Find Me, page 6
“He disinherited me, actually.” He held Ayame’s gaze and studied her, as if trying to weigh her worth. “When he was ill, he wrote a letter to the emperor trying to have his lands and title transferred to one of his vassal’s sons whom he claimed to have adopted.”
Ayame didn’t suppose this was a thing he spoke with just anyone. He was extending her a lot of trust, but she still couldn’t tell him who or what she was—no matter how tempting. A coward, she wouldn’t even tell him she was carrying his child. A moon or two and it would be in plain sight, but she didn’t want to break such news in Sunlit City. She was afraid he’d suspect infidelity, although she’d done nothing wrong.
She remained quiet instead, lacing her fingers through his and watching the water drip down both their skins.
“I know because Tamaki told me in one of her letters,” he continued. “She used to write me poetry that only I could decipher. It was a game we used to play when we were children, and I was tutoring her in memorizing her kanji.”
“It reached the emperor, then?” Ayame asked.
“It did,” he said. “But Tamaki persuaded the emperor that the Ishii was too significant of a clan to be handed off to a nobody with unknown loyalty. She used to hold much sway over Blue Dragon before Hissing Blade ruined her reputation by claiming Sora. The emperor trusts the prince above all. That’s a mistake and everyone knows so except for him.” He frowned.
Ayame rose to her knees and took his face in her hands. The tension between his brows eased as he lifted his gaze to her, his eyes swelling in wonderment. Each time he saw her naked, he acted as if it was a new thing he discovered.
His hands dipped in the water, then glided up her waist as their lips inched closer. She didn’t kiss him. Rather, she found his length and gripped around the girth. He leaned back against the wooden wall of the tub, tipping his head back.
“Would you marry an old man, Lady Ayame?” he whispered.
“No.” She kissed him down his neck as she stroked him. “I don’t want to manage Moonlight or be left behind when you travel. A fake priestess suits me fine.”
He laughed then, which came out mixed with his moan, and Ayame breathed in both as her mouth found his.
seven
For Father
Both Ayame and the fox spirit sleeping on her grumbled when Lord Kyuzo woke Ayame. Whereas Puff rolled off her and curled into an invisible fur ball, Ayame had to try to comply to her lord’s, “Get up, Ayame.”
“Why?” She propped herself up on her elbows. It was dark outside, and Lord Kyuzo had a lantern with him.
He ran his fingers through her short locks, his hand ending under her chin and tipping it up. “I’m being called to the palace, and I want you to come with me.”
“Why?” Her brows knotted and lips pouted. She’d rather not visit the palace of mirrors. “Won’t the prince be there? I thought you didn’t want me near him.”
“True. But I also don’t want to leave you alone. We can’t find Master Grey, and the bujin must accompany me. I’m being told Ono Kenshi is lodging a block from here. You’re not to leave my sight.”
“It’d be an optimal time to tell him Kenshi couldn’t care less about you,” Puff butted in without opening his eyes. “The boy already has the real Lady Ayame. You’re a nobody to the Ono. Don’t go to the evil palace lest the sorceress trap you in a mirror. You’ll end up floating in the abyss for eternity like your treacherous brother.”
“Ayame, are you all right?” he asked because she hadn’t answered him.
“Yes, my lord. Can I wear my priestess robe? I don’t have anything fancy for the palace.”
“You’re a fool.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.” He kissed her forehead, then stepped out to let her get ready.
The Palace of a Thousand Rays had a separate moat within the city and its walls towered to the grey sky sagging low with a promise of snow. By the time they were crossing the arched red bridge it was late morning, gloomy because of the heavy clouds. The moat water was warm and steamed in the winter. Ayame leaned over the railing curiously, but Hiro pulled her back.
“Don’t fall into it. I’ll melt the skin off your bones, Priestess,” he said.
“It’s that hot?” She was doubtful.
“It’s poisoned. Don’t inhale it too much either.”
She quickly backed away from it.
