A Dance of Mist and Fury, page 44
The rigid ceremony of what had become an annual reprieve grated his nerve. His brothers insisting that Syaoran’s presence was an insult to their ways pressured his friend into abstaining from the ride.
Hisa, thankfully, was defiant. Ignoring commentary, she got into her saddle with dignity.
The exchange with the Dareun went on longer than he’d anticipated, addressing each of them rather than Kwan alone. It didn’t matter. Whatever omen, whatever glad news, he’d decided to take up Genji’s advice and accept it rather than to fight it or seek it out. Come what may, a popular human slogan.
The minutes ticked on in his thoughts, anxious to get back and see if she faithfully waited, or took on his intrigue and rode out.
Happily, the latter—though his face stayed stone, feigning a vexation on the matter.
She was easy enough to find. Saburo always knew what direction any of his mares went, no matter their speed. On the flat of a boulder, in a picturesque state. Her smile content, sunlight dancing through the trees on her.
A magpie indeed.
“Hisa.” His smile returned at her jump. While he didn’t mean to startle her, it was a humorous sight, endearing. “You wandered off. I had to come looking for you.”
He was glad that she didn’t barrage him with questions or chastise his scheme, and gladder still when she got riled up in their banter.
“I know you’re a powerful Juneun. But you’re my friend. And I don’t think I’ll ever not worry when my friend is hurt, no matter how powerful they might be.”
Regardless of all else, he looked back with a fondness at the memory. Anyone else would wait around or insist they push on, a silent demand of action. She was different, pleading that he stay still. The reminiscing brought the echo of a feeling, of her small frame trying to shield him from the elements; the softness of her breathing and warmth of her cheek.
He realized how long he lingered on the thought, shaking it away.
Other conversation took place, distracting him.
“Have you decided to accept Juro’s proposal?”
“Hm?”
“You’ve been wearing the dresses he’s sent.”
“Oh...”
Something in her defeated tone grabbed him, causing him to look over at her. His hand loosed its hold on the reins, wandering to her. When he realized it, he stopped, resuming his posture.
“It was muggier, and that one breathed a little more and was easier to move around it so I can attend you, my lord. Not, not that I dislike the one you gave me—it’s my favorite one. But it’s not really suited for working. And I don’t want to damage it.”
“And you don’t mind if the ones Juro sent are damaged?” She looked away with discomfort, gnawing her bottom lip. Paused for thought, he redirected. “If you were to have another, what would you want it to look like?”
She blinked at him, squinting her eyes to read him. Kwan kept what smile he had, tilting his head expectantly.
“I don’t know.”
Brow cocked, he realized she figured out the implication. A discomfort lingered in it. “What if you were to make one?”
“I’m not that good at it, my lord,” laughed Hisa. “But I have been practicing.”
“Supposing you were well practiced. What would you make?”
That did the trick. Her face scrunched with thought. He didn’t need to read her mind to follow; the unladylike contortions told him everything.
“I do like how comfortable the mature fashioned ones are. But I also like how pretty the ones like you gave me are. Either way, neither is very good for being a servant. I’m always afraid that if I move too quickly, they’ll tear, or if I zone out then some part will get caught or get stained. If I were to make something, I think I’d want to make it like your hanboks, my lord. They’re more practical.”
“The pants?”
“I do really like the dresses, but as I said: they’re not the best for being a servant or for work in the village. And if I were skilled enough, I could sew in something decorative. An animal or flowers, maybe.”
A plan began to form in his mind. “And what color would this hanbok be? If you could pick any in the world, and it so happened to be laying around, which?”
A coy and childish look consumed her face, her head tucking into her shoulders. “Pink. Or maybe lavender. But I know an earthen color wouldn’t show as much dirt or stains, and I’m messy enough as it is.”
“It’s poor form for a servant moping the floor to be messy as well, don’t you think?”
“I do try my best. But I guess I get so caught up in trying to make everything else tidy that I forget about my own appearance.” She smiled, wide and laughing.
“Would you keep the jacket of it pleated, or straight?”
“It depends on the season, my lord. I like the pleated look, but it might not be the best for this time of year.”
“And the sleeves?”
“The closer fitted style. The wide sleeves do look handsome on you, my lord; but if I wore that sort, I’d probably get them snagged and ripped.”
“I see. A very practical style.”
“And if I were very skilled, I’d pattern it with peony flowers.”
“Peonies?”
“They’re my favorite. They come in soft colors, and they have so many pretty petals, and the smell—so fragrant!”
“I would have thought hibiscus was your favorite.”
“Hm? Why that one, my lord?”
“Hibiscus means to be gentle. Peonies’ popular meaning is wealth and prosperity.”
“I didn’t know that. Maybe I ought to collect the seeds if I can, and try to grow them in the village, so we can all share in it.”
“It used to be the flower for bravery, but the magnolia is more popular for that meaning now. As well as beauty.”
She didn’t notice his closing words, lost in her own planning.
“Hisa. When we’re alone, you don’t have to refer to me as a lord, if you don’t want to.”
Brought out of her daydream, she blinked at him, quizzical.
