by Jaida Jones
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s been some kind of morning, anyway.”
“It’s so splendid that I don’t know how I shall bear it,” he murmured, his eyelids fluttering shut. For him it might’ve been all some grand, gay dream. For me, it’d ended up as anything but.
“He tried to kill me,” I said, not because I thought I could trust Caius, but more because I didn’t have anyone else to tell.
Caius opened his eyes again, and I could see the milky outline of his bad eye through the fall of his hair.
“Oh, my dear,” he said. “I know.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MAMORU
Of all the things I’d managed to prepare myself for in the past few days, the one thing I wasn’t anticipating was Kouje’s behavior that afternoon on the road to the border crossing.
Ke-Han land was partitioned according to the pattern originated by the old domains hundreds of years ago. When my ancestors swept across the land on horseback, consolidating their power and subsuming each territory into our vast empire, what had once been separate castle towns and the land that surrounded them became prefectures. To this day they remained cordoned off by the great walls, which transected the Xi’an landscape like the stitching in a farmer’s patchwork cloak. Now, the prefectures were run once more by lesser lords and defended by their retainers; the only difference was that the lords each answered to the Emperor, and their duty was to serve the empire first and not themselves.
The greatest wall of all, which surrounded the capital city, was nearly thirty feet high. Until then, it had been the only one I’d ever seen with my own eyes, though I was told that, because of the walls, our country itself was one of the greatest wonders of the world.
As apprehensive as I was about crossing the border, I did wish to see that great wonder for myself, to observe for myself the famed checkpoint towers. I was no child, but it struck me as somehow sad that I, once a prince of the Ke-Han, had so little knowledge of what had been my own land.
Up ahead of us, Jiang and Inokichi had stopped by the side of the road to rest and water their horses; Kouje and I dismounted to do the same. It was a beautiful road, if barren and somewhat lonely. There was something to be said for the comfort of a road well traveled, though I was glad we’d passed so few riders that day. As much as it had unsettled me to live like a wild demon in the forest, I missed the shelter of the trees and was unaccustomed to so much open air, and so much sun.
“Here,” Kouje said, wringing out a cloth in the stream and offering it to me. I pressed it against my burning forehead, and sighed in relief. I wanted to ask him if the sunlight bothered him—if he felt on fire from the inside out, or suffered the pounding headache that came from a long morning riding through the heat, or if he was sore all over from riding—but I felt uncomfortable speaking in front of Jiang and Inokichi, so said nothing.
“Little flower you’ve got yourself there,” Kichi said, and though Kouje stiffened, I attempted to remind myself that it was his own peculiar way of paying me a compliment. I didn’t understand it—there was no poetry at all within it—but I would have to accept it. “Real delicate. Ladylike. Is she married?”
“She’s still young,” Kouje managed, tension lacing his voice. I allowed myself to pat him gently on the arm.
“My brother is quite protective,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation somewhat. I could allow myself, in this disguise, to speak with some of the delicate language from the palace. After all, I was a woman, and I felt no need to become someone like Old Mayu just yet.
“Ah, say no more,” Kichi said, winking at me in a way that I supposed was meant to be congenial.
It occurred to me that I had very little understanding of the way that men and women communicated with one another in an informal setting. I had a great deal to learn. And perhaps Kouje did as well, for I could practically feel the tension radiating from him in waves. If we could have had a moment alone, that I might have asked him frankly what the trouble was, I would have felt marginally better.
As things stood, though, I was unsure as to whether Kouje was simply having trouble adjusting to the way of life we’d taken up, as I was. At the palace, he would never have tolerated anyone speaking to me with such familiarity; the sudden change must have been a great strain on him.
I squeezed his arm where I’d patted it, trying to convey my meaning without words: that it was quite all right and that he needn’t worry so.
Kouje looked at me, and I could see his frustration quite plainly, mingled with the knowledge that this was what we had to accept. To be perfectly honest, I was surprised at the difficulty he was having in adapting. I’d always assumed that Kouje would undertake any task with the greatest of ease while I would be the one left struggling.
It had been so ever since I was young, after all, with Kouje set as the bar for everything I aspired to become.
Of course, there were many things I had to learn on my own since Kouje, for all his fine attributes, was not a prince, but he praised me in my learning of those other subjects too, even if he did not understand himself the particularities of poetry or calligraphy. In some ways, Kouje had been like a second brother to me, not as proud or as stern as Iseul, but one who would give me comfort when I’d done poorly, and encouragement when I’d done well. Such needs were only an indication of my weaker character, for Iseul had never required a brother to offer him anything—but then again, that was where the difference between us lay. I was a second son, born weaker than the first, and nothing could be done about it.
“My friend,” I murmured, softly enough that I didn’t think Inokichi or Jiang would hear me.
Kouje nodded, his eyes saying what he could no longer speak aloud: my lord.
It was an agreement, though I’d not asked anything specific of him, to try harder. I could tell by the troubled expression on his face that he, too, was concerned by his conduct. He would have to take better control of himself, rein himself in as he did our horse.