Jester carried the Ishii banner, trailing behind his lord, and led the entourage, a task for the highest ranking bujin but Wraith hadn’t wanted to busy his hands. With Sora, Wraith, Lord Isamu’s son, and everyone else in the middle, Ayame and Hiro were at the tail of the group. The Ishii black flower fluttered on the backs of the haori the men wore, a piece of home that Ayame clutched onto as unreasonable fear threatened to overwhelm her at the sight of the mirrors.
A grand red torii was at the end of the bridge, marking the palace as a sacred place. A carving of a blue dragon wrapped around the wooden gate, and its eyes were made of mirrors, the reflection of all those passing through falling upon them.
She kept her head down as much as possible and blended right into the crowd once through the gates. There were many small buildings in the courtyard, homes of court officials and high-ranking Ryu, she supposed. The palace itself was a sight. She had to tip her head all the way back to see the roof of the seven-tiered structure, a golden dragon holding a blue globe perched over the ledge.
Tied in silk strands, shards of glass mirror dangled from branches of the courtyard trees, and they hung over every entryway like sacred sutras over temple doors. Brown stone walls slightly taller than a standing man ran throughout the courtyard the size of a small district, making it a maze. Proper bujin, not the sentry with straw armor, stood on guard around every corner, and although the palace was always visible over the walls, it took some walking to reach it. They’d be lost in the maze had the imperial servants not shown them the way, which was probably the reason for such a construction.
Except for footsteps on the stone stairs and some servants dressed in colorful silk speaking in hushed voices, the garden in front of the palace was quiescent. A dais with the Ryu banner was set up inside a marquee, and rows of tables were prepared with wine and sweets on the lawn. A type of reception, Ayame supposed, but no one had arrived yet. The Ishii had been called early.
A crisscross of thick pillars and beams and cold stone walls, the castle was dark inside. For a palace of sunrays, the windows let no light in because they were made of mirrors facing out—panels of dull silver on the inside.
Tall white lanterns lighted the way, and in a hall of red ribbed iron walls Lord Kyuzo and Sora were shown up the stairs, while the rest were asked to follow a servant with the most extravagant robe Ayame had ever seen. She would have thought the woman was a noble had she not bowed with every word.
A roofed stage inside a dark hall was the only thing alight and glowing like a lantern. A story of the founding of Nara, Ryu’s divine origin in other words, was enacted on the stage by masked actors with haunting voices. The hall smelled of old wood and incense, and it seeped into everything, even the cushions.
The whole thing was rather odd, and Ayame crawled to Wraith after they were seated and served tea. The orange light from the stage fell on Wraith, clashing with his cold expression.
“Why bother coming here if they won’t allow you to accompany your lord?” she whispered.
He threw an irritated look at her—his usual. “Outside these walls, we are sworn to protect our lord. Inside, it’s the emperor’s will.” He picked up a stone cup and took a long drink.
“What does that mean?”
“Should the emperor will my lord to die, it’s his duty to oblige. Refusal is dishonor, and it’s called treason. In short, Ayame, no one interferes with the will of the emperor, including a bujin defending his lord. Now, please be quiet. Your voice is loud, and you are rude.”
Instead of sitting quietly, Ayame crawled to the back, spotting Hiro’s face among the men. “Where is Hissing Blade? Have you seen him on your way in?” she whispered in his ear.
“The prince doesn’t live here,” he whispered back. Then pressed a finger to his lips, shushing her.
That was good, Ayame supposed. But restless, she fidgeted. The theater was loud, a nuisance noise with bright colors. She wished it would end soon, but she knew the length of the story and it was just beginning.
By the time Ayame stepped out into the courtyard, the faintest light hurt her eyes and she wrinkled her face, covering her eyes with the back of her hand. She’d been in the dark for hours. The bujin too, but they didn’t flinch as they fanned out.
The other lords had arrived, and the courtyard was a market. Ayame looked for Lord Kyuzo, failed in finding him but succeeded in losing the Ishii. She didn’t see a single familiar face as she made her way through the garden of nobles in extravagant layers of silk, the outer robe designed shorter to show the intricate hems of the garments underneath. Perhaps expecting snow, a grand marquee had been erected since she was in the garden a few hours ago.
