Shadow Magic

CHAPTER SEVEN





MAMORU

Of all the things I’d managed to prepare myself for in the past few days, the one thing I wasn’t anticipating was Kouje’s behavior that afternoon on the road to the border crossing.

Ke-Han land was partitioned according to the pattern originated by the old domains hundreds of years ago. When my ancestors swept across the land on horseback, consolidating their power and subsuming each territory into our vast empire, what had once been separate castle towns and the land that surrounded them became prefectures. To this day they remained cordoned off by the great walls, which transected the Xi’an landscape like the stitching in a farmer’s patchwork cloak. Now, the prefectures were run once more by lesser lords and defended by their retainers; the only difference was that the lords each answered to the Emperor, and their duty was to serve the empire first and not themselves.

The greatest wall of all, which surrounded the capital city, was nearly thirty feet high. Until then, it had been the only one I’d ever seen with my own eyes, though I was told that, because of the walls, our country itself was one of the greatest wonders of the world.

As apprehensive as I was about crossing the border, I did wish to see that great wonder for myself, to observe for myself the famed checkpoint towers. I was no child, but it struck me as somehow sad that I, once a prince of the Ke-Han, had so little knowledge of what had been my own land.

Up ahead of us, Jiang and Inokichi had stopped by the side of the road to rest and water their horses; Kouje and I dismounted to do the same. It was a beautiful road, if barren and somewhat lonely. There was something to be said for the comfort of a road well traveled, though I was glad we’d passed so few riders that day. As much as it had unsettled me to live like a wild demon in the forest, I missed the shelter of the trees and was unaccustomed to so much open air, and so much sun.

“Here,” Kouje said, wringing out a cloth in the stream and offering it to me. I pressed it against my burning forehead, and sighed in relief. I wanted to ask him if the sunlight bothered him—if he felt on fire from the inside out, or suffered the pounding headache that came from a long morning riding through the heat, or if he was sore all over from riding—but I felt uncomfortable speaking in front of Jiang and Inokichi, so said nothing.

“Little flower you’ve got yourself there,” Kichi said, and though Kouje stiffened, I attempted to remind myself that it was his own peculiar way of paying me a compliment. I didn’t understand it—there was no poetry at all within it—but I would have to accept it. “Real delicate. Ladylike. Is she married?”

“She’s still young,” Kouje managed, tension lacing his voice. I allowed myself to pat him gently on the arm.

“My brother is quite protective,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation somewhat. I could allow myself, in this disguise, to speak with some of the delicate language from the palace. After all, I was a woman, and I felt no need to become someone like Old Mayu just yet.

“Ah, say no more,” Kichi said, winking at me in a way that I supposed was meant to be congenial.

It occurred to me that I had very little understanding of the way that men and women communicated with one another in an informal setting. I had a great deal to learn. And perhaps Kouje did as well, for I could practically feel the tension radiating from him in waves. If we could have had a moment alone, that I might have asked him frankly what the trouble was, I would have felt marginally better.

As things stood, though, I was unsure as to whether Kouje was simply having trouble adjusting to the way of life we’d taken up, as I was. At the palace, he would never have tolerated anyone speaking to me with such familiarity; the sudden change must have been a great strain on him.

I squeezed his arm where I’d patted it, trying to convey my meaning without words: that it was quite all right and that he needn’t worry so.

Kouje looked at me, and I could see his frustration quite plainly, mingled with the knowledge that this was what we had to accept. To be perfectly honest, I was surprised at the difficulty he was having in adapting. I’d always assumed that Kouje would undertake any task with the greatest of ease while I would be the one left struggling.

It had been so ever since I was young, after all, with Kouje set as the bar for everything I aspired to become.

Of course, there were many things I had to learn on my own since Kouje, for all his fine attributes, was not a prince, but he praised me in my learning of those other subjects too, even if he did not understand himself the particularities of poetry or calligraphy. In some ways, Kouje had been like a second brother to me, not as proud or as stern as Iseul, but one who would give me comfort when I’d done poorly, and encouragement when I’d done well. Such needs were only an indication of my weaker character, for Iseul had never required a brother to offer him anything—but then again, that was where the difference between us lay. I was a second son, born weaker than the first, and nothing could be done about it.

“My friend,” I murmured, softly enough that I didn’t think Inokichi or Jiang would hear me.

Kouje nodded, his eyes saying what he could no longer speak aloud: my lord.

It was an agreement, though I’d not asked anything specific of him, to try harder. I could tell by the troubled expression on his face that he, too, was concerned by his conduct. He would have to take better control of himself, rein himself in as he did our horse.

