The lessons continued. Each day more grueling than the last, but it didn’t matter, she yielded but did not surrender.

  Her movements were more graceful, her breath paced; she came to enjoy it, savor it.

  In the evening by the fire, he told her tales of his people, the Kin. Tales untold, never printed, never uttered from mouth or speaker.

  His hands in the air, flame reflected in his eyes.

  Kin. Children of the Primeval, the mother of the elements. Who was forced to bend the knee, to supplicate, to surrender to spare her children.

  Sneers, spit and narrow eyes accompanied the words.

  Socia knew of these things, but not this version. She knew of savage Kin, nature unbound and feral, made to surrender by force of arms. Their mother, their creator, an ancient force; a vow made and bound was the proper way — as a woman should — in the name of the Ambition, so there could be…

  Order. Growth. Progress.

  “She became his concubine,” he said.

  From the shadows a shape came.

  “She yielded, wise as she was,” her Lady said.

  Their eyes met. His poise changed. Became proper.

  “It has been a long time, Daughter of the Ambition,” he said.

  So formal.

  “Too long,” she said and sat next to him.

  Her hand on his lap. Her eyes remained with him.

  “So, you favor your father’s rule?” he said.

  “His will is absolute,” she said.

  “What I wish matters not.”

  Her eyes, deep and ancient, unlike her ever-pristine face, grew heavy.

  Regret? Unsaid things?

  Socia could not tell.

  The man placed his hand on hers, trapped it against his thigh.

  “Let us not talk of old wounds. I am glad you came,” he said.

  Her expression softened.

  “So am I,” she said.

  Warmth crept into her eyes.

  But it could not erase what was there.

  Deep within them.

  The man began to sing. He sang with a voice that was deep like the sea, a tune like the waves, which crashed over Socia and pulled her in.

  Into a tale of lost ways.

  Taken away.

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  Of struggles done only to be swept away.

  By ambition, unbound.

  Of love true, that came with a wave only to be taken away.

  In the name of the Ambition.

  His song was captivating, but Socia was tired, so she excused herself and retreated from the fire to sleep.

  She slept on the sand, a blanket her cover.

  The song in her ears, and in her mind…

  Her eyes.

  The stories stayed in her mind; the song, likewise, as did her eyes and her hand on his lap. But the tides did not stop, and she flowed like the tide, seeped past his guard, slipped from his holds, pressed him down, even won once or twice.

  He was still the master, but time went on, the tides came and went, and she grew with them, in skill and heart.

  In the evenings their Lady joined them, and sometimes she even watched during the day as they trained, shades on not too far away.

  Sweaty skin. Wet sand. Struggle and gain, that was Socia’s daily way.

  Eyes hidden. Ever watching. A lip curved up when they strained under the sun. A touch here and there in the night, stroked by her finger, her palms against him.

  Socia was getting better but felt forgotten.

  They talked and she listened.

  An intruder in a story that was not hers. A servant who heard too much, one who had forgotten her place, who assumed too much.

  The tides came and they went.

  The sun rose and it fell.

  Socia was alone on the beach, the moon her sole friend in the sky.

  Far away from the shore, she had followed the low tide, into the dark. Her feet cold and wet, she didn’t mind, the gentle motion of the water her comfort.

  She closed her eyes and took it all in.

  And she felt it.

  Steps behind her, far away but closing in, a man.

  Her master. Her Lady’s lover — surely that was what he was — or at least had been.

  She ignored the steps and let the waves stroke her legs.

  She couldn’t ignore the hand on her shoulder.

  “Disciple,” he said.

  She opened her eyes and turned her gaze at him.

  “You are… were her lover, her love?” she said.

  The man’s palm stayed where it was, firm on her shoulder.

  His eyes with hers.

  “Yes, once I was... One of many she has had,” he said.

  His hand left her shoulder, his gaze averted, and he walked past her toward the ocean.

  “She has lost so many,” he said.

  His pace was slow but steady.

  “Take care of her. Protect her,” he said.

  Protect her?

  “From what? From what could she need protection from?” she said.

  The man turned around and raised his voice.

  “From herself.”

  “Farewell, disciple,” he said.

  And then he plunged into the ocean, away from her sight, disappeared into its depths and left her on the shore as he found her.

  For a few days life returned to how it was before the man came.

  Her Lady atop a cliff, Socia below on the shore.

  Meals shared, words exchanged, even a smile.

  Who was he?

  The question nagged, stuck, wouldn’t leave her.

  A lover, one of many, but who was he?

  And a night came when she could not wait any more, the thoughts too heavy, the words yearned to be freed.

  She found her there, not high above, but by the shore, her eyes so deep, looked so far. Clad so fine, no wave — her dared — to disturb, the wind even less.

  Perfect. Still.

  Yearning.

  “Who was he?” Socia said.

  The words freed, her heart unburdened, yet she felt fear.

  Fear of her. Fear for her.

  Her Lady faced her, her eyes so wide, like the ocean behind her, deep and dark.

  “One I loved and always will.”

  Her heart was a star. Her eyes hid a world.

  “One who rebelled, defied that which cannot be defied”

  Her heart burned, her eyes began to shine — with pale silver light.

  “His friends slain. Erased.”

  “A boon I asked on my knees, spared he was, exiled to the sea.”

  Her skin became brass, her clothes burned, revealed her bareness to the world, a light like a star on a shore.

  “There to wait for death, for he is but Kin, immortal he is not.”

  The air shimmered from the heat, the waters boiled and steamed, the sand beneath her feet melted and fused.

  “When death him takes, a final boon is to be granted — a song under the moon for my love — then to face my father’s judgement and be erased.”

  Erased.

  No rebirth for Socia’s master.

  A star shone on the shore, and Socia had to yield. She stepped away, the heat too much, the light blinding.

  And then there was a naked Lady on her knees on sand, fused, still glowing and red.

  “A star I am. A pebble on a beach.”

  She began to rise, sand twirled around her, shaped into something with which to hide her bareness, to shield her from the world.

  “My father is the shore, his will absolute, his decrees final.”

  Socia walked to her and denied the pain even as the heat beneath seared her feet. She would not yield to it, not today.

  Her hands touched her Lady’s cheeks, palms scorched by her heat, but she could take it. Her skin — like stone.

  She would be there.

  For her.

  And the moon watched.

  And did not speak.

  A silent witness.