The Straw Doll Cries at Midnight (A Tiger Lily Novel Book 2)

by K. Bird Lincoln

  “That actor is intent on making me learn not to hate him,” murmured Ashikaga after a long moment.

  “Do you hate him?”

  “Not anymore. When Lady Ashikaga died and the Daimyo spent more time in Kyo no Miyako than home with me and Hisako. I blamed Zeami.” Ashikaga noted my skeptical expression before I could wipe it away. My lordling sighed. “I know the Emperor had more to do with my father staying away. It was less . . . dangerous . . . to blame Zeami.”

  Less dangerous. Than what? Fearing the Daimyo stayed away because Yoshikazu was a real son and my lordling was nothing but a disappointment? The bastard child of his wife’s illicit lover? Something clicked into place in the tangled web of events my life had become. “That’s when you took over the guard, started racing horses? Started those strange tumbling exercises?”

  “Yes,” said Ashikaga, voice husky, pitched higher in the relaxed tone my lordling only allowed through the stiff, emotional armor in the dark privacy of nighttime rooms. That voice signaled a shift that always made me feel both intensely close to Ashikaga, and as if I were walking the crumbling edge of a cliff. “One of father’s foreign priests—a visiting Daruma sect priest named Yongyu—taught me. Every morning he did these exercises, like a dance, alone behind the temple. I’d never seen a Middle Kingdom monk fight before, but that’s what Yongyu looked like he was doing.” Ashikaga made a fist. “I knew I would never be strong, not like Yoshikazu or even Uesugi-san. Yongyu was just a little, old man. He showed me for the first time I could be strong without physical strength.”

  I made to cover the fist with my own hand, hesitant, as always, when it was me initiating a touch, unsure of balance on that rocky cliff. The uneven nature of who I was, who Ashikaga was. Ashikaga’s head hung down, resting a cheek on my palm. The fight with Ujimitsu last night must have rattled my lordling more than I thought. Ashikaga never allowed such signs of weakness.

  “Yongyu’s wrestling style makes father uneasy,” said Ashikaga, a little catch snagging the word father. Ashikaga’s chest rose and fell with a deep exhale.

  “Something is uneasy here in the residence. If your flower-viewing party is tomorrow, and it goes late . . .”

  “Norinaga taught you how to put the yurei to rest? At Kiyomizu-dera?” Ashikaga called Hosokawa by his true name. Proof that Ashikaga believed me about his enemy should have been reassuring, but somehow hearing the fox general’s name from my lordling’s mouth made the unease I felt grow deeper.

  “He did.”

  Ashikaga stepped into the entryway. “Well, then.” My lordling made a hurry up gesture with a cupped hand.

  “You want me to do the ritual here, now?”

  “I did bring you something to eat, first,” Ashikaga said. My lordling offered me a cloth-wrapped bundle. “Or, I should confess, Beautiful mentioned the last time you ate was early this morning, and you gulped down soup like a starveling.” After slipping off wooden geta, my lordling settled on the tatami next to me. I unwrapped the bundle. Bless Beautiful and her influence over Jiro. Pouches of fried tofu filled with sweetened rice mixed with flecks of carrot and burdock root. Father made this for me on New Year’s. It was a favorite. Was it Ashikaga or Beautiful who chose this? I was pretty sure the other handmaidens weren’t having inari-zushi for dinner.

  With a smile, my lordling plucked a tofu pocket from my palm, fingers lingering on my skin. “I won’t let my . . . the yurei hurt you.”

  The fried tofu I was chewing stuck in my throat. I coughed. My lordling thumped me in between the shoulder blades sharply. That insufferable, amused eyebrow lifted the entire time it took me to swallow everything down.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “You never fear your Jindo spirits as much as you should,” said Ashikaga. Was it that wanting making my lordling’s voice husky? I clenched teeth against my first, frustrated retort. All this meeting with Norinaga, singing Jindo songs—it was for Ashikaga. I didn’t ask to come to Kyoto or yearn to take on an unclean spirit with only the hope that what Norinaga taught me would be enough!

  Ashikaga chuckled, brushing stray grains of rice from my palm with the backs of his fingers. “You make it so easy to needle you, Lily. Don’t let Tiger pride cloud your judgment.”

