Let the little singer go, ancient one.
Norinaga’s voice inside my head stroked the insistent, frosted edges of the kami’s presence, trying to reform and pour back into me. And then aloud in a harsh whisper, “She cannot be discovered by the foreign god’s priest.”
This one makes the singing ache with loneliness. So sweet. So tender.
They will silence her voice forever.
She must not sing? For all the world like a petulant child. This kami was younger than Whispering Brook, despite the pressure of years underneath the spring.
“Better if we all were silent,” Norinaga purred. Finger by finger he closed one hand along the bare skin of my wrist. With his touch, the cold retreated. The fox general’s insistent, buzzing power swept away the last traces of the retreating kami. Trembling, hollowed-out, I leaned into his grip, eagerly taking in the warmth. Too long locked into place, my knees threatened to buckle.
The front of the procession reached us just as I regained my balance. My gaze took in dyed cotton tabi, past formal black hakama and the paulownia-leaf crest of the Ashikagas into fierce eyes and a terrible, brittle smile.
“Lord Hosokawa, I see you have come to the aid of my errant handmaiden,” my lordling said. Vinegar dripped from the words. “I must offer you thanks.”
I saved you from your own folly, today, Norinaga’s voice again sounded in my head. I clamped my free hand over an ear. Only the kami had spoken that way to me before. I hadn’t known the fox general could, also.
Lord Norinaga nodded, speaking aloud. “The house of Ashikaga is a bit . . . careless with its assets.”
“Of course I must bow to the well-known Hosokawa prowess for keeping safe its wealth.”
This is Norinaga! I wanted to shout. But I could barely speak, weakened from the kami’s indwelling, and now surrounded by priests.
We don’t have to be enemies. Let me help you.
My lordling looked pointedly at where Norinaga held my wrist. Norinaga gave me a little tug, releasing me. But as his fingers released—bitter smoke flavoring the sweetness of spring water on my tongue—words lingered in my mind. I can teach you to sing with the kami without fear. If you come to me, I will answer any question.
Norinaga had said these same words to me before. And they’d been just as tempting then.
Norinaga gave a low bow, chuckling into the collar of his kimono jacket.
“Now, now,” said Lord Yoshikazu, pushing past the black wall of two robed priests. The reek of sweet rice wine accompanied his words. He must have found refreshments after all. “None of your unpleasantness. Yoshinori, this is Hosokawa Katsumoto, the lord who sponsors me in arranging the upcoming Blossom-viewing party we prepare for the Emperor.”
My lordling gave a low bow. “Honored to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise.”
Lord Yoshikazu gave me a searching glance, at odds with his blurry expression, and then started down the stone steps at a rolling, awkward gait. “Come along then, Little Brother. Lord Hosokawa and I will let you in on the details. Join us at the teahouse.”
Norinaga gave another nod and followed after.
Ashikaga waited until the procession of priests passed us by. “Take her home.”
“My lord,” said Uesugi-san. “She can make her way home well enough. This Hosokawa is not who he seems—”
Ashikaga made a chopping gesture. “My father’s cousins pose a danger to my brother’s position, but they are playing nice with this sponsorship. Father bid me support Lord Yoshikazu with this Blossom-viewing party. I must go with them.”
“Hosokawa is Norinaga,” I said, finding my voice.
Ashikaga gripped my chin, forcing me to meet fierce eyes. Anger was a hot pressure on my face. As quickly as the spring kami had flowed in, Ashikaga’s will hollowed out any remaining vestiges of confidence, exposing every raw feeling.
“Then why do I find you two alone, with his hand on you?” The harsh rasp felt like tawashi brush bristles. Startled, flimsy excuses were all I could manage.
“I stumbled on the stairs. He but lent me a hand—”
“A girl so utterly wretched at lying,” Ashikaga said, tugging me up and closer so that my weight rested precariously on the balls of my feet, “should refrain from speaking other than the truth.”
“Norinaga is here in Kyoto!”
My lordling released my chin with a huff of exasperation. “You think you tell the truth. But how can it be so? Hosokawa Katsumoto is a Kyo no Miyako courtier, not a general. And he looks nothing like Norinaga.”