Some way from us, Jiang and Inokichi sat beneath a tree, playing a game with knucklebones. Rather, Inokichi was playing, and Jiang was looking bored, casting a glance toward the horses every now and again to see if they’d tired of drinking yet. I gazed at the stream with some longing myself, for all we’d bathed the day before. Had it only been a day ago? My clothes were coated in traveling dust, the hem of my robes stained with the damp of early mornings in the forest and hunting for rabbits. I could no longer recall what it felt like to be clean, even though I remembered the sharp cold of the water in the river and the slither of catfish around my ankles. How Kouje had laughed at me then, and rightfully so. I smiled to think of it, new memories that were not so sore as the old ones and were heartening to think back on.

Time had passed in a curious fashion since we’d left the palace, first so quickly and then impossibly slow, so that I was no longer certain of the day or time. By my calculation, though, it had been less than a week. Four days? I would be missing the summer festivals in the city, that much I knew—but had they already started without me?

“We should be moving on soon,” said Kouje aloud, for everyone’s benefit. Then he took the cloth from my forehead and patted it against my temples. I realized that he was as concerned about getting me out of the sun as he was with furthering us to our destination. Or perhaps he was feeling the effects of it as badly as I was and only thought to save himself a splintering headache.

It was very likely the former, but I tried now and then to pretend Kouje was also looking after himself.

Kichi stood up all at once, like a theatre puppet pulled to its feet. Jiang followed at a slower pace, looking less than amused at his friend’s antics. It was a kind of exasperation that was born of real affection, though, which made sense when one wondered how they could have put up with traveling together so long.

“Wanting to get it over with as soon as possible, hm?” Kichi stretched his arms over his head. He was overly tall, as well as overly cheerful. “Can’t say as I blame you. Never know who you’re going to end up stuck behind. And if there’s some poor bastard with a royal air about him ahead of you, the crossing could take all day. That is, if the guards don’t take an irrational dislike to you with no warning.”

Jiang snorted. I got the feeling that perhaps Kichi was the sort of man that guards took an irrational dislike to.

Kouje seemed to think so, too, but I saw him clench his hands at his sides and breathe in deeply instead of saying anything. I laid a hand against his back, to comfort him as much as to draw strength from his resolve.

At the palace, I would have been ashamed to draw on any outside comfort, especially now that I was of age, but I’d never before seen a side of Kouje that faltered, that was ever anything but completely certain. It frightened me more than the imminent border crossing, and I was glad to see him taking control of himself once more.

“One more little border town and we’re at the crossing,” said Jiang. “We thought we might stop there for lunch. Kichi crosses better on a full stomach.”

“What he means is, I’m less likely to ask the guards what they’re having for lunch and end up on the wrong end of a sword,” Kichi said, smiling as though he shared an enormous joke with me.

“Sounds all right,” Kouje said curtly. I could tell that he was wondering whether or not we’d have the money for lunch. We still had some left over from the night before, but it seemed prudent to save it for a time of need rather than on another bowl of rice so soon after the first.

Jiang and Inokichi mounted while Kouje helped me onto our horse. It was an unnecessary gesture, but one we’d thought might aid the illusion that I was his maiden sister, younger and inexperienced. It made me wonder about Kouje’s real sister, the one upon whom we were pinning all our hopes. I wondered if she was like the sister I played at being, or if she was more like Kouje himself. I hoped at least that she would forgive us for using her home as a place to hide—for the trouble it could bring her, and the disgrace if she were ever caught. I hoped that she hadn’t already branded me as a traitor or blamed me for her brother’s downfall.

More than all the rest, I hoped that she would like me.

I fell into a restless dozing on the bright, sunny road that led to the border crossing. When I woke, I was rested back against Kouje’s chest, my neck bent at an uncomfortable angle and my head pounding from the heat. The only comfort I found was the shade cast over my cheek by Kouje’s profile, but my neck felt raw, and was no doubt red as summer beets.

I licked my dry lips, and lifted my head gingerly.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Kouje shifted behind me, as though he’d been reluctant to move before. How long had I been sleeping, I wondered, and how uncomfortable had it been for him? “I didn’t want to wake you. I believe we’re almost at the town.”

“Oh,” I said, squinting down the road ahead. Inokichi and Jiang were riding some way in front of us. I could hear Kichi’s laugh ring out sudden and sharp, startling birds into flight at regular intervals.

“Kouje, how long have I been asleep?”

“Not long,” he said, quiet as though I was sleeping still, and he was trying not to disturb me. “Not longer than half an hour. Does your head trouble you still?”

