A Dance of Mist and Fury, page 78
“You were always better at finding fruit trees,” said Fumei, seeming in slightly better spirits than she had the last time I saw her. A sadness lingered in her, both of us trying not to churn it up.
“I never had much choice,” I said, smiling for her. “I had to come back with something when I went into the forest.”
“That’s true,” said Fumei. “I had sisters helping me.” Quiet hung, waiting for Fumei to say something evidently on her mind. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you back then. You were just a child taking on so much.”
I shook my head with a light laugh. “You were a child too. And your friendship was enough. It made me feel like I wasn’t so strange or alone. Then...” my thoughts trailed into somberness. “When you needed me, I wasn’t here.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault either.” Awkwardness thickened the air. “I brought something else for you.” I fished out the moonstone pendent. “It was blessed by a Juneun with a spell of protection.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Fumei, marveling. “Did your Juneun bless it?”
“No. But a close friend of his did. Not all the Juneun are kind, the same as humans. One of them was singling me out for his frustration, so I was given this. But I want you to have it.”
“Me? But, what if...”
“Kwan wouldn’t let it happen. And I’m not the same scared little girl I was back then.”
Fumei stared at me, slowly bringing her gaze to admire the pendent again. “I wish I was as brave as you.”
“You came up to try and see if I was alright. More than once. And Raeden told me how there were more boars that year on top of everything else. You are brave, Fumei.”
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
I took her hand. “That’s not true.”
She looked at me.
“There were lots of times where I thought I wasn’t brave at all. But I think it was that I just needed a break from being strong all the time.”
She forced on a weak smile.
“You’ll find your courage again. I know it.”
A few days of sun, breaking the monsoons, I took the day to breathe and pause in my own working to settle things for my family. Set up on a soft slope, I took my charcoal and canvas to draw out something that I could later paint. After a long winter of weaving, I worried my hand might’ve forgotten how to sketch.
Raeden played with the pup, which he’d named Satsu, continuing to train her with high praise. Hisato disagreed on the name, but the pup decided to respond only to her favorite. Though, that might’ve been more to do with Raeden’s voice than the name itself. He’d become immediately attached to her, devoting every hour he couldn’t leave to hunt or labor the fields in training her, needing to be pressed into practicing his reading from Kenta.
When my back began to stiffen, I stopped my drawing, looking over my progress and grimacing at where I’d made too many mistakes. As much as I tried to correct them, they left unsightly scars on the canvas.
Calling for Koji—having chased at some wild thing—I waited and stretched, basking in the bright sun and muggy air. When I spotted him trotting over, he held a wild duck in his mouth, head held high with pride. The thing wasn’t dead or badly hurt. Something we could maybe tame and keep at the house for eggs (and meat if times were dire). It took a bit of convincing with the poor thing quacking as I tried to coax Koji into giving me the duck, but he eventually let go.
It would be a while before I took my canvas out again. I needed paint, and would have to wait for the merchants. And probably for the best. The mare I’d purchased was in labor, with Saburo standing guard. It was still early into summer, and I hadn’t expected the foal until closer to the solstice.
Hurried, I found a place to hold the duck, giving it radish leaves to occupy it while I went to the mare. An experienced mother, she didn’t need any help, and produced a pretty filly, gray and dappled with white. Both of them catching their breath, she encouraged it to stand and take its first steps. I awed at how strong and capable the newborn was so soon into life.
Excited, I took off to tell Lan and get his thoughts on the baby’s health. A good thing of it. He advised I bury the placenta and any afterbirth to discourage predators from the smell. Something I wouldn’t have thought of. He’d said she needed a name to seal in the luck.
Looking at the black fuzz of hair she had for a mane and on her little tail, and the snow pattern on her gray coat, it seemed obvious what I ought to call her. Yuki.