“Still, it is him,” I smoothed my disheveled robe. Just a moment was all I needed, a moment to catch my breath and choose carefully the words to frame my warning.
“My lord,” said Uesugi-san. The procession had rounded the pond and was now at the main gate.
“Take Lily back to Ashikaga Residence.” Ashikaga held a palm out. “Consider me warned, my brother. I promise to be a silent cricket in the corner. There is nothing to be gained from insulting Elder Brother and Hosokawa by refusing their invitation. After you have seen Lily safely home, join us at the teahouse.”
Uesugi-san gave an unhappy “Hai!”
“Trouble can hardly find me in the short hour you will leave me unprotected,” said Ashikaga, a smile gentling the words. The smile disappeared a moment later. Noble hauteur was in full force for my instructions.
“You will come to me tonight and give a full accounting of what passed between you and Hosokawa. You will leave nothing out.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ashikaga leaped down the steps, abandoning me to Uesugi-san’s disapproving glare. He stood stiffly, a battle-scarred soldier still at attention.
“You convinced me we both live and die by our love for him. Does Jindo leave enough room in your heart for Lord Ashikaga?” He put a fist to his chest. “I speak truth as well, Tiger Lily. If your talk of Norinaga is some kind of deceit, Abbot Ennin will have you when we return to Ashikaga Han, no matter what Lord Yoshinori might think of you.”
Chapter Five
* * *
SILENCE MADE A WALL between Uesugi-san and me the entire way back to the Ashikaga residence. Behind the wall, my thoughts whirled round and round. Norinaga at the temple. The kami of the spring. How my enemy had saved me from discovery by the temple’s priests in full thrall of the kami’s song. Ashikaga’s angry eyes.
Beautiful and Little Turtle needled me with comments the entire afternoon and evening. We laid out dishes on small tables, and they remarked on Ashikaga’s preference for pickled ginger over dried persimmon. We shook out the bedrolls, and Beautiful pulled up a corner of the silk sheet to flick against my arm.
“So elegant and polished, our Lord,” said Beautiful. “Who could guess he cared for coarse hemp over silk!”
I sighed and tucked the silk back under the bedroll. Beautiful laughed. Little Turtle hung a nightrobe on the kimono stand by the bedroll, peering at me from underneath half-closed eyelids. Her gaze snagged on each imperfection; the tufts of too-short hair escaping my plait, broad-boned face bare of nightingale powder’s white luster, and hands with field calluses stubbornly refusing to soften no matter how many times we rubbed oil into them.
Little Turtle could list all the ways my squarish jaw and beaked nose paled in comparison with her own delicate beauty—and bring us no closer to understanding why Ashikaga summoned me each night. Little Turtle’s steady Ox disposition was so much better suited to temper a Tiger’s impulsive passions. That day in the forest when I’d found Ashikaga, an arrow draining away lifeblood and fox soldiers dangerously close, the kami Whispering Brook had come to me and indwelled for the first time.
Another Tiger girl. You will need her strength.
At the time, words I’d thought meant for Ashikaga: Now I wasn’t so sure which one of us the kami had been speaking to.
“We’re finished here,” I said, barely seeing the neat rows of soft bedding.
“The Lord Daimyo returned alone and is drinking tea in the garden,” said Beautiful. “We will not be called upon for some time.” Except for Beautiful, who no doubt had errands to run near the Chamberlain’s office.
Little Turtle intercepted me as I followed Beautiful out of the room. “The Lord Daimyo has acquired a supply of inks and papers to send to Lady Hisako. He requested I prepare them for the messenger.”
“That kind of fine folding isn’t really our Lily’s strength, is it?” said Beautiful.
“I thought I might rest a little.” My limbs felt so heavy. The warmth and quiet of the sleeping rooms had drained away the last bit of my strength. The urgency of Norinaga’s presence in the Capital no longer burned so hot. He’d done nothing dangerous at the temple.
On the contrary, he’d pulled me away from the water-kami just before the priests would have discovered me singing a Jindo song.
