I pried my eyelid open. Gray-black flesh stared back at me, wet and glistening.
You were at my side within four steps, perhaps five. Wordlessly you held me.
“My bow,” I said. “How am I going to shoot my bow?”
“You have two good hands, my love,” you whispered. “And I have never known you to miss a shot, not even when your cousin blindfolded you.”
“I can’t aim,” I said. And I kept trying to turn my head, to see all the room at once, as if I had both eyes. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something on my face, and if I just shook it off, then all that darkness would go away.
It didn’t.
“And you could not aim then!” you said. “Shefali, my dearest one—you are the first to survive the blackblood. You will not be the first one-eyed archer.”
I touched my forehead to yours. At least you were safe, I told myself. At least Nozawa would never come near you again. I’d done that much. But …
But I traced your bandages and wondered. What if I had been just a bit more perceptive?
“Shefali,” you said, “we do not have much time—”
“Highness, I hear speaking,” came a voice from the other side of the screen. When I turned, I saw a guard’s silhouette. “Is the prisoner awake?”
“One moment,” you called back. “Just one moment more.”
“O-Shizuka-shon, you are not to be left alone with her,” said the guard. He turned, slid open the screen.
But it was not a guard; it was Uemura, and he eyed me with suspicion.
You stood in front of me with your arms spread, as if your tiny size would dissuade him from arresting me.
“Uemura-zul,” you said, “she does not know what’s going on. Let me inform her. Only a few more minutes.”
“If you have anything else to say to her, the Emperor decrees you must say it in my presence,” he said. Then he shook his head and sighed. “I am sorry, Barsalai-sun, but we can no longer trust you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“You killed General Nozawa Kagemori, who watches the north,” Uemura said.
“No humans,” I clarified.
He frowned. “Barsalai-sun,” he said, “you changed. This form you wear now is not the true one, is it?”
Was I no longer considered human? I stared down at the backs of my hands. I was still made of flesh. My heart still beat beneath my breast, I still breathed, I still loved you.
I sniffed, and in so doing caught a whiff of Uemura. Shame and guilt stuck to the roof of my mouth like horse fat. Something else, too. Sweet, but a bit sour, like one of those fruits that look creamy on the inside when you split them open. But I only smelled that when he …
When he looked at you.
Let him look, I told myself. Let him look.
“I’m human enough,” I said.
“How dare you speak to her like that, Kaito-zun?” you said. “She alone recognized Nozawa for what he was, and you’re asking if she’s human?”
Uemura let out a breath. “It doesn’t matter, in the end,” he said. “You’re to come with me.” He reached for his belt and fetched a pair of manacles.
I raised a brow.
“I know they are not much,” he says, “but you are to wear them, regardless. The Emperor is strict on that point.”
You argued. As an eagle must drop turtles on the heads of bald men, so must you argue. Ten, fifteen minutes passed, but Uemura would not budge. I had to be manacled.
I didn’t mind that much. It was more amusing than insulting.
As we made our way through the halls, I made my tallies.
In my favor: I had not killed anyone except a demon. I’d acted out to keep you safe. My father and brother held favor at court. You loved me, for some reason, and still did, knowing what manner of creature I am.
Against me: The Emperor hates Qorin. I carry a fatal disease that will infect anyone who comes into contact with my blood. I became something else. I tore a man’s head off in broad daylight. I tore through several more men back in Imakane.
With every step, my feet felt heavier.
Your uncle was the least popular Emperor in years, despite his efforts to the contrary. At forty-six, with no children, he was already a subject for ridicule. Unlike his father, Emperor Yorihito the Builder, who built eight academies in each of the eight provinces, your uncle had done nothing to better the Empire. When the Empire’s crops were blighted in the fields, his response was to increase his gardening budget, send a few guards out to proclaim all was well, and continue about his business. He hadn’t reclaimed any of the land beyond the Wall of Flowers, hadn’t done anything about its decline, hadn’t consulted the gods he was supposedly related to about their disappearance.