“Who’s your master?”
Ayame turned and saw a priest with a wine cup. He’d asked her that despite her attire being that of a priestess and not an apprentice. Shrine maidens not traveling often was probably the cause, but she still found it rude.
“Master Grey,” she said, scanning around for the Ishii flower, fifteen needles in a haystack of crests.
“Ah, Yukiyama?” The priest’s face warmed. “How is your master? Still refusing a trip to the capital?”
“Sure.” Ayame sidestepped the old man. When a court official with a large black hat moved, she spotted the Ishii, all standing in a row right at the edge of the marquee—on the other side.
She walked through the marquee toward the Ishii.
“Where were you?” Sora hissed from behind, his grip closing around her elbow. “Father’s looking for you.”
“Where is he?” She looked around, but Sora dragged her and strode toward the bujin.
She had to assume the warrior caste wasn’t allowed in the marquee as bujin of all clans lined around the edges of the grand tent populated by palace servants, head priests of temples, and lords.
Sora and she were making their way through the silk draped crowd, inching toward Wraith, Jester, and the rest when a musical toned theatrical voice announced, “His Imperial Majesty!”
All knees bent, heads bowed, and chatter and music silenced at once. Ayame, whose head wasn’t as bowed as the rest, had an unobstructed sight to the dais and throne. Before Sora pressed her down, she glimpsed a man in a flowing azure garment and a tall warrior behind him cloaked in all white. She imagined the one in white was Hissing Blade, for he had the longest sword she’d ever seen strapped to his back. The length was so great that it would have been impossible to carry on the waist—a fitting name.
Everyone rose at once at the command of the theatrical voice, and men being generally taller than Ayame, she couldn’t see the throne anymore. Then, she was again being ushered by Sora. All right, she got it, she wasn’t supposed to be here.
A man with bright locks, as if the strands were gilded, stepped in their way, a slow smile spreading his lips wide.
“Hello, Sora.” His brows had sharp arches and were gold colored as well.
Ayame stared. It was his hair. That was an eccentric color as if someone had worn fox fur on his head. The stranger’s brown eyes flicked to her, found nothing worth gazing upon, then returned to Sora.
“Prince.” Sora bowed briefly, then tugged Ayame.
The prince followed them and barred Sora’s way again. “Running like the pup that you are? Say, where’s the old dog? Learning any new tricks lately?”
Wraith was less than ten yards from them. His face cold, he made no gesture to rescue Sora, confirming in Ayame’s mind that the bujin couldn’t enter the marquee. It could be that they were armed, and the emperor was present. But Sora was armed, and so was the prince.
There were three Ryu princes, and she didn’t think this one was Hissing Blade, but he was baiting Sora to draw his blade. So, instead of minding her affair and going to Wraith, she stayed by Sora. Her hand slipped down and held his sword arm.
“Why did you come back, anyway? Should we expect more treason?” he went on. “I’d like to see you try, really. I think you’re the type to cry for your mother and piss yourself as you die.”
“Most men shit themselves actually,” Ayame said. “Including warriors. When you die, your bowels become loose. How many battles have you seen, Prince?”
“How dare you speak to me?” Appalled, his mouth gaped.
“The gods are above the throne, Honorable Prince.” She pulled on the collar of her priestess’ robe to showcase her status.
The prince’s mouth flapped soundlessly. Sometimes, it was good being an obnoxious woman. There was a certain shock factor to it that silenced rude princes.
“Prince Locks, are you giving my son trouble?” Lord Kyuzo—Ayame’s audacity went soft at the sound of his voice.
“My lord.” She turned and bowed.
“Truths are often troublesome, Lord Kyuzo.” Locks regained his composure.
Polite insults spoken with a smile passed between the lord and the prince. Ayame felt someone watching, and her gaze traveling through the crowd came to rest upon a man in a simple black robe, and a sash that shone like obsidian. He wasn’t watching her, however, his brown eyes with a reddish tint like old blood were on Kyuzo-dono. He didn’t even notice Ayame rudely gawking. She was invisible to him.
