“Shefali-lun, O-Shizuka-shon said you were sick. Is that true?”
A steadying breath. A nod.
He broke eye contact for a moment. “And our mother is not speaking to you.”
Another nod. I did not want to do this. Couldn’t I let you do it? No, Kenshiro was my brother, my last remaining family. Besides my father. Though I am not certain if he considers me family at all.
So I held open my hand, and you gave me your short sword.
I drew the blade across my fingers.
I’m not sure which was more unnerving to the two of you: that I did this with such ease, or that I did not flinch at all from the pain.
In the weak light, it was hard to see my blood’s true color; I stepped toward one of the hanging lanterns.
Kenshiro’s brown skin went pale. “She … Shefali-lun, your blood is…”
I could not bear to look at him. I stood there with my palm raised, blood dripping down my wrist.
“You should know,” you said, “that your sister slew a demon with me. If it weren’t for her, I would not be standing here today. But…”
You swallowed.
“She has paid the price for her unwavering devotion,” you said, and the words simmered in your throat.
My knees shook and my empty stomach threatened to turn inside out. No doubt Kenshiro looked on me with disgust now. Any second, he’d call the guards back and have me escorted out of the palace.
But when I opened my eyes, he was rushing toward me with arms outstretched. He scooped me up into an embrace tight enough to knock the wind from me. I froze, unsure of how to react. Surely he did not mean to do this? Surely he meant to strike me?
No. He held me as his chest shook with weeping, as his tears landed on my shoulders. “My baby sister,” he said. “Eight gods, you’re the bravest girl I know.”
“Kenshiro?” My whole face felt hot, and suddenly there were knives in my throat.
When Kenshiro released me, he was wiping away tears. “Does it hurt, Shefali?” he asked. “Do you need anything? If it exists, we’ll find it—”
“It…” I swallowed. It hurt constantly, but the pain was a fact of life now. I couldn’t escape it. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Has it changed you?” he asked. “You’re acting like the same sister I’ve always known, and you’ve brought Shizuka-shan. You must be the same, yes?”
You spoke then, holding yourself tight. “Your sister,” you said, “is fighting demons we cannot see. Sometimes they…” You touched your throat. “They cloud her judgment. But she is learning. Growing. She will master them soon.”
Kenshiro paced about the veranda.
Snot trickled out of my nose. I tried to swallow. No, my throat was too dry, and the knife was still there.
“Is this why you did not eat?”
“I don’t need to,” I creaked.
“Not at all?” he said. “What happens if you do eat? I do not want you to force yourself, Shefali, but people might notice. We must come up with something to say to them if you cannot eat at all.”
“Ash,” I said. “Tastes like ash.”
Which was true. The few times I’d attempted eating, everything tasted burnt. Everything except raw meat and blood. Kenshiro did not need to know that yet.
He rubbed at his chin and nodded. “Is it the same when you drink?” he asked.
I nodded.
“She no longer sleeps, either,” you chimed in. “An hour or two at most each week.”
At this, Kenshiro quirked a brow. His dark green eyes moved from you, to me, to you. “Were you often forced to share rooms while traveling, O-Shizuka-shon?”
For once in your life, you were caught off guard. You opened your mouth, shook your head, and raised your hands all at once. “I, ah, well—”
“One tent,” I cut in. “No money.”
Kenshiro kept his eyes on you, but nodded. “I see,” he said. “Yes, I suppose you girls didn’t want to identify yourselves either, isn’t that right?”
This pause was enough for you to get your footing again. “Exactly right,” you said. “If it was known we were traveling, I imagine we would’ve dealt with far more bandits.”
You sounded confident. So confident, in fact, that it was clear to anyone who knew you that you were lying. When you said things, they came into being; you did not need to be so firm about it.
Kenshiro nodded once. Something in his face changed, but then it was gone. If he was beginning to wonder about us, there were larger things to worry about. “Shefali,” he said, “you are a smart girl, I know you have already seen healers. Does anyone know what is happening to you?”