He was not a poet, like his brother. Not a man of science and technology, like his father. Not a conqueror, like his grandfather. He was …
He was not much at all.
But here he had an opportunity. No one would bat an eye if he had me killed. In fact, there might be celebrations. Killing a blackblood is a heroic thing, and has been since they first emerged. Killing a demon is more impressive still.
Killing a girl who contracted the disease and lived?
A little trickier. But given my display and Uemura’s comments, I don’t think I’m counted as human anymore by Hokkaran reckoning.
So killing me would bring great honor to whoever did it. And your uncle was a man desperately in need of honor.
I kept following Uemura. Though I knew I’d likely die at the end of it, I followed Uemura. I tried to force myself to be afraid, or to worry. Instead, I kept looking at you. What would happen if Uemura executed me before the Emperor? What would happen to you? I could see you, in my mind, throwing yourself on top of me just before the fatal stroke.
If it was going to happen, I hoped he would have me executed far away from you. I did not want your final memory of me to be my severed head hitting the ground. Ren’s words rang in my mind. I could not leave the Empress tied to a tree.
But what other option did I have? What was I going to do if he made that decision and I disagreed? Kill the Emperor and Uemura, then plant you on the Dragon Throne and pretend nothing amiss happened?
I did not want to die, but I saw no way to escape my rapidly approaching fate.
“Uemura-zun,” you said, “the shrine is just up ahead. May we stop to pray?”
Strange. I’ve never known you to pray of your own volition. In your mind, you were a god, and you did not need to pray to yourself to get things done.
“O-Shizuka-shon,” said Uemura, “I have strict orders to escort the prisoner to the reception hall as soon as she awakens.”
“You’ve not sent word ahead,” you pointed out. “We can take as long as we like. Besides, Uemura-zun; we do not know what will happen once we walk through those doors. A small blessing alone would ease my mind.”
You were up to something.
“Ask for the Grandmother’s guidance,” I added, because I have always gone along with your plans.
Uemura studied us each for a few moments. “O-Shizuka-shon,” he said, “I shall allow this, but you must give me your word that you will not try to escape.”
You touched your fingers to your lips eight times. “I swear it by the Heavenly Family,” you said, “I will not try to escape, and neither will Barsalai-sun. We simply wish to speak to the priest.”
“Very well,” said Uemura. “As a favor to you, O-Shizuka-shon.”
He approached me with a hunter’s caution, the key to my manacles held up in one hand so that I knew what he was doing. I admit I flinched at his touch anyway. For some reason he thought it would be best to undo the left manacle first; some small part of me feared he was going to slip a knife between my ribs.
But he wouldn’t dare do such a thing. Not with you standing right next to him.
You offered a warm smile. “Thank you,” you said.
We stepped into the
shrine as I massaged my aching wrists. It was Xianese style and not Hokkaran. The whole room was crusted with gold and jade; portraits of your uncle hung on the walls. Ahead of us, on the shrine itself, were eight golden statues of the Heavenly Family. A single priest was tending cones of incense that hung in each of the four corners of the room.
The scent, to me, was overpowering, and I covered my nose and mouth with my hand. But you wasted no time. We did not have much, I suppose.
“Priest,” you said, “do you know who I am?”
At this, the priest turned to greet you. He gave a reserved bow, his hands extended in front of him, Xianese style. “I do not,” he said, “but all are welcome in the Family’s home. Have you come for guidance?”
“No,” you said. “My name is O-Shizuka, called by your people the Lady of Ink. I am the heir to the Dragon Throne. I did not come here for guidance. I came here for a marriage.”
“What?” I had to have misheard you. There was no way you just said what I heard you say.
“Shefali,” you said, “would you have any objection to marrying me?”
“No,” I said, “of course not, but…”
The priest’s brows were so far up his head, they may’ve been hiding beneath his cap. “Two women?”