While Lan said she looked in good health, as did the mare, I still worried about some wild beast coming, and slept outside with them that first night, Koji beside me. Not every night. Sharing my frets with my brothers, we formed a rotation of who would sleep out there on clear nights, since it was unlikely anything would be out if it rained.
It was little after a week when I heard a ruckus. The night started with a deluge, but must’ve cleared up sometime after. Koji roused, barking and racing me to the door. In the dark, I grabbed whatever my hand felt might help scare off the source of the noise, and I threw open the door. Koji wasted no time, like a bolt of lightning, he sped off. Catching up, I could make out that he wrestled with something. Something big.
With a shriek, I swung, the clang of it on the ground told me I’d grabbed a shovel, and that I’d missed completely. Then there was swearing. A man, I realized. A thief!
Saburo was on him as well, snorting and rearing up. A rope hung loose around the stallion’s neck.
My brothers arrived, with axes and arrows, surrounding and chiding. Koji, however, wouldn’t release the stranger’s arm, wrestling him to the ground again as he cursed and swore. My father came out, quick as his joints would allow, bringing a lantern.
I recognized the man immediately. He’d sold me the mare in the city. Angry, I chewed him out in fierce tones. Though, we didn’t quite know what else to do with him. Kenta bid me to go back inside with our father, promising he would handle it. While I didn’t know what he was planning, he said it in the way that made me believe him—the way that meant he’d keep his promise to the fullest.
Raeden was the first to come inside an hour later, bursting into my room and looking pale. “It’s not true, is it?”
“What?” I looked up from stroking through Koji’s coat.
He marched over, grabbing my shoulders. “You’re not really going back to marry that Juneun, are you?”
I blinked, tired and missing context.
“Kenta told the thief he was stealing a horse that belonged to the bride of the Juneun lord on the mountain. He was just saying that as a threat, right? You’re not actually going back to the man that imprisoned you.”
It took a moment, but my mind caught up, and my heart was touched. Kenta really would support my decision. With a soft smile, I answered. “I am.”
“Hisa—”
“Don’t you remember when you snuck in?” I said, keeping my voice hushed to avoid father hearing us. “I said he wasn’t the sort to use and abuse me. And he never did. I served out the sentence for poaching, and was let go as soon as time was up. He’s a good man, and I love him. And he loves me.”
Raeden matched my volume. “If he loves you, why didn’t he let you go sooner?”
I sighed. “He explained that we had to see the sentencing out once it was given. Otherwise, there’d be consequences by the other lords. It wasn’t a matter of keeping me at a whim, but of showing he didn’t hold justice only when it suited him.” Reading his face, I tried to better explain. “It’s difficult to understand how lords do things. And more so when they’re Juneun. But there’s an order and a logic to it. If the man who forced himself on Fumei was imprisoned, would you be happy that he was let go simply because the lord liked him?”
“That’s—”
“If that thief had stolen Saburo and the other horses, would you be okay with relaxed justice? Or is it different only because I’m your sister?”
I could see he was lost for words, partly startled by my assertiveness in the matter.
“I know what it looks like from an outside perspective, but I do love him,” I said, my tone gentle.
Koji leaned against me, yawning a high-pitched complaint.
“He’s kind to me,” I went on, stealing a look to the thread on my finger. “When we talk to each other, I don’t feel inadequate or lesser. I’m just a person talking to a person. When I confessed that I couldn’t read, he taught me. No judgement on my poor upbringing. He simply offered if I wanted to learn. If there was something I wanted to do, he didn’t stop me. I improved so much in my skillset. And if I got stuck, he did his best to help me. And when other Juneun harassed me, looked down on me, he protected me. It’s not a perfect romance, but we keep trying to be better for each other. That’s all I can ask.”
Raeden scoffed, turning away. “You belong here, with humans.”
“To what end?” I asked. “I’m not a beauty, or clever. When those rumors spread about me, what chance did I have, really, to belong here?” I went on before he could speak. “I’m not marrying him out of desperation. If I went far enough away, as I am now, I might have a husband. But likely not one so patient and kind with me.”