“A friend shouldn’t have to be so formal, especially when no one else is around.”
“I suppose,” said Hisa, a shy giddiness to her tone.
Quiet.
Bird songs, and the breath of the wind taking up the wordlessness in a distant, beautiful choir.
“But I think wisteria suits you more.”
“Wisteria? Why’s that?”
“Wisteria flowers mean someone who is welcoming and steadfast.”
Hisa laughed. “Lord Kwan has a high opinion of me.”
Kwan shifted his gaze down and to the side.
“Which flower means the person has a big imagination?”
He looked back to her, taking in her eager expression. “Lupines, I think.”
“Then, when I’m skilled enough, I’ll make one with peonies, and one with lupine.”
“Ambitious.”
“What about you, my—?” He quirked a brow at her stumble. “My friend. Do you have a favorite flower?”
Kwan grunted his amusement. “I never thought about it.”
“In all your centuries, you never thought about a favorite animal or a favorite flower?”
Kwan quietly reveled in her teasing. There was an innocence to it, in lieu of the facetiousness common elsewhere. “Sunflowers.”
Hisa stopped her words before a single one sounded, mouth open and eyes darting into a different direction as her expression faltered.
“Were you going to say something?”
“I was thinking, then I’ll make one for you with sunflowers. But, men don’t usually wear something with flowers on it.”
“Oh? You think I would refuse a thoughtful gift from my friend after she worked so hard on it?”
A shy and mischievous smile replaced her previous expression.
Quiet.
“What do sunflowers mean?”
Kwan looked back at her, soaking in her curious stare. “They can mean a lot of things. Radiance, recovery, hope, respect... a passionate love...” He slowed his words, watching her face twist with imagination. “Happiness, cheer, loyalty, adoration, and longevity. To name a few.”
“That sounded like a lot more than a few.”
“Warmth, strength, appreciation.”
Hisa laughed.
“Thankfulness, peace, good fortune, and luck.”
“Are there anymore?” teased Hisa.
“Most likely, but I don’t know them.”
Her smile grew, losing its mischief and turning up her cheeks. “It’s so strange to think how one thing could have so many meanings. In the village, one of the elders would say things like a cloud with a curly end means a big storm is coming. Or that if birds are quiet, it’s an omen of ill fortune—or that death is waiting for someone. But it’s usually one or two meanings.”
“It keeps things simple. Great houses enjoy complexity, and sometimes it can get overwhelming to try understanding what something means. A lot of miscommunication happens that way.”
Chapter 46
Lord Kwan XII
His brothers left the morning after the ride up the mountain.
When you leave for home, I’ll have to invent new ways of coming here. Where I can be without other matters vying for my attention, or pressured to return.
It’d been weeks since he’d said it, summer now ending. In less than two years, it’d be true. The thought kept distracting him, well into the night. Mokryon was a half year away, yet preparations needed to begin and missives sent before the snows came to slow everything. Tax and tribute needed collecting, payments needed distributing, reports on the welfare of his lands—it all piled up.
He’d been too ambitious in agreeing to court, and too lax in the half century prior. So much so, that he’d forgotten the nightmare that it was. Likewise, it’d been even longer since he’d brought a household as a guest. It was easier to go alone, and made for a show of strength.
With the belief that Gumiho died, the display wasn’t needed. He still fretted. What was she up to? The last assault razed her army—no Kurai, sensible or not, would ally with her—or did it only appear that way? Between silky words, vexing beauty, and potent essence, she’d amassed a militia loyal to her; fox magic to that degree could easily manipulate an incautious mind to mistake illusions for something whole.
She’d noticed a waning in protection since the death of the doe, and her trespass could’ve spelled his death. Why hadn’t she? For sheer sport?
Before, he went out of his way to sift her out or lure her in. Doing so again was reckless, pointless even.
Focus.
He already decided to accept whatever awaits, and temper himself with the result. There was his master’s hosting to consider, to look forward to.
While he explained it to Hisa, Kwan still worried she couldn’t fully grasp it. She would be his attendant, yes, but also a guest of Genji. There was the rest of his house to consider, and who else to bring.
Hisa’s head bobbed, fighting sleep and reminding him of the hour. “You should go to your room, and rest.”
“I can stay a while longer if you need me to.”
“I plan to turn in after this last missive,” said Kwan, cooing. His ink brush dried with how distracted he’d been. It was all he could think to convince her to take his dismissal.
Vigilant, despite the long spells of silence and boring subject matter. He would miss her. And the thought brought an ache. There was the cuteness of her getting flustered, amplified more when it was matters in the kitchen and something had made a mess of her clothes, face, and hair. She was more a magpie than a hare in those instances.
More, when her imagination did get the better of her and give her an idea, the oversimplicity of it held charm. She’d taken a tea bowl a few days ago, filling it with peach nectar and waiting patiently beside the swing. When asked what she was doing, she merely replied that she was trying to tame them. The butterflies. A fool’s effort, but one he indulged, and sat beside her. If they were tame, she’d said, they’d come close and hold still longer to draw.