“It’s fortunate that you can take a joke, Lord Kyuzo,” she heard Locks say. “I only but teased Tamaki and she went and hung her pretty self from a tree.”
Instinctively, Ayame twisted and reached for where her lord’s hand had been, but he wasn’t Sora. He was far too fast for her. She could only jump in between her lord and the prince after his sword was already slicing through the air—bad idea.
The tip of Kyuzo-dono’s sword grazed across the bridge of Ayame’s nose as Wraith shoved his lord back, wrapping himself around him. Had he not done that, the lord’s blade meant for the prince’s neck, who was taller than Ayame, would have halved her dumb skull for jumping in the way of his strike. Noted, she’d never do that again.
Her foolishness stunned her lord. He sheathed his sword and rushed to her. Wraith turned to face the Ryu bujin dashing toward them, streaming through the shocked crowd like floodwater.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Ayame begged as Kyuzo-dono took her face in his unsteady hands.
“What’s wrong with you? I could have killed you!” he yelled, his hands falling away from her. “Never do that again! Do you hear?”
“I’m sorry.”
Chaos erupted around them as the Ishii bujin clashed with the Ryu. But neither side dared to draw their blade in the presence of the emperor, and the confrontation turned into a tussle, banner poles snapping, tables upturning and the wine and tea utensils flying like the fists.
“Ayame, you gave me the fright of my life,” her lord said. His anger evaporated and he embraced her, perhaps forgetting where they were.
Sensing unease, Ayame’s gaze swung back to the man in the obsidian sash. He hadn’t bothered with the commotion and was as still as a statue, but this time, he was looking at her. A smile she couldn’t read flickered through his face as he nodded to her.
A bang. A small thunder broke the fight. Ayame didn’t know what had made the noise and looked around as Kyuzo-dono pulled her back and placed her behind himself. The emperor had risen. From the distance where Ayame was, she could only see the rippling garment but not his face.
His voice was loud and carried through the marquee. “Enough! Arrest Prince Golden Locks. He insults my honored guest!”
The Ryu that had been in a brawl with the Ishii straightened up at the command of the emperor. With a bow, they apologized and escorted out Locks who laughed the entire time.
“Kyuzo!” the man in the obsidian sash called. One hand leisurely resting on a hilt, the other waved equally carelessly when the lord turned to his voice.
“Let’s go. We’re leaving,” Kyuzo-dono said and stormed out.
Ayame jogged after her lord. He was in a foul mood and Ayame didn’t pester him, but as Sora and the rest of the bujin caught up, she pulled Sora aside and whispered, “Who was that?”
“Who?”
“The one in a black garment who called the lord without his honorifics.”
“Hissing Blade.”
Ayame couldn’t resist the urge to glance back and when she did, she found him looking at her still. She shivered with a feeling of a serpent crawling inside her robe and picked up her pace.
Ikidomari streets were empty with all the clans gathered at the palace. As the Ishii entourage reached the guest house they were staying at, Lord Kyuzo turned suddenly and bowed. The bujin on his heels froze.
“I lost my temper and endangered your lives. I apologize.”
No one said anything, and the awkwardness hung for a long moment, till Jester said, “That Locks is a bastard, my lord. He’s too used to not getting punched in the face. A pretty face too, I bet it’d cave like a ripe persimmon.”
The men grunted in agreement and only when their lord rose from his bow did it occur to them to drop to their knees.
“Ah, get up. These streets are filthy,” Kyuzo-dono said. “We’re done here. Let’s go home. Sora, write a letter to the emperor and let him know we’re leaving.”
“Yes, Honorable Father.”
Relief would wash over Ayame, but for the group of bujin headed toward them.
“What?” Kyuzo-dono asked, looked over his shoulder, saw the men and cursed. “It’s turning out to be a terrible day.”
The alley was narrow, and the men bunched from both sides, leaving a yard between them.
A youth led them, and Robin stepped up to greet him.
“Lord Kyuzo,” said the youth, but he was looking at Robin. “I am Kenshi of Ono.”