I nodded, regretting the movement seconds later. “I think that, even if we do not partake of lunch, I am sorely in need of some water.”

“And… what of lunch?” Kouje asked.

We both knew how hungry I was; Kouje, surely, must have been hungry as well. “Full still from the night before,” I said, offering Kouje what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Perhaps I might fashion some sort of covering for my head before we ride out next.”

“An umbrella would work best,” Kouje said.

“Mm, yes,” I agreed, “and an armed escort—perhaps a stroll in the gardens, or a palanquin?”

Kouje flushed, and laughter sparked momentarily in his eyes. “Perhaps we’ll figure out some kind of veil, then,” he agreed. “Though I don’t know if it would suit you.”

“It would cover my face,” I pointed out. “Which might be useful, all things considered, for reasons beyond protection from the sun.”

“Still,” Kouje said, “it wouldn’t suit you.”

It might, I thought, allow me to avoid any further comments from Kichi as to what a delicate flower I was, or how it wasn’t fair of Kouje to be so dead set against my receiving compliments. After all, I wasn’t that young, and Kichi was certain there’d been a young gentleman or two—probably, he added with a wink, more like a whole army of them—knocking down Kouje’s door to be the lucky bastard who could convince my brother he was worthy, and was that what we were on the road for, hm? Running away from all my blockhead suitors?

I was grateful, at least, that I was convincing in my part. When Kichi went on and on in that fashion, it was easy enough to blush and duck my head, for all the world acting like the delicate flower he thought I was.

What I was most worried about was being too delicate. Even though we were a party of four, I couldn’t run the risk of being too aristocratic.

Occupied by my thoughts, it wasn’t long before we crested a hill and Kichi reined in his horse for long enough to wave back at us and gesticulate toward the horizon. What I saw there took my breath away.

One of the many great walls lay before us, large gray stone weathered by time and bleached by the sun, and a thriving wallside town in the valley below. It was a busier place than we’d seen in a long time, more people than we’d been among since we left the palace, houses and shops crowded together beside the protection offered by the wall.

“How tall do you suppose it is?” I managed to ask Kouje once I’d regained my breath.

Kouje paused for a moment to appraise the height, with the horse whinnying and snuffling below us in annoyance at our strange whims.

“Fifteen feet I’d say, at the least,” he answered finally. “Can’t tell for sure until we’re closer.”

“Are you gonna spend all day staring at it?” Kichi howled back at us, though it was clearly a good-natured demand. “Or are you gonna get a move on? Hicks!” He let out a cheerful whoop and spurred his horse suddenly on, tearing off down the hill, leaving Jiang to give us a long-suffering look and follow after at a more dignified pace, with us trailing behind him.

The town wasn’t nearly so big as the capital, but it was large enough for me to realize how much I had missed city life—even though most of my opportunities to observe it were through a palanquin window, it was still the knowledge of its bustling presence, its constant activity, its arts and pleasures and luxuries, that I’d been missing. We might have grown accustomed to our isolation in the woods, to sleeping on beds of leaves and to hearing the owls hooting in the night, but I’d never once stopped missing what I’d lost. All that became painfully clear the moment what I’d lost was, in some ways, returned to me—the noise and the light and the excitement of a real city. I could smell dumplings cooking, ducks being roasted, could hear the commotion of shop owners chasing orphans away from their doorsteps or calling to the passersby, trying to tempt them inside. My stomach grumbled so loudly I knew Kouje must have heard it—I didn’t like that he should have to catch me out in a lie, no matter how necessary it was—but he didn’t say anything, and I willed the grumbling to be silent. We barely had any money left, and I tried my best not to stare at the children by the roadside eating their dumplings, entirely oblivious to just how lucky they were.

“Fried eel,” Kouje said, almost without thinking.

The smell was torturous, but I breathed in deeply anyway, storing the scent and trying to let the memory of what fried eel tasted like fill my stomach. It didn’t work as well as it might have, but it was the only taste of eel I would have for a long time, and I savored it.

All around us, people were talking in the cruder dialects I was coming to understand better and better, slurring their conjugations and elongating their vowels. Sometimes they used words I didn’t even recognize, which left me scrambling after the meaning of what I’d overheard, trying to piece together what the word must have meant by the context of the other words surrounding it. If I was to be a commoner, then it was necessary for me to understand their language, though their slang often made me blush.

