by Zoe Marriott
“Cup his head with your hand. That’s it,” she said softly.
“He’s heavy,” I blurted out in surprise.
She nodded, smiling. “He is strong.”
One of my fingers brushed the dark pink of the baby’s cheek. My touch left a pale mark that faded after an instant. His skin was so soft, like a cherry blossom.
We sat quietly, Mother’s maid nodding off in the corner. Mother lifted the sleeping baby into her arms while the wakeful one lay in mine. He made little snorting, snuffling noises, and I found myself responding with nonsensical babbling. His little eyes twinkled at me like black pebbles under sunlit water.
“Will Shujin-sama be home soon?”
It was surprisingly hard to tear my eyes from the little face. “I am sure he is close by. We sent messengers as soon as we could. Do not worry.”
A little while later, raised voices and the sounds of horses began to drift up from downstairs, and Mother’s head lifted. Her face, though still pale and tired, suddenly shone.
I thought I knew what was going through her mind. She had produced a healthy male child. An heir. And a spare one, too. This was her moment of supreme triumph. But it would not be complete until Terayama-san arrived.
The outer door banged open, and there were heavy footsteps. Then the inner screen was flung back. Isane woke and came to her feet in a reflexive movement as Terayama-san, dusty and muddy and reeking of horse, entered the room. There was a glow about him, a burning look in his eyes. He didn’t see me. He did not see Isane. His eyes barely touched upon Mother before they went to the babies.
“They spoke the truth. . . .” he said. “Two, and both boys. The Moon herself blesses my house. Leave us.”
I exchanged a look with Isane. Presumably that last part was aimed at us. I carefully laid the little child down on the futon by my mother’s leg and bowed to Terayama-san, who ignored me — thankfully. Then I followed Isane from the room.
As Isane drew the screen closed behind us, I was overcome with a wave of tiredness. I had not eaten or rested for half a day, and while my ordeal was nothing, I was sure, compared to my mother’s, it had still left me weak and shaky. I just wanted to sit for a little while in silence, alone. Maybe when Terayama-san was done with his paternal gloat, I would have the chance to hold my other brother.
I waved away Isane’s concerned look as I slid down onto the pillows by the little tea table, leaning my elbows on it. Isane hovered over me for a moment, then went reluctantly to the door, closing it behind her as she left.
The evening darkness was slipping over the walls, and the one lamp still burning in this room provided only a faint glow. Terayama-san and Mother were talking — I could not focus on the words — and I could hear the gentle shushing of the trees outside. I let my head fall down into my hands, a soundless yawn closing my eyes . . .
“Don’t say any more!”
I started awake at the sudden exclamation from the other room. It was my mother’s voice, choked with tears.
“Hush, Yukiko. Do you want the whole house to hear?” The words were stern, but Terayama-san’s voice was low and pleading.
“How did you expect me to react, Ryoichi? How am I supposed to feel? I can’t look at you!”
“Why not? Both our fondest wishes have come true. Don’t hurt me by feigning ignorance now, my love. You knew. You knew when you took my hand that day, with Daisuke’s blood not yet dry.”
I flinched, my own hands covering my mouth.
“You’re wrong.” A sob. “I . . . I didn’t. I told myself it was obscene to even think it. I thought it was a nightmare, nothing more than a sick fancy brought on by grief. I never really believed —”
“You’re lying. To yourself as well as me.” Terayama-san sounded weary. “You did not grieve for him. Does a grieving wife share the bed of her husband’s friend just days after she is widowed? You loved me, not him. You wanted me.”
“Of course I did!” Fierce now, tears gone.
A hot numbness suffused my body. My skin seemed to hum, the blood beating beneath it as if it sought escape.
“I loved you for years, hopelessly, faithfully,” she said. “That does not mean I did not care for him. I would never have betrayed him.”
“I know that. I know, my love. You could never have hurt him. That was why it fell to me. I could not see you suffer anymore. I could not suffer myself. We would both have been miserable all our lives.”
“Rather that than . . . than what you did. And what of Suzume? She nearly died. My child, Ryoichi!”
“I never meant to put her in danger. I swear to you. I had no idea that my information to the Moon Prince would warrant such an extreme response. I only thought they would arrest him, and when he was gone, you could obtain a divorce. You know they give the wives of traitors that option — if the wives themselves are not implicated. I took care to stress your innocence and that of the rest of the household. I never meant to bring death there.”
My breath rasped and caught in my chest, painfully loud. I was surprised they did not hear.
“You killed him, as surely as if you had held the sword yourself,” she said.
“I am sorry, Yukiko, but only for the sorrow it has caused you. I cannot be sorry for what I did. Look at our sons. Look at our children’s faces. They would never have been born. Are their two innocent lives not worth Daisuke’s sacrifice?”
“I — I do not know. Why did you tell me all this now? Now of all times? I cannot think.”
“You do not need to think.” There was a trace of arrogance in his voice now. “It is too late. I did everything — all of this — for you, to give you the life you dreamed about and wished for. The life you whispered about to me when you and I were alone together.”