I understood his concern. It was the same with all of my family. All I could do was hope I’d explain things well enough to change their opinions.
Chapter 90
Lord Kwan XXIV
Absent minded, Kwan brushed his thumb over the carved relief of the jade pendent in a slow metronome. In trying to clear his head from the annual reports and fretting over the upcoming court, he walked the veranda, stopping where he’d once spent endless hours in her company as she doodled something of passion. Part of him suggested he rearrange the gardens to entertain the guests with new aesthetic. But he didn’t have the conviction to make drastic changes while Hisa was away. The thought that it might sadden her, even a little, prevented his impulse.
Staring out, his mind adrift, he watched the butterflies conduct their dances over the flowers. None of them without a partner. He sat, making a gesture and waiting with an open palm for his flute to arrive. Not so much as a rumor of Gumiho. Maybe he’d done it.
Going through practices, trying to play from memory, he thought about what he’d do for leisure. If she was gone, he’d have more of it. Hisa, undoubtedly, would be scribbling away or putting something together, unable to stay idle. Refreshing old skills of his own wouldn’t be such a bad idea, and would keep in her company.
He paused, thinking of what songs she’d like. Would she know which were love songs and which were referencing folklore? A lullaby, perhaps. In any case, he fast found that he no longer had them memorized, and would need the sheet notes.
Searching for it, he’d picked up a sketch book accidentally sorted into his things. One of Hisa’s. Rather than continue his search, he browsed it. Noting the slow improvement as he progressed through the pages. It brought a hint of a smile to his face. Always, she tried to get better on whatever she set herself to do. How rare a trait that was.
Unable to help himself, he brought out her other sketch books to look through. Humans seemed to apprentice not for improvement on a passion, but set on an income. Juneun improved merely because it was expected of them in their long lives, and not for a love of it. At least, that’d been his experience.
“Does Hisa know you have those, my lord?” asked Syaoran, teasing at the thresh of the open door.
Kwan looked at him, stolen from his reminiscing. He’d come to the page where he’d shown her a simple technique, and her attempts to copy.
Syaoran held up a small note. “Your brother’s seal.”
Kwan stretched out his hand, letting the note glide to him. By the size and the seal, he’d guessed at the content of the letter. “Will you insist on hiding yourself away this time?”
“If it can be helped,” said Syaoran.
The table flew past Kwan to smash against the wall behind him. Unbothered, he sipped at the peach wine in his hand.
“Of all the foolhardy things!” roared Seong. “Was it not humiliation enough to whore her and parade her around? You intend to marry that girl? A human‽”
The discussion came to the climax after only twenty minutes. In an attempt to prevent his decision, Feng went to his brothers to reveal his intention. It seemed a pleasure for each of them to destroy his home in their fits.
“Humiliation to who?”
In a flash, Seong had him out of his seat and pinned to the wall. Kwan flinched upon impact, but otherwise kept stoic.
“It was my mistake before doing nothing when you declared yourself to that fox-devil. Now you mean to pledge yourself to a lowlier creature? To spite our family?”
“Since when is my intimacy the concern of my brothers?” said Kwan, deliberately avoiding Seong’s meaning.
“Do I look entertained by your antics?” growled Seong.
Yuz stepped in, coaxing them to part. “Kwan surely knows his mistake and will correct it. I’d like to have all my brothers at my wedding and civil.”
Seong shifted his gaze.
“I do not consider my proposal a mistake,” said Kwan, defiant.
Seong pressing in, emphasizing his strength on his younger brother. “I won’t endure this a second time.”
“You are welcome to ignore,” said Kwan.
“If you will not break off this ridiculous engagement,” said Seong, giving a threatening growl, “I will ensure that she does.”