You nodded. “Is that a problem? Before my people adopted yours, such marriages were common in Xianese society.”
The priest tugged at his whiskers. While he mulled it over, I stared at you. Marriage. You decided somewhere along that short walk that we absolutely had to get married right this instant. We’d never discussed this before, since it seemed so impossible. May as well discuss fire raining down from the sky. Who in Hokkaro would marry two women?
But we were not in Hokkaro.
“No such marriages have been performed for a hundred years,” the priest said. “Your ancestors have tried very hard to eradicate the practice. As I recall, they said it was akin to people marrying their horses.”
You cleared your throat. “My ancestors,” you said, “were gods-forsaken fools, I see. But still I must request this. It is not against the Heavenly Mandates—and think what a message it would send to the other Hokkaran nobles. Think what a statement it would make for your people.”
My heart felt as if it were going to jump out of my throat and land on the floor. As the priest hemmed and hawed and tugged at his whiskers, the impossible seemed within my grasp. Within our grasp.
“And what of your heirs?” he said. “Tensions are already high, Lady, concerning succession. What will happen when you produce no heirs?”
The question offended you, but your answer came so quick I knew you’d considered the possibility he’d ask it. “You presume much. If Shefali and I can find no suitable father for a child, then I will name my youngest niece or nephew.”
I was too gobsmacked by the situation to bring it up at the time, Shizuka, but you should know sanvaartains have a method for creating fatherless children. We call them urjilinbaal. I do not blame you for being ignorant of it; sanvaartains keep their secrets close to their chests. They figured it out not long after the war—with so many dead it was imperative we find some way to grow our population. Urjilinbaal allowed infertile women and sanvaartains themselves to give birth if they so chose.
We had options. Have options, if this is a thing you’ve considered. But at the time we were still young, and you were still trying to convince the priest to marry us at all.
“Please,” you said. “I do not normally make requests; I command. But in this case, I must ask you, sincerely, from my heart—do this. Marry us. I do not care what I must do to compensate you. When I become Empress, you can move to Fujino, if you like, and lead the priesthood there. If you have family, I will have them looked after; they will never want. If you have daughters, I’d be happy to have one join my handmaidens. Whatever you like, Priest. But I must have this marriage.”
As you spoke, your voice cracked. You took my hand.
“I promise you, you will never marry any two people more in love than we are,” you said.
The priest stepped closer. He walked around the two of us, looking us over from head to toe. “Are you not the woman who beheaded Commander Nozawa?” he said to me. “They say you tore his head off with your bare hands.”
I pressed my lips together. “Yes,” I said. “I did.”
“She was protecting me,” you said. “You shouldn’t hold it against her—”
“I don’t,” said the priest. “That pig waited outside my daughter’s bedroom each night, staring at her. I will marry the two of you. Allow me a moment to get the wine ready.”
He wandered off into one of the other rooms. In that private moment, when we were betrothed, I took you in my arms. Your cheeks went pink beneath your bandages.
“Shizuka,” I said. “Shizuka, we’re getting married.”
When you kissed me, your lips spoke a hundred vows. I forgot that Uemura was standing outside. I forgot about your uncle, about Nozawa. Even my missing eye didn’t bother me then.
Somehow, within minutes, I was going to marry you.
“My love,” you said, tracing my brows with your fingertips, “I only wish we could have had a proper ceremony. But I want to keep you safe, and my uncle cannot harm a member of the Imperial Family. One day, I promise, we will have a real ceremony. You can ride in on your horse and try to break a sheep’s neck like your cousin did and—”
I laughed so hard, tears came to my eyes, which had the unfortunate side effect of making my wound sting. Somehow you’d remembered the most important Qorin tradition: asking the groom to break a cooked sheep’s neck in two, and hiding a piece of iron in the neck so it could not be done. How you remembered this, I do not know. We saw only one wedding together on the steppes. Had you been researching this?
