Empress of All Seasons

by Emiko Jean

  Akira inched closer, his footsteps cautious as he navigated the uneven ground. He hopped over a fallen tree, moving like a shadow. “I thought to rescue you.” He smiled wryly, the same smile she remembered from the boy in the woods the first time she’d met him. “But I should have known better. You no longer need the Son of Nightmares. You rescued yourself.”

  It was true she’d succeeded, but not without great loss. Wasn’t that the way it always was, though? To succeed, someone else must fail. To win, someone else must lose. “So much has happened.” Coward! You can slice an oni in two, but you cannot speak the truth to your dear friend.

  “A princess now. I should bow to you.” He did not. “You’ve accomplished what you set out to do. I suppose congratulations are in order.” He smiled, joking.

  “I don’t feel like celebrating.”

  Akira sobered and nodded. “I understand. You’re not finished yet. Tell me, how do you plan to steal the Cold Prince’s fortune?”

  Mari picked at the bark from a maple tree.

  “Mari?”

  “I’m staying.”

  For a long moment, Akira did not respond. Then he scoffed. “I’m sorry. I’m sure I didn’t hear you correctly. You’re staying? For how long?”

  “I know it sounds preposterous, but—”

  “There is no possible good reason for you to stay.”

  Mari licked her lips and whispered, “Do you believe we all have a purpose?”

  He chewed on her question. “Yes. I believe it. Every one of us has a destiny.”

  “I used to think I knew my purpose—Tsuma, thievery.” A fleeting smile graced her lips. Mari’s hands skirted over Akira’s chest. “But now I know I didn’t understand at all. I didn’t have a clue.”

  “You think your purpose is to stay here, married to the Cold Prince?”

  “Yes, I believe I am supposed to be Taro’s wife. And to help as Empress.”

  “Help?”

  “Free the yōkai.”

  Akira staggered; his body slumped heavily against a cypress tree. “This is much more than stealing a fortune. You speak of revolution. And what happens when the prince finds out your true form?”

  Mari remembered Taro’s words. Everything is forgiven. “I have reason to believe he will understand.” Somewhere between their kiss in the Main Hall and the banquet, Mari’s hope that Taro would accept her had evolved into tenuous certainty. He will not reject me. He cannot.

  “This is a fool’s task.” Akira’s anger grew.

  “Akira, please.”

  Akira rubbed a hand down his face as bitter understanding dawned. He pounded the bark with a backward fist. “You love him. The Cold Prince.”

  “Akira—”

  “And I love you.”

  “I never promised you anything,” she hotly defended.

  He shook his head sadly. “No, you didn’t. I am not such a fool as to believe my affections would be returned. You don’t owe me anything. Still, the truth cannot be denied. Mari, Animal Girl, Conqueror of the Seasons, wife of the Cold Prince, you are so many things, but you are unwise in your love for him. The prince loves you like the summer loves the wild rose: only for a season.”

  Mari felt her cheeks flush with anger. “I am a rose, then?” she asked. “A cheap flower that catches someone’s fleeting attention?”

  Akira’s eyes blazed. “No. You are not a flower, something to be admired, plucked, and kept, which is what the Cold Prince wants. He does not know what I know. You are so much more. And you will wither under the Cold Prince’s thumb.”

  Mari sucked in a breath. If it were two months ago, she would have agreed with Akira. “You are wrong. Taro is not cold. He knows me.”

  “That’s it, then. Your mind is made up.”

  Mari tilted her chin. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said softly, stepping away from her. Back turned, he said, “You should know that the yōkai Resistance is building. Asami was part of it.” Mari stiffened at the mention of her dead ally. How did Akira know her? He went on before she could ask. “I came here . . . I thought I could . . .” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Yōkai will storm the palace soon. I’ve bought you a few hours. If you truly love your prince, you’ll urge him to run.” He melted into the darkness, helmet hanging from his hand.

  Mari felt the loss of Akira like a battle wound. She closed her eyes, girding herself against the emotional onslaught. Tears burned behind her eyelids. When she opened them, she was alone.