Some way from us, Jiang and Inokichi sat beneath a tree, playing a game with knucklebones. Rather, Inokichi was playing, and Jiang was looking bored, casting a glance toward the horses every now and again to see if they’d tired of drinking yet. I gazed at the stream with some longing myself, for all we’d bathed the day before. Had it only been a day ago? My clothes were coated in traveling dust, the hem of my robes stained with the damp of early mornings in the forest and hunting for rabbits. I could no longer recall what it felt like to be clean, even though I remembered the sharp cold of the water in the river and the slither of catfish around my ankles. How Kouje had laughed at me then, and rightfully so. I smiled to think of it, new memories that were not so sore as the old ones and were heartening to think back on.
Time had passed in a curious fashion since we’d left the palace, first so quickly and then impossibly slow, so that I was no longer certain of the day or time. By my calculation, though, it had been less than a week. Four days? I would be missing the summer festivals in the city, that much I knew—but had they already started without me?
“We should be moving on soon,” said Kouje aloud, for everyone’s benefit. Then he took the cloth from my forehead and patted it against my temples. I realized that he was as concerned about getting me out of the sun as he was with furthering us to our destination. Or perhaps he was feeling the effects of it as badly as I was and only thought to save himself a splintering headache.
It was very likely the former, but I tried now and then to pretend Kouje was also looking after himself.
Kichi stood up all at once, like a theatre puppet pulled to its feet. Jiang followed at a slower pace, looking less than amused at his friend’s antics. It was a kind of exasperation that was born of real affection, though, which made sense when one wondered how they could have put up with traveling together so long.
“Wanting to get it over with as soon as possible, hm?” Kichi stretched his arms over his head. He was overly tall, as well as overly cheerful. “Can’t say as
I blame you. Never know who you’re going to end up stuck behind. And if there’s some poor bastard with a royal air about him ahead of you, the crossing could take all day. That is, if the guards don’t take an irrational dislike to you with no warning.”
Jiang snorted. I got the feeling that perhaps Kichi was the sort of man that guards took an irrational dislike to.
Kouje seemed to think so, too, but I saw him clench his hands at his sides and breathe in deeply instead of saying anything. I laid a hand against his back, to comfort him as much as to draw strength from his resolve.
At the palace, I would have been ashamed to draw on any outside comfort, especially now that I was of age, but I’d never before seen a side of Kouje that faltered, that was ever anything but completely certain. It frightened me more than the imminent border crossing, and I was glad to see him taking control of himself once more.
“One more little border town and we’re at the crossing,” said Jiang. “We thought we might stop there for lunch. Kichi crosses better on a full stomach.”
“What he means is, I’m less likely to ask the guards what they’re having for lunch and end up on the wrong end of a sword,” Kichi said, smiling as though he shared an enormous joke with me.
“Sounds all right,” Kouje said curtly. I could tell that he was wondering whether or not we’d have the money for lunch. We still had some left over from the night before, but it seemed prudent to save it for a time of need rather than on another bowl of rice so soon after the first.
Jiang and Inokichi mounted while Kouje helped me onto our horse. It was an unnecessary gesture, but one we’d thought might aid the illusion that I was his maiden sister, younger and inexperienced. It made me wonder about Kouje’s real sister, the one upon whom we were pinning all our hopes. I wondered if she was like the sister I played at being, or if she was more like Kouje himself. I hoped at least that she would forgive us for using her home as a place to hide—for the trouble it could bring her, and the disgrace if she were ever caught. I hoped that she hadn’t already branded me as a traitor or blamed me for her brother’s downfall.
More than all the rest, I hoped that she would like me.
I fell into a restless dozing on the bright, sunny road that led to the border crossing. When I woke, I was rested back against Kouje’s chest, my neck bent at an uncomfortable angle and my head pounding from the heat. The only comfort I found was the shade cast over my cheek by Kouje’s profile, but my neck felt raw, and was no doubt red as summer beets.
I licked my dry lips, and lifted my head gingerly.
“Where are we?” I asked.
Kouje shifted behind me, as though he’d been reluctant to move before. How long had I been sleeping, I wondered, and how uncomfortable had it been for him? “I didn’t want to wake you. I believe we’re almost at the town.”
“Oh,” I said, squinting down the road ahead. Inokichi and Jiang were riding some way in front of us. I could hear Kichi’s laugh ring out sudden and sharp, startling birds into flight at regular intervals.
“Kouje, how long have I been asleep?”
“Not long,” he said, quiet as though I was sleeping still, and he was trying not to disturb me. “Not longer than half an hour. Does your head trouble you still?”
I nodded, regretting the movement seconds later. “I think that, even if we do not partake of lunch, I am sorely in need of some water.”
“And… what of lunch?” Kouje asked.
We both knew how hungry I was; Kouje, surely, must have been hungry as well. “Full still from the night before,” I said, offering Kouje what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Perhaps I might fashion some sort of covering for my head before we ride out next.”
“An umbrella would work best,” Kouje said.
“Mm, yes,” I agreed, “and an armed escort—perhaps a stroll in the gardens, or a palanquin?”
Kouje flushed, and laughter sparked momentarily in his eyes. “Perhaps we’ll figure out some kind of veil, then,” he agreed. “Though I don’t know if it would suit you.”
