers, a greeting from Mivior; it’s effortless, the way he feels like home. “Irastenys is here, but drifting,” he tells her. “Shall I gather him up? Or shall I leave it to you?” Femi can’t help but feel a thrill of mischief at the suggestion. Shifra is the most gentle of the three of them, and might usher Irastenys back to himself with that notable sweetness he carries in all things. Femi is more likely to simply bite him, which is just as effective most times if he’s not too far gone. The Bishop has a mind that wanders far, far away at times, and it’s taken time for Femi to get used to it, to notice when his endlessly dark eyes become unfocused and dreamy in a way that tells her he’s no longer with her. Shifra is better at identifying it, but Shifra has been his lover for longer– he’s told her in so many words why Irastenys goes away from himself like this, but it is a matter of his mind that likely will never be entirely understood. Irastenys has been with the King since Kalmin was a child, and helped him come up the mountain to claim the throne in the last civil war, which was an incredibly bloody affair. Femi suspects that’s the heart of it… seeing so many die when they are all kinsmen changes a person, and while everyone handles the realities of war differently, it would seem their lover endures what he’s seen by dismissing himself from the present for a while.
“I will handle it.” Femi assures, pressing a kiss to Shifra’s cheek and stroking her hand along his arm before going around him to see just how deeply Irastenys has gone into himself. At least he’s sitting– occasionally these bouts of absentmindedness come when he is standing and he will simply stare at some dark corner of the room, or out a window, still as a specter. She’s sure that if he were not recognizable within the palace for his rank, he would be mistaken for a ghost by some poor Pawn sent to attend whatever room he’s in; the dead cannot leave the barrier as much as the living, so a ghost looming in a hall or empty room is not an uncommon occurrence. She goes around the chair he’s in to look at him, admiring his soft expression, the spill of his wavy, gray streaked hair, and those eyes that allow no light at all in them, even when he is staring so vacantly into broad daylight. She takes ahold of one of his hands, and decides to test the waters with mercy first. If he cannot be roused by her voice and touch, then a bite or a tickle or thieving one of his boots will be next.
“Irastenys,” she says softly, bringing his palm to her cheek. His skin is very cold, but that’s a manifestation of his own magic, and it is soothing on such a warm day. She strokes his fingers and palm against the warmth of her cheek and watches his face to see if there’s any change or recognition. “My love… I’ve come with news for you… if you don’t look upon me to hear it, I will make you sorry.” She says in a playful, slow voice, her other hand resting upon his thigh just above his knee. She already suspects this will do nothing, but if she goes about it gently first, he cannot say she didn’t try to return him with words before she resorts to playful torment. Irastenys exhales, a thin plume of mist passing his lips when he does, but he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look, even when she touches him. Shifra comes around his other side, soft on his feet, and careful.
“She’s going to bite you, love,” he warns, “I can see it in her eyes.” He glances across at Femi, mischief dancing in his tawny gaze. “Eyes of a biter.” It’s difficult to say if Irastenys hears that at all, wherever he is. Shifra continues to warn, soft, gentle tones. “Eyes of a boot-thief. A tickler. Hurry back, love, I can only hold her off so long.” Femi is already sliding her free hand up his thigh to push up the long, skirted vestments he’s wearing. She would bite him first, but the last time she bit him on the palm like this, he’d reflexively grabbed a fistful of her hair. No harm had been done, but he’d been terribly apologetic about it, so to avoid repeating that silly ordeal, she will take his boot first. She rests his unresponsive hand upon her shoulder and works loose the laces on his boot, eyes shifting back and forth between his absent expression and the boot she’s about to take and hide from him.
“Irastenys,” She calls, mimicking Shifra’s sweet beckoning, “I’m going to take your boot and keep it for the rest of our days… you’ll never see it again…” She hooks her fingers through the laces, and when it’s loose enough she slides the boot off of his foot.
“Careful. If we startle him, and he kicks you, he’ll cry.”
“I am not a novice at this, thank you. I’ve taken all of his clothes off before he came back to me, you simply weren’t there to see my skill at it.” Femi says with a touch of smugness, sliding the boot off and setting it aside. “I can get the other one too, you know.” She says, looking at Shifra with the challenge of offering a wager on the matter. “I suppose I can tell you the news while I’m at it. Our King has made me the referee for the games this year. I will be responsible for the Pawn competitions and the court challenges. He chose me specifically, called upon me by name. I have never heard my name said so loudly and proudly.” She says with a chuckle, working slowly through Irastenys’ laces on his other boot.
