Castle Cudwi was uninspired and generic. Stone, square, a tower in each corner named for each cardinal direction. The kingdom was rich, that much was abundantly clear. More than just the fact that they would pay for a mercenary to just hear a mission, rather than take it, indicated their success in collecting taxes.

Kimba didn’t seem impressed, either. While I judged the quality of the threads collecting around the scene of the castle, she judged the comparison between the heavy mahogany doors and the thatch roofs of the peasants’ homes outside the castle gates.

With the horses taken from them by their latest playful victim Vashti, the three mercenaries stood outside the massive doors as they opened. Guards grunted from the weight, three on each door, to reveal the inside.

Waiting for them was a plump man in green silks, nervously picking at his hands as he smiled to them in greeting.

“Hello!” he called, bowing his head. “I am Emiko, the steward to His and Her Royal Highness.” Kimba’s crooked smile made another appearance.

“Call me Kimba. These are my right and left fists, Rin and Nina.” She didn’t even gesture to them, but let them nod in turn as their own greeting.

“I trust your travel arrangements were suitable?”

“Nice and boring.” Kimba took an unprompted step inside, forcing the steward out of the way so she could size up the entrance. “Is that marble?” Straight ahead, adorned with candles of all colors, shapes, and sizes, was an impressive, fifteen-foot tall statue of a woman with her hands outstretched, holding the stone ceiling above. Surrounding her modest plinth were a series of letters, books, paintings, rolled up rugs, and even some freshly baked bread.

“Yes, that is our Creator. Do you—?”

“Oh, I see it, now,” Kimba said, nodding. It seemed sort of obvious that she didn’t want to start a conversation about religion at this point. Although I was a little curious to know more about this “creator,” the steward took the hint.

“Yes, well. I must say, thank you, and welcome. May I please lead you this way? We would like to offer some wine and cheese in this parlor over here.”

The women followed a little slowly. Rin and Nina whispered to one another, questions from “How did they light all those candles up there?” to “Why are castles always so cold?” Kimba didn’t ask anything like that, but reminded them to speak a little quieter in this glorified echo chamber, until down a hallway they were led to a modest sitting room with plush, green chairs and a table with the promised treats spread about on wooden platters.

“Appreciate it, Emiko,” said Kimba with a smile as her companions took their seats. “I wouldn’t mind knowing a little more about your note, though.” The steward stood at a chair that he’d pulled out for her, but she never moved to sit. He regarded her with a look of surprise.

“Ah, I see. Well….” The man frowned, dimples accenting his cheeks in an almost adorable way. He rubbed his balding head. “Yes, uh…. I—”

“Surely,” Kimba started again as she switched her weight from one foot to another, “there is a quest to be given, is there not?” This would be an extremely elaborate ploy to murder her, Rin, and Nina, if not.

“Yes! Yes, Miss, yes.” He sighed, glancing to the chatting twins, who paid them no mind as they started to explore the food in front of them. “I mean—you did—I wrote—”

“Your sudden nerves don’t do well to temper mine.” It was so simply, so matter-of-fact. It wasn’t a threat or a warning, but the steward took it like one, with eyes bulging out of his head.

“Please understand, Miss Kimba, the sensitivity of this request!”

“I’m here, aren’t I, ’Miko?” She leaned against the table, arms crossed high over her chest. Her posture wasn’t as intimidating as Nina in the same way, but the comfort she had in an unfamiliar place was certainly something that Emiko had a difficult time facing. She had the language of a qualified student, but more dirt and sweat on her skin than the perfumes and oils he was accustomed to.

“Miss Kimba—” The steward drew in a breath and straightened up, as if finally joining the conversation. “Miss Kimba, the Captain of the Guard will see you now. Unfortunately, your travel companions were not vetted in time for your arrival. We were not, uh, certain they would be joining you.” Although she was absolutely the leader of this troupe, she glanced to the twins. They shrugged in unison.

“I like cheese,” said Rin with her mouth full.

“And I like wine,” added Nina with an uncorked bottle.

Kimba smirked, more out of amusement toward her friends than at Emiko’s expense. “Sounds settled to me.”

He seemed comforted by this odd exchange, at least. He nodded, and gestured with his hand for Kimba to follow him through a different door than one they entered through.

As they stepped into the hallway, Emiko waved to the first person wearing plain clothes. After their nod of acknowledgment, he asked, “Please see to it that our guests have anything they need, Jeramiah?” He glanced to the doors before adding, “Some water and towels, perhaps?” Kimba let out a single laugh, startling the poor steward.

“Certainly!” said Jeramiah.

“G-good man.”

Kimba saluted to the servant, who ignored her, and continued down the endless stone walls until Emiko revealed, at the end of a hallway, a long, tall room. Her eyes immediately jumped to the tables full of golden statuettes along the walls, the massive and detailed paintings, rugs so clean they didn’t look meant to be stepped upon if not for them leading right up to two massive marble and velvet thrones. And while her gaze fell upon a man wrapped in plate armor in front of the thrones, mine were drawn to the concentrated strings off to the side of the room, not hiding, but not making a noise.

The threads all seemed to lead to a young man in a simple, blue cloak off to the side of the room, holding a book like a scribe. Everything about him seemed purposefully unassuming, but his clothes were too carefully sewn, his skin too clear, teeth too straight. Even if it weren’t for the fully colored threads of this story flowing out of him the same way they did Kimba, he would be hard to miss to the average person not blinded by the promise of gold.

As Kimba approached the thrones, their threads began to pull at the colors across the room. The golds of the decorations, the silver of the man in armor, the brown of her traveling clothes and his blue cloak. Everything grew sharper as the threads intertwined and went through a round of tamping to tighten them all together. Clearest of all were the connections between Kimba and this unnoticed stranger.

The main subjects of my Weft’s tapestry had finally met.