As soon as a new rumor spread, the royal family made a change or official announcement that proved it was false—or tried to cover it up if it was true. When a few people suggested the children didn’t know enough, shrine maidens were brought in from the shrine to teach them; Seiko only watched the ones without guards in the afternoons and evenings. She didn’t work as long, but when Miss Shiharu told her of the change she emphasized that Seiko’s pay would be the same.
After taking Princess Maenomi to the shrine in the morning, Seiko found herself at a loss of what to do. Her voices wanted her to take the knife Lord Gin had offered—toy with it and practice making stabs, but that scared her. She didn’t want to hurt someone, especially one of the royals. She didn’t want to give them that satisfaction.
Miss Shiharu wanted to spend more time with both her children—make sure that, in a time of need, they went to her and not Seiko—so Seiko didn’t even have Princess Akemi nearby. She just…sat in her room, writing to Mikka, trying to ignore the voices despite nothing stopping them.
Soon… Finally! When the time comes, girl, you’ll know what to do—we’ll guide you through the motions of pure, perfect murder. You’ll be covered in so much blood, yet they’ll think nothing of you until the very end.
She shivered and stopped writing, pushing away the letter. She can write more in it later, when her voices didn’t influence her tone.
Seiko glanced outside; warm sunlight filtered in the window, the beauty of early summer. She sent most of her pay back home, but she had enough to buy herself a few little things; maybe she could look for a few books. That would help pass the time.
She stood up and went to the door, only thinking about checking her reflection in passing. She still wasn’t used to it; brushing through her hair didn’t leave behind any knots, so she assumed she looked fine.
She opened the door, greeted by Kinjo and Masaaki on the other side. Seiko flinched back in surprise, and Kinjo—the closest, likely ready to knock—backed all the way to the wall. Masaaki chuckled.
“Sorry for startling you, Tsujihara,” Masaaki said, still grinning. “But I heard from the prince that you’re free in the mornings?”
“For a few hours,” Seiko replied with a nod. “After I bring Princess Maenomi to the shrine, until Princess Rinatsu and the younger ones are done with lessons.”
“That’s what I thought. He doesn’t lie to me a lot, but I wanted to confirm.” Masaaki gave a prompting look at Kinjo. The latter didn’t quite respond to it; the way he refused to look at her made her anxious. It held no disdain, but…it made her worry that he knew about the little voices in the back of her mind, or the life she was denied because of them.
Masaaki sighed, then looked back at Seiko.
“I don’t need to watch Prince Kyuru until the afternoon, either,” he explained. “And Kinjo here’s not bound to any one place, as long as there are guards in the palace. So he—not myself, but Kinjo—was curious if you wanted to hang out for a bit.”
Kinjo moved his head to glare at Masaaki, but his eyes met Seiko’s on the way.
…Thinking about it, he may be the first person Seiko knew with blue eyes. Her voices—the ones that sounded younger—quieted down in awe. An ancestor of his—or maybe even a grandparent—must have wed someone from the northern island.
She looked at the ground when she realized she was staring—when she started mentally comparing the color to a river and debated if it stood out or blended in with his otherwise-typical features—and answered the request like she should have half a minute ago.
“I was already on my way out, so I might as well.”
Kinjo looked relieved—either because she broke off the stare first or because she accepted, she couldn’t tell—while Masaaki smiled even wider. He never seemed to frown unless it was theatrical, given to Prince Kyuru for some impersonation or another.
“Great. I already have something in mind, so let me grab something from my room and we can head out to wherever there’s a decently small amount of people.”
…
Masaaki chose one of the gardens adjacent to the sakura path; the front of the courtyard was more decorative, while the back had benches and tables. The soldiers could go wherever they wanted as long as it wasn’t blocked off or closed.
He sat a small bag down at the center of a table and took a seat. Kinjo took the chair to his left; Seiko sat across from Masaaki, making Kinjo tense for a second before he relaxed again.