What I recognized most of all, to my shame and growing agitation, was my own name, usually spoken in loud whispers; the rest was gossip, each tidbit more ludicrous than the last. One of them had Kouje fighting mountain demons in the north; another had me already in Tado, across the ocean, in talks with the royal family there. Where had I found a boat, I wondered, and how had I got across the water so quickly? And yet, when I thought of the guards at the checkpoint, I wished that I were in Tado, dining at the royal court, speaking with them of true treason.

Yet—and this was the strangest thing—the men and women on the street, when speaking my name or Kouje’s, uttered them without any animosity at all. I was a runaway and, for all they knew, also a traitor. I ought to have been vilified. Men should have spat on the street when they spoke of me, and women should have looked up to the heavens in apology when they acknowledged my existence. Why didn’t they loathe me? There was some piece of the puzzle I was missing, and I didn’t know how to go about understanding it.

Kouje reined the horse in suddenly, to avoid trampling a group of small children as they darted out across the road and almost directly under our horse’s hooves.

“I’m Lord Kouje,” the child in the lead called back over his shoulder, waving a short stick in a way that intimated it was not, in fact, a stick at all, but rather a great sword.

“You were Lord Kouje last time!” one of his companions accused, deeply affronted by his friend’s selfishness. “And Sanji was Prince Mamoru last time, too!”

They disappeared past us down a side street in a chorus of shouting and laughter, leaving Kouje and me baffled in their wake.

“Imagine that,” was all Kouje finally said, and we hurried along, so as not to lose Jiang and Inokichi in the crowd.

We stopped at last in front of another noodle shop—and spending so much time near noodle shops without buying any noodles, I realized, was going to drive me mad sooner or later. My favorite noodles had been the wide, flat rice ones, served hot, usually in broth; Kouje preferred buckwheat noodles, served cold and sprinkled with sesame oil. Just thinking about it made me ache all over.

“My old friend runs this place,” Kichi said, after we’d dismounted. “He’ll give us the best noodles for cheap. Can’t find better noodles, not even in the capital!”

“We’re not hungry,” Kouje said, a bit too quickly. I understood the reason why—the longer he hesitated, the more difficult it would be to refuse.

Inokichi looked at us, mouth wide open in shock, like a dead fish’s. “Not possible,” he said finally, pointing toward me. “I’ve been listening to that one’s stomach grumble for miles now.”

I felt the blush rising in my cheeks almost before I could duck my head. Of course I knew that Kouje’s stomach must have been empty too, and that there was no shame in so simple a thing as hunger, but I couldn’t help wishing for a little more control over the noises that made it so evident to everyone else.

Kouje looked at me with uncertainty in his eyes for the first time. It was easier to believe that I was full when I had no one to contradict the lie of it.

Kichi sucked his teeth in a way that reminded me of a tutor I’d once had, and snapped his fingers. “Ah, so that’s the trouble, is it? No worries; I’ll cover the cost myself.”

“That’s not necessary,” Kouje began.

Kichi shook his head. “What kind of man would I be, letting a delicate little blossom like that starve? If you’re not careful, she’ll drop all her petals.”

“You’re too kind,” I murmured.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kouje bow his head, his jaw clenched tight against any further protest. I hoped he wouldn’t think the less of me for compromising his pride along with my own, but if there was a chance that I could silence my stomach’s complaints—and if there was a chance that Kouje could have something to eat, as well—I knew that we had to take it.

I didn’t regret it. I would have done it over again, given the chance. Besides which, refusing the offer a second time would be an insult to the man, and we couldn’t afford to make any more enemies.

“It’s decided, then!” Kichi slapped Kouje’s back, looking quite pleased with himself. “I know we don’t always see eye to eye, brother, but you’ve got to at least be flexible on the road. Think like a reed, and less like a rod, hey? There’s other things they say about rods, but I can’t tell that one to you with fine ladies present.”

At once, I felt myself blushing all over again. Kichi laughed his raucous laugh and pushed aside the colored banners that hung in the open doorway. Kouje touched my hand with his own in a gesture of reassurance, and I held on to it tightly for a moment, wishing I were not quite so delicate as to be left out of all interesting conversation. It wasn’t that I felt there would be any special merit in Kichi’s joke. In fact, it wasn’t even the joke at all but rather the spirit of camaraderie behind it. As things stood, I was in very nearly the same position of isolation as I had been in the palace. No one spoke his mind to a prince if he could help it, and apparently no one spoke his mind to the sister of a strapping young man like Kouje, either.

It was the most curious sensation to be surrounded by people and yet still feel so utterly alone.

“Are you all right?” Kouje asked me, the question soft between the two of us.

