He had ideas, of course, but the presence of, well, everyone in this room, had throne him for a loop. It was not at all what he was expect. “No, Shogun-sama.”
There was a long silence, and Shichiro could feel the gaze of everyone in the room burning into him, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the images from long ago that suddenly bombarded his vision. He could do nothing about the phantom whispers in his ears, however.
“Look at him—it’s his fault that the princess Tomoko is dead. We should have known this would happen, people like him are rotten to the heart.”
“Listen, dog. I will spare your worthless life, but from now on you are ronin—lordless, friendless, homeless, doomed to wander until you die in the dust, stripped of all honor, forgotten save by those who curse your name. May your curse die with you, and may you trouble folk no more with your pathetic presence.”
“Take the dog away from my sight, and if he ever appears before my face again without my summoning his worthless self, I will take his head myself. Maybe then the stain he has dealt upon his mother’s memory may be washed away.”
“It’s his curse. We should have exiled him when the Princess died because of him.”
“Cursed.”
Finally the Shogun spoke out, scattering the whispers for now. “Seven years ago, you defied my law and slaughtered my men, all for the sake of your worthless brother, and because of your disobedience and dishonorable actions, all honor and name was stripped from you. But now a way has come forth, by which you may gain your honor and name once more, and any stain upon the memory of the Princess Tomoko may be forgotten forever more.”
Shichiro’s breath caught. It was one thing, one thing to read it on a piece of paper, but to hear it with his own ears, straight from the Shogun’s mouth! His heart leapt, but he reined it in. First, he must listen. Joy could come later.
My honor. My name. Princess Tomoko’s memory. It seemed to good, too glorious to be true, but oh, did he want it to be. He wanted it more than he could ever comprehend. He took a deep breath and licked his lips. “What would you ask of me, Shogun-sama?”
There was a pause as the Shogun gathered his thoughts, but at last he spoke again. “For some time now, I have sought to establish peaceful relations with our esteemed neighbor, the land of Akiyama. It was discovered that such a peace could indeed be reached, but it was decided that there was only one way to seal the deal between our two countries. Of course, nothing less than the best could be used to seal the deal, however, all my sons are married, and I cannot spare them.”
In sudden wave of overwhelming horror, Shichiro realized where the Shogun was going, and it took all his willpower not to jump up and flee from the room.
“Therefore, I am ordering you to take up your clan’s name once more and wed the princess that the Princess Katsumi shall provide.”
The room seemed to still for one horrible, terrible second, and words from more than a month ago flashed into his head.
“I wonder what poor sap is going to get saddled with a Fujioka princess. I can hardly imagine a worse fate.”
Never before had Shichiro ever felt such a strong desire to punch his past self in the face. It might not do anything, but it would be infinitely satisfying. Of course, punching Ichiro would be twice as satisfying…
“What say you, Ronin of nowhere?”
Shichiro hovered on the brink, torn between being sucked in the very marriage alliance he had been investigating and the political storm brewing between Masaki and Akiyama, and refusing and returning to his endless, lonely wandering.
My honor. My name…! Oh, to have a name again, and to once again know that honor resided in him.
And the stain up the Princess Tomoko’s name would be stripped away. She would at last, at last!, be at peace.
And besides, he had already defied the Shogun once, and he could find no true justification for defying him this time.
He took a deep breath.
“Very well, Father-sama. I accept.”
*****
Shichiro felt sick.
He didn’t want to get married! Or, well, he did, it’s just he didn’t want to do it so very soon, and he didn’t even have any prospects or hopes on any one lady.
A sudden flash of kind blue eyes darted through his mind, but he brushed it away without even truly recognizing it.
And now, he was getting married.
To a princess.
Of the Fujioka clan.
WHY?
Maybe this was the final, irreputable proof that he was cursed indeed.
Shichiro wanted to kick something.