“I just want to play a quick icebreaker game,” Masaaki said. He opened the drawstring on the bag and gently emptied its contents on the table; they were wrapped candies, nine altogether. “Basically, there are three colors—red for self, brown for family, and gold for hometown. You pick a color, then the other two ask a question related to that. So if, for example, I pick a red candy and Kinjo asks if I have any siblings, I say I’m an only child; whether or not Kinjo adds that he has siblings is up to him. All the candies are the same type, but you’re free to eat them after the questions’ asked. Does that make sense?”
Seiko nodded and Kinjo murmured some agreement. Masaaki grinned.
“All right. I’ll go first.” He picked a gold candy and unwrapped it, putting it in his mouth while he waited for a question.
Kinjo stayed silent, so Seiko spoke up—out of idle curiosity, if nothing else.
“You’re from the east, aren’t you?” Most soldiers were; they were more separated from the rest, so they were easier to convince that the royal family did nothing wrong.
Masaaki answered after chewing and swallowing. “Technically, yes. My family’s territory is in the south; we’re geographically south-central, but we’re considered east by way of lifestyle.”
“I grew up in the west, myself,” Seiko said. She glanced at Kinjo. “You’re from the east as well?”
“Yes—a bit further in, off the shore.”
He hesitated, as if he didn’t know whether he wanted to stay more or end it there. Ultimately, he paused; after a few seconds, he took one of the candies himself. Brown.
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Masaaki gave Seiko an expectant look—like he wanted her to ask a question—but she couldn’t think of anything. They already addressed siblings. What else could she say?
“Having trouble thinking of something?” Masaaki asked after a minute.
“Yes,” Seiko admitted. She gave a kind of lie to explain it, “It’s a…broad but unclear topic.”
His confusion cleared up with a laugh. “Oh! If that was the problem, you could’ve asked me. Anything about siblings, parents, or extended family is fair game—so marital status, where they live, that kind of thing.”
“I’ll just explain a little bit about them,” Kinjo decided. Masaaki seemed pleased that he offered a solution. “I have an older brother and an older sister—their birthdays are almost on the same day, but on different years. When my parents tried to do it intentionally, I was born a month before.”
“Must be a busy time of year,” Seiko murmured. “I only live with myself and my mother—before I came here, at least.”
She waited a moment, then stared at the candies. Picking red would make it even, but talking about herself might be troublesome. She had very little family to speak of and feared being asked about her father—feared having to admit to being a bastard, then learning if they were the kind of people who pitied or hated her because of it. She didn’t have much to say about her hometown, either.
You’re pitiful—you want to hide your imperfections, but you can’t. Not for long, not when the little cracks grow until the entire pretty vase shatters…
Seiko finally opted for red, finding it the lesser of three evils. She unwrapped and started to eat the candy so she could have more time to think of a lie if she had to.
Asahi gave her a curious look. “This is more of an observation than a question, but are you left-handed?”
She perked up, but couldn’t immediately answer. The candy melted in her mouth and went down easily after she chewed and swallowed; the sweet taste remained on her tongue.
“Yes,” Seiko said once she could. “It runs from my mother’s side.”
The royal children didn’t usually notice—Princess Maenomi must have, judging by the hand Seiko used to hold the brush, but she never commented on it—and she couldn’t tell if that made Kinjo very watchful or if the children were just oblivious. Masaaki must have considered it to be something like the former, laughing.
“You can ask any question about her you want and you choose to confirm her handedness after you already saw her get something,” he teased, shaking his head. “There’s a reason you’re hopeless, Asahi.”
Kinjo glared at him, and a question bubbled up but Seiko decided to wait to ask it. Then she wouldn’t have to struggle to find something later.
“Still, may I ask a real question?” Masaaki said, looking back at Seiko. He smiled when she nodded. “What’s your favorite animal, and why?”
She could answer that without much issue, fortunately.
“I’m not sure what they’re called, but there are certain birds in my hometown that sing all year,” Seiko replied. “The village elders sometimes say they’re young kitsune who just learned how to shapeshift, but others say they’re baby tengu.”