“No,” I said.
You raised your hand, stretched it out toward me, and—
Drew it back, once you realized how you’d already aroused suspicion. This charade already hurt me. I did not like this; I did not like having to pretend I did not love you. Especially in front of my brother, of all people. It was not fair. If you were male, my father would be falling over his own feet to get us married.
Why was it so different because we’re both women? Traveling through Xian-Lai, we noticed for the first time men leaning close together, cooing into each other’s ears. Women walked hand in hand out in the streets, and no one batted an eye.
Why was it so important to your uncle, to my father?
So many other things about Xian-Lai enraptured me. Whenever we saw commoners, they were kind to me, and did not gawk at me or my skin or my hair. No one here spoke a word of Qorin, but that was all right; we spoke hobbled Hokkaran together. In Xian-Lai, I was invited to tea whenever I went out riding. In Xian-Lai, they used Qorin messengers instead of Hokkaran ones. In Xian-Lai, my difference was something I could take pride in.
I loved the music. I loved the people. And though I could not taste the food, I could smell it, and it was sumptuous enough that way for me to enjoy.
I did not want to leave this place. Not for a while. If I could not be on the steppes, then Xian-Lai was not so bad.
“Shefali,” my brother said, “you may stay as long as you like. Whatever comforts you need, I will find for you. I don’t know how your … condition affects you, but rest assured, you are still my baby sister.” He embraced me again.
It was not the reaction I was expecting, but it was what you expected. Whenever we spoke of this moment—of what might happen when my brother learned what happened—you were optimistic.
“He will still love you,” you said.
“My mother exiled me,” I said.
You propped yourself up and kissed my forehead. “Because she is a harsh ruler, Shefali, with an image to maintain and people to keep safe. Your brother has not seen you in years, and I’m certain that has worn on him. He will be overjoyed to see you again, no matter the circumstances.”
I didn’t believe you at the time. How could anyone look on me and still see a child of eight? Yet here we were, and Kenshiro loved me as much now as he had then.
Over the next few days, we got to work on the details. Kenshiro made all his guards swear an Eightfold Oath not to speak of my sleeping habits. Lady Baozhai served me only the smallest portions at meals—a mouthful, no more. Enough to avoid being impolite in public. A notice circulated around the palace kitchens. I was on a restricted diet, Baozhai said, due to a wounded tongue, which also explained my quietness.
And as much as I wanted to avoid attention, Kenshiro had already sent out invitations for the small tournament he promised me. Magistrates from throughout the Southern Provinces promised to attend. He could hardly uninvite them now.
But we had the benefit of knowing when they’d arrive, and knowing when the tournament would be. Six months from our arrival, to allow the magistrates time to travel. Six months to figure out how I’d get through such an arduous social engagement without baring my teeth or eating more than a mouthful. If I was confined to my quarters at night, that was not so terrible, but the thought of eating too much turned my stomach.
>
Besides, I was not going to stay in my own quarters. Not for more than a few minutes at a time.
In the northeast corner of the garden was a plum tree. Beneath its leaves like butterflies we spent our mornings. Thanks to its distance from the garden entrance, not many people bothered to visit it. Remote, peaceful, the sounds of nature swirling around us: it was the perfect place for meditation. Sometimes, different kinds of meditation.
You spent whatever time you could in the gardens. It soothed you, I think, to spend time near the plum tree. In its clearing, you practiced swordplay and calligraphy alike. On the rare occasions a visitor asked to see you, you met with them there.
You kept saying I needed a hobby.
“One that does not involve taking life,” you said. “Something creative, to soothe your mind.”
“Hunting,” I said.
“Is taking the lives of animals,” you pointed out. You touched my nose with your brush. Ink stained my skin. You laughed. “Something without any killing.”
At the time, I could not fathom what you meant. I did plenty of worthwhile things. Like hunting, and riding, and wrestling. All good Qorin ways to spend one’s time. I did not have your talent for calligraphy, and I’ve never had a good hand for drawing. Kenshiro could play the shamisen, but I could not tell one note from another. If I was not hunting, riding, or wrestling, what was I supposed to be doing?
