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Janai isn’t a fool. A fool in love, maybe, but not in this. Her job was to watch the breach, to watch the human general as the general watched her back (she never did get over the fire in those eyes), and Janai thinks she’s still, to an extent, doing just that. Her hands aren’t used to doing the talking—they stutter like lips, and more than once she has to push her mistakes away and start again—but her eyes watch. They watch General Amaya. And, like she said, she’s no fool. She takes note when the general’s expression shifts and her hands still for just a little too long.
I learned about names today .
Amaya’s smile looks strained. Her hands find each other, holding on for a moment before she responds. “Working on your fingerspelling?”
Janai’s fingers tap together like a little beak. “No. Name signs.”
Amaya’s hands twist together in lieu of a response.
“Kazi told me …” Her hands still. She can’t remember the signs the other elf had used to describe it. It hits her in a flash, and she moves to replicate the motion. “A great honor. They told me it was a great honor to receive one.”
Amaya nods her fist. Her eyes glance away, and her lip dimples as if she’s biting it from the inside.
For a moment, Janai feels as though she shouldn’t ask, that perhaps she should drop the topic completely and they can go dine together in the great hall of Lux Aurea or spar outside where the sun can shine down on them. Perhaps it’s a topic better left unbreeched. But Janai has always been curious. Her sister considered it her worst quality.
“Do you have one?”
Amaya looks away again. She’s always worn her feelings on her face, and besides that, in her hands. Janai loves that about her, that her hands twist and twitch in time with her racing thoughts. Now, those hands are still.
The general doesn’t turn back to look. A worm of worry nestles in Janai’s gut.
But, finally, she gets her answer.
Amaya’s hand waves backwards over her shoulder.
“What do you mean?” Janai asks. She knows she’s supposed to raise her eyebrows with a question, but now she can’t help but furrow them.
Amaya presses her fingers against her shoulder then waves behind her again.
I used to have one .
“I don’t understand.”
The general’s arms cross over her chest and her head turns further away. It’s an effective way to end the conversation—to show that Amaya won’t be doing any more speaking or listening—but Janai has never given up when she wants something (she got Amaya, didn’t she?) and now she’s burning with the desire to know .
She doesn’t grab, not like she has before. She’s always had the hands of a warrior over the hands of royalty—even now, as queen, that hasn’t changed. But Amaya has reached in and found the gentle touch within her. Her hands can be a voice. They can be lover’s hands and wield a sword all the same.
She reaches out, fingers finding Amaya’s chin. Her thumb caresses across her jaw, tugging just a bit to get the other woman to look at her.
Amaya’s eyes slide to her. She looks down, then back up. Her eyes say challenge me , but the broken quality of her expression says otherwise.
Janai keeps her fingers there. She only needs one to do this sign.
“Tell me.”
Amaya sighs, and the huff of breath dances across Janai’s fingers.
Her hands rise to respond, and Janai regrettably lets her own fall back to her side.
“My sister named me,” Amaya signs. She hesitates for a moment, expression pinching, then makes a sign Janai hasn’t seen before. Her hands each take the shape of an A--her arms cross over her chest, palms out, then shove out once.
Shield , Janai thinks. No—Amaya.
Amaya’s arms shake as they drop from the name sign.
“Why don’t you use it now?” Her hands are slow, unsure.
Amaya shrugs, but she’s not looking up, just staring at a spot past Janai’s collarbone. Janai thinks she’s seeing something far away, some memory. She takes a long breath before she responds.
“Even as a child, I was Sarai’s protector. Her shield.” Her arms rise again, crossed and pumping out. It seems almost reflexive—her hands form the A’s, then drop them. “So, she named me that. Her shield. Amaya .”
Janai watches as her eyes fall closed. Blocking out her senses, stopping her from seeing Janai’s response.
She continues, “I wasn’t when it mattered. I should have protected her, and I didn’t. What good is a name that’s a lie?”
Her eyes stay closed. Her chin trembles.
Janai reaches out. Their hands tangle together.
She leads Amaya’s fingers to open, palms facing down. In the gap between them she signs, Good name .
Amaya’s eyes open, wash with tears.
What she wants to say, Janai knows she doesn’t have the signs for.
“You are your sister’s guardian,” she whispers. Amaya’s eyes fall to her lips, tears hanging at the edges of them, ready to fall. “You protect her legacy. Her sons. You carry her heart in your chest and nurture it. You shield Sarai’s memory.”
Her hand retracts, falling to her chest. Then, she crosses both hands over her chest—palms out and A’s.
My Amaya.
Amaya’s expression cracks.
“I failed her,” she signs, hands shaking.
“No. You saved the world. I don’t know anyone more deserving to bear that name.”
Janai is no fool and Janai watches--she’s been watching General Amaya longer than she’s known her name (and longer still than she’s known this one)--but it doesn’t take a careful eye to see the way Amaya’s expression shifts. Her gaze flickers up to Janai’s and her pain eases; her lips pull up at one edge. Some relief has settled over her, that’s plain to see. She reaches out and takes one of Janai’s hands with her own, pulling up to press Janai’s knuckles against her lips.
This is one thing Janai knows the name of. She’s had Kazi teach her the signs, has practiced the motions in her mirror. In a way, it’s similar to shield --the hands crossed over the chest. She supposes in the end it isn’t so different.
My shield. My love.
My Amaya.
They’re not so different.