  “Don’t let yours!”

  Ashikaga gripped my chin. “I have to do this. It has to be successful.”

  “Put yourself on display for the entire court? Risk yourself, your father, everything?”

  “For my father.” Ashikaga rarely used the rough, utterly male inflection when talking to me, voice a rasp. The fingers on my chin pushing cruelly into my skin. “He’s dying. There’s something eating away at his bowels.” Our breaths scraped the same harsh rhythm into the silence. The Daimyo was dying.

  I forced my voice to sound even, reasonable. “Would it be so terrible if you were not the heir?” There, I’d said it.

  Ashikaga released my chin. Shoulders slumped, my lordling leaned back on the wall, careless of the grime. A small detail that hammered home the gap between us was as wide as ever. It wouldn’t have occurred to Ashikaga how much work it would take me to get the greasy dust off the fine silk robe. Elbows resting on bent knees, Ashikaga bent over. Exhaustion settled like a fine layer of ash.

  “Do you think Lord Motofuji knows . . . about me?”

  “I think he must know what your birth date is.”

  Ashikaga raised a pale face. “You know that isn’t what I was asking.”

  I swallowed. If being with Ashikaga on a regular day was like walking the side of a crumbling cliff, then this conversation was like adding a rushing river at the bottom of the chasm. One misstep and, if the fall didn’t kill me, I’d drown in whitewater. We never talked about this so openly. Ashikaga was Lord Yoshinori, no matter what the shape of the flesh underneath the now grime-streaked robe. Talking about the female part of him, the part my lordling had such trouble showing to me even in the dark privacy of a private room, made my lordling fidget as if ants crawled under that pale skin.

  The question hung between us in the air, and Ashikaga needed something, some kind of reassurance.

  “Lord Ujimitsu doesn’t know,” I said slowly, trying to piece together everything that had happened in Kyoto, like pieces of a quilt. “I don’t think his father, does, either. Otherwise why would you be a threat, why risk attacking?”

  “I didn’t think so, either,” said Ashikaga. “But I couldn’t tell if it was because I wanted so much for him not to know. It’s hard for me to guess what my mother might have told Motofuji.”

  There was a long silence. Outside in the garden crickets began to chirp. Sunlight no longer peeked through the slats in the straw. Sometime in the last few minutes, my lordling’s face had fallen into shadow.

  “It doesn’t matter what Lady Ashikaga told Lord Motofuji,” I said. If the cadet branch Ashikagas could or wanted to wield that secret against my lordling, they would have as soon as Yoshikazu died. “What matters is what you do now.”

  “That sounds like one of your Auntie Jay-isms.” My lordling scooted over, putting an arm in my lap and capturing my wrist with strong, slender fingers, calluses making rough tracks on the sensitive skin of my inner forearms.

  “There is no Auntie Jay-ism for this situation.” I shrugged.

  “Then let’s hope your other mentor has prepared you better. We have a spirit to put to rest tonight.” Ashikaga rose, tugging me to stand.

  “Where are we going?”

  Ashikaga went to the door, stepping down onto the packed dirt of the entryway. Gravel crunched outside, and Beautiful appeared loaded down with an armful of blankets. She gave me a forcefully bland look.

  “Ah,” said my lordling. “Thank you.” Beautiful handed over the blankets.

  “Will you need anyth
ing else, my lord?” Behind the tower of blankets in Ashikaga’s arms, Beautiful leveled a stare at me that would have wilted a sunflower. “Or will Lily be sufficient attendant for tonight?”

  Ashikaga shifted the blankets around. “Tell the other handmaidens that it’s a night to go to bed early and sleep soundly.”

  Beautiful smirked. Ashikaga didn’t seem to notice how she was interpreting the instructions.

  “We’ll all be run off our toes tomorrow for the party,” I added.

  “Or perhaps some will be busy tonight,” said Beautiful.

  Ashikaga went into the main room with the blankets. “It’s not like that,” I said softly.

  “When the cat is away, the mice will play,” said Beautiful. “You’re not the only one who deserves some romantic moonlight.”

