Tiny pearls dredged from the Zora's waters, heavy rubies, as big as eggs, plucked from the Gorons, and other sparking stones with names they didn't share were placed upon my freshly scrubbed skin in dutiful but scowling silence. The silks were round like serpents across my arms, waist, breasts and pulled just tight enough to make me gasp. When my hair was finally braided, they left without looking at their finished project, laughing like crows as they marched from my dark little chamber. But I swallowed my words, the insults scraping in my throat as if I'd swallowed a bale of hay: their curved swords had been sharpened for the feast, and my bare neck would make an artful sheath.

I tried to follow the sound of voices to the banquet; the winding hallways led me only to empty cells. But kind Ahurama found me at last and led me to Ganondorf's knee, where I perched, a good little bird. My lord was pleased enough to ignore the dark eyed stares of his warriors and bid the festival to begin. Like a tired horse with an old plow, the celebration started with jerks and long pauses, but once the banners were unfurled and the tables creaked with stacks of coins and meat, even I forgot my complaints of the sharp edges of the jewelry and the stiffness of my hair. The air was heavy with glittering knives and gems and steaming dishes on silver platters. The flags from Hyrule's castle were draped sideways to make tablecloths and the plate and mail of the Hylian guards were worn like gowns.

I stared and stared and stared, not moving my eyes away even when Ganondorf pressed pieces of dried fruit or warm cake or slivers of ice passed my lips. I swallowed and watched each display out-do the one before it: prancing horses, swords as tall as men, a rope of gold that stretched like a dragon. I gorged myself, leaning forward to stare at tiny blue swallows in cages with copper bars, at goblets overflowing with purple wine, at statues with horrible, grinning faces.

Silence fell suddenly like rain, and the tables and piles of armor were pulled to the side of the room, clearing a space before Ganondorf's throne. Two pairs of warriors, clad completely in black slid onto the empty floor. The swords in their hands were long, thin needles. They bowed low to my Lord before they pulled cloth down over their faces and turned toward one another.

The battle and the song began with a clash of metal. As one, the four Gerudo lunged forward, their voices ringing through the room as they thrust, spun, retreated, attacked again. Blinded as they were by their silk, I was certain that their dance would end in their sacrifice. When they leapt, the black river of cloth twisted behind them, when they dipped, the swords flashed like lightning. One pair charged, the other pair howled. The two closest to us dropped to the ground, and I could see flecks of their sweat stain the sandy floor. The swords of their partners slashed toward them and I squeezed my eyes shut and hissed to block out the screams I was sure we'd hear. But their voices never faltered and when I looked again, the women were again on their feet, surging forward as fast as arrows.

When Ganondorf's blood smeared under my fingernails, he untwisted his wrist from my grasp and held me against the cold armor on his chest. Into my ear, his breath, warm spiced tea, translated their song.

Grown wide with life, our sacred mother's womb
Contains her blessed daughters
Who guard the doors between lives
Who exact our sacred mother's will

Led into the desert, we wait
And are tempered by the sun's face
And are polished the sand's caress
We rush across the green fields
A sandstorm from the wastelands

I sat like stone watching and listening, my own voice silent as the feast bled into dawn.