A fortune in silk spools lined one wall of the tearoom where the loom stood waiting for me. I sat down to stare at the spools until I could gain some inspiration. I fell asleep gazing at them.
I hadn’t slept long before Kiyo was again at the door.
“Already hard at work, I see.” She yawned almost widely behind her closed hand to show how little she thought of me.
I frowned.
“I regret that I have no more to show you. I think you would be better pleased with me and my work if you came at the end of the week instead of the beginning.”
“Oh no, indeed. It was so dull when you left the house. I have been waiting for your return only for a change,” she said. “I am glad we shall have you for the next little while—at least as long as you will sometimes bother yourself to wake up and talk to me.”
“I will have to get to work soon to finish your trousseau on time.”
“I have seen you work. You can do it,” she dismissed my concern with a wave of her hand. “But you are such a lucky creature. I am almost jealous of you—you will be so rich by the time you leave. And you will have no duties, nor obligations like I shall have as a wife to a high official. I think I’ll find marriage tedious. Sometimes I can’t bear to face it.”
“But you called it a conquest only days ago!”
“And it is, but when I see you so praised and hear such a fuss made of your little projects, I begin to think I’ll hardly be much richer than you. And you will have so little work for all of that freedom.”
I stared at the wall piled high with silk thread.
“That seems unlikely.”
“Don’t contradict me. You shall be admired and almost famous. And I will have so many obligations, except of course when my husband is away, which will be often. And then I shall be truly tedious.”
“You have so many friends,” I reminded her.
“To be sure, I have many friends, but they cannot always be visiting.” She released a long sigh. “Except for the gardens. There will be gorgeous gardens at my husband’s home. There is nothing else to do. I’ll tell my father to send his gardener to me. You know I must. Then our gardens will exceed anything and everything! And having some company from the tedium will do me no harm, either.” She said this and I almost flinched when she winked at me.
“Will your father send his gardener to you?”
“Of course. My status will be so high, and I will send nice gifts in the bargain. How can he refuse?”
“But—” I almost stammered the words. “But you cannot expect that to please your husband.”
“My husband would make a present of him if he were his own servant.”
Here again, I sensed that she was baiting me, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Does his servant status make him so unworthy to be considered a danger?”
Kiyo gasped, “How dare you even suggest it? He’s a gardener.” Then she covered a small smile with one hand. “Can you really be in love with him? You absolutely cannot indulge your sentimentality like that. I beg you to master yourself, or someone will expose you. I can see I had better take you in hand or you will soon get into terrible trouble. The world is so wide. People cannot all be trusted.”
I blinked.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You are right to affect as much confusion as you do with me, but you shall be eaten alive if you don’t begin to make a study of political stratagem.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Listen to me. As you establish your reputation for weaving, you will receive many invitations and much recognition. You will become rich. Men will seek your society. And then what will you do? Have you ever been alone with a man? How will you know how to evaluate a prospect?”
I admitted I didn’t know.
“Having lost your good father, and your mother being—how she is—you know, willing to expose you to all sorts of people for money—“
I had to stifle a gasp at her characterization of Madame Sato, but Kiyo rushed on without noticing.
“I suppose you will be married to the first dominating suitor to come along and make his case. He will work you like a slave at the loom and take all the money for himself.”
“How is stratagem supposed to help me?”
“Darling. We’re women, and cannot hope to get our way by force. We must resort to more indirect means, but to do so takes practice.”
“How do we do that?”
“Fuyuko, dear. I cannot teach you everything. I can introduce you. Get you started. Then we will see if the bird can fly. Tomorrow my father and many of the house servants will be busy visiting the local farms. I can arrange a trip to town with my mother and Madame Sato, leaving you alone here. You can take all the time you need.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
I hesitated.
“I don’t understand.”
Kiyo began to offer a few more instructions that I couldn’t bear to hear, and I was sorry I had let the conversation follow to this point.
“Say no more about this, please,” I said, face burning.
“I meant to help you. Only, I am rather surprised your mother hasn’t had this talk with you herself. But then, she may not be fully aware—”
“Aware of what?” I may as well have been blunt. I had already ruined my poise by biting my lip.
“There are proposals already on their way, if your mother has not received them already. It is possible she has accepted someone in your behalf. You cannot act too soon in that case.”
“I am sure my mother has done nothing of the sort.” But Kiyo had startled me by this suggestion. I had no idea whether Madame had entertained anything of the kind. Would she be so bold toward a fictional daughter? I knew at once she would. And it was too late to veil the fear that had, already, so clearly shaken me.
“Let us arrange it this way. Pluck a peony blossom from the garden, and thread it through the doors when you are ready. If you cannot summon the courage, then, let your mother dictate your life for you.” Kiyo rose to her feet.
“I must go now. And you can return to your napping—I mean, work. What a life it must be!” she said, and sighed.
Then she was gone, and I confronted the implications of what had passed between us. I had not intended to give Kiyo her way—not when I might negotiate Ansei’s freedom myself, but Kiyo was shrewd, and I shouldn’t have been surprised she had maneuvered to her own advantage.