  “Not tonight,” I insisted. “You remember when the soldiers came to Ashikaga Village last spring? How they were so strange, how they seemed to turn into foxes—”

  Beautiful put up a hand, palm out. “Yes, yes, I remember. That’s why you’re all holed up in this rats’ den? The haunting?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll let everyone else know. Just, you know, be careful. Don’t ah . . . um . . .”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t go too far. Not with that strange stuff.” Beautiful waved a loose hand in front of her face. “Or with Lord Yoshinori. He is a man, you know. And while it’s not easy to see what he sees in you, it’s clear there’s something he wants. Just don’t get too tangled up with that.” Beautiful cupped a hand over her belly, making a mounding motion. I took a deep breath, stifling a giggle. Was I blushing? Beautiful’s warning was well-meant, but she couldn’t know how unnecessary it was. Not a chance her main worry could ever happen! But for tangling up in nobles’ business, it was too late to avoid that danger. Far too late. I was already as bound up in my lordling as a body could be.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”

  Beautiful gave a disbelieving burst of air through her teeth. “I’m glad you came back. Not surprised, considering,” she indicated Ashikaga with a jerk of her chin towards the main room. My lordling was just emerging. “But pleased.” Beautiful bowed herself out of the entryway. Gravel crunched softly outside again. I waited for her footsteps to die away.

  Before I could turn around, a pair of arms encircled me from behind. One arm low across my belly and the other high at my neck. Soft warmth bathed my ear, bitter with stale, roasted rice-hull tea. “Now we begin.”

  “Begin?”

  “We need the yurei to appear,” said Ashikaga. “I’m an Ashikaga. You’re female. Come with me to the bedroll.”

  My cheeks flamed. “Now? Here?”

  Ashikaga’s fingers tangled in my hair, palm against my cheek, holding me still as the softness of inner lips traced the outer edge of my ear. A feeling like plunging into the chill embrace of the spring runoff flowed over me. Shivers I couldn’t control, somehow warm, not cold at all, ran down my limbs. “The yurei always comes when an Ashikaga is. . . . engaged for the evening. Would you prefer my father?”

  I yanked at the arm around my waist and spun around, uncaring of the slight pain in my scalp as Ashikaga’s hand came free. My lordling kept me firmly enclosed within strong arms, forcing me to rest my fisted hands chest-high on the grimy robe.

  Ashikaga was deadly serious. That devilish glint appeared, but I didn’t think it was amusement, more like headlong recklessness. Ashikaga’s lips were pressed firmly together in a tight line, holding something in.

  “I’m prepared to do whatever I must,” my lordling said.

  It’s not easy to see what he sees in you.

  Holding back desire? Fear?

  It’s clear there’s something he wants.

  Did I want this tonight? We had never gone beyond certain touches with lips and hands. Was Ashikaga saying she wanted to reveal herself to me just to lure the yurei? “Not like this,” I said.

  Ashikaga loosened her arms. “Because you aren’t willing to go this far with me?”

  “Because I don’t want to do this tonight solely for the sake of your father!” I leaned forward and gave Ashikaga a peck on the lips. “Idiot.”

  Ashikaga’s dark eyes widened in surprise. I leaned in again for a longer kiss—lingering until I felt the tension drain away.

  “Do this anyway? Tonight, for me. Because I want it for me,” my lordling whispered.

  What would we do if the yurei didn’t come tonight? Or worse, if it came and the words and gestures Norinaga taught me didn’t bind it? I didn’t agree with Ashikaga’s reasons for inviting the Emperor and the court here, but if the yurei—a Jindo cursed spirit—appeared when the Emperor was sitting in the Ashikaga gardens, drinking rice wine and scrutinizing each gesture and word the Ashikagas made . . . even the Lord Daimyo might succumb to the scandal.

  Ashikaga tilted her forehead to touch mine. “Stay with me.” The words tugged at my heart, circling it as tightly with the twin feeling to my lordling’s wanting as her arms holding me in place. It was where I needed to be. Here. Now. “Yes,” I said, and kissed my lordling for a third time.

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  ASHIKAGA’S SKIN WAS as pale under the inner robe as Father’s soybean slurry on tofu-making day. My lordling lay on the bedroll on one side, resting a cheek on one bent arm, the cloth bindings rewrapped tightly. Ashikaga poked me in the middle of the forehead with a heart finger and then slowly traced down the slope of my nose. “There’s something going on in that head of yours—something you managed to forget the past half hour.” Ashikaga smirked, clearly proud of the reason for my distraction. As if winning over some imaginary rival.