He paused for a second, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft, not accusing but gently chiding, the tone of voice one would use with a child. “You are the one who made the mistake, Yukiko. You are the one who chose Daisuke, when it should have been me. All I did was to set that right, to make things as they should always have been. You are happy now, are you not? You have everything you ever dreamed of. You are my wife. The mother of my sons. Think about what would happen to our life if this truth came out. Think what would happen to our sons. Think what would happen to you. Do you want that?”
Silence. In my mind, I saw her shaking her head.
“Good.” The word was satisfied, and final. “We need never speak of it again. Understand, my dear, that I did not tell you this to distress you. I had to know that we shared the burden equally. I had to know you accepted that you were truly mine.”
There was another silence. Then Terayama-san spoke again. “Come, now. Look at me. Do you forgive me? Do you still love me?”
One of the babies let out a plaintive mewl.
Her voice broke on the words: “I could never stop loving you.”
Daisuke’s blood . . .
A sick fancy . . .
I could never stop loving you . . .
Father.
Aimi.
I barely noticed the outer door open. I barely heard Mai’s voice.
“Here you are, Nakamura-sama.”
I could not look at her. My eyes could not leave the thin shield of paper and wood that separated me from the man who had murdered my father.
“Nakamura-sama? What is wrong?”
The inner screen flew back with enough force to echo through the room. Terayama-san stood there, his eyes, riveted on me, almost bulging out of his head. Behind him, my mother leaned forward, openmouthed with horror. Her hands hovered protectively over the babies lying on either side of her.
No one moved.
“T-Terayama-sama?”
Mai’s tentative voice broke the stillness.
Terayama-san’s fingers twitched toward the long knife at his thigh. Mother’s voice rose in a wail of denial as I jumped up and ran.
It was the wrong thing to do. I knew it, even as instinct moved me. My brain screamed at me to be still,
but my legs reacted before I gave them leave, pushing me out from under the table and turning me to the door. I had no choice.
He would follow. I knew it. Terayama-san was a hunter, and from the moment he had seen me on the other side of that screen, I was his prey.
He would chase me.
He would catch me.
He would never stop until I was dead.
He was shouting, telling Mai to stay in the room. I cleared the doorway and was halfway down the corridor before he had finished speaking. The corridor was dark; the lamps had not yet been lit. My sock-clad feet made no sound on the tatami mats, but my long sleeves flapped with the movement of my arms, making a noise like the frantic beating of birds’ wings.
The outer screen to my mother’s rooms slammed shut behind me, and footfalls thundered across the floor. It was like being in a dream, except that I was sweating, my heart jumping with fear. No nightmare had ever terrified me like this.
I rounded the corner and flung myself into an alcove, tucking my body into the gap between the wall and a tall arrangement of spiny black branches and white flowers.
I reached for the threads of an illusion — a familiar one, of shadows and nothingness. Frantically I wrapped it around myself, weaving it so thickly that my own vision went dim and gray. It was clumsy, but I did not have time to pick it apart and begin again.
Terayama-san came into view, his posture tense and ready, leaning forward as if in anticipation. He was not holding a weapon. Not yet. There at the corner, not a full arm’s reach from me, he stopped. His eyes searched the corridor ahead, and then he turned back to look behind him.
“I know you’re here. Come out.”
The gentle coaxing tone, the way his hands flexed and clenched, sent a sickening quiver through me. I bit down on my lip to hold in the whimper that wanted to escape.
“Little Suzu-chan, don’t hide. Answer me. I don’t want to get angry with you.”
He turned, his gaze tracking slowly over the twilight shadows of the corridor.
I had used this weaving a dozen times and no one had ever pierced it. No one. He could not find me, because I was not there to be found.
Why didn’t he walk away?
Why did he stand there still?
People see what they wish to see.
Terayama-san knew me. He knew my smell, the sound of my breathing, the feel of my presence. He knew I must be somewhere in this corridor. People saw what they wished to see — and right now, Terayama-san wished to see me.
His gaze came back to the alcove. The little space where the shadows were ever so slightly too dense and the flower arrangement was ever so slightly askew. The only place where a small, frightened girl might be able to duck out of sight.
He took a step closer, eyes narrowing. They did not focus on me yet, but one more step and —
“Terayama-sama?”
Lamplight suddenly fell on Terayama-san’s back. For a dizzy moment, I thought, She’s come — Mother has come to save me.
But the voice was male, the tone that of a servant. Terayama-san had told Mother to stay in her room. I should have known better than to believe, even for an instant, that she would disobey him. Not now that she knew — by his own admission — what he was capable of.
She had made her choice.
Terayama-san jerked around irritably. “What, Shiro?”
“Lord, it is dark. Are you well? Do you wish me to bring you another lamp?”
“For the Moon’s sake, stop bothering me. Get away — get out of my sight!”
As the roar left his mouth, he turned his back to me. I darted out of the alcove. His head snapped around and he reached out, his fingers closing on the trailing edge of my illusion as I pulled away. The mantle of shadows shredded under his touch like smoke, and he staggered, knocking the vase from its pedestal and sending flowers and branches flying across the mats.
“Terayama-sama!” The servant stepped forward and I was gone, turning the corner and leaving them behind.