Worse was the thought of what Kiyo had only implied, and I shuddered. Did she mean to suggest that liaisons with Ansei were common practice? I would not believe it. Kiyo was subtle, but not imaginative. She thought only of herself and beyond that, her ideas failed. She could not see Ansei for who he was. I didn’t believe she could choose him, even as an indulgence. He was only useful to her as a device to torture me.
I debated back and forth as I paced the floor, mentally undressing every peony bush in the garden. On one hand, I urged myself to take my time, and not give Kiyo any more material to leverage against me.
And yet, I was tempted to cut ties with everyone and run away with Ansei now, ahead of any accusations Kiyo might make. I owed nothing to anyone here—not even, I told myself—to Madame Sato. But my internal debate tended toward nothing but emotional exhaustion, and at last, I slept.
* * *
Upon first awakening, I almost believed I had done it myself. Not one, but a fat bouquet of full-blown blossoms, decapitated from their bush, embraced within the handle of the shoji doors.
At one time, I would have suspected I had acted in perverse subjugation of my own right mind. But in this moment, I knew I hadn’t. Kiyo would deny having done it, but it had been her, and no one else. She would watch me—then make me a fool and a public spectacle if she could.
Fine. I would beg Ansei to run away with me. My nobility was a fraud. I had never cared for social approval, and the world may as well know it.
I found a little satchel and filled it with a few of my belongings. I had so little money. Madame had always provided for me, but this would not matter. Ansei and I were resourceful. I could always work my loom. He could gI busied myself as though activity might by itself make a difference to our flight. I could not sit still and think. What little thinking I did stung me to my bones.
Robed in silk, hair combed and coiffed, I prepared to confront Ansei—an immortal Ansei. That I should appear to him while pretending aristocracy was irony beyond imagination. I could hardly bear the thought of speaking to him—pretentious in the hummingbird obi he had watched me embroider with my own laboring hands. I trembled with distraction so great I didn’t hear the doors part.
And when I turned, there he stood, lit by the late afternoon sun’s rays. To me, he always withstood the sun well for beauty.
He met my gaze only for an instant and then bowed low.
“Lady—”
I shuddered.
“Don’t. You know the fraud I have committed in appearing this way—to anyone, but especially to you.” I gripped the obi sash tied around my middle and would have torn it violently along its seem, but more quickly still, Ansei seized my hand.
His breath fell rough against my cheek.
“There is no fraud. I know you better than you know yourself.” His hand relaxed and I shrank to the floor.
“Can you forgive me?”
He dropped to the floor beside me. “
What?”
“You were arrested—and for my sake.”
Slowly, he raised my face to meet his.
“Do you think I am bound?”
I flinched in surprise.
“You serve Master Nobu.”
“I am only biding my time. He isn’t holding me here.”
The truth of this statement hit me with force. And I knew it was so, but I couldn’t yet understand it.
“Why are you waiting? When will you leave?”
He averted his eyes, and whispered, “I am waiting your readiness.”
I caught my breath.
“Then we must go now!”
He shook his head, no.
“Why not? I am here, and I don’t trust Master Nobu’s daughter not to expose us—not to cast doubt on my noble status. Every moment is a risk for me.”
“I don’t doubt she will try to expose you in some way, but she won’t now.”
“How do you know?”
“She won’t move against you until she is in a greater position of influence. Moving too quickly will extend herself beyond her position of power, and she will lose her wedding robe in the process. She’s not eager to do that. Finish your work for her. Offer her all of your assistance and be as useful to her as you can. Then wait. You will receive an important invitation. Accept it and never look back!”
“But what good is any of that to us? I could negotiate your freedom—”
He put his finger to my lips.
“I will take my freedom when the time is right. You needn’t risk yourself to do it.”
“When will that be?”
“Soon. Will you trust me?”
I felt I must trust him and said so.
But he set his jaw grimly and answered, “We’ll see.”
This expression of doubt so provoked me, the words burst from my mouth unconsidered, “Ask me for anything!”
He replied with a crushing, “I have nothing to ask you now, except that you wait.”
“You mean, I have nothing you want.”
One rough hand held my resisting face to meet his gaze.
“Are you listening to me?”
I shook my head free, but his gaze held mine.
“Know this—and never forget it! You are worthy! Where you are going, they will teach you to doubt it. You’ll prove it to yourself someday, but even without proof, you must believe me. I will come. Promise me you’ll be ready.”
I promised.
He assisted me to my feet. I should not have been surprised to find he could manage the kitsuke of the disheveled sash. He could, and beautifully. He worked patiently, his breath falling on my neck, the neck he had once healed. At last he paused. Only then did I feel the tension in his hands, and it traveled swiftly from his fingers to my core. Our breathing fell into a rhythm and just as I thought I might not survive another moment of his nearness, he released me, disappearing through the doors.
I sank, trembling to the tatami.
The moon had risen high in the sky before I released myself again from a tight fetal position. The light softened my tension and relaxed my spine.
Gradually, I unfolded and lengthened my limbs, then turned my face to the glowing orb. I stared at its familiar face and let its light pull me to standing.
I needed every fractal of illumination, every glimmer of hope my mother moon could give me.