In a flash, a scowl consumed Kwan’s face. He pushed off, exchanging blows. Seong drew his sword, forcing Kwan to fall into defensive motions. Yuz, calling out, stepped between, giving one precious second needed for Bird Song to come to Kwan’s hand for a counter. It caught the eldest off guard, perhaps not expecting such ferocity. Thrown aside, sword drawn, Yuz couldn’t make a safe interception in the lightning of their spar.
The clashing of steel, and the war cry of thrush whistles cutting the air, echoed. The bones of his house shook with every collision—the speed of which might bring it down. Kwan didn’t care, meeting his brother’s equal abandon. When opportunity presented, he stalled with the casting of white thread and kicked at Seong’s shin, bringing him to his back, Bird Song at his neck.
“If you touch her,” growled Kwan, breath heavy, “I will not perceive you as my brother.”
Yuz tried to remove his younger brother. Kwan shove him off.
“All of this,” said Seong, matching Kwan’s tone, “for a human beggar?”
“All of this,” said Kwan, “for my wife.”
Seong measured, but didn’t relent his sneer. “For a Tiger to fall so low. It wasn’t enough you spend your days fraternizing with Kurai and bedding humans. Now you pledge yourself to a common hare of a woman.”
Yuz took his stance, readying to launch if needed.
“A magpie,” countered Kwan. “Better a love and fleeting happiness, than an eon of dissatisfaction for the sake of convenience.”
“You’ll be lucky to count fifty-years of your fleeting happiness,” snapped Seong.
“Think it through,” said Yuz, attempting to reason. “Such a short life will cause instability to your house.”
Taking his time, and reining himself in, Kwan answered. “A life alone has been a source of instability. At the very least, I will choose my downfall.”
“You are choosing a human,” snapped Seong, “over your own brothers. Your family. Your kin.”
“I am choosing a sincere love,” said Kwan, even. “Rather than jealousy.”
The show of strength kept on until Yuz and Seong rode through the moon gate in the following day. More magic used, to maintain the façade, repairing the damages. At least, as much as could be through magical means. Tempers cooled, wounds healed, Kwan collapsed in his room.
“My lord!” Uno rushed to him, panicked and calling for Syaoran.
Absent, and feeling himself wane, Kwan asked for Hisa. To be at his side during his recovery, as she’d always been since discovering his secret.
“She’s still with her family, my lord,” said Uno.
Syaoran hurried to help lift him. “Uno, bring the ginseng tea up.”
She nodded, acting without hesitation as Syaoran carried Kwan to his bed for rest.
“Where did you end up hiding?” asked Kwan in an attempt to tease.
“Between the walls,” said Syaoran. “It’s become a great deal more pleasant there in recent years. There’s a mural now. And a swing. Things to while the time.”
“Uno?”
“I’d lost track of her,” admitted Syaoran. He stayed beside Kwan with the tea delivered, dismissing Uno to go as she pleased. “What was the cause for this visit?”
“An objection to Hisa,” answered Kwan, casual. He stole a glance to the thread on his finger.
Syaoran gave a look of apology. “As much as I like Hisa, I can’t say I blame them.” He went on, ignoring Kwan’s sharp watch. “Having a lady for so short a time, and to grieve the loss after, there’d be displacement among the staff. For her household. I know it’s only Uno, for now, and Hisa likely wouldn’t bring on more, but they don’t know her like that. Looking at Lord Genji, after Lady Isa passed, the disorientation alone strengthened the prejudice. And to not have an heir brings more concerns. Even if he’d had only one daughter, it’d eased the tensions and uncertainty.”
“Genji is perfectly capable of selecting an heir without natural born children,” said Kwan.
“That’s not the comfort you think it is,” laughed Syaoran. “Unless he picks someone whose lands border his, it’s a difficult balance. Maybe impossible. And choosing a neighbor may lead to a hoarding of power.”
Kwan turned his head to his friend then. “I have no heirs. What should happen to Inori?”
Syaoran quirked a brow. “It’d go to your younger brother.”
“If he fell with me?”
“I don’t know,” said Syaoran. “To Beom, probably.”
