Yes, after two hours of riding, it rained. And I do not mean to say it rained a little, as it does on the steppes. This was not a fine mist, nor was it the gentle pitter-patter we enjoyed in Oshiro.
I felt as if I, personally, had upset Grandmother Sky. There is no other way to explain the amount of water she poured down on us that day. Had she burst open the largest cloud she could find? Was she attempting to water her garden, and instead, she watered the earth itself? Was she filling her rice pot with water?
I do not know, Shizuka, I do not know. But there is no reason any place should ever experience that much rain. It got in everything. Even inside my saddlebags! My deel, already wet, flopped against my skin like old leather. You were doing your best to guide your horse with your knees and hold my old deel above your head to keep the rain out. It wasn’t working very well on either count.
By the time we spotted the Bronze Palace, I’d seen enough water to last ten lifetimes. I was swaying in the saddle from the frustration of it all. We didn’t see rain for months on the steppes, and now I knew why! The damned Southern Provinces hoarded it!
But then I caught sight of it.
The Burqila clan banner, hanging from the outside of the palace.
And my whole body shook with laughter. I pointed it out to you, and you grinned, too.
“Go,” you said. “Greet your brother, my love. He must have missed you dearly.”
I glanced over toward the palace, then back to you. I jerked my head in the direction of the banner.
You offered a warm smile. “I will be right behind you,” you said, “but if you arrive first, he can properly greet you. If I arrive at the same time, he will be forced to follow protocol. It is better this way.”
I wanted to kiss you, but there were guards outside the gates. So, instead, I kissed the scar on my right palm.
You flushed a bit.
And then I was gone, kicking Alsha into a full gallop. Gods, Shizuka, I was so happy to see him again! My brother, eight years gone, my brother, who helped me make my first bow!
I decided that if I was going to be the one to enter the Bronze Palace first, then I would make a show of it. First, I grabbed a strap from my saddle. This I tied around the horn in a loop. Then, just as I caught sight of a tall man with sandy hair who must be my brother, I swung myself off the saddle. My back was against Alsha’s flank, my legs extended out in the air, my head closer to the ground than most riders are ever willing to go.
An explosion of applause and whistles made my heart sing
Was it a bit of overkill to perform such a trick?
Perhaps.
But I had to show my excitement somehow.
And when I dismounted, I ran to my brother.
I ran to him as if nothing had changed. As if I were still eight, and he was still fourteen, and we’d never been apart at all. Yes, he was taller now, but so was I. And so what if he wore his sandy hair in a Hokkaran topknot? His skin and eyes had stayed the same.
He squeezed me so tight, I could not breathe, and then he sniffed my cheeks in turn. “Little Sister,” he said in Qorin. “Welcome home.”
I stood on tiptoes to better sniff Kenshiro’s cheeks.
Excitement buoyed me so that I forgot about my condition, until that moment. Then the rush of scents mixing together reminded me of what it was I’d become. Rich perfumes; something bright and sharp; parchment and …
Fear, beneath it all. A corrupting sweetness that turned everything else to rot.
Why was he afraid?
Cold dripped down my spine. He was afraid. My brother was afraid, and I didn’t know why and—
He squeezed me tighter before holding me at arm’s length. No trace of trepidation showed on his face. Indeed, it was as wide and warm as ever. My father’s nose looked natural on him, a complement to his high cheekbones. His eyes, too, were more Hokkaran than Qorin.
It’s a common joke that no one can tell when a Qorin opens their eyes, since they are so narrow. I do not understand why this is so common. Hokkaran eyes are narrow, too; no one here on the Sands has eyes like yours or mine. No Surians I’ve met, either. And the Pale Man I met had eyes like a frightened deer.
So no, I do not understand why Hokkarans make such a grand deal of it. It’s not as if we can’t see. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been asked this outside the steppes. With every repetition, it grows more and more grating.
Yes, I can see. I can even see out of …
I’m losing myself again.
