The voices never fully quieted. Seiko waited for the concern to turn to questions, but all that came out of it was that Kinjo learned how to look for her pain and Maenomi insisted on making Seiko do less work.

The voices tried to paint it like a betrayal—something Seiko should be offended by—but she found it reassuring instead. They trusted her to tell them if she was feeling unwell and they cared enough to ask her to rest. She preferred that over whatever reaction they might have to learning the reason behind that pain.

She couldn’t always listen to the recommendations—the voices demanded more attention than she preferred, and she couldn’t abandon the children to take care of themselves when she was in pain—but she appreciated it nonetheless.

The headaches and occasional migraine kept up for the rest of autumn and into winter. The year neared its end; Seiko and the children all helped set up the festival in town to prepare. It helped make the voices a little quieter—helped her focus on the people around her, instead of the grim promises murmured on the back of her mind.

The shrine had a graduation ceremony of sorts that all older shrine maiden—Maenomi included, although Rinatsu was exempt—had to attend, so Seiko taught the children in their stead. With Masaaki there to entertain Kyuru and Kinjo helping with actual teaching, however, the children were more focused on the partial strangers. Between that and a small migraine, Seiko didn’t force them to learn anything. The rest of the children’s guards still spent the morning away.

She completely lost them by lunch, so she let them have fun. For Rinatsu, that meant getting paints, a canvas, and a brush; for Chiki and Kyuru, it meant running around in the snow. Masaaki went outside to play with the boys while Seiko and Kinjo stayed in, watching through the open front door.

The boys’ shouts were a bit too loud for Seiko, admittedly, but she didn’t want to interrupt them. They’d quiet down once they noticed regardless; they needed to release some energy. Kinjo and Rinatsu compensated by staying relatively quiet.

Kinjo sat next to her, carefully writing some sort of story the best he could without a table. Seiko mostly observed the room, waiting for him to give it to her for input. After a few minutes, Rinatsu perked up and looked around.

“Is something the matter?” Seiko asked kindly.

“...I thought I heard something,” the princess murmured. She glanced at Seiko, mild confusion shifting to curiosity. “May I head back to my room now, Miss Tsujihara? I’m getting cold.”

“You have to stay nearby until your guard comes back.”

Princess Rinatsu let out a dramatic sigh. “It took her two hours to come to town yesterday! Can you bring Chiki and Kyuru inside, then? Or leave them with Sir Masaaki?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to keep them from playing, and Masaaki isn’t qualified to watch both at once.”

She put down her brush and completely turned towards Seiko.

“May I get tea and snacks, then?”

Seiko nodded. The kitchen was close enough. “Yes, just don’t take too long.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

The princess gave a quick bow in respect, then left. Seiko stood up to close the paint jars. Rinatsu claimed to work largely by choosing a few colors and going off of that, but it still fascinated Seiko whenever she caught a glimpse at a painting in progress. The splotches of color—blue, green, and purple in this case—could take shape into anything over the course of a few hours.

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Seiko sat back down once she finished, and Kinjo wordlessly passed along his writing for her judge. She read it for a few minutes—he had a talent for making up fairytales and putting them to paper, and her job was just to make sure it progressed smoothly—before Kyuru poked his head in the room.

“Miss Tsujihara?”

She immediately put down the paper and looked at the prince.

“Are you ready to come in?”

“No,” Kyuru immediately answered, shaking his head. “I’m having a lot of fun! But, um…”

He took a little step further in and glanced at the memorials in the back of the room—one for the king, one for Prince Teiki, one for Miss Shiharu, and one for each of her children—then back at Seiko and shuffled.

“I…” He got quieter, almost a whisper. “I just thought I kinda heard Uncle Tsunkei?”

Seiko froze, and the boy misunderstood. In his haste to try to explain, he grew loud enough to catch Kinjo’s attention.

“I-I mean, I think it was Uncle Tsunkei. I don’t actually remember him that well, but it… I heard it and I knew it was him, kinda..?”

She finally recovered and readjusted herself so she faced the prince.

“What did he say to you?”

Kyuru looked at the ground and bit his lip. She suppressed a wince as her voices flared in volume for a second.

“I need to know what he said, Kyuru,” Seiko said as gently as she could. She gestured for him to come a little closer. “If you don’t want anyone else to hear, you can whisper it to me.”

“M-maybe it…isn’t actually that important…”

She tried to smile. “Please. If it’s bothering you, I want to know what it is so I can help.”

He hesitated for a second, then came a little closer. He sat down next to her, slowly creeping closer over the course of half a minute. He leaned into Seiko and buried his head in her dress.

“Uncle said…” Kyuru sniffed and paused. “I think he said that ‘the end begins.’”

He would be a good replacement, if you fail… Not everyone can hear us so vividly…

Assuming he lives longer than you, at least.

Seiko flinched away from the boy, prompting Kyuru to look up. She had a harder time with it, but she tried to maintain the kind look and wiped away the few tears the boy shed.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Seiko.

She shook off the voices’ comment and gently separated herself from Prince Kyuru. He watched her as she looked out the main door.

“Prince Chiki, Masaaki.” Both of them paused their game and gave her their attention. “Princess Rinatsu left to get tea a while ago—why don’t you head inside and we can have it in the dining room?”

About that… Seiko startled and grimaced at the new voice, recognizing it immediately. I couldn’t get it… I couldn’t even finish my painting… I’m sorry.

Seiko startled when Kinjo gently tapped her shoulder. He pulled away at the reaction.

Before he could ask, Seiko shook her head. She closed her hand into a fist so she could press her nails into her palm. The pain only dulled a few voices—the rest, Rinatsu’s included, still murmured on, their indecipherable chatter turning into clear requests for more blood. She pushed her nails in deeper to compensate, hoping the greater pain would quiet them. It didn’t work.

Masaaki’s eyes narrowed, so he must have noticed—but Kinjo focused more on her expression for any outward signs of distress. Seiko glanced at Kinjo.

“You don’t have any weapons with you, do you?”

“No, but why—”

“There’s a knife in Lord Gin’s study; tell him to be careful, then ask if you can take the knife.”

Chiki obediently entered and Masaaki trailed behind him. Seiko took a few steps outside before Masaaki spoke up.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to check something,” she lied. “I’ll meet up with you.”

She didn’t want to be near them when and if the voices got too loud.

Neither Kinjo nor Masaaki looked convinced, but they didn’t protest. With a silent nod, they left—Seiko went in the other direction. The voices only grew more cohesive.