by Leah Cutter
Iwao would have to do something even more unexpected the next time.
Somehow, with Seiji’s whisperings following him even into his sleep, he didn’t doubt that was possible.
Seven
The New Moon
Hikaru
The new moon hid my sisters and me very well the night we arrived at court. It was fully dark, and humans can’t see that well. Plus, my sisters and I played with the lamps the servants brought out to our carriage, making first one, then another, go out.
Though we’d arrived in a well–made carriage, and the robes my sisters and I wore were all amazing quality, we’d agreed that half–glimpsed riches would spread gossip faster, rather than letting everyone see our finery all at once. We wanted the news of my arrival—a very wealthy young lady—to fly to every corner of the court.
The other reason we played with the lights was to hide the number of people and servants actually accompanying me. My sisters weren’t always going to be staying in court, and it would be best for them to be able to come and go without ceremony.
Etsu had finally admitted that she’d had a vision. She, too, had witnessed some of the ceremony the Taoist sorcerer had performed. She knew just how closely intertwined the steel of the sword was with Norihiko’s soul. Merely breaking the blade wouldn’t release his spirit. She had to do research, as well as consult some sorcerers, before she could construct the spell to free him.
While Etsu searched, Cho would act as a relay for me. She would carry news of Etsu’s findings, news from home, as well as news from the land and the progress of the season, which I would need as well.
As a kitsune I could pass as a human. As this was my first time at court, I didn’t have to change my appearance too much. If I ever wanted to come back, I would have to look much different than I currently did, or wait until all those who knew me had passed to the great beyond.
However, because I was pretending to be human, I was as trapped as all the other women in the artifice of the Emperor’s compound and his very tame gardens.
An older fox fairy could survive in such a place, supping off the beauty of the robes and court, the delicate flowers, the twisting pines. However, I was young. I needed more wildness to survive.
Though it was quite late, I directed the servants to unpack many of the trunks, making sure that the court servants as well as my own marveled over the fine robes and silks we had.
Of course, many were enhanced magically. Not even my family could afford all the outfits necessary for a season at court, or have them created in just a few weeks.
Etsu had insisted on a specific number of robes, of exacting quality. Too many, or too fine, and some might accuse me of being a courtesan or a mistress. Too few, and I wouldn’t get the attention I needed from the court.
I had thought Etsu was being stingy in her count of robes, but after seeing the reactions from the servants, I realized Etsu had judged the number just right.
The rooms I’d been assigned at the court were inner facing, no windows directly leading to the outside, as was proper for a lady. It gave me the feeling of being shut in a cage. There wasn’t really any privacy, as anyone could be waiting just beyond a wall, listening.
At least the beams were made from sweet cedar, the finest quality. I would have to get some paper and create some wall hangings, writing a poem or two for Norihiko. I hadn’t wanted to play the part of a widow, but Etsu had insisted, saying that if I had times of melancholy, it would be good for people to be able to nod and assign a reason for it.
I’d wanted to make the death of this mythical husband several years in the past, but eventually agreed that just over a year would be more believable, given my age.
However, I was determined to never be sad, or at least, to never show it. I was going to be brilliant, sparkling, witty, and above all, desirable.
Mother fretted about my using myself as bait to trap the one who’d killed Norihiko, but I knew I had to. My love had gone through so much. How could I do anything less?
After the trunks were unpacked, I insisted that my sisters and I have some tea and relax. Only one of the palace servants remained, an older, round, buck–toothed woman who moved as though winter still flowed in her veins.
Cho put a small spell on her, just to make her move more quickly.
I laughed behind my hand at her reaction, her confused face, not understanding why she suddenly moved like the spring wind.
After the servant had left, Etsu placed unspun silk fibers in the corners of the inner room, then used them as part of a muffling spell so that no one would be able to discern a conversation spoken in low tones.
When she was finished with her spell, Etsu came over to Cho and me and started scolding us. “You need to be more careful,” she said, glaring from Cho to me and back again.
Though Cho looked chastened, I pretended I didn’t know what my eldest sister talked about. I glanced down at my robe, then back at her. “Why? I didn’t spill anything.”
Etsu glared at me. “You can’t just treat these humans like your toys. You need to show respect.”
I didn’t point out how unfair Etsu was being—I hadn’t even cast the spell in the first place! Instead, I replied, “One of these humans killed Norihiko. I’m supposed to forgive them?”
“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Etsu said stiffly. “But not all of them were involved. Save your anger for the sorcerer.”
I was ashamed of my outburst, of encouraging Cho, but I didn’t back down. “What do they matter?” I asked.
Etsu sighed. “They matter a great deal, little one. Soon, you will see.”
I was so tired of that being her usual response. There was a part of me that was happy she wouldn’t be here at court, that she would be off researching the spell. “It doesn’t matter what happens to these humans.” I wasn’t thinking beyond my revenge.
Nothing mattered except that final death. What happened afterward was of no consequence. So why worry about upsetting a few mortals in the meanwhile?