He didn’t, however, and instead settled for staring sullenly at the painted screens in his room. After some time of staring sullenly at the screens, a servant bowed his way into the room, dropped off a selection of clothes (far finer than anything he had worn for seven years, unless he was visiting Isao for longer than a day or so) and disappeared.
Shichiro fingered them. They were very fine indeed, but he ran his fingers regretfully down the fabric of his own gi. It had been made with the money he had gathered by selling Hanako’s wares, and he felt strangely… reluctant… to part with it. In a fit of compromise, he quickly disrobed, folding up his old clothes and carefully hiding them amongst his clothes chest, before summoning one of the servants to help him into the formal kimonos for the betrothal dinner.
As he was being escorted there, he caught a glimpse of himself in the water of a koi pond, and he blinked in surprise. It had been a long, long time since he had felt… well, noble.
Maybe, just maybe, he would be granted the grace to get used to it again.
The betrothal dinner went just as well as he expected. Despite the restoration of his honor and name, he was still seen as the disobedient prince who ran away and shamelessly defied his almighty father, so no very few people talked to him. He was all right with that, however, for it meant he was able to eat more than most did at dinners like that.
Mostly, though, he watched the Shogun and the Princess. The Shogun as always seemed to exude some sort of force—like a thunderstorm rumbling harshly and threateningly on the horizon. As a contrast, the Princess seemed sweet and delicate, like a veil of cherry petals being blown on the wind. But there was something about her that made her seem slippery and sly, and his instincts whispered do not trust her, or she will bite your hand, and her fangs will be long and sharp.
How did he get caught up in this mess again?
He sighed and sent a quick prayer to the Heavenly Emperor. If the Heavenly Emperor had mercy, perhaps, just perhaps, this would all turn out for the better. It seemed to much to hope for, though.
But in the meantime, he would use his new position to help Isao. After all, what better position to spy on the alliance between Masaki and Akiyama than being the alliance yourself?
Now only if he knew who his wife was, and the strange churning in his gut would go away, and he would stop looking at the blue flowers painted on the dishes and imagining eyes of a brighter shade.
He must be very tired indeed. If only this troublesome dinner was over.
****
It was a long journey, but Shichiro found himself repeatedly wishing that it would get longer and longer. However, geography bows to no mortal, so the day came at last when he and the rest of the wedding party was informed that their destination was only three days away.
The ronin—no, not a ronin—the lord looked around himself and frowned. He could swear he’d been there before, but when, he was not sure… but he just knew it was going to bother him until he figured it out. Oh well.
A samurai from Akiyama rode up to Shichiro and stopped, looking him up and down. The ronin instantly tensed, unsure what was going on. He was not fond of Akiyama’s politics, after all, and being forced into them was definitely unpleasant. “There’s a palanquin waiting for you in the village up ahead, and when we get there you are to board it and ride it to our destination.
Shichiro scowled. “And why should I do that?
” He was a ronin, a samurai. He did not do palanquins in enemy territory surrounded by unknowns (they were not allies, not by a longshot).
“Your bride-to-be is to be kept in a secret location. To help ensure the safety of the alliance.” There was a little pause, and then the samurai added, “If you do not cooperate, we will do our best to persuade you to see our point of view.”
Shichiro wasn’t sure, of course, but his gut instinct said their type of persuasion had something to do with pointy objects being jabbed into fleshy substances. Specifically, Shichiro’s fleshy substances. He would probably be able to come out all right, but still, the odds weren’t exactly what he considered preferable.
Besides, despite his dislike of the overall situation, he had sworn to carry his duty out, and carry it out he would. So he sighed and inclined his head. “Very well. I’ll ride the palanquin.”
“Excellent.” The Samurai said. “You are an intelligent man, and I’m not surprised you agreed with our decisions. Until later, then.” He whirled his horse about and galloped off to the head of Shichiro’s escort, and the once-ronin had to resist sticking his tongue out at him. He was an adult, Dragon’s whiskers, and he wouldn’t let them get to him like this!