“My brother told me something like that once,” Kinjo noted, less reserved than he was before. “Is the bird’s call similar to a giggle, sometimes mixed in with something else more ‘bird-like?’”
“Yes, actually.” Not many people could guess the bird’s call; Mikka’s hometown was a bit out of the way and didn’t have anything remarkable about it, so they didn’t get a lot of visitors. “Was your brother in the area before?”
“He participated at the very end of the last war with Kuro. I wonder if he passed by your village.”
“He might have. I vaguely remember some soldiers coming through one year.”
Kinjo nodded and the line of conversation ended. After sufficient silence, Masaaki picked up a red candy. Kinjo let Seiko answer the question, and she sprung it out with very little hesitation.
“Are you two good friends?” She could guess they were acquainted, at least, because they traveled together; but using one’s first name implied more familiarity than a traveling partner.
“I would consider us that, yeah,” Masaaki replied. He slowly unwrapped his candy, focusing more on that than either of the other two. Odd for the one that usually maintained some form of eye contact. “I was engaged to his sister.”
“Did it fall through?” Realizing it sounded insensitive—especially considering her own situation—she explained. “You wouldn’t be here if you were preparing for a wedding.”
Masaaki’s smile shifted into something a little sadder, but it didn’t fall.
“My family fell on hard times. Lord Kinjo decided his daughter deserved more than what I could provide and, after deliberation with everyone of both households, we broke it off.”
“Masaaki and I grew close during those two years of waiting,” Kinjo added. “We were expected to work together—or at least cooperate with each other—so I came to Masaaki territory whenever my sister visited.”
As they quieted down, Masaaki got a teasing look in his eye. After it appeared, he half-shoved the chocolates towards Kinjo. Despite donning a quizzical expression, Asahi took a golden-wrapped candy; he hasn’t eaten his first yet.
“What would you say the prettiest spot in your territory is?”
Kinjo considered it for a second, then said, “Probably near the ocean. We can’t get a lot of goods shipped in due to the rocks, but it’s nice to watch the waves roll over stone.”
“All right, all right.” His gaze turned to Seiko, sporting a smile that scared her yet also made her want to smile back; something about it mixed curiosity with a playful air, and she feared the former. “Your turn, Tsujihara.”
She hesitated, then chose the last gold candy. She shrunk back when Masaaki half-slammed his hands on the table.
“Were you dating anyone in your hometown?”
“Sonoru!” Kinjo hissed, but Masaaki just sat back with a smug look. “That’s…barely related to her hometown.”
“It’s about the people in it,” Masaaki defended nonchalantly. “Besides, I mentioned my love and it doesn’t take much to guess you’re single. Trying to help you out here, my friend.”
“That’s not..!” Kinjo started a protest, then sighed. He truly looked at Seiko and offered an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, he’s hard to argue with. You don’t have to tell if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t mind,” Seiko admitted. She glanced away from them, towards the flowers scattered around the trees. “I wasn’t very…popular. People avoided me when they could.”
Kinjo opened his mouth and took a breath to comment, but immediately closed it again. He blushed and completely turned away from her. Masaaki must have picked up on what he was going to say, because he spoke up instead.
“A bit surprising,” he said. “You get along really well with the royal children—Prince Kyuru in particular says a lot of good things about you. Are you comfortable sharing the reason?”
“...Rumors.”
“Ah. I’m sorry to hear that a few gossips had that much of an influence.”
She couldn’t even call them rumors, or the people who spread them gossipers—yes, they held on to certain ideas for longer than they applied for, but they weren’t wrong to call her insane. Her voices never left—they never faded, not back there—she just pretended that they did. Her earliest years tainted their view of her for what could very well be the rest of her life.
You’re meant to be alone, the voices murmured. If your own mother doesn’t know you, then who does? Certainly not strangers.
They were trying to convince her to leave. Defiant—despite the small flare of pain that came up in response—Seiko instead continued on with the little game. Masaaki made a point to keep things light from then on, with Kinjo eventually joining the conversation more frequently after a few minutes of silence.