I cupped your cheek. “Shizuka,” I said, “my Shizuka. So long as we are married, I don’t care how it happens.”
We kissed again, and you touched my nose.
“Well, you might not care,” you said. “But I do. And we are going to have a real wedding one day, I swear it.”
I chuckled, and would’ve kissed you again, but the priest returned with two cups of wine. He set them down before us, spoke words of purification, and we began.
We held them with trembling hands. He led us through the ritual, of which I knew next to nothing. We sipped once from the cup to honor the Heavenly Family; once for the Emperor, which I drank in honor of my mother’s status and not your uncle’s; once for each of our parents. The wine was warm and pleasantly spiced, but nothing compared to the sweet scents you were giving off.
It was time for the final two sips. The priest handed me a scroll, and bade me read from it.
It was written entirely in Hokkaran.
I froze. As I squinted, the characters only got fuzzier and fuzzier; they all looked the same to me. My lips trembled. I could not read my own wedding vows. You were just talking about a real wedding, in front of people. If I could not read my vows before only you and a priest, how could I read them in front of other people?
“I…” I mumbled. My hands, too, began to shake.
You leaned toward me and pointed to the first few characters. “Before the Heavenly Family, and our ancestors, we make a vow,” you whispered, slow enough that I could follow along and repeat after you. Soon, our voices became one.
“We, Barsalyya Shefali Alshar and O-Shizuka, are overjoyed to proclaim our love, and bind our souls beneath the eyes of the Mother. Eight times we have sworn to love and respect each other for the rest of our lives. Eight times, we will strive to bring our families prosperity. We swear to remain true to our marriage, for the rest of eternity.”
And we had no rings to exchange, no gifts to offer the gods. Instead, you plucked one of the ornaments from your hair, and I gave one of the beads I wore in my braid. Rings would have to wait, but that was fine.
For when our lips next met, soaked with rice wine, they met as the lips of a married couple.
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“Thank you,” you said to the priest, wiping away your tears. “You cannot know what you have done for us. When I am Empress, come to Fujino. You will live as a prince.”
The priest bowed to us. “It is an honor and a pleasure to unite lovers, and to upset the Emperor,” he said. “May the gods smile on you.”
You took my arm. We kissed again, before the door. Once we left, we’d have to pretend none of this happened, until the moment was right.
“You might lose your throne,” I said.
“It would be worth it, to keep you safe,” you said. “But my uncle cannot disown me. For two thousand years, only my ancestors have sat on the throne. He has no other choice.”
I pressed my lips to yours and hoped you were right.
When we exited, Uemura was scowling outside. “How much guidance did you need?” he said.
“My uncle may well have her executed,” you said. You meant for it to be sharp, but your joy softened the blow. “Barsalyya is nervous.”
I should have been nervous. But instead, I was fighting the urge to grin. How long could I keep this secret? I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
Uemura sighed. “Very well,” he said. “I suppose you are right. I hope you have made your peace, Barsalyya-sun.”
I gave him a short bow. He closed the manacles on my wrists again and led us forward.
When the doors of the reception hall opened before me, I faced the Emperor’s glistening face for a half second before I knelt. I wanted to see if murder hid behind his amber eyes. When he saw me, he flinched; his fingers twitched on his throne.
I hadn’t covered my eye. Maybe that was what unsettled him. I find it amusing you weren’t bothered at all by it during our wedding. You didn’t mention it. Your uncle, however, smelled like he was about to retch.
“The Imperial Niece, Slayer of Demons and Tigers, Daughter of the Queen of Crows and the Poet Prince, has arrived! The Bronze Palace welcomes the Lady of Ink!”
The gathered courtiers bowed in deference to you. As Uemura led me to the Emperor’s feet and forced me to kneel, I caught sight of my family. Kenshiro, Baozhai, and my father all stood clustered together to our right. My father’s face was unreadable; Kenshiro wore guilty sympathy; Baozhai’s bloodshot eyes told her story.
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