With a sigh, he had his horse pick up speed, and when they arrived at the village (which, again, seemed oddly familiar), he climbed into the palanquin without any resistance besides the token glares of disapproval. And with that, they were off.
Shichiro shifted uncomfortably within the box of the palanquin and grimaced as his shoulder was slammed into one wall. It had been a long time since he had last ridden in one, but even his distaste for the experience hadn’t painted the experience as this bad in his memory… his only assumption was that they must have left the road and were traveling over rougher terrain.
Another bump nearly slammed his forehead into the wall. Much rougher terrain, apparently. He bit back a curse, grit his teeth, and settled himself as comfortably as possible for the duration of the ride. Of course, ‘comfortably as possible’ didn’t necessarily mean much.
Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity of bumps and jostling, the palanquin stopped, and there was a rapping noise made on the door.
Shichiro stepped out and blinked, surprised to realize it was dark. It was a cloudy, moonless night, and he could barely see a few feet in front of him. It didn’t help that no one was using any torches—apparently they were taking the whole ‘secrecy’ thing very seriously. He was led through the dark to an even darker hole in the darkness, and was ushered inside. The door slid closed behind him, but something about the way it moved alerted Shichiro that there was something strange about the door. What, he couldn’t exactly tell in the pitch blackness, but there was something, and he would stake his wakizashi on it.
They led him though several dark pathways before finally sliding open a shoji and ushering Shichiro into a room lit with several lanterns. He let out a sigh of relief at the light, but his eyes stung smartly for a moment, having grown somewhat used to their blindness.
“Your formal clothing for the ceremony has been prepared and is in the clothes chest. Get dressed quickly, and there is a servant in the other room if you find yourself in need of assistance,” The samurai declared, and then disappeared, leaving Shichiro alone.
He sighed, wandered over the chest, and flipped open the lid, staring down at the black silk of the formal kimono folded precisely at the top of the pile. He reached out and dragged his fingers down the smooth fabric, tracing the white embroidered design of the Nishimura crest, his shoulders tense. It… this was really happening, wasn’t it? Here he was, getting married, sold off by his Shogun in the service of his country, like so many before him, and many more after him.
At least, he thought, and smiled slightly, I have a Shogun and a country to serve again. My mother’s name—my mother is my mother again!—her name is restored at last, and I have my honor as my own once again. And maybe the princess—even if she is a Fujioka—will not be half so bad. Maybe in time we could even be friends.
He sighed, and began the slow, careful process of getting dressed. If he was to get married, he’d do his mother’s memory proud and make a good showing. He was Nishimura Shichiro after all, and no longer a wandering, nameless ronin. Besides, Isao used to rag at him, back when Shichiro was clinging to every coin, that Shichiro was likely to end up getting married in his travel-stained and well-worn tattered clothes if he didn’t accept Isao’s financial charity. He couldn’t go and prove Isao right, now could he?
Shichiro paused, a sudden smirk crossing his face. By now, his latest poem would have arrived at Ginshi, given the speed of Ichiro’s messengers. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to see Isao’s face when he read it.
*****
The candle by Isao’s desk guttered in a sudden draft, and he looked up, not surprised at all to find Ichiro crouched in the shadows.
“It’s late.” Isao said, glancing back down to the report. “Shouldn’t you be enjoying the company of your wife in bed?”
Ichiro flowed to his feet and moved slowly into the warm circle of light cast by the candle. “Couldn’t the same be said of you, Isao-sama?”
“It could indeed.” Isao said, and frowned at his desk. “And I wish it would be true. Sadly, these papers won’t read themselves.”
“And the same could be said of this,” his retainer said, and slid a scroll onto the desk. Isao blinked at the seal—a circle containing nothing.
“What on earth has he discovered that’s so important he can’t wait until the three month mark to check in with us?” He asked, picking up the scroll.
Ichiro shrugged. “I do not know, my lord. All my courier could say was that Shichiro-san indicated that his next meeting with us was to be delayed indefinitely.
