I leapt.
I don’t know if I fell or flew. The clouds obscured my view, and the world rushed up in a whorl of stars and light. But then I landed, my back sinking into the soft contours of earth, and when I felt the sun upon my cheeks, I opened my eyes.
I was lying on grass. Cold, wet grass that pricked my elbows and knees. Shallow pools of mud flanked me, and silvery veins of frost laced the field.
A cloak fell over my shoulders an instant before I was going to shiver.
“Careful of the mud, moon maid,” Takkan said softly, kneeling beside me. “It’s near frozen. Won’t be fun to fall in.”
He lifted me safely from where I lay, enveloping me in his warmth, and I touched my forehead to his. My voice came out husky, a mix of joy and disbelief. “Your first words to me are of mud?”
Takkan grinned. “I thought the warning more urgent than a welcoming serenade.”
“Consider me warned. Now sing.”
“Now? You’ll laugh.”
“I’d never laugh at you, Bushi’an Takkan.”
I said it as solemnly as I could, but my eyes were dancing and Takkan knew me.
“Liar.” As punishment, he hiked me higher in his arms. I squealed with surprise and delight as he spun me around and around, his boots sloshing into the mud.
We laughed until our stomachs hurt, the sound of our happiness harmonizing in a song that made my heart feel as full as the pale sun behind the clouds.
When at last he set me down, both of us were so dizzy we stumbled over each other. He caught me by the waist and kissed me.
It was a kiss worth waiting for—whether half a year or half a lifetime—a kiss that made my breath catch and my stomach swoop, and the frost that coated my nose and eyelashes melt with delicious warmth. I ran my fingers through his hair and pulled him close, tickling his nose with mine and watching our breaths steam into the air. I licked my lips, tasting sugar. “Cakes?”
“Chiruan made them for you,” confessed Takkan with a sheepish grin. “I tested a few to make sure they were acceptable. Do you want one?”
Cakes over flowers, I’d told him. As my heart squeezed with warmth, the tiniest buds flowered under my feet. Only a thread of magic was left inside me, but Kiata…Kiata bloomed with it. The way it felt to me was like a layer of love tucked deep inside one’s belly. Warmth, even when it was cold. Joy, even when there was sadness. The flowers under my feet blossomed and grew.
“Later,” I replied, finally answering Takkan’s question. I wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned back against him, feeling his breath stir my hair. “We only have a few minutes till sundown.”
I could have stayed in his arms all day, content with my view of the rice fields below, the Baiyun River curving down Rabbit Mountain into the grassy knolls surrounding Iro, the gray-tiled castle in the near distance. But the day was fading, the gilded earth turning silvery with young moonlight.
Not to mention, we weren’t actually alone.
A high-pitched giggle gave away the intruder, and I whirled to glance over Takkan’s shoulder.
“Megari!” I squealed.
“Takkan told me to give you a song’s worth of time alone,” said Megari, setting down an unlit lantern. In the year I’d been away, she’d lost some of the youthful roundness to her cheeks, but a familiar glint of mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I chose a short song.”
I scooped her into a hug, spinning her once before setting her down. I marveled at her. She was nearly to my shoulder now, and she no longer wore her hair in pigtails but loose against her back.
“Don’t comment on how much I’ve grown, and I won’t comment on your hair,” Megari warned before I could get a word in. “You’re going to get lots of remarks on it. Trust me. Father and Takkan wouldn’t stop staring at me when they got home. As if they’d been away for years, not months!”
“My sister is beginning to prefer the company of rabbits to humans,” joked Takkan.
A pair of fluffy beasts gamboled over my feet, one brown-spotted rabbit even daring to nibble on my slippers. I knelt to stroke its velvety fur.
“They’re usually afraid of strangers,” mused Megari. “But not you.”
“There are many rabbits on the moon,” I replied, letting the creature go. I watched it caper off into the tall grass.
I could feel Megari burning with questions for me, but Takkan touched his sister’s shoulder, as if reminding her of some unspoken agreement. With a sigh, she picked up her lantern, swinging it as she sauntered toward the base of the hill, where they had tethered the horses. “Enjoy this time alone. Once you reach home, Mama’s not going to give you two a moment’s rest.”
“Careful riding home!” Takkan called after Megari. “It’s getting dark!”
Megari waved to show she’d heard, then once more in farewell. I waved back, watching her recede into Iro. Then my eyes drifted up to the sky, where the fading sun was changing places with a rising moon. A sea of stars glimmered through the gauzy dusk, the seven-pointed crane already brighter than the rest.
“They’ve renamed it,” said Takkan, sensing what had caught my attention, “after a new legend.”
“What legend?”
“It’s a legend of cranes and demons and dragons—and a princess under a terrible curse. The children are riveted.”
He silenced whatever I was going to say by taking my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm. “It’s a decent story, but long. I’ll tell you later. Tonight, we have guests.”
“Guests on the same day as my long-awaited arrival? Who could be so important?”
He knew I was frothing with anticipation. “Did I tell you we have a little demon in the kitchen now? It came a few weeks ago, and it’s burrowed itself into the stove. It burns the rice and makes the fire go out when it’s in a temper. The cooks are nettled, but Megari likes it. I think it’s growing on Chiruan, too.”
I put my hands on my hips. Demons could wait. “Who’s the guest?”
“Guests.” Takkan paused deliberately, enjoying my impatience. “It’s your brothers.”
My brothers? A huge smile sprang to my face. “They’ve come?”
“All six of them,” Takkan confirmed. “Even Reiji, from A’landi. And…your father.”
At that, both my eyebrows rose.
Takkan laughed. “That was my reaction too. You can imagine my mother’s distress when she got word of his visit. She’s spent the last week trying to get the household in perfect order. And she still hasn’t quite gotten over the fact that she hosted you an entire winter without knowing your true identity.”
“Does that mean she won’t let me back in the kitchen?”
“Probably not. For at least a year, I’d say.”