“The Lord Daimyo mentioned that we could add any personal notes we might have, and Lady Hisako would make sure they were delivered.”
Oh. A sliver of guilt wedged itself into the heavy, listless feeling. Little Brother. I’d promised him a drawing of the Ashikaga Residence. There were several notes I’d written and rewritten to Father waiting in our room. I should help Little Turtle.
“The inks are in the peony room,” said Little Turtle.
The hall floor sang under our shuffled steps. I joined her in the peony room after stopping by our room to retrieve my notes. Yellow afternoon sun streamed through the gaps between petals of the carved wooden window-screens. Dust motes danced slowly in the light.
Little Turtle gathered paper made from mitsumata—paperbush plant—as fine as her own pampered skin and unrolled a bundle of strips of flowered silk.
“Do you love Lord Ashikaga?” she said suddenly.
I tried to swallow, and saliva stuck in my windpipe. Coughing, I angled myself away from Little Turtle on my knees and covered my mouth with both hands. What did she mean by asking that?
“I was jealous of you,” she said quietly. I turned back. She was intent on the carved ivory brushes positioned in the exact center of the rice paper. “That day in the forest it was a shock to talk to you again after living . . . apart for so many years. I was glad to know you again. It was easy to be the Great House handmaiden condescending to the village spinster.”
My eyes were watering from the coughing. “You never—”
“No, you wouldn’t think that, would you? I hated it when you came back from Asama-yama and you didn’t go back to being the same old Tiger Lily.”
I sighed. “I never wanted to join the Great House’s service.”
“Content just looking after your brother? Maybe someday marrying the Charcoal Maker—if he ever got up enough courage to leave his forest hut to ask you.”
My cheeks flushed hot at that one. Little Turtle gave me one of Beautiful’s knife-sharp smiles. “Auntie Jay’s teahouse draws even Great House handmaidens for boiled rice hull tea and gossip.”
“Oh,” I said. It felt odd to think of Little Turtle paying me any attention at all before I’d gotten mixed up with Ashikaga. My former solitary life felt like a distant dream. I’d given little thought to the villagers, and assumed they’d given me as much. An odd, prickly feeling came over me, like the stiffness of wind-dried sheets fresh off the line before the warmth of skin softened them.
“Every day for years I’ve helped Lord Yoshinori dress, prepared his tea, and folded his robes. He never once called me or any other girl to his room for the evening.” Little Turtle carefully creased a fold into the paper with a lacquered nail. “Until you.”
The Lily of a year ago might have stammered some apology. “You helped me, anyway.”
“When he looks at you,” said Little Turtle, “it is painfully clear he sees something he’s never found anywhere else. I’m a practical Ox,” she said, tilting her head at an angle that bared her elegant neck. She set aside the packet of brushes, now gaily bound in the flowered silk, and pulled out another pristine sheet of paper. “I didn’t want to be your friend. Any other girl would have understood the veiled insults and snubs.”
I shrugged. “What’s one more orange fish in a pond of koi? If you wanted to insult me you should have been more obvious.”
The curves at the corners of Little Turtle’s mouth turned up. “It got boring waiting for a reaction that never came. I decided I could learn more gossip by being nice to you.”
“I would have been lost in Kyoto without you.”
Little Turtle stilled, her hands artfully poised over her silk-clad knees—a caricature of feminine form that somehow she turned into real beauty. “I can release him from my heart only if I know he is safe in yours. Answer my question. You haven’t the art of lying; I’ll know you speak truth.”
Unease trickled down my spine. Little Turtle did not know Ashikaga’s secret, but she certainly knew something was strange. If I told her I loved the lordling, it might allay some of that suspicion and put her heart at ease.
But was it truth? Would she see a lie on my face if I spoke the words?
“I love my father,” I said. “I love May and Little Brother. A piece of my heart will always be lost with my sister, Flower.”
“Do you want Ashikaga Yoshinori?”
