Shogatsu came and went within the palace with revelry befitting royalty. I shared in none of it. Another week, and the rain season began. Finally, a kimono seamstress came, wrapped up my fabric in heavy rice paper, enclosed it within an ornate lacquer box for protection, and carried it away to finish it into a princess’s kimono.
My illness had so far excused me from the Princess and any of her invitations, but soon, I would have to face her. She would have instructions, perhaps another letter for me to deliver, but which, of course, I would intercept. I healed, and prepared myself for our mutual deception.
I watched the rain and calculated my timing. The annual date of the Sakura Festival followed the progress of the blossoms, not the calendar. The weather would decide. If it remained cool for long enough, I might have another six weeks, perhaps as much as two months before Ansei would come.
* * *
The Princess would entrust me with no communication. She fell ill to a seasonal affliction herself, and for two weeks more I saw nothing of her. When at last I received word of her, it was written in her own hand, inviting me to come with her on a mineral bath retreat to aid her recovery.
I prepared my very few belongings for a short mountain journey.
On my next encounter with the Princess, she was stepping into a red lacquered palanquin chair, withdrawn and subdued, but not without a hint of color in her cheeks.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“I will call you no more Fuyuko, but Orihime sama,” she said when I bowed low in greeting.
“Your Highness has seen the silk?”
“Yes. And it is even as you so boldly proclaimed, the loveliest kimono I have ever owned. Indeed, I have never seen anything half so lovely! It cheered me so much to see it. I believe it is the reason for my improved health. I couldn’t have made even this short journey otherwise.”
For her sake, I wished for this to be true. “You will be in better health yet for the sake of a good mineral bath.”
“I expect I shall—and you with me. You have never seen an imperial bathhouse, and this will be my treat to you, are you ready?”
I answered her, yes.
* * *
Sturdy menservants bore us straight us the mountain side, the chilly morning breeze lifting our silken curtains and a strong sulfuric odor wafted through, announcing the proximity of the onsen baths.
I sat in the sedan, pensive, reflecting upon the new name the Princess had given me. I remembered the legend.
Orihime was a mythical weaver said to have woven the clothing of the Gods. The association with her ought to have been flattering to me, but it came a little too close to my heart. To me, even in her thwarted love affair, Orihime was enviable. After all, her lover was constant. I had believed Ansei faithful and had found him worse than false. He would use me for a purpose so repugnant; I could scarcely bear the thought of it.
Distracted, I had had taken only vague notice of the Princess’s affected cheerfulness toward me. Surely the silk had pleased her, but her lack of reserve seemed to belie the weight of recently past events. I didn’t think long on this, however, but took in the mountain scenery and took what solace I could from it.