“Just the heat,” I lied, knowing that Kouje would guess at the truth behind my words well enough. If I’d felt confident enough to explain it properly, perhaps I would have tried. Perhaps Kouje understood them anyway, and that was why he’d made the gesture in the first place. Whatever the reason, I found myself grateful beyond words, and I held on to his hand with both of mine as we stepped inside. Things were less lonely with Kouje at my side.

The restaurant was a small but friendly-looking affair, with a counter for customers who were only interested in drinking, and a kitchen just behind it that emitted puffs of steam and mouthwatering smells in equal measure. It was also very crowded, so that Kouje and I had to pause for a moment to get our bearings once more. It had been so long since we’d been in a place with so many people that I believed for a moment we’d almost forgotten the way of it. Then I saw the consternation on Kouje’s face pass, and his grip on my hands relaxed. I allowed myself to breathe in deeply and concentrate not on the shouting or the jostling of the restaurant’s patrons, but the wonderful smells emanating from the kitchen.

Jiang and Inokichi were already sitting at a table near the back. When Kichi saw us, he stood up and waved us over.

“We thought you’d changed your minds,” he said. “Which would’ve been pretty stupid of you, really. I’d have to question your sanity in turning down a free meal like this one.”

“My sister’s just a little dizzy from the heat,” Kouje said, as politely as I’d heard him yet. The prospect of the noodles must have been affecting him just as it was affecting me.

“The two of you are awfully private with one another,” Jiang said. “Used to living on your own, are you?”

“Something like that,” Kouje said, and he stopped just short of the table.

I looked up, to see what was bothering him, and then I understood. Jiang and Inokichi had sat down across from one another, so that there was no space for Kouje to sit next to me as he normally did. I let go of his hand, and made as if to sit down first to set him at ease. Perhaps I would have to speak to him later, just to reassure him that he did not need to be so protective there as he was in the palace.

“I’ll sit there,” Kouje said, ducking around me when I would have sat next to Kichi. “I like to watch them make the noodles,” he offered by way of explanation, nodding to me and looking at no one.

I took my seat next to Jiang, remembering to smooth my rough skirts underneath me, and offered him a small smile, as if to acknowledge the common affliction we shared: companions with a vein of eccentricity run through the center of them.

It wasn’t entirely fair to Kouje, but I was certain he’d understand. I would have done anything to ease the tension between us.

“We didn’t want to take the pleasure of ordering away from you,” Kichi said, “so we waited. As long as you make it quick, we should be out of here with enough time to pass through the border and still make it to the next village before nightfall.”

“There’ve been reports of highwaymen out in full force now that everyone’s caught on the roads between checkpoints,” Jiang clarified.

Kouje sat up a little straighter, listening closely to memorize the information for later. He told Inokichi our preferences for noodles, and even smiled at the joke Kichi made about men who liked their noodles cold before he went off to order.

“Well,” Jiang said. “Silence. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It has its merits,” Kouje agreed.

Things were a little less tense than when Kichi was around to say anything and everything that popped into his head, but it was hard, too, not knowing what to say while Jiang made no effort to hold up any kind of conversation.

I was just trying to think of something—anything, really—to break the silence when I felt something brush against my leg. Thinking immediately of the catfish, I swatted it away with considerable panic.

“My apologies,” Jiang said, looking not at all alarmed by the fact that I’d just thought his hand was a rat or worse.

Kouje narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“It’s very kind of you to help us across the border this way,” I said, before Kouje had time to ask what, exactly, Jiang was apologizing for. I had no skill in conversation, at least none that would help me here, unless Jiang wished to know the seven accepted ways to write a poem about nature, or the preferred variety of tea they were taking in the capital these days. It was all the more reason for me to practice, since it seemed I would need the skills sooner rather than later.

Jiang shrugged. He had a look in his eyes that was mostly friendly, I thought, but with a thread of something else that I didn’t entirely recognize. It was like coming up against a word I didn’t know in country dialect—a foreign object in the middle of what should have been familiar territory.

“We’re helping each other,” he said. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

I didn’t entirely know what to say to that, so I nodded instead. Across the table from us, Kouje cracked his knuckles. I wondered if they were sore from the strain of holding the reins every day, and if we shouldn’t switch off eventually, as equals might have.

I resolved to ask him the next chance we got.

Kichi returned shortly thereafter to put us out of our awkward misery, bearing a tray with four bowls of noodles, one steaming hot and three cold.

“I can’t believe you’re eating hot noodles on a day like today, blossom, but who am I to argue? I got you some water as well, since your fine strapping figure of a brother seems concerned for your constitution in this heat, and I for one don’t blame him.”