Like Beauty wanted the Chamberlain? Or Uesugi-san wanted Lady Hisako? Between Tigers it could never be so romantic . . . or accommodating. Ashikaga was the sun. Burning in the sky so brightly those around could draw life from my lordling’s warmth, but never dared gaze too long directly upon it. You didn’t love . . . want the sun. You lived carefully, trying not to get burned, all the while dreading the sunset when that heat and light would disappear forever.
“The lady asked you a question,” said my lordling’s voice. Neither Little Turtle nor I had bothered to slide the shoji shut. Leaning against the wooden frame was Ashikaga, robe lapels askew and obi crinkled loose around narrow hips.
“My lord!” Little Turtle placed her hands on the tatami and bowed. After a moment, I did the same.
“Bring dinner and more wine to my room. Lily can serve.”
Even from my position against the tatami I could smell the sweet reek of rice wine. What had Lord Yoshikazu done to my lordling? Dunked Ashikaga in a cask?
Little Turtle elbowed me in the ribs, sharply.
“Yes, my Lord,” I stammered.
“As you require,” said Little Turtle.
“See to it, then,” my lordling said, and pushed away from the post with a touch too much force and staggered down the hallway, the floor not so much singing as squealing under the thumping steps. Ashikaga had an uncanny talent for catching me in awkward moments. In this clumsy state it was hard to imagine my lordling coming up on us so silently.
Little Turtle made short work of stowing the packages in a wooden chest and then herding me out of the room towards the kitchens. The Ashikaga Residence in Kyoto had two cooks; this evening it was Jiro behind the great, stone-built brazier sunken into the middle of the outbuilding. White cloth tied around his forehead was already stained with sweat. A tightly lidded pot of rice was sunken into the coals and two more black pots, suspended over the brazier, bubbled merrily with the smell of wakame and green onion. River-caught sweetfish impaled on stakes ringed the outside border of the brazier.
“Bothersome girls, what are you disturbing me for now?” Jiro put on a cantankerous, show, but he always saved portions of red-bean paste for the handmaidens when he made daifuku.
“Lord Yoshinori has retu
rned and requires dinner,” said Little Turtle.
“All hours of the day and night wanting specially cooked dinner when we’re here working our hands to the bone preparing for noble guests.”
“Who’s coming?” Little Turtle sat on a stool and propped her chin on a cupped hand.
“Lord Hojo. You girls would know him better than I.”
Lord Hojo. The son of the neighboring Daimyo to the Ashikaga lands, I’d met him in Ashikaga’s teahouse just before we went to war with General Norinaga on Asama-yama. He knew of my Jindo songs, but ignored them in favor of supporting Ashikaga’s campaign.
“Why is he coming here all the way from the North?”
“I’m sure that’s none of our business. Better to worry what the young Lord will want for supper.” Jiro looked at me. “What does he want?”
“He didn’t say.”
Jiro put his hands on his wide hips and glared. “Don’t waste my time, little girl.”
Another reason I liked the cook; he was easily the largest man I’d ever seen. Next to him I was a sparrow.
I pointed at the sweetfish. “Ayu and rice would be fine, I think.”
Little Turtle and I retrieved lacquered trays, bowls, and plates from chests. Jiro arranged fish on the plates and scooped rice into a lidded box. In the hall outside the kitchen, Little Turtle helped position the tray so I could carry it alone. Her hands imprisoned mine around the tray’s edge. She leaned in close.
“You do want him. I know it. Why be so coy?”
She smiled and then scampered down the hall in the direction of the Chamberlain’s room. Off to get more gossip on Lord Hojo, no doubt. I wanted badly to follow after her, no matter how the Chamberlain’s disapproving looks pricked me, but my traitorous feet had already started padding down the hall towards Ashikaga’s room.
The shoji were closed. Twilight darkened the hall. Shadows cast by the braziers inside the room flickered in vague shapes on the mulberry paper panels. The soft chorus of locusts buzzed a steady pulse under the intermittent rise and fall of human voices from rooms further down the corridor. I needed to set the tray down and announce dinner. I needed to enter the room and see if there was an answer to Little Turtle’s question that resonated in my heart.
The Straw Doll Cries at Midnight (A Tiger Lily Novel Book 2) Page 6
