Eleven

Wisnumurti scanned the surroundings. There was never anything about this town he didn’t like. Kenipir felt as much like home to him as Karang Bendan—and, of course, Mount Cakrabuana. He loved the people. He loved the way they could turn anything from the sea into an unforgettable meal.

They arrived just as the noon call to prayer echoed from the grand mosque in the center of town.

Wisnumurti, Jaladri, and Bajul rode in front on horseback, while Ki Tanu’s family followed behind in a simple horse-drawn cart. Their destination was obvious: Gedong Gede, Ki Gede Nipir’s sprawling residence not far from the town square.

According to stories Wisnumurti had heard from the elders, Kenipir had earned its status as a tax-exempt autonomous domain thanks to the late Ki Wanacaya’s role in helping the late Sultan Sindunagara secure the throne more than thirty years earlier. Wanacaya had been one of the Sultan’s most trusted retainers.

As a perdikan territory, Kenipir owed neither taxes nor tribute to the Sultan. It governed itself almost entirely. The only restriction being that it was forbidden from maintaining a standing army.

When Ki Wanacaya passed away, his son Ki Rangganata inherited the title of Ki Gede Nipir with the blessing of Pasir’s second ruler, Sultan Giriwangsa. Jaladri’s father had been Wanacaya’s younger son. From childhood, he had shown little interest in leadership or martial arts. His true talent lay in commerce.

They entered the spacious courtyard of Gedong Gede—literally means the Big House.

Wisnumurti knew the estate well, but something felt different today.

Dozens of people hurried across the grounds. Lanterns were being strung around the open pavilion. Massive torches lined both sides of the courtyard, and Ki Gede Nipir himself stood outside supervising every detail.

“Looks like something big’s happening,” Jaladri murmured, taking in the unusual bustle.

Ki Gede’s face lit up the moment he spotted the unexpected visitors.

Especially when he saw Wisnumurti—the wanderer who never stayed in one place for long.

“I heard you’ve been roaming the eastern and northern regions,” Ki Gede said enthusiastically, already looking forward to testing his strength against Wisnumurti in tomorrow morning’s sparring match.

“That’s right, Uncle,” Wisnumurti replied respectfully. “Started missing home, so I came back.”

Ki Gede Nipir was one of the people closest to him. Ironically, Wisnumurti had known the rugged, bearded lord of Kenipir—now in his late forties—long before he’d ever met Ki Soma’s family. Ki Gede had visited Mount Cakrabuana countless times, and the two had first crossed paths during one of those visits nearly nine years ago.

“Now who are these people?” Ki Gede's attention shifted to Ki Tanu’s family.

“They’re from Brabo, hoping to enter your service, if you’ll have them. Ki Tanu is an excellent blacksmith. There might be work for him here. His wife is also an exceptional cook.”

“Well, now that’s perfect. I happen to need another blacksmith. My workshop just received a massive order for sickles and hoes from Saba.”

Ki Gede summoned one of his attendants and instructed him to arrange temporary lodging for Ki Tanu’s family. They expressed their heartfelt gratitude to Wisnumurti, Jaladri, and Bajul before following the servant away.

Ki Gede watched Sarni disappear into the house before turning back.

“Pretty girl,” he remarked casually.

Then he looked at Jaladri.

“Still not interested in getting married, Dri?”

“Not yet, Uncle,” Jaladri shook his head. “Father says he’ll find me a wife next year.”

“Why let him? Why not find one yourself, like the martial artists do?”

Jaladri blinked. “People can do that?”

Ki Gede burst out laughing. So did Wisnumurti.

Among ordinary families, marriages were almost always arranged by parents or guardians. Poor households hurried to marry off their daughters as soon as possible. Noble families arranged unions to strengthen business ties, merge landholdings, or forge political alliances.

Children rarely questioned the arrangement. They met their future spouse once. The wedding followed a week later.

When Islam spread through the region, the tradition found new validation in the concept of ta'aruf, which encouraged a remarkably similar path to marriage.

Martial artists, however, played by different rules. Free-spirited by nature—and often rebellious—they rejected arranged marriages outright. They pursued romance on their own terms, met whoever caught their interest, and chose their own partners.

To mainstream society, that bordered on heresy.

Even worse, many women who were expected to remain kanca wingking—confined to domestic life—insisted on learning martial arts and other scholarly disciplines instead.