Kenshiro was happy to see me—that’s where I was. At least, he was acting happy to see me. But I could smell the fear on him, though when he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Shefali-lun,” he said, “you’re so pretty! The boys must be beating their way to you.”
Oh.
Of all the things for him to say, I expected that least. He did not know about you and me. I’d gotten so used to being with you that I’d forgotten.
I shifted from foot to foot and looked at my boots. A blush rose to my cheek. I did my best to try to fight it; blushing only made me look bruised. I ended up hiding my face against the crook of my shoulder.
Kenshiro laughed. “See! I knew it to be true. Well, do not worry. They shall not reach you here. The Bronze Army will be more than enough to keep suitors away,” he said.
I continued shifting from foot to foot, wishing for you to return. Whatever pomp and circumstance accompanied your arrival would be a welcome distraction from all this.
Someone spoke up, someone with a soft voice. I glanced over. For the first time, I noticed there was a woman standing next to Kenshiro. Taller than you, though not by much, she wore Xianese-style clothes. That is to say, one loose-fitting plum dress with impossibly large sleeves and a short green jacket over it, with even more impossibly large sleeves. I envied the cut of it—Hokkaran dresses were so narrow they afforded little movement; Baozhai’s dress at least allowed her to walk like a normal person. The jacket’s high collar came just beneath her jaw and closed with two elaborate clasps I could see from a great distance away. It gave her the look of a flower on a stem.
Yes, I think a flower is a good comparison. Not a peony, or a chrysanthemum, or any of the ones you favor. No, she was a stem of lavender, straight-backed and fragrant.
Kenshiro took her arm and brought her closer. If he was grinning before, he was beaming now. “Shefali-lun,” he said, “this is my heart of hearts, Lady Lai Baozhai.”
Instead of the full bow favored by Hokkaran courtiers, she bent at the shoulder and touched her lips. “I am eight times honored to meet you, Lady Alsharyya,” she said. I winced at the name, but she did not know any better. And then her polite smile became something more genuine. “To be honest, I have always wanted a younger sister. I have so many older ones.”
And this time, there was no fighting the flush on my cheeks. She thought of me as a sister? We’d never met. But … well, if my brother liked her enough to marry her, then she must not be so bad. She hadn’t commented on my appearance or my color yet. As far as I was concerned, she was doing a fine job of being a sibling.
I did my best to mimic her half bow. When I rose, I also attempted a warm smile that did not bare any teeth. I think I succeeded only in pulling my lips back.
I tried to think of something to say. It is not every day one meets a new sibling for the first time. A momentous occasion like this warranted something sage and profound.
“Thank you,” I said.
That would have to do.
Horns sounding behind us tore away our attention. The forty guards gathered in the courtyard bowed their heads at the same moment.
I turned.
You sat on your red gelding, riding in through the gates. You robbed breath from my lungs—but you always do, Shizuka.
“Presenting the Eight-Times-Honored Imperial Niece!” shouted the crier. He’d not announced me. I did not hold it against him. “May she live long as her storied ancestors! Look how her Heavenly blood
paints her cheeks red! Witness her regal bearing, her unmatched beauty! We of Xian-Lai are blessed to be in your presence, Highness!”
You fought to keep that imperious look on your face. It was a battle you lost. Halfway through the crier’s diatribe, you cracked a wry smile. It’s a miracle you did not roll your eyes.
I covered my own mouth to hide my teeth; I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you.
But I did somehow manage to forget that one is supposed to prostrate themselves in the presence of royalty. Only when you gestured at me did I remember, and I hoped that no one caught sight of me standing as you entered.
I’m sure someone did anyway.
I listened for the sound of your feet hitting the ground. Your golden voice soon followed.
“My two feet have touched your land, thus you are twice blessed,” you said. “Approach. I bid you speak your name, Lord of Xian-Lai, and speak your lineage. In speaking to me, you are again twice blessed.”
I’d never seen you do this before. Had things changed because you were heir now? Or simply because you’d gotten older?