Always, compassion was her most prominent feature. He’d caught her on several occasions helping some small thing, victim to hubris. A spider, about to be swatted, was rescued with a vase and page of drawing paper, released to the garden far from the house. In another instance, she patiently untangled a mantis from the silk of an abandoned web, ignoring that it battled against her effort. Any moth or bee trapped in a fountain was scooped out by her. And despite her fear of snakes, she’d trapped one in a jug to take away from the chickens and release outside the wall.
Though the most fascinating was how she supposed she could train Koji to hunt without knowing how to properly do it. In showing her, she hung on his every word. And when things didn’t go as intended, she grew frustrated with herself rather than her pet or her teacher. There was never an excuse made on her part.
He would miss these odd little diversions. He would miss her. From each huff to every laugh, he would miss her.
She’d forgiven his coldness on her arrival, though the memory haunted him with a sense of shame. In any instance that she hid away in the kennels or stable, he felt that he’d somehow failed her, knowing full well that wasn’t true.
What was it about this odd village girl, a human, that he found such fellow feeling?
One of his staff claimed to have sprained her wrist, and it was Hisa who took up her chores without prompting, and checked in. Not a complaint was muttered from the human.
There was all winter before Mokryon. And he’d sent out his request, receiving several answers. Someone to teach her better than he might be able to explain. Of the options, Kwan tried to think of who would be kindest. The obvious choice was from the humblest family. Though, they had a reputation of reckless ambition. The most noteworthy family might see themselves too highly.
Sight bleary, and head aching, he decided to leave the matter for tomorrow and take Syaoran into council in place of Yua.
Yua.
How was she? Had grief consumed her? Had she accepted it? It was too intrusive to write. He’d known it was wrong to prompt Eumeh into marriage so quick after Borsi. There was nothing he could do on that matter. A mutual romance, kept apart by circumstance and kin, only for a tragic end. A princess, and the lowest daughter of a lesser lord. Were they so different?
Questions for another time.
He disrobed, settling into his bed, and blew out the last candle.
Morning brought progress, slow as it was. Syaoran gave his opinion, though he was no substitute for Yua. They didn’t know the applicants as well as she might, and would need to hope for the best with a guess.
“Syaoran,” said Kwan. “Keep a pair of horses ready to leave. When Juro comes, I want you to take Hisa from here for a few days.”
“Meddling again, my lord?” teased Syaoran.
“She’s expressed her discomfort. Juro ignores it. And she’s not in a position to be blunt.”
Syaoran worked his jaw, considering. “Why me?”
“Is there anyone else I can trust? You did spend several days before looking after her, if I recall.”
“That’s an odd way of phrasing it. Trusting someone with Hisa. Does Lord Kwan think someone will harm or abandon his favorite servant?”
Kwan stopped in the midst of a brushstroke, ink slowly bleeding onto the paper. His heart took a sudden, hard beat, birthing a rage that died in the same instant.
“Or, is the master in love with his human girl?”
In controlled movements, Kwan raised his gaze to his fox friend, watching Syaoran’s ears fall flat and his brow bunch.
“Forgive me. It’s the plum wine, my lord. We’ve been at this since morning and it’s after lunch.”
Kwan stared, a slow and wordless blink as he studied Syaoran’s posture.
“I may need a walk, clear out my head, my lord.” He stood, giving a deep bow.
“Syaoran,” called Kwan, stopping him at the door. “Have horses ready. And keep Hisa safe.”
Syaoran turned back, blinking, and gave a guilty look. “Yes, Lord Kwan.”
It was a still a while after the door closed before Kwan looked at the ink blot. Sighing, he set down the brush, crumpling the paper to burn in his hand. He’d need to start over on that one.
Too much required his attention. Yet, Syaoran’s teasing distracted him more than it ought to. His favoritism didn’t go without warrant—the same as when Syaoran and Yua had come into his service. How was this any different? Rumors had spread about him when Yua came into his house, and a few with Syaoran.
With or without the fox’s jibe, gossip would spread, and likely would amplify when he brings her to Tetsuden Castle. He decided then to bring Syaoran as well for punishment, and to observe the evolution of the rumors. Though, that left the matter of his house. Lin proved capable and fierce, but had someone more experienced in tandem. Could she handle the pressure, and keep order? The temptation of trying undermine her by her sex would still linger, even if it didn’t present so potently now.
He shook away the roaming thoughts, returning his attention to the task of narrowing down the applicants. At least to a manageable number where he could send for them and pick one in person.
Minutes after he’d finished, a servant knocked and announced themselves, carrying parcels. Maybe he did spoil her. As he had with every favorite servant since he was a boy. It was the way of things. Rewarding their attentiveness. This was no different.
“Is the courier still here?” Before he finished his words, his brush went to work. Syaoran would need something as well, befitting his position.
“Yes, my lord. He brought quiet the delivery.”
Kwan tied off the letter in simple twine, handing it to his manservant and dismissing him promptly.
A week after Syaoran’s teasing, and it still bothered him. Six girls stood in the courtyard, each dressed the best their families could afford, keen to impress the summons of a high lord and earn the position.
