“I trust you with my land, my people, and my palace.”
Danjuro’s coppery hair shone in the light, giving way to stern features and a deep red beard. He sat near the entrance of the dining hall, his back so straight it didn’t touch the chair. Servants bustled in and out of the hall carrying new platters of fresh food. Flutes warmed up in the background, trilling a gentle, easy song, like the winding of a breeze.
Next to Danjuro sat his wife, Yishi Milwan. She had an attentive expression as she listened to the hushed conversations around her. Her wrap, a deep burgundy color, patterned with swirls of embroidered gold foxes, shone in the light. Her creamy skin was flawless, and her eyes were always smiling.
“It will take more than a marriage to create Nari supremacy, Father,” came a voice from down the table. Azuma, the oldest son of the ruling family, lifted a goblet and sipped it before he leaned forward over the table. “It’s not a matter of marriage, but of taking our rightful place as the leaders of an empire. And action! No clan can maintain its rule without being willing to fight and sacrifice for it.”
“We will act as we must when the time comes, but for now, let us turn our attention to my beloved daughter Ren,” Danjuro replied. “She is moving into a new life. We must ensure that she is comfortable and happy—and will remain so for the duration of her marriage.”
Azuma frowned, his sharp features a faint echo of his father’s. The skin around his cerulean eyes crinkled. He leaned back, his thin red hair brushing his shoulders in fine strands. Next to him sat Yuna, the eldest daughter of the house of Nari, her red hair cropped long, her lithe figure folded into a relaxed sitting position. She spoke little, and smiled coldly at those passing.
Amid the chaos, the ruling family’s youngest daughter Ren sat at the table near her mother. She was peering down at her plate.
Scales had drifted off her fish, littering the wooden circle of her plate with glitter. She used her slender eating sticks to push them around until they formed a delicate circle. Despite the tempting meal, she felt no hunger pangs, only a tightness in her belly that wrapped itself all the way to her heart with a heavy heat.
A commotion at the main doors drew her gaze. A man with a oily goatee shaped into a curl and a head of jet black hair stepped into the room. Heavy green eyes peered out of a regal face: a perfect match for the luxurious court robes encasing his broad shoulders. A silk sash tied the robe closed. Glitters of color winked off his fingers. Precious stones. Ren’s gaze narrowed. Bramen Qin. She knew of no one else with such ease and confidence. He strode across the room and the buzzing conversation halted. He paused next to Danjuro, hands held up in a placating gesture.
“My apologies,” he said with a charming smile. “To disrupt such a jovial atmosphere.”
As soon as the conversation resumed, he bent at the waist, whispered something to Danjuro—who nodded—and then straightened. Without another word, he disappeared. Ren watched him go, bemused.
Her uncle Raizen reached for a pitcher of wine and poured it into his goblet. “I wonder what kind of atmosphere the imperial capital holds, considering an important celebration like this,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Danjuro asked.
“Since the Emperor Saemon has issued his anti-clerical edict, the people lost their enthusiasm. You cannot simply remove religion, the way he attempted with his Tege. The people desire to believe in something.”
Danjuro bit his bottom lip, eyes narrowed.
Yishi spoke up from across the table. “The removal of the Blessed Saran and her five chosen priestesses may have shaken the people’s faith. Despite their presence and divination practices I doubt people have lost the desire to worship them, even if they do communicate directly with the Triad.”
The five priestesses. The Five Fingers, Ren thought. Memories of the days when she was a child and the old handmaid Chyo made her memorize the rhyme of the five fingers, a tribute to the five servants of the Saran. An odd rhyme.
“I agree with my wife,” Danjuro said. He placed a heavy hand on his slender wife’s shoulders with an affectionate smile. “We, like all the other nations of the Empire, have had to adapt ourselves to Saemon’s rules. That doesn’t mean we have lost faith.”
Ren shuddered. Could anyone have faith in dark days such as these?
From close to Ren, Azuma adjusted the collar of his tunic with a tug of a finger. “I hate Saemon, but the women-only clergy always bothered me. At least we are finally freed of that tyranny.”
Full of spite behind those words. Ren thought.
“Don’t be insolent Azuma!” Danjuro snapped. “The Blessed Saran represented the will of the Triad on earth.”
“It’s rumored that one of the Fingers is still active and leads a minority loyal to the old traditions,” Raizen said with a sip of his wine. “Don’t be surprised if it’s true.”
Azuma snorted. “Rumors.”
“Who will be consecrate the marriage between Isao and Ren if not the Saran?” Raizen asked.
“The elderly man Baran. Saemon granted him as Imperial High Priest years ago,” Danjuro said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Ren didn’t take her eyes off the flaky, white fish on her plate. Their words slipped in and out of her mind in a mind-numbing train. When would such a face celebration end?
“Forgive my interruption and any perceived rudeness,” Yuna said, a goblet raised in the air. “But I believe that all these words divert our attention from the real reason of this meeting. We wish a marvelous wedding and an exciting life for our Ren. To Ren!”
Danjuro smiled at her. “You’re right, my daughter. You’re always wise.”
“Ren, you must tell us,” Yuna said, fingering the crystals on her goblet. “Are you excited for the wedding? You’ll be a married woman soon.”
Ren glanced up. “Of course,” she said immediately. “I am happy to bring peace and power to the Nari Clan.”
Danjuro grunted, nodding in approval in her direction. Azuma frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening. Yuna gave her a small, yet genuinely loving smile in response.
Observing these expressions, Ren relaxed.
They hadn’t detected the tightness in her tone, she thought. Or, if they had, it didn’t bother them enough to comment on it.
Perhaps heartbreak had no political weight.
“Are you sad to be leaving home?” Yuna asked.
“Of course. Alka Qun is my home.”
“You may still visit,” Azuma snorted. “It’s not as if you’re going somewhere to die.”
Yuna fell silent.
Ren stood up, her throat tightening. Their cold indifference made her stomach roll. “Excuse me. I have finished eating.”
When her parents nodded their permission, she stepped away from the table, walking sedately into the hall. The servants acknowledged her with low bows, their wraps tucked in neat lines without a wrinkle visible.
Ren moved down the immaculate hall, which was beautiful and befitting her dress choice. The stunning architecture and pristine decorations—all without a hint of dust—flanked her as she walked with dainty steps.
She stepped inside her bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her.
Late that night, Ren stared into the high canopy of her bed, eyes wide, thoughts spinning like mad, unable to get them to stop. Yuna’s voice echoed through her restless mind: Are you sad to leave home?
No, Ren thought. No.
An open window sent the sheer drapes fluttering, and blew a cooling wind across her cheeks.
Ren watched the drapes move forward and back, envying them their freedom.
She slid out of bed. When she stepped up to the window, she closed her eyes. She pulled in a deep, slow breath, trying to inhale the quiet and peace that lay beyond her window.