“May it please Your Imperial Majesty,” Kenshiro said, “I, Oshiro Kenshiro, son of Yuichi and Burqila Alshara, am Lord of Xian-lai.”
I love my brother, but I do think it’s foolish he had to go through all of this and not his wife. He was Lord of Oshiro, without a doubt, but his claim to Xian-Lai came only through marriage. Was it not more fitting to let the actual heir to the Province take care of all of this?
But I am only a simple barbarian, and what do I know of politics?
You raised your right hand and waved him forward. “Come,” you said, “Oshiro-tun. Kiss my feet, and be twice blessed; kiss my hands, and be eight times blessed.”
It is a strange thing to see someone you love become something else. I’m certain you know what that is like, for you have seen me in my states.
What I witnessed that day was not horrible. I do not dread its memory; nor do I think you’ve gone through some irreparable change.
But it was uncanny all the same to see the face I so loved become so distant. Even your flaming tongue was cold now. You hardly sounded like yourself.
I watched as Kenshiro kissed your feet and your hands in turn, and I imagined what you would look like on the Dragon Throne.
Is it a comfortable throne, Shizuka? You have no wife to stand at your side. Do you wear the Dragon Crown, or the Phoenix one I so admired as a child? And if it is the Phoenix Crown—do you touch the places where the feathers used to be, and think of me?
Once this strange ritual was complete, you allowed yourself to return to the Shizuka I knew.
Kenshiro got to his feet with a monklike smile. “O-Shizu—”
“Husband,” Baozhai cut in. She tilted her head toward him as a silent reminder.
Kenshiro cleared his throat. “Ah, yes!” he said. “You must forgive my terrible manners, Lady of Ink.”
I cocked a brow.
You chuckled. “So it is true, then, Lady Baozhai?” she said. “Your people do not name the Imperial Family?”
“And yours never write your name fully,” Baozhai said. “We do not speak your name for the same reason. It is an old custom.”
“I see,” you said. You raised a brow as your lips curled into a smirk. “Was it you, Oshiro-Lao? Did you pick the name?”
Kenshiro shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “I could never be so poetic. It was my wife’s doing.”
Baozhai, for her part, preened at the attention. She shot her husband a coquettish glance, then gave you another half bow. “I felt it fitting,” she said. “Scholars even here in Xian-Lai mimic your hand. If you would prefer something different…”
“No,” you said. “‘Lady of Ink’ is acceptable.”
Baozhai’s relief was visible in her slightly slumping shoulders; in the breath she let out all at once. “Thank you, Lady of Ink.”
Baozhai wasted no time, and no expense.
An hour, at most, was all it took to prepare the feast. In that time, she offered us a change of clothing and took us on a tour of the Bronze Palace. Here were some soldiers her ancestors were buried with, here were some portraits of them, here was a massive garden twice the size of yours at Fujino, here was a bridge over the garden’s private river. Everywhere we went, a young girl followed throwing jasmine in front of us. Two men carried umbrellas behind us. I kept trying to avoid mine, or at least get him to put the umbrella down.
“The sun is bad for your complexion, Lady Alsharyya!” he protested.
“Why?” I asked.
“It makes you dark—”
Such foolishness did not dignify a response. All I did was point at my own skin, at its loamy brown color, and keep walking.
To her credit, Baozhai apologized for this incident later, during the feast. And what a feast it was! Do you remember, Shizuka, how every single plate was either gold or porcelain or both? Whole ducks, exotic fish, hearty soups, bowls of rice larger than some toddlers! There was so much food!
And the smell of it all. Gods, there were so many smells, it made me dizzy. Imagine twenty, thirty different courtiers screaming at you to pay attention to them. You, of course, have no interest in hearing them speak, and I had no interest in eating the food.
But it was nice to look at, and I felt bad for Baozhai.
She kept pushing more portions toward me. “Lady Alsharyya,” she said. I was going to have to correct her eventually, but … “Is the duck not to your liking? We don’t have kumaq, but I think there might be horsemeat on the table somewhere.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Not hungry.”