  “What if the yurei doesn’t come?”

  My lordling gave a ragged sigh. “She will come.”

  “It’s not that simple. Just because you and I—”

  “Zeami is here, tonight. He’s worried for my father.”

  Oh. The Lord Daimyo was . . . engaged in the main house. We were . . . engaged here. Stilled under Ashikaga’s light touch, I took in a deep breath, feeling warmth in my belly that had nothing to do with Jindo spirits. Another breath. The warmth built. I hummed a few notes in the back of my throat.

  An answering grumble came from the cherry tree kami in the far corner of the courtyard. The warmth inside flickered into a flame.

  Ashikaga withdrew the finger on my nose. “Is it here?”

  I shook my head. The cherry tree kami’s grumbles sounded like the everyday crankiness I’d grown accustomed to since moving here, not complaints about an unclean spirit.

  Ashikaga smoothed escaped tendrils of hair back to a high queue and shrugged on the robe lying abandoned on the dusty floor. “Your eyes are glazing over. If it’s not the yurei, then it must be the cherry tree spirit again. What’s the matter with it this time?”

  I shook my head. The cherry tree kami was irascible . . . and awake. Every other kami I’d encountered here had to be teased or called awake. Dormant, like Norinaga said. The influence of the Middle Kingdom’s god was so strong here. So why had the cherry tree been awake—and grumbling—since before we arrived?

  I rewound my own sash and pulled it tight across my middle. “Let’s go outside.”

  “To visit the cherry trees?” Ashikaga’s voice was as irritated as the kami, suddenly. I was surrounded by grumpiness.

  “The kami has been awake all this time.”

  “And that’s strange?”

  I gave the lordling a direct look, a shamaness look. “The Emperor’s god has a strong presence in this city. There is no room for the old ways. The Jindo spirits sleep or withdraw.”

  “Withdraw? To where?”

&nbs
p; “I don’t know.”

  Ashikaga followed me out the door. “So it’s odd that the cherry tree kami disturbs your rest each night? Hmmm, I suppose so. This didn’t happen back in Ashikaga Village, or you hid it from me better.” My lordling paused, catching me by the wrist. “It’s connected to the yurei, isn’t it?”

  Gravel shifted under my feet. The stone lanterns on the main path to the gate flickered with a pale light, spots of brightness in the moonless night. Stars shown brilliantly above, cold and far away. The house was quiet, shuttered, and still. The grove of cherry trees made a dark canopy over a carpet of fallen blossoms that faintly glowed underneath.

  “I think so. But . . . Lady Ashikaga wasn’t a shamaness.”

  Ashikaga snorted. “So how did she create this curse? Just nailing a wara ningyo to the tree doesn’t have power to create a yurei. Lady Ashikaga didn’t have that power. I don’t have that power.”

  We didn’t talk about this, either, my lordling and I. We never discussed how Jindo songs stopped the fox magic, or how I’d calmed Hell Mountain. Ashikaga was silent, thinking deeply. Surely my lordling knew, though—even brought up in the Daimyo’s strict obedience to Buddhist rites, surely everyone had some inkling—of how the Jindo spirits indwelt in humans through the songs?

  “Lady Ashikaga somehow used the cherry tree spirit?” Ashikaga said at last.

  “I think so. Did the gardeners mention finding anything strange when they did spring pruning?”

  Ashikaga let go of my wrist. “I wouldn’t know.”

  No, or course not. I wished I could wake Beautiful and get her to talk to Jiro. All gossip came through the kitchen at some point. No time for that, now.

  The cherry tree kami’s grumbling rose and swelled. I found myself walking towards the grove without consciously deciding to move. I stopped at the first tree—a smaller, carefully-tended one, pruned to a riotous explosion of branches. The trunk felt normal under the palm of my hand. Thin, rough bark. The tart-sweet fragrance of crushed blossoms. An aching point, like a poke between the shoulder blades, opened behind my heart. Something leaked away like the slow, steady drain of rice wine from a punctured cask.