Isao’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “Was there any reason given?” He could feel the frantic beat of his heart—if Shichiro had gotten himself into trouble, and he was only finding out now—
The shinobi, however, seemed to guess where his lord and master’s thoughts were going (as he usually did; he was rather good at that, Isao thought ruefully) and hastened to disabuse him of his panic. “There was no indication that Shichiro-san was in any sort of danger, he seemed quite relaxed. He merely has some pressing business that is holding him up, or he may be following a lead that will take him farther afield. I suspect that the reason may be contained in the missive.”
Isao sat back and let the tension slowly bleed out, his shoulders slumping slightly in relief. His heartbeat calmed, and his mind was awhirl. He’s safe, he’s fine, I wasn’t too late again. I wasn’t too late. All is well.
He took a deep breath, blinked, and then picked up the scroll again. “Very well, let’s see what poor excuse for slacking my baby brother has given me this time.” He broke the seal and unfurled the scroll, his eyes narrowing as he began to peruse the contents. Ichiro relaxed slightly, glad that he had succeeded in calming his master down. If he was able to tease, he was no longer struggling with the feelings of helplessness. Isao only teased when he was sure of his ground.
There was a long silence as Isao read the haiku within once, twice, three times.
The seventh star climbs
Full moon shines on golden horns
The great dog blesses
Isao very, very carefully rolled the scroll up and placed it on the desk. With slow, deliberate movements, he leaned his elbows on the desk and laced the fingers together, and his eyes sparked dangerously.
Ichiro shifted his weight, ready to leap into action at the word of his lord. Whatever was in that letter, it had to have been serious. It was very rare indeed that he ever saw Prince Isao so worked up.
The silence continued for several more seconds, and then Isao snatched up the scroll, surged to his feet, and threw the scroll against the wall. “WHY ON EARTH IS MY LITTLE BROTHER GETTING MARRIED TO A PRINCESS OF AKIYAMA AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHY AM I JUST HEARING ABOUT IT!?!” He turned to Ichiro and pointed
. “You! Go find out and tell me everything, especially why I wasn’t invited! Who does that little brat think he is?! I’m his big brother, by the Dragon’s endless tail! When I get my hands on him, I’ll…!!!” With that, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, the rest of his threat fading along with his departure, presumably to find some hapless idiot to purge the rest of his ire on.
Ichiro blinked. Well. That just… happened.
CHAPTER SIX -- THE WEDDING AND THE FRIENDS
Shichiro found himself in a small, ornate room, dominated on one end by a small shrine in honor of the Heavenly Emperor, and in front of it knelt a priest.
On one side of the room Princess Katsumi was seated, a fan decorated with roses held in front of her face in the façade of womanly modesty. Shichiro bit his tongue to keep his initial instinct at bay (shuddering in disgust), and tried not to think to hard that he would be soon a member of her clan and family.
Cursed, there was no doubt about it.
Shichiro allowed himself to be directed by the priest’s shrine maiden assistant and sat down where instructed, kneeling on the tatami.
Traditionally, the groom’s parents are present at their son’s wedding. The Shogun, however, was far too busy, and instead sent his eldest son, Prince Yoichi.
Shichiro was fairly certain his eldest brother had never said three words together to him at one time, which, at the moment, suited Shichiro just fine. He just wished the whole thing was done and over with, and that he’d end up married to a lady he could at least respect.
That was when the soji slid open and a delicate little thing in pristine white robes and a traditional white hood, attended by two icy-faced handmaidens. The bride’s head was bowed modestly, staring down at her hands clasped in front of her shyly. Shichiro decided he very much wanted to see what her face looked like, but she did not look at him. She calmly walked over and knelt besides him, and as much as Shichiro wanted to lean forward and get a look at her face, his conscience and sense of propriety wouldn’t allow him to do it. Mother, after all, would NOT have been happy if he ruined his own wedding ceremony out of curiosity. He’d just have to be patient; he was marrying her after all, wasn’t he? He’d see her face soon enough.
The Dragon's Flower Page 11