“Not hungry?” said Kenshiro. “You’ve been riding all day!”
“This must be why you are so skinny,” Baozhai said. “Is she always like this?”
My brother shook his head. “When she was a child, she’d eat anything we put in front of her,” he said.
As a young girl looks for her parents when she is asked to answer a question, so I looked to you.
“Barsalyya-sur is recovering from a long illness,” you said. “Her appetite has sadly withered.”
Wrinkles appeared near Kenshiro’s eyes; I do not think he believed you.
“Lady Alsharyya!” Baozhai exclaimed, one hand rising to her mouth. “I did not know! Forgive me. If you like, I have healers—”
“They will not be necessary,” you said. “Lady Baozhai, you must tell me about your dress.…”
So we made our way through the dinner. For the most part, conversation was pleasant, and you liked the food enough to have second servings. You were served from separate bowls, separate utensils. If you wanted duck, there was one just for you; if you wanted soup, there was a whole pot bearing the Imperial Seal. You did not come close to finishing all of it. I later discovered that whatever you did not eat was burned.
Can you imagine, Shizuka? People could’ve eaten that. But the Xianese ascribe a certain level of holiness to their royal family. Hokkarans do, too; if their legends are to be believed, your veins hold heavenly blood. Yet I have never seen Hokkarans throw away food simply because you touched it.
I wondered why Baozhai was extending this courtesy to you. If the custom applied to the Xianese royal family, then it should apply only to Baozhai, Kenshiro, and myself. You were not a relative by blood or marriage. Baozhai, who would’ve been sovereign ruler of a nation if not for your grandfather, should have hated you.
But she did not. And here she was, lavishing you with courtesy and respect.
It gladdened my heart, Shizuka. The two of you struck it off from the first instant you met. Listening to you talk of various dressmakers and novels and perfumes—for the first time in my memory, you were enjoying yourself with someone besides me.
So, yes, it was strange that Baozhai went through all that trouble in your behalf—but it was a pleasant surprise.
But after the servants began gathering our trays and we said our good nights, Kenshiro asked us to come out onto t
he veranda.
“I’ve some plum wine,” he said, “fit for the Little Empress herself!”
And, yes, he smiled—yes, there was a twinkle in his eyes—but I could smell the suspicion on him like smoke.
“It’s been some time since I had plum wine,” you said.
We were going to have to tell him sooner or later.
We trudged outside. I trudged. You glided, as always. I do not think it is possible for you to move without elegance.
“What if he hates me?” I mouthed as we walked.
You could not touch me in public, but you softened your features toward me in the way lovers do. “He won’t,” you whispered.
The three of us stood outside on the veranda overlooking the gardens. “Gardens” seems too small a word. It was more … it was as if all of Hokkaro existed in microcosm here. Large trees grew in miniature; mountains were replicated with thick slabs of rock. Dense shrubbery mimicked the forests around Fujino. Someone even built a miniature Jade Palace.
The weather was balmy that night. Lightning bugs flickered in and out of existence. Night clouds veiled Grandmother Sky’s starry gown. Everything was dark and lovely and fragrant.
Why was Xian-Lai not the Imperial Seat? I liked it far better than Fujino.
Maybe it was all the rain.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Kenshiro-lao,” you said. You leaned on the railing. With a wave, you dismissed the guards he’d brought with us. “Lord of Xian-Lai. And your wife certainly knows how to welcome guests.”
“She’s excited to meet you, O-Shizuka-shon,” he said. “I was nervous, given the tension between Xian-Lai and Fujino, but I had the feeling you two would get along. The hope, really. Perhaps it helped that I talked you up a bit.”
“It did,” you said. “I’ve never had such a pleasant reception in all the Empire.”
Kenshiro offered a small smile. “I will tell her you said this,” he said. “She will hold the words forever dear to her.”
I watched the two of you talk. Soon. Soon. Until I had to speak, I’d watch the lightning bugs. We never had them on the steppes; they were one of the few things about Oshiro I missed.
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