“Our King is unmatched for volume,” Shifra agrees. Kalmin is known for many things, for his conquest, for his adoration of his Queen, but perhaps most of all, he is known for the magnitude of his speaking voice. “And is this glad news?” he asks. “I recall the last games were merely revels for you from beginning to end. Now you will have to work.” Irastenys’ hand twitches on Femi’s shoulder, fingers feeling at the fabric of her clothes, but he doesn’t quite come around. “And for posterity,” Shifra adds, “I do not believe you got this man out of all of his clothes. While awake, certainly, and often.” His soft laughter is what brings the Bishop back into the present at last. Irastenys’ breath comes in a sharp gasp, and his grip goes tight, just for a moment, before he begins to focus. Shifra smiles, reaching out a gentle hand to brush Irastenys’ hair back from his face. “There you are.” It takes a few more moments before Irastenys really sees the two of them.
“How long?”
“Long enough for me to do this,” Femi answers as she slides his other boot right off his foot with a triumphant snicker.
“Good. I prefer to be barefoot.” Femi collects the pair in one hand and pats his hand on her shoulder gently.
“I’ve come with news, but before that, you should confirm for Shifra that I have, in fact, completely disrobed you before you were back with me. Because I have, and would not make such a boast as a lie.” She says with a pointed look at Shifra, wrinkling her nose at him before rising from her knees. “There’s a trick to it, I will teach you one day if you are very good to me.” This demand guarantees that someday she will tell, because if Shifra is anything, he is good to her, in every way he can think of and with such dedication that it is a wonder that he has not gone through the public admission of their courtship already. It’s not a secret, it doesn’t have to be in the Black Kingdom’s court, but a public acknowledgment before the King is traditional and Femi is a traditional woman worthy of traditional acknowledgment. A lover of a court member is considered a friend of the King, considered and favored, and while Femi doesn’t necessarily desire the status benefits of such a thing, she does want to be considered. The war has been put aside for now on account of the Kings and Queens familial tie and the collaboration in combat that brought these war games into being, but if the histories have shown anything… peaceful times never last for long. Femi is a healer, but her gift’s original purpose makes her able to converse with the dead, to draw them to her so she can hear their stories. With her particular draw as an Orator being grief, she’s heard more stories than she can count that are so tragic because the pain and death and horror experienced by the dead often falls upon them when they hope that the war might truly, finally cease. She wants the security of a proper, acknowledged relationship because when the fighting starts again, the King will not only know her name as his head medical Pawn, but as someone dear to his Bishops, who will want him as her King to ensure they return to her safe and whole. Shifra’s expression crinkles.
“Have I not been very good to you?” he asks. Irastenys only chuckles at the question.
“Our dear one is playing a trick on you, so that you’ll spoil her rather than risk that you’ve not been good to her. Have you forgotten how sweet you are?” He takes Shifra’s hand, kissing the knuckles assuagingly, before his attention shifts back to Femi. “You said you have news,” he remembers, albeit rather selectively, to avoid admitting that he’d returned to himself to find he’d been stripped down to the skin while adrift. Femi takes a moment to decide if she’ll let him get away with this strategic avoidance or not, and opts to share her news instead of trying to force her lover to confirm her story. He is likely baiting her into trying anyway; omission for Irastenys is something of a game he serenely smiles about, knowing full well what he has and hasn’t decided to say. It must be a beneficial skill in diplomatic situations, but in moments like this, it is a snare. Femi tucks Irastenys’ boots under her arm, since they’re hers now and straightens up, making a proud show of herself before she speaks.
“The King has chosen me as referee for this year’s games.” She says, “A very reputable position, as you both know, and a very public position too. I will have direct interaction with every court member in both Kingdoms and be the determining voice in the Pawn competitions. This, I think, is an opportune moment for you two to finally tell our King and Queen, most beautiful and loved by us all, that you have taken me as a lover, have had me as a lover. Don’t you agree? Shouldn’t I be known not only as the most highly ranked medical Pawn but also the beloved companion of both Bishops of Black? Doesn’t that seem appropriate?” She looks between them expectantly, because if their reaction is anything short of enthused agreement, they will pay for it. She has laid out the reality of this opportunity in great detail so they have no room to refuse her, after all. If they aren’t certain about it, when this moment is the most opportune they’ve had since her promotion, well…She is a lady of Mivior and as such, would never hide her displeasure with her lovers, court members or not. It is their court positions that saves them from even more culturally appropriate consequences; were they in her hometown and simply men she loved without rank or power, she’d hex them and have them throwing up a toad or two for denying her honor that is owed to her.
“Is that a leading question?” Shifra asks, grinning broadly. “I’m not sure I can tell.” Femi turns slowly to look at Shifra, eyes wide with threatening intent.