“It would cover my face,” I pointed out. “Which might be useful, all things considered, for reasons beyond protection from the sun.”
“Still,” Kouje said, “it wouldn’t suit you.”
It might, I thought, allow me to avoid any further comments from Kichi as to what a delicate flower I was, or how it wasn’t fair of Kouje to be so dead set against my receiving compliments. After all, I wasn’t that young, and Kichi was certain there’d been a young gentleman or two—probably, he added with a wink, more like a whole army of them—knocking down Kouje’s door to be the lucky bastard who could convince my brother he was worthy, and was that what we were on the road for, hm? Running away from all my blockhead suitors?
I was grateful, at least, that I was convincing in my part. When Kichi went on and on in that fashion, it was easy enough to blush and duck my head, for all the world acting like the delicate flower he thought I was.
What I was most worried about was being too delicate. Even though we were a party of four, I couldn’t run the risk of being too aristocratic.
Occupied by my thoughts, it wasn’t long before we crested a hill and Kichi reined in his horse for long enough to wave back at us and gesticulate toward the horizon. What I saw there took my breath away.
One of the many great walls lay before us, large gray stone weathered by time and bleached by the sun, and a thriving wallside town in the valley below. It was a busier place than we’d seen in a long time, more people than we’d been among since we left the palace, houses and shops crowded together beside the protection offered by the wall.
“How tall do you suppose it is?” I managed to ask Kouje once I’d regained my breath.
Kouje paused for a moment to appraise the height, with the horse whinnying and snuffling below us in annoyance at our strange whims.
“Fifteen feet I’d say, at the least,” he answered finally. “Can’t tell for sure until we’re closer.”
“Are you gonna spend all day staring at it?” Kichi howled back at us, though it was clearly a good-natured demand. “Or are you gonna get a move on? Hicks!” He let out a cheerful whoop and spurred his horse suddenly on, tearing off down the hill, leaving Jiang to give us a long-suffering look and follow after at a more dignified pace, with us trailing behind him.
The town wasn’t nearly so big as the capital, but it was large enough for me to realize how much I had missed city life—even though most of my opportunities to observe it were through a palanquin window, it was still the knowledge of its bustling presence, its constant activity, its arts and pleasures and luxuries, that I’d been missing. We might have grown accustomed to our isolation in the woods, to sleeping on beds of leaves and to hearing the owls hooting in the night, but I’d never once stopped missing what I’d lost. All that became painfully clear the moment what I’d lost was, in some ways, returned to me—the noise and the light and the excitement of a real city. I could smell dumplings cooking, ducks being roasted, could hear the commotion of shop owners chasing orphans away from their doorsteps or calling to the passersby, trying to tempt them inside. My stomach grumbled so loudly I knew Kouje must have heard it—I didn’t like that he should have to catch me out in a lie, no matter how necessary it was—but he didn’t say anything, and I willed the grumbling to be silent. We barely had any money left, and I tried my best not to stare at the children by the roadside eating their dumplings, entirely oblivious to just how lucky they were.
“Fried eel,” Kouje said, almost without thinking.
The smell was torturous, but I breathed in deeply anyway, storing the scent and trying to let the memory of what fried eel tasted like fill my stomach. It didn’t work as well as it might have, but it was the only taste of eel I would have for a long time, and I savored it.
All around us, people were talking in the cruder dialects I was coming to understand better and better, slurring their conjugations and elongating their vowels. Sometimes they used
words I didn’t even recognize, which left me scrambling after the meaning of what I’d overheard, trying to piece together what the word must have meant by the context of the other words surrounding it. If I was to be a commoner, then it was necessary for me to understand their language, though their slang often made me blush.
What I recognized most of all, to my shame and growing agitation, was my own name, usually spoken in loud whispers; the rest was gossip, each tidbit more ludicrous than the last. One of them had Kouje fighting mountain demons in the north; another had me already in Tado, across the ocean, in talks with the royal family there. Where had I found a boat, I wondered, and how had I got across the water so quickly? And yet, when I thought of the guards at the checkpoint, I wished that I were in Tado, dining at the royal court, speaking with them of true treason.
Yet—and this was the strangest thing—the men and women on the street, when speaking my name or Kouje’s, uttered them without any animosity at all. I was a runaway and, for all they knew, also a traitor. I ought to have been vilified. Men should have spat on the street when they spoke of me, and women should have looked up to the heavens in apology when they acknowledged my existence. Why didn’t they loathe me? There was some piece of the puzzle I was missing, and I didn’t know how to go about understanding it.
Kouje reined the horse in suddenly, to avoid trampling a group of small children as they darted out across the road and almost directly under our horse’s hooves.
“I’m Lord Kouje,” the child in the lead called back over his shoulder, waving a short stick in a way that intimated it was not, in fact, a stick at all, but rather a great sword.
“You were Lord Kouje last time!” one of his companions accused, deeply affronted by his friend’s selfishness. “And Sanji was Prince Mamoru last time, too!”
They disappeared past us down a side street in a chorus of shouting and laughter, leaving Kouje and me baffled in their wake.