I found the answer in a roundabout sort of way. Because I broke Kenshiro’s bow while out riding, I decided to make a new one for him. From finding good solid bamboo to tracking down a stag for its horns and sinew, I found the whole process a welcome distraction. My idle hours were spent working on the bow, and I could not spare many thoughts at all while I was doing it.
The bow I made for Kenshiro was not the most perfect. I forgot to find him a birch wrapping. In the Xianese rain, it would not last an entire season; the whole thing would come apart when exposed to moisture.
So I made him another. This time I tried making it all out of one piece of wood, which led to many, many snapped bows. After a week’s worth of terrible attempts, I found a shape that stayed put. Of course, that shape was more Hokkaran than Qorin, but at least it would not come apart in the rain. And it was not quite so large as a Hokkaran bow. Somewhere in the middle, then, like we were.
I found it took less time to make a bow from a single piece of wood, so long as I knew what I was doing. One day was all it took there. For Qorin bows, it could take up to a week, since I had to put all the parts together first, and subject them to the right amount of stress at the right angle and …
Well, if I’m being honest, the Hokkaran bow is much easier to make, and I’m somewhat ashamed it took me so long to get the hang of it. There are so many more variables with the Qorin kind. My problem was that I kept trying to make the Hokkaran bow short, and it did not have the power it needed.
But once I realized I had to make it larger, things got much simpler.
Every now and again, I’d see one of Kenshiro’s men carrying around a bow I’d made with my own two hands. It felt good to create something. You were right about that.
But eventually I had to make a bow for myself, one strong enough that I would not break it. Not something I could do alone, since I was less than a novice. I told Kenshiro about my plans, and he invited a local bowyer to help me. Since all of Xian-Lai by now knew I had a damaged tongue, I could not speak to the man. Kenshiro had to do all the talking at our introduction.
“My sister,” he said, “enjoys making bows in her spare time. She wishes to make something more difficult: a Qorin-style bow so strong, no man can draw it. Will you help her?”
The bowyer wrinkled his nose at me. Did I smell?
“A bow no man can draw,” he said. “Why do you want to do this thing, child?”
Child. I was seventeen, yet still a child. I grimaced; Kenshiro deftly stepped in.
“Remember, my friend, you speak to Lady Shefali, my little sister. She may be a child, but we don’t like to remind her of it,” he said.
The bowyer huffed. “That does not explain why she wants such a bow.”
Kenshiro grinned. He had an answer ready. “Only the man who can draw it will be able to marry her,” he said.
At this, the bowyer chuckled. He reached to clap me on the shoulder, then thought better of it. “To work, then,” he said. “Can’t have any weak-armed Hokkaran boys stealing you away.”
Two months, it took us, for we could not use birch and bamboo and normal horn. Oh no. We purchased an exotic sort of horn from a merchant recently returned from Ikhtar; we used yew, and not birch. Bamboo was still present, though in smaller amounts, and the bow received a double coating of birch bark to save it from water. For the string, we used bear sinew. Bear sinew. I had to hunt the bear myself, Shizuka; do you have any idea how hard it is to hunt a bear on one’s own?
Oh, do not look at me like that! It is still hard in my condition!
The bowyer complained constantly. “This does not feel right,” he’d say when we added in the sinew. “There’s too much; it’s going to be far too stiff. Ah, but I suppose that is the point.…”
It was difficult for him to make something useless on purpose, I think.
Regardless, the end result was, and still is, the most beautiful bow I’ve ever seen. When it was done, we passed it around the barracks. Not a single soul could budge the string.
Kenshiro clapped when he heard. “Good,” he said, “then I shall not have to marry you to any of them, Shefali-lun. Could you imagine how upset O-Shizuka-shon would be, to lose her closest friend?”
Except the way he said it … He knew. He had to have known, Shizuka. I blushed and cleared my throat.