“Oh yes. I have another leading question for you, my Second. Would you like to experience my ire through physical pain, or emotional pain? I will be most merciful and let you choose.”
“You mustn’t threaten me with a good time,” Shifra objects, his grin not shifting an inch.
“Sometimes I fret for you,” Irastenys chimes in, demurely concealing a smirk behind the back of his hand. “Shall we tell her?” Shifra hums to himself, tapping at his chin.
“Well, I do prefer wrath to ire, personally,” he decides at last. “We have plans to bring you before His Majesty, and His Queen most bright and lovely.”
“And to lavish you with praise and attention,” Irastenys adds, “as surely such accomplishments deserve.” Femi blinks, momentarily distracted from her intent to get her arm around Shifra’s neck by this development.
“You have been planning to?” She asks, immediately delighted, and just as immediately suspicious. “Tell me this is not why our King has chosen me for my position as referee. It is upon my merits as a doctor, isn’t it? I won’t have talk going around among the other medical Pawns that you won me esteem I did not earn. But… you mean it? You will announce me?” She can’t really hold onto her temper when she knows her lovers are always honest with her and would not even utter such a thing if they hadn’t already seen to it for certain.
“Simonery kindly informed us of the King’s decision, which was the extent of our involvement,” Shifra tells her. “Now that it’s been confirmed, the rest of our scheming will fall into place.”
“All according to plan,” Irastenys chimes in, steepling his fingers. “Simonery sends his regards, and has obliged us to be sure to acknowledge him as ‘the best, as always.’” Femi laughs outright because it’s no surprise that Simonery is involved in this scheming. His work as the King’s spymaster is predominantly scheming, and while she knows he is probably somewhere biting his nails off about being here at the games as a former White Kingdom Pawn, the fact that he’d use his skills to do her this kindness is immensely heartwarming. He is her closest friend and has received a majority of the complaints about this very issue. It is endearing, to know her feelings were taken seriously, even if Simonery had spent most of her time going on about wanting acknowledgement watching her boredly from behind a continuously refilled wine glass.
“Well…” She begins, flustered by a sudden rush of emotion. “Thank you, both of you. I’m grateful.” She decides to say, dipping to kiss Irastenys before turning to kiss Shifra. “I will leave you to it then. I only came to tell you so that I might convince you to do this for me, but it would seem I overplayed my hand.” She smiles and dabs at one of her eyes, a little teary with how pleased she is. “I will be much busier this year, obviously, but I hope we can enjoy some of the revelries together. I have heard word that the White Knight and our Rook plan to compete with each other again this year, so that will perhaps be my longest event. You remember last year.” She sighs outright.
In the years before, the White Knight, a necromancer called Kelradest who has served the White Kingdom for nearly 200 hundred years, their magic sustaining them beyond what is a typical lifespan, has challenged the Black Rook to friendly combat for the games along with competing across rank with Tajorinen, the Knight of Black. Isbellor as the Rook is a formidable enemy, able to mantle spirits and utilize the magic they were capable of in life for her own needs. They put on a spectacular show, but Femi can remember most of all that she thought they’d fight for the rest of the evening if left to their own devices. The White Pawn that had been responsible for calling the bouts the year before had looked like their knees might give out under them waiting for the fight to end, only for the Rook and Knight to yield in the exact same moment, mercifully releasing the Pawn from a very difficult decision about who between them was superior. This year will likely be no different, but this time she will be too openly visible to show her exasperation with how the Knight and Rook can go on and on and on, only to signal their yields and ensure that another bout between them will be held to determine a winner. If she has to guess, she would think they choose to fight and to yield together for that reason specifically, to secure another opportunity to face each other on the field again.
These games are the first time in ages where a Knight and Rook might come to blows without the intention to kill each other and while Femi has never seen much appeal in combat, anyone can see that Isbellor and Kelradest take great joy in utilizing their skills and walking away from the demonstration with minor injuries and no hard feelings. There are glimmers of that all through the games, Black and White Pawns mixed on the same teams for competition forming companionable bonds, bouts across rank earning mutual respect where there should be bitter contempt… It's a good thing, for now, and the potential for camaraderie across their war-wrought nations is most openly displayed when the Rook and Knight enter the field.
“I think… As much as I dislike the idea of waiting, we should wait until the games have ended; I don’t need the entire world to know, just our King, which is appropriate, and there will be rumors if it’s during the games. After I’ve done good work, and been known for it without you two casting a shadow, I would be very grateful to be announced as your lover.”
“Be patient a little while longer, then,” Irastenys advises gently, “and perhaps return my boots.”