  Chapter 37

  Mari

  Mari sprinted through the Fall Room, slowing as she approached the doors. She wiped away tears and straightened her spine. The Main Hall was filled with drunken revelers. She kept to the walls, hiding behind the golden banners hanging from the rafters. Shapes materialized in the shadows. Mari stiffened. Only two lovers embracing. They paused as Mari passed. She deliberately staggered to appear drunk. They didn’t recognize her. Who would expect a princess to be fumbling about in the dark?

  Her thoughts churned. She couldn’t return to the banquet. Taro would know something was wrong. What would she say? My yōkai friend disguised himself as a samurai and snuck into our wedding celebration. He warned me of a plot against you. If you value your life, we should run. She needed to tell him. Needed to save him. But not in the middle of a celebration the entire city was attending.

  Mari burst into her apartment, bile rising in her throat. A pocket door, the entrance to Sei’s servant’s quarters, slid open. The Hook Girl stood at the threshold, hair down, yukata wrapped tightly around her body. Sleep lingered in her eyes. “My lady.” She bowed low. “Forgive me. I did not think you would return tonight. I thought you would spend the night with—”

  Mari managed a tremulous smile. “The emperor spilled some sake on my gown. I’ve come to change.”

  “Oh.” Sei frowned, stepping forward. The front of Mari’s kimono was damp but not stained. A few minutes by the fire, and it would dry completely. There was no need to switch gowns.

  Mari held out an arm. “Would you help me, please?” She wondered if Sei detected the slight trembling in her fingers.

  “Of course.” Sei’s hands settled on Mari’s obi, deftly untying it.

  Heat licked Mari’s cheeks as she gazed into the fire while Sei worked in efficient silence. She’d woven such a tangled web. Akira’s words replayed in her mind: Yōkai will storm the palace soon. I’ve bought you a few hours. If you truly love your prince . . . Would Taro run with her? Where would they go? Where would an imperial prince and a yōkai princess be safe? Would he forgive her betrayal? Or would he think her a monster? Like his father thought of all yōkai.

  “You’re cold,” Sei said, placing a tentative hand on Mari’s shoulder once she was stripped down to her undergarments. “I’ll make you some tea.”

  I’ll make you some tea. Mari had done as much for Hissa after her friend had given birth. A lifetime ago. Hissa’s words rang sharp and true in her mind. We’re all monsters. No man, no human, will ever love us. That is the curse of the Animal Wife, never to be loved for who we truly are. Tears formed in Mari’s eyes. She realized that her bravado with Akira had been false. A very small part of Mari did doubt Taro. What would that feel like, to see Taro turn from her in disgust?

  Her heartbeat pulsed in her chest. A storm was fast approaching. Soon Mari would have to send for Taro and tell him the truth. Every minute that ticked by, yōkai were coming closer to the palace walls, armed and ready to take their revenge.

  The silvery moonlight cascading through the open window, the crackle of the fire, the deep, even breaths of Sei—all of it was so tranquil. Such a fragile peace. Mari wanted to hang on to it a little longer.

  So when Sei helped her settle onto a cushion, then presented her with a steaming cup of tea, Mari didn’t protest. She’d give herself a few moments. Mari inhaled notes of jasmine. She’d requested the tea days ago. A reminder of home. Now a reminder of all that sh
e stood to lose.

  “Won’t you join me?” Mari asked, peering up at the Hook Girl. In the firelight she seemed so frail, ghostlike.

  Sei shifted. “I’m not allowed. Yōkai are not permitted to socialize with humans—much less royals.”

  Mari’s mouth curved up. “It will be our secret.”

  Sei glanced around as if someone were watching. “Secrets have a way of worming their way to the surface.”

  “They do. But just for tonight, let us pretend that you are not yōkai and I am not a princess and that we are two friends sharing tea.”

  The Hook Girl bit her lip, hesitating. Then she fetched the tea from the brazier and poured herself a cup. She smiled as she sat across from Mari. “It smells good.”

  Mari stared into her teacup. “Have you been collared all your life?”