I took the water from him, too grateful to be embarrassed, and downed the glass in greedy, messy gulps.

When I’d finished, there was water on my chin, and dripping down my front. Kichi stared at me in plain amusement, while Kouje looked down, hiding his own smile but not before I’d seen it. I wiped my mouth, feeling shy but much less thirsty than I had a moment ago.

“Well,” Kichi said. “Eat up, then.”

Conversation died down as everyone dug into his meal with equal enthusiasm. Kouje and I hadn’t had any breakfast to speak of—a fact I was made all the more aware of now that I was eating, and eating something that I felt I’d been craving since the night I’d left the palace, though of course I knew that was impossible.

There was another moment when I thought that I might have discerned a rat against my leg, and I twitched, bumping the table surface from below and nearly knocking Kichi’s bowl over. Jiang apologized, and I apologized, and Kouje narrowed his eyes further, looking as though he’d found something sour at the bottom of his noodle dish.

I was the first to finish lunch. Once my sticks had scraped the bottom of the bowl, I put them down and tried not to look too longingly in the direction of anyone else’s meal, especially not Kouje’s, since I knew that he would have given me whatever he had left without thinking twice about it.

“Want another?” Inokichi asked, grinning like a monkey.

“I couldn’t,” I said then, trying to muster more conviction, “really. Thank you, Inokichi.”

“So polite,” Kichi said, clacking his tongue against his teeth. “Man oh man. You’ve got yourself some sister.”

I folded my hands in my lap and sat very still, listening to my companions slurp their noodles, and grateful that Jiang’s hands were occupied with his sticks. I ought to have savored my noodles more, made them last, but I’d been too hungry. At least, I thought, I could let Kouje savor his without worry or anger spoiling the taste.

Kouje finished at about the same time as Jiang and Inokichi did. “So,” Kichi began, talkative once more now that his mouth was no longer busy with eating, “guess we’d better move on. Don’t want to get caught outside at night, ’specially when a lady like that’s riding with you.”

Kouje murmured his agreements. I would have done the same, save for the fluttering touch at my leg. Jiang’s hands were under the table again, and it was growing harder and harder to believe he was touching me by accident.

My realization must have dawned on my face at about the same time Jiang gave my thigh a—what had he called it? Neighborly?—squeeze. I couldn’t stop myself, and Kouje, who knew my face better than anyone, saw it at once.

He stood so quickly he nearly knocked the bench he’d been sitting on over, and Inokichi with it.

“Hey, hey,” Inokichi said, struggling to keep his balance. He held up his hands, the only one at the table, now, who didn’t know what was going on. “Did you see a rat or something? I swear, they don’t make any difference to how the food tastes—”

“May I speak with you outside for a moment?” Kouje said, ignoring Inokichi completely. His eyes were burning.

“Stop,” I said, reaching out toward him, but Jiang was already standing. When he didn’t slouch, he was a little taller than Kouje, and he’d raised himself to his full height.

The other patrons of the restaurant had all gone quiet, save for a whisper here and there. This sort of thing must have happened quite often in a place like this, though it had never happened to me before. We were making a scene. The last thing we needed was to be apprehended by local authorities so close to the border crossing—one which my brother’s loyal retainers were patrolling at this very moment, looking for me.

“My pleasure,” Jiang said.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Kouje said, turning to me, his expression softening. “Stay here.”

Suddenly, I was outraged. Had I asked to be defended? Couldn’t this have been resolved some other way? My cheeks were burning hot; I was dizzy from anger and desperation and the long day’s ride in the hot sun. I reached out to catch at Kouje’s sleeve—perhaps I meant to command him to stay, which admittedly might have called further attention to us—but I was too slow. Already, he was stepping past the colored banners in the doorway, ducking outside into the bright sun.

“Traveling companions, huh?” Inokichi said nervously, craning his neck to look after Kouje and Jiang. “Can’t travel without ’em, but sometimes you wonder if being lonely isn’t preferable to being…”

“Stuck in a noodle shop while your brother defends your honor on the streets,” I supplied.

“Yeah,” Kichi said. “Something like that. Though, of course, your situation and mine aren’t exactly the same.”

I wondered if, all this time, Inokichi was the easygoing one—if he was the one who suffered from Jiang’s more volatile nature—all the while putting on a good show. Was Jiang in the habit of doing this sort of thing often? Was Kouje in danger?

Likely not, I thought. Likely, Jiang had no idea the hornet’s nest he’d just stepped into the middle of.