We resolved to test the bow that night. Baozhai came along to see. The four of us stood in the barracks. Kenshiro dismissed the watchmen for an hour or so—enough time for us to have some practice.
I hefted the thing. It’s heavy, for a bow. At normal shooting distance I stood, far enough away that the target was a bit hard to see.
I took a breath. I no longer had the ring I’d need to draw this bow the normal way. Then again, I didn’t feel much pain anymore; what did it matter if the string cut my fingers?
I drew. It was not easy, but it was not so hard as everyone made it look. Baozhai applauded the second I pulled the string a bit back. I decided to see how long I could hold it at full draw. A long while, it seemed; my shoulder ached and my old scar tugged at my skin, but it was nothing I could not ignore.
Then, the final test.
I loosed.
The arrow moved about as fast as your sword does. I did not see it fly; I only saw the target fall over from the force.
Kenshiro whistled.
“Did it go straight through?” you asked.
I walked over to it, fighting the smile on my lips. Yes, yes, the arrow had gone straight through the target. Only the back third—the fletching, and a bit more—stuck out from the fence. The rest stuck out from the other side.
Kenshiro jogged over. “Look at that!” he said. “Shefali, you must let me try to draw that thing.”
“Absolutely not!” called Baozhai.
“What?” teased my brother. He gestured for me to hand him the bow, and I did. My face hurt from smiling. This was going to be good. Kenshiro could barely draw a normal Qorin bow. Oh, sure, he was older now, but as you came over, I stood next to you and cackled.
“Does he want to lose a finger?” you said.
“I certainly hope not,” said Baozhai. “My husband is in need of all his fingers.”
You shot her a sidelong glance and smirked. “Is he, now?”
Baozhai hid her reddening face behind her fan. I cleared my throat. You winked at me. That did not lessen my secondhand embarrassment.
By then, Kenshiro was waving at us. Each of us drew in a quick, anticipatory breath. He closed his fist around the string and …
It did not move. He tugged and tugged, but the string did
not budge. Soon he began grunting. Then he dug his foot into the ground until there was a small hole. One end of the bow went in. With his legs spread into a triangle, he grabbed the string. This time, all the muscles in his body went into it.
And still, it did not move.
“You’re so strong,” Baozhai called.
“Thank you, my love!” said Kenshiro. At last, he stopped trying. A great gasp left him; beads of sweat trickled down his brow. “I am the strongest man in Xian, you know.”
I picked up the bow and fired another shot.
All through the night, I tested it. The normal range of a Qorin bow is five hundred spans. Most arrows fired from such a distance tend to nick their targets, at best.
Mine was a clean pierce.
We tried seven hundred. We tried eight hundred. Around eight hundred fifty, it seemed, was the bow’s upper limit.
After an hour or so, you and Baozhai retreated to your chambers. Both of you were tired, you said.
“From doing all the work,” Baozhai specified.
“Ah, that’s fair enough,” Kenshiro said. “Shefali-lun and I will enjoy the manly Qorin practice of archery ourselves.”
“I think Lady Barsalyya is the only one doing any archery,” you said. “Do not hurt yourselves.”
My brother and I stood together in the barracks and watched our lovers retire. I remember well the look on his face: his soft features, his distant gaze, his smile innocent as a child’s. It looked silly, I thought.
But I knew I looked the same when I thought of you.
Kenshiro sighed.
“They’re great, aren’t they?” he said.
I could still see you in your peacock robes. Baozhai gifted you a Xianese-style jacket, with a high collar, lined with even more peacock feathers, twinkling under the starlight.
You’d be waiting for me to return. You wouldn’t sleep until you saw me again, for you had to know I was safe.
How strange. The Imperial Niece needed a security blanket.
It’s a job I’ve always been happy to fulfill.
“Yes,” I said. “They are.”
Despite Kenshiro’s boasting, he did not stay up much longer after that. An hour, at most. Just before Last Bell, I led Kenshiro back to his rooms. His arms were so sore, he couldn’t move the screen doors on his own.
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