“Of course you can,” Ki Gede said. “Just look around. If you see a girl you like, introduce yourself. Any girl would be thrilled to have the attention of a wealthy young man like you. After that, all you have to do is tell your father to arrange the proposal.”

“And Uncle’s right,” Wisnumurti added with a grin. “Sarni’s adorable. She’d make a perfect Lady Jaladri. Even Prince Candrakumala wanted her.”

Ki Gede’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait... so that's why you brought her family here?”

Wisnumurti nodded.

“Not because Jaladri’s planning to marry her. Not yet, anyway. We just ran into a little complication yesterday while the prince’s men were trying to collect her.”

He recounted everything that had happened in Brabo. Ki Gede laughed so hard tears nearly came out when Wisnumurti reached the part where Jaladri and Bajul had swapped names in front of Senopati Natpada.

“I asked the Brabo Elders to tell anyone who comes looking that Ki Tanu’s family moved northeast to Paranggelung to start a new life,” Wisnumurti concluded. “If Prince Candrakumala ever sends another escort for Sarni, that’s what they’ll hear. Though I doubt he'll bother. He probably gets reports about beautiful girls every single day. Sarni’s probably only one name among hundreds. He’ll forget her soon enough.”

“She seems bright. I’ll give her an education. I don’t want her growing up like most women around here,” a faint smile crossed his face. “She might even have the bones for martial arts. Even if she doesn’t, the training will keep her active and broaden her horizons.”

“And if you polish her enough to raise her standing,” Wisnumurti said with a mischievous grin, “Uncle Soma will happily accept her as Jaladri’s bride.”

Ki Gede chuckled.

“Better yet—I could adopt her as my own daughter,” he looked at Jaladri. “Then you’d become my son-in-law... even if only by adoption.”

Wisnumurti laughed.

“I vote yes.”

Jaladri slapped the pavilion floor in mock protest.

“Excuse me. You’re supposed to gossip about people after they’ve left the room. You two understand that, right?”

The laughter had barely died down when two women emerged from the house.

Nyai Gede, warm and motherly as always.

And Pratiwi. Wild as ever.

They were even more excited than Ki Gede had been—especially when they saw Wisnumurti.

“Perfect timing!” Nyai Gede beamed.

Without the slightest hesitation, Pratiwi plopped herself straight onto Wisnumurti’s lap.

“We’re having a celebration tonight.”

“What kind of celebration?” Wisnumurti asked, pinching Pratiwi’s cheeks playfully. “Looks like the whole town’s getting involved.”

“Just the annual village purification ceremony and the offering at the beach,” Nyai Gede explained. “But Ki Gede invited several district chiefs this year. It’ll be much bigger than usual. Lots of important guests.”

“Ooh... roasted goat?” Jaladri asked hopefully.

“Naturally,” Ki Gede grinned. “And one of our new servants recommended an incredible cook. He’ll be preparing tonight’s feast himself. We’ll see if he’s really as good as everyone says.”

Then he looked at his daughter.

“Hey. Show some manners! You don’t just sit on a guest’s lap.”

Pratiwi giggled.

“This isn’t a guest,” she tightened her arms around Wisnumurti’s neck. “Big Brother belongs here. He’s practically family.”

Wisnumurti laughed. But he also found himself holding his breath.

Pratiwi had smooth bronze skin, large expressive eyes, and thick dark eyebrows. She’d always behaved more like a boy than a girl, prompting Ki Gede to train her in martial arts from an early age. She’d proven surprisingly talented, mastering every lesson with remarkable ease.

The last time Wisnumurti had visited here, a year ago, she had become competent enough to spar with him barehanded or with weapons. She moved with confidence and speed. In several respects, despite having no intention of living the harsh life of a professional swordsman, Pratiwi possessed more natural talent than Jaladri.

But that wasn’t what occupied Wisnumurti’s thoughts now.

Last year, at barely thirteen, she’d still looked like an energetic little kid.

Today, she was unmistakably different. Her complexion seemed brighter.

Her face had matured. And her figure...

His eyes lingered only for an instant before he forced himself to look away.

Now she sat comfortably on his lap, arms looped around his neck exactly as she’d always done since childhood.

Only...

It didn’t feel the same anymore. Holding little Pratiwi had once been as ordinary as breathing.

Holding her now stirred a warmth inside him that was both comforting... and dangerously unsettling.

He became acutely aware of the many eyes surrounding them. Then the realization struck him.

She must have had her first monthly cycle. No wonder she’d changed so much.