  “Since birth,” Sei answered, sipping.

  “You’ve never known freedom, then?”

  Sei felt the back of her head, where her hooks were nestled tight in a bun. “It is the small things I long for. Walking through the different wards without being chased by samurai.” Her eyes met Mari’s. “An apartment of my own where I could greet friends.”

  Such longing in Sei’s face, a bone-gnawing hunger for something more. “You and I may have more in common than we know. The village I grew up in was isolated, and I had few friends. I was expected from a young age to accomplish unimaginable feats. That kind of pressure made me want the same as you, simple pleasures.”

  Sei chewed her cheek. “My grandmother and mother are gone. I never knew my father.”

  “I never knew my father either,” Mari interjected.

  “I have no siblings. I am alone in this world. I think about that often. If something were to happen to me, no one would grieve.” I would, Mari thought. “I believe everything in life that is worth anything is people—those you love and those who love you. I love no one. And no one loves me. Even so, my life has some value, doesn’t it?”

  Mari set down her teacup with a decisive click. “Yes,” she said unequivocally. “You are worth more than you know. I consider you a very dear friend.”

  At that, Sei seemed to tense. “As Princess you will not be allowed to keep a yōkai lady’s maid.”

  “I have it on good authority that as the future empress, I will be allowed to do whatever I want,” Mari jested, remembering Taro’s words: I am a prince. I can do anything I want. Then Mari considered something. “But perhaps that is not what you want. Is there a different future you see for yourself?”

  Sei lifted a shoulder. “Your village sounds like a lovely place—small, peaceful.”

  Mari glanced out the window. In the distance, she could just make out the jagged edge of a mountain. Homesickness hit her in the gut, nearly stealing her breath. “See that peak, the one that looks like it’s been bitten off by a giant?” She pointed to the dark silhouette. Sei nodded. And finally, for what felt like the first time in the longest time, Mari told the truth. “My village is there. It is called Tsuma. My mother’s name is Tami. The journey up the Tsuko funo Mountains is difficult, but for enough coin, you can buy guides.”

  Sei fingered the copper coins on her wrist. “I’d not make it very far with the metal collar.”

  “I’m sorry.” It was all Mari could say, all she could do. And it seemed paltry at best.

  “I’m sorry too,” Sei said.

  This startled Mari. She stared at Sei. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  Sei smiled, embarrassed. “No, I guess not.”

  Mari thought of the yōkai Resistance Akira had mentioned. Each must be willing to die for the cause. For freedom. She regarded Sei as the Hook Girl stood and gathered the teacups. “What price would you pay for your freedom? What would you give to be free of the metal collar?” Mari asked.

  Sei set the cups down on the writing desk next to a sheaf of writing paper and gold inkpot. The parchment had been delivered after the Spring Room, stenciled with Mari’s name on it. A gift from the prince, from Taro. So you may write your family and tell them of your victory and our marriage, his note had said. The persimmon bowl used to be there, but now it resided in Mari’s trunk. The first and only thing she’d stolen. “I don’t know, my lady.” She paused, considering. But Mari detected that Sei had thought about this before. “I guess I would pay any price. Any cost.” Sei finished cleaning. “Thank you, my lady. You made me forget for a while.” She bowed and bid Mari good night, slipping through her pocket door.

  Mari chased after Sei, intent on telling her to run. She rapped once on the door and opened it. A small reed pallet. A lit bamboo lamp. But no Hook Girl. The room was empty. Mari opened her mouth to call out for Sei, but her words were cut off by screams. Mari snapped to attention.

  It has already begun.

  Chapter 38

  Taro

  Taro was thinking of Mari—her strong shoulders, the gentle curve of her cheek—when the first scream sounded. It coasted through the revelry, reaching the dais. The music screeched to a halt. Another scream, and Taro shot to his feet. The sound had come from inside the palace. Where Mari had disappeared. More screams, and Taro ran through the fray, knocking over startled courtiers and peasants.