It never occurred to me that something could happen to my family.
Ξ
Mother had some connections at court, of course, people who had contacted her regarding their future, who had asked for her blessing, or sometimes tried their luck at winning her hand, if only for a short while. We’d used some of these connections, discreetly, to invent a persona for me.
We’d timed my arrival so that I came to court just a few days before the Kamo festival. The procession, or so I learned that morning from my gossip session with Yukiko, was to be very large this year—one of the longest they’d ever had. Princess Ruri would be leading the festivities.
The Kamo festival would be the perfect place for me to make my first appearance, in front of so many important people, as well as at such a festive time of year. We agreed that I should use a half–open palanquin for making the journey from one temple to the next, so that my robes might be seen, but not my face.
We also agreed that when the procession came to a stop, as it inevitably would from time to time, that I should be prepared to pass a poem or two to the nearby carriages, commenting on the day, the festival, and the prayers that had been spoken.
The man in charge of all the arrangement for the procession, the marshal, wasn’t easy to track down. I suppose he was busy with all the arrangements. Still, he should have made himself more readily available.
Because everyone at the court was jostling for the best position they possibly could have, I couldn’t merely send the marshal a note to get myself placed toward the front with all the important people. I had to actually go see him, to be in his presence to influence him magically. Not even Etsu could have written such a spell into a letter.
But Yukiko and I finally did find him, standing at the edge of a large assembly area.
A long line of brightly painted white–and–gold wicker carriages wove its way from the nearby streets into the area.
The marshal was instructing workers in how
to drape the traditional hollyhocks along the sides and tops of the carriages. Servants began carrying in huge baskets of the flowers, the blossoms brilliant purple, red, and pink, and the leaves all large and verdant.
They were all going to look so splendid decorating the carriages, the banners, even the oxen and servants bearing the palanquins.
When I finally did manage to get the marshal’s attention, he wasn’t happy. Nor was he a pleasant man. His face was as pasty as a tree–ear mushroom, with narrow, beady eyes and a small forehead—a sure sign of low intelligence.
“Excuse me, marshal,” I started.
The marshal didn’t even let me finish before he turned away, saying, “It isn’t feasible.”
How impossibly rude!
“Turn back toward me, please,” I said, slipping my words into his ear, making him want to turn back.
This was the kind of magic that I was best at, making men want. I was much better at it than my sisters—only my mother was better than I.
“Are you sure there’s no place in the procession for me?” I asked coyly. I kept most of my face covered with a fan; however, I still let him see my eyes.
“But I just finished making the final assignments!” he whined, fighting me and my suggestion.
Really. Such an unpleasant man.
“You could make one more change, for me, couldn’t you?” I asked him, smiling at him from behind my fan, staring into his eyes and pushing my will toward him a little harder, making him feel not only my desire but the want, the need, to make me happy.
With a large, affected sigh, the marshal finally acquiesced. “Fine, my lady, I’ll give you your spot.” He shouted for his scribe—a harried–looking man in stained, light–blue robes, who came running up with a portable writing desk overflowing with letters, pens, and papers.
In short, barked phrases, the marshal directed the scribe to write down the new order of the procession.
The scribe looked surprised, but he didn’t say anything, just took down the notes as he was told. He did, however, sneak many improper glances at me. Obviously he needed to be better trained: just because he served a person in power didn’t mean that power automatically was bequeathed to him as well.
I kept pushing my will on the marshal, never letting up for a moment. Normally, this sort of activity exhausted me, but I was so focused on having my way that I barely noticed.
Before I left, the marshal sighed again and asked, “Anything else, my lady?”
This brought an even more startled look to the scribe’s face.
Evidently even the most common of courtesies was normally beyond the marshal.
“That’s all,” I told him airily, turning away and dismissing him with a wave of my hand.
It was only when I got back to my rooms that I noticed Yukiko’s disapproving looks. I recalled Etsu’s warnings from the night before. Yukiko had probably overheard the entire conversation.
“What?” I asked her, trying to prevent whatever argument she was about to give me. “I did what I had to do.”
Yukiko stubbornly replied, “You must be more careful, my lady. You don’t want people to become suspicious around you. Watching what they say for fear they’ll fall under your spell. You want people to want to please you of their own accord.”
“Do you really think that awful man would have ever wanted to do something for me of his own desire?” I asked, incredulous.
Yukiko tried again. “My lady, my family has worked for your family for generations. We are used to your ways. Others aren’t. Please, don’t make this difficult for yourself. Save yourself, your will, for when it’s really needed.”
“I thought that was what I was doing,” I told her frostily. “Now, if you’re finished with your lecture, I have some poetry I must write.”
I stomped off into my inner room, closing the shoji forcefully. The air was stale, the room was too small, and my robes were choking me.
I still sat myself down at my writing desk and breathed deeply, willing myself to be calm.
I could do this. Norihiko had lived through ten thousand times more agonies than the minor discomforts I had at the Emperor’s court.