A female servant folding cloths at the top of the stairs gasped and clutched at her chest as I flew past: a blot of shadow, moving as no shadow could.
I scrambled down the stairs. Above and behind me I could hear Terayama-san’s voice raised in anger, and I raced for the door. I did not know where I was going or how I could hide, but I did know that it was dark outside, and darkness was shelter.
The garden was heavy with the perfume of night-blooming jasmine, spread out before me in a tessellation of silver and purple shadows. I rippled through them, leaping from stepping-stone to soft moss, avoiding the gravel, with its telltale crunch. What was the use of illusion if you gave yourself away with noise?
What was the use of my illusions at all?
Terayama-san had seen through them. He would find me. I had to get away.
But where? This was his land, and beyond it lay a vast city where I knew no one. I had the clothes I stood in and the few baubles of jewelry that I was wearing. I didn’t even have shoes. Panic squeezed at my throat like a vicious hand. Like Terayama-san’s hand.
I stumbled to a halt near the kitchen that was tucked away at the very back of the house. Lost in my panic, I had almost walked right through the doorway. I drew my weaving more tightly around me, but the brick wall was warm and I was so cold. I let myself stop for a moment, gasping, newly aware of the commotion coming from the house.
Terayama-san would be making up his story by now. He would be telling the servants that I was ill, or mad, so that he could send them out to hunt for me. The only other person who knew the truth was Mother, and she would never contradict him.
An overwhelming surge of anger crashed through me, bursting in my head and chest and limbs until I stood up straight, vibrating with it. My body still trembled, but the fear — that fear which had choked me for so long — was gone.
They had done this to me. They were liars, traitors, cowards, and murderers, and yet I was running from them. They had killed my father. They had killed my cousin, the sister of my heart. They had taken everything — everything — I loved from me.
Why had I run?
What did I have left to lose?
I knew then that I would die that night. I did not care. I would die, but I would make them suffer first. I dropped to my knees, scrabbling in the dirt of the herb garden for the sharp fragments of stone that edged the borders. I would have used anything. Any weapon was good enough. I felt as if I could tear out my enemy’s throat with my teeth, if only I could get close enough.
I would wait, here in the dark, hidden from everyone. The only one who could see me was Terayama-san. He would find me, and when he did, I would not run. I would not give him the satisfaction. I would let my weaving fall, and I would scream out the truth for everyone to hear. When he reached for me, I would put out his eyes.
For my father. For Aimi. For myself. For all of us.
Even when they killed me, and even if they all thought me mad, they would still hear the truth. Maybe they would wonder, and rumors would start. Or maybe they would all be too afraid to talk. It didn’t matter. I would see him bleed. I would hear him scream. My face would be the last thing he would ever see. Just this once, Terayama’s prey would turn on him.
Something moved in the kitchen doorway. I whirled, clutching a sharp lump of rock in each hand.
“Little Mistress?”
I heard doors opening not far away, and saw light spilling out into the garden. They were coming. I twitched, but did not move.
“It is you under there, Little Mistress? Your weavings have grown powerful since you visited me last.”
Oh, no. I let the shadow illusion drop as I stepped toward him. “Youta,” I said urgently, low voiced. “Get back inside. It isn’t safe here now.”
His head went back a little. “Why is it not safe? Why are you holding those rocks as if you thought they were knives?”
“Youta, go away. I do not want you in this fight.”
The voices and the lights
were moving. Not in this direction yet — they were heading toward the trees — but it was only a matter of time.
“Fight? Who are you intending to fight?”
I growled with impatience. “Terayama-san! I can’t escape him, so I must face him.”
“You want to fight him? He will kill you!” His voice shook. It was the most upset I had ever heard him, and part of me was sorry, but it was too late now.
“Listen to me: I know what I must do, and I am not afraid.” I turned from him to look at the lights bobbing between the trees. “Go inside before he catches you out here with me.”
A hand clamped over my mouth and an arm as thick and strong as a tree branch wrapped around my middle. The rocks dropped from my fingers as I struggled, trying to pry Youta off without hurting him. His breath barked in my ear, and I could hear the strain in his voice as he whispered, “Be still. If you do not wish them to find us together, be quiet. I will not let you go.”
He dragged me into the kitchen, where the muted glow of the fires showed blanket-wrapped forms huddled in sleep. There was an open door to the right, and Youta pushed me inside. There were no fires within — only the moonlight falling through a row of small, high windows showed that we were in a storage space filled with barrels and firewood. Youta finally took his hand from my mouth as he turned to carefully pull the door closed behind us.
“How dare you!” I said, shoving myself away from him. “What right have you to interfere?”
“As much right as anyone in the world and more, you foolish girl,” he said, leaning against the door. “I did not save your life so that you could waste it like this.”
“Terayama-san betrayed my father and committed treason against the Moon Prince. He knows I have discovered it. He cannot let me live. Why should I not die with honor, fighting?”
Youta blanched, then shook his head. “He has not caught you yet! I can smuggle you away. He cannot search the whole city for you, not if he wishes to keep his secrets.”
“Then what? Where can I go? Shall I beg on the streets? Sell myself to a brothel? I have no one to turn to.”
“You have me.”