And, just like that, after a shared glance of mutual panic, Inokichi and I rushed outside into the street, with all the patrons of the noodle shop whistling and howling and crowding out after us.

The first thing I could think, upon seeing the scene before me, was that this wasn’t the way Kouje usually fought.

He was a graceful fighter, calm and poised, taught by the same master as my brother and therefore in some ways stylistically similar. Yet, at the same time, Kouje was a vastly different man from Iseul when each had a sword in his hand. Both were stubborn, yes, and inexorable, and both grew fire-eyed and tiger-fierce, but Iseul became a punishing god, a vengeful deity. Kouje became the paragon of sword fighting, a man whose sword was merely one more extension of his body. Both fought uncommonly well, but in my most secret of hearts, I knew which style I preferred—Kouje’s quiet strength over Iseul’s wildfire fury.

This, however, was not a sword fight in the palace. I was not sitting some safe distance away, watching two men spar with wooden swords. Rather, I was standing a bare foot from Kouje as he sparred with Jiang—or rather, as he toyed with him. They were hardly matched: Kouje, who had trained in the palace, and Jiang, a common merchant. Each wild swing Jiang attempted, Kouje easily ducked, whereas every blow Kouje dealt hit its intended mark.

It was a side of Kouje I’d never seen. I didn’t even know how to stop him—after all, in the crowd that had formed, I couldn’t even use his real name without giving us away. In his current state, too, I couldn’t trust that he would respond to the aliases we’d arranged privately between us. I felt helpless.

Kichi swore. He stood a good head and shoulders above everyone else in the crowd, which had gathered round to jeer and holler instead of do anything useful, like stop the fighting. I thought that perhaps, if Kichi had wanted to wade through the crowd to get to Jiang, it wouldn’t have been much of a problem for him. It wouldn’t have been nearly so easy for me.

Kouje was handling himself quite well at the moment—it was obvious to anyone who knew what he was looking at that Jiang didn’t stand a chance—but I couldn’t just do nothing and wait for Kichi to change his mind and join the fray. Or worse, for the town’s authorities to arrive and adjudicate the fight. I threw myself forward into the crowd, too worried now to wonder about offending anyone if I jostled or pushed them. Not for the first time, I cursed my size—for although it was helpful in the disguise we’d manufactured, it made me feel futile and small when surrounded by so many able-bodied men and women. An elbow connected with my side; another narrowly missed my nose. I nearly cried out in frustration, still buried in the crush of bodies that had poured out of the other shops surrounding the noodle house, and hearing nothing but the two men scuffle and the roaring approval of the crowds.

I couldn’t get past.

“Hey!” A voice in the crowd shouted, slightly louder than the rest. It wasn’t a very cultured voice, but it was the sort of voice men listened to all the same. “Hey now, make way for the little blossom!”

Inokichi’s voice rang out over the heads of the onlookers. I had just enough time to prevent my knees from going weak with gratitude before my way became just a little clearer, and I hurled myself gratefully through the gap, running toward Kouje with a fervor I’d never felt before, as hot as fever in my blood. Someone in the crowd laughed as I burst through, as though this were a fascinating new development and their entertainment had just become that much more diverting.

My heart beat a wild anxiety within my chest. We couldn’t afford a scene like that.

Jiang’s face was white with rage. A cut on his lip was bleeding, but Kouje was being meticulous with his aim, and, despite how livid he must have been, wasn’t swinging at Jiang’s face at all. Now that I was closer, I could see that Kouje’s face bore the markings of the fight as well. His cheek was swollen beneath his eye, and there was a sore-looking spot on his jaw that I knew would be a large, dark bruise by nightfall. All at once, I felt the noodles I’d been so grateful to have eaten stir unpleasantly in my stomach. I pitched forward without thinking, grabbing on to Kouje’s arm with all my strength and dragging it back.

“Stop,” I said, breathless with fear. I had never seen such a rage on Kouje’s face before. I never wanted to see it again. “Please. That’s enough! Control yourself—stop.”

Kouje strained against my hold for a moment and I threw all my weight into it, nearly dropping to the ground like a theatre actress pleading with the hotheaded hero. Then I heard Jiang stumbling backward, coughing wetly as the dust rose up all around in clouds from the road. The crowd around us muttered in disappointment, and Kouje caught me underneath my elbow, his stiff hands possessed of a sudden gentleness as he drew me to my feet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and bent low to see me face-t o-face—but also because it was the closest he could get to kneeling. There was something in his eyes, in the absence of his rage, that betrayed a deeper misery. It wasn’t that he regretted what he’d done. It was that he’d known what it meant to do it, had understood all too well what a risk he’d be taking, and had done it anyway.