I would work my will upon anyone standing in my way. I would find my love’s killer. And I would have my revenge.
It never occurred to me that I, too, would have to suffer consequences for the choices I made.
Ξ
The day of the procession began with bulging gray clouds. However, they all blew over as the sun proceeded to climb, and by the time the ceremonies started, nothing marred the clear blue sky. A coolness that had crept in with the night remained, which was actually a blessing, as we were all in our most formal outfits, out in the blinding light.
Of course, the start of the festivities was all chaos. I rather enjoyed the spectacle.
Flocks of young girls in their fancy robes with flowers in their hair flowed this way and that, like slowly moving water, as directed by their aunts and mothers. Stiff officials in their black robes hurried from one point to the next, barking orders like raucous crows.
Even the marshal himself tried to get everyone ordered and into line. I was tempted to play games with him, maybe cause him to trip, but I contained myself. Particularly when Yukiko pinched my side.
Finally, everyone was ready to begin the short walk to the Shimo–Gamo shrine, where the first ceremony was to be performed. The young girls danced and scattered their flower petals, the priests intoned their prayers with beautiful harmony, and Princess Ruri threw ribbons from her carriage that were perfectly caught by the wind and floated like gay banners above the crowd.
Even I was impressed by how well the humans had arranged their ceremony.
The procession slowly made its way to the next temple. Of course, there was a holdup. I couldn’t see what it was—though I had a wonderful position, among the first twenty in line. I couldn’t see everything.
However, instead of sending Yukiko or one of the other servants to see what was the holdup, I amended one of my poems and got it ready to send to the carriage behind me.
Before too long, a delightful response came back. Then the palanquin three up from mine sent a missive, exclaiming how well the young girls had performed.
And the race to be the most clever, the most thoughtful and creative, was on.
Ξ
As I sent my poems out to the various carriages and palanquins, I instructed my servants to tell me about the owners. I assumed Norihiko’s killer was male—he’d been reforged into a sword, after all, not a fan or a piece of jewelry. I also assumed he would be young, as well as important.
However, most of the important people in the vehicles around mine didn’t seem to fit. They were either elderly, or female, or, to put it delicately, not the type of person who would wield a mighty sword.
Mother had foreseen that I would meet Norihiko’s current wielder at the Emperor’s court. I couldn’t just go to every young male and demand to see his sword. Even with my magic, it would be tricky. I didn’t care about my reputation with these humans, but the men would. They wouldn’t want to be compromised by a young, eligible female suddenly showing up at their rooms.
So how was I going to find this man?
I started sending my poems farther down the line of guests. Maybe the man wielding Norihiko was a younger son. That would make sense, actually—a ruthless younger man, seeking power through any and all means.
Finally a servant came back with some good news. A young man who had just come to court to have his inheritance approved by the Emperor also carried an incredible sword. Some even claimed it was magical. It was the new style of sword, a taichi, curved and elegant.
My heart pounded in my chest. Could this be the one? I sniffed at the paper, trying to get a sense of the man. Strong, yes. Disciplined as well. I couldn’t smell his evil, but I was certain I’d found the one.
The poem he returned to me was surprisingly well thought out. That must have been how he’d been ab
le to integrate himself with such important people: a honeyed tongue to hide a vile heart.
I put forth my best effort, trying to win him over, to make him curious about me, to make him desire an audience.
I wished again that there was some magic I could put into the written word, such that he wouldn’t be able to resist.
There would be time enough for that later.
The procession ended far too soon, midway through the day. It had been exhausting, playing with words all day, trying to be the brightest and most sparkling.
But I had my quarry in my sight, now. I hadn’t had time to convince him that we must meet, that he should invite me to his succession celebration.
Those were minor details. I had the scent of him. I knew he was here at court. I would be able to find him. Track him down.
Enact my revenge.
Ξ
The moon had reached her peak and was waning again before I finally got what I wanted—an audience alone with this Iwao.
Alone, of course, was quite an exaggeration. His servants were there. Mine, as well. I’d had a specially carved lattice screen built for this occasion, and had visited the workshop late at night to magically impregnate the wood with my scent.
We met in formal rooms set aside for just such occasions. None of the windows faced the outside, which was just as well, because the smell of fresh air might have distracted me. It had been so long since I’d breathed freely!
But every time I heard myself complaining, I would remind myself that my poor Norihiko couldn’t even breathe at this point.
The room itself was oppressive. Heavy brocade fabric, dark and red, hung in wide loops from the ceiling, like ill–painted waves. The pillars were carved with many bumps and swirls, as if they sprouted diseased mushrooms. Even the floor was unpleasantly covered with ancient, poorly made tatamis.
I wore one of my better robes, the color of cherry blossoms, with a pale green robe underneath, like the freshest leaves. Though Iwao would never see my face, I still took care with my makeup, highlighting my eyes with kohl, whitening my skin, and painting my lips the color of summer berries.