  Chaos reigned in the Main Hall. Samurai swarmed the Fall Room, and he followed. A crowd had gathered. He pushed his way through. When no one bowed, Taro realized that they were frozen in shock. Master Ushiba was there, his pale face even paler than usual. The Seasonist’s hands twitched, and time moved from evening to breaking daylight, though it was still night in the rest of Honoku.

  In the sun’s first ray, Taro saw a waxen figure. His swords clattered to the ground. If winter were a feeling, that would be Taro’s emotion. Cold. Numb. It was his father.

  Everything moved very slowly.

  All Taro could hear was his breath rattling in his chest. His father. The emperor. A giant ordained by the gods and goddesses had fallen. Taro struggled to believe it, but there it was. His father was dead. Assassinated. The emperor’s neck and abdomen had been sliced open. Only a monster could have done this. Fury coursed through Taro. He barked an order at the nearest samurai. “Close the palace. No one comes in or out until every person is questioned. Find who did this!” he commanded.

  The samurai swept into a bow. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Nearby, Satoshi quivered. The priest looked as sick as Taro felt. “Satoshi?” Taro asked. The priest moved closer, his face almost white. “Find Mari.”

  “The empress, Your Majesty?”

  The use of the title “empress” didn’t register in Taro’s mind. He gritted his teeth at the question, at Satoshi’s impertinence. “Yes. Until the assassin is found, she will have double the number of guards.”

  Satoshi bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty. Anything else?”

  “Empty this room.”

  Taro waited for the Fall Room to clear before unleashing his grief. His knees buckled. Wet leaves plastered his clothing. A mist formed in the air, hugging his shoulders. His hands hovered over his father’s body.

  They would never have the chance to close the distance between them. Anger and grief swirled inside him, a dangerous alchemy. He would find his father’s murderer. He would have his revenge. By gods and goddesses, he vowed it.

  He passed a rough, shaking hand over his father’s eyes and closed them. His body is just a vessel. The emperor’s spirit was with the gods and goddesses now, seated in a golden throne high above.

  Taro stumbled from the Fall Room and into the Main Hall. At the prince’s entry, a hush fell. One by one, the samurai, priests, and servants bowed their heads and knelt before Taro. The new the emperor.

  The room was suddenly stifling. Taro couldn’t breathe. When he reached the double doors of the palace, he wrenched them open and halted at the top of the steps. Thousands of people crowded the courtyard. News of the emperor’s demise had spread like wildfire. Mourners had replaced celebrants. A heavy shroud hung over the crowd.

  A peasant
near the front cried out. “Long live the emperor!” The masses echoed the declaration, stomping their feet and bowing. Taro felt the stranglehold of responsibility wrap its bony fingers around his neck and squeeze. He was their leader.

  Long live the emperor.

  * * *

  Taro sought solace in his workroom. He couldn’t face Mari—not until he had regained his composure. Here, he would be undisturbed. The dusty counters were lined with metal parts—gears, screws, sheets of copper. Taro cleared them with a single swing of his arm, but it did nothing to calm his anger.

  At least he still had Mari. The thought calmed him, kept him from taking his hammer to the windows, lighting a fire, and letting everything burn. Taro hung his head. The sun rose. A new day. How had Taro’s life changed so drastically in a matter of moments? A knock sounded at the door, and it slid open.

  “Heavenly Sovereign?” Satoshi bowed his head in supplication. “Forgive the intrusion.”

  Taro sucked in an uneasy breath and wiped his brow. He wasn’t used to his new title. “Do you have news?”

  “I have much to tell you.”

  Taro waved the priest inside. “Have you found the traitor?” Taro asked.

  Satoshi glanced down as if seeking answers from the floor. “Several servants have come forward. Others have been questioned. A maid recalls seeing a man dressed as a samurai leaving the Fall Room.”

  Taro’s hands balled into fists. “One of our own did this?” An imperial samurai? He could not fathom it.

  Satoshi shook his head. “No. We believe it was a disguise. The maid saw him before he replaced his helmet. He has unusual scars that cover half his face. I’ve put some inquiries forth to my yōkai informants. It seems he goes by the name the Son of Nightmares.”