It wasn’t regret I saw in his eyes. It was shame.

I wanted to ask him why he’d done it if he’d known as well as I did how foolish it was. It didn’t solve anything. It only made matters worse.

“Your cheek,” I said instead, touching the bruised space just above the line of his jaw. “It’s going to hurt something awful tomorrow morning.”

Kouje bowed his head under my touch, and I knew that my acceptance of his actions was far worse than any scolding I could have given him. He swallowed something back, as if refusing to speak any words that weren’t the right ones. I knew what he wanted to say, of course. It was what Kouje had always said, especially when he could think of nothing else. My lord.

“It’s all right,” I said, willing it to be. I didn’t know how to shake him from his guilt without using his name, either, since it was all I’d ever used to recall him to himself. Instead, I squeezed his arm gently where I’d grasped it with such desperation earlier and repeated my useless words. “It’s all right.”

When Kouje lifted his head at last, he wore an expression I at least recognized. He was resolved.

“We have to get out of the street,” he said.

I nodded, glad for some action, any action, that would take us away from here, where the crowds had dispersed, but continued to watch us, from windows and from doorways. The streets were as good as empty as we made our way back to the noodle house. I didn’t realize how far we’d drifted from it in the chaos. I didn’t see Jiang, or Inokichi either, but I hadn’t really expected to.

I felt a momentary pang of guilt when I remembered how Inokichi had cleared the way for me to get to Kouje. I hoped that Jiang wasn’t so stiff and sore that it stopped them from reaching their destination, or gave them any trouble at the border crossing.

My heart sank. The border crossing. I didn’t know how we were going to get past it.

I followed Kouje all the way back to the front of the noodle house to where we’d tied our horse before I realized I was still holding on to his arm.

“We should leave,” he said, “before there’s any trouble.” The apology lay unspoken between us again, but there was no point in casting blame between the two of us.

We were all each other had.

“Any more trouble, you mean,” I said, trying valiantly to lighten the mood.

Someone snorted, the sound of it more like a laugh than anything else, and I whirled around, startled at the idea of having been overheard when I’d thought we were speaking privately.

Inokichi was standing with his back to us, brushing down the spotted horse tied up next to ours. I didn’t know how to put my finger on it, but I felt as though something about him had changed. It was odd, since we’d been traveling together all this time and yet I couldn’t shake the sense that I was looking at a stranger—a new man, somehow. He was still the same Kichi in appearance—unusually tall, his arms awkwardly long—but he didn’t look at all clumsy or unsure of himself. I wondered, with faint awe, how he managed that. He scratched at fleas and his hair was unkempt, but I’d never seen anyone so perfectly at home with himself. I’d been raised as a prince, but I felt I could have learned a thing or maybe two from Inokichi’s self-confidence.

“You take care now, little blossom,” Inokichi said.

“About your friend,” Kouje began, then stopped himself. “And the noodles…”

Inokichi shrugged it off, and when he turned, he was smiling his monkey smile. “A man’s got to protect a lady like that, brother. I can’t say I blame you for getting a mite carried away.”

“Thank you,” Kouje said, the words as heartfelt as I’d ever heard them.

Kichi nodded. “Good luck at the crossing. Maybe we’ll meet up again in the next life, hey, brother?”

“Thank you, Inokichi,” I said, wishing I could have offered him more.

He grinned and winked at me, then glanced at Kouje to make sure he’d given no offense before speaking again. “Not every day you get to help a lady out. Just think of old Kichi the next time you’re at a roadside shrine, right? I didn’t do it for anything but that ladylike smile.”

“Thank you,” Kouje managed, when I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow. And then, just like that, Inokichi was gone, sauntering down the street and leading the two horses behind him.

Kouje helped me onto our mount, then swung into the saddle behind me. I could see where his knuckles were bruised and cracked from the day’s activity, and felt a pang of regret that I’d ever reacted to Jiang’s wandering hands at all.

“What now?” I asked, looking toward the wall. It loomed overhead. Somewhere in the distance children were laughing—perhaps still playing their game of Lord Kouje and Prince Mamoru.

“I’ll think of something,” Kouje said. Then, against the back of my neck, he added fiercely, “I swear it.”

All his good intentions, I thought privately, did little when we were faced with that wall. My brother’s men were waiting to find me and, if I knew my brother, they were getting more thorough and more ruthless with each passing day. We had no time to waste. Yet I bit my tongue and said nothing as Kouje nudged the horse into a trot beneath us and led us soberly away.