He hugged her, fixed her hair ornaments, doted on her as he always did.
But something felt different. As if she were wearing another girl’s clothes, as if they were afraid of touching her.
She did not sleep that night. Instead, she stood by the window, staring out at the golden daffodil surrounded by her mother’s old things.
In the morning, her uncle’s men came for her. Twice-eight tall men in Dragon armor, twice-eight faceless warriors with wicked spears, politely asking her to come to the gardens with them. Her mother insulting them. Her father, squeezing Shizuru’s shoulder, telling her that it would pass.
When they arrived, her uncle was already there. His litter was there, at least, held up by eight men, curtained off from the early-morning sun. Shizuka’s mother forced her head down when they approached him.
“Brother,” said Itsuki. “What a beautiful day the Daughter has made! You should come for a walk with us. The scenery will do you good.”
The scenery.
They stood in front of the gold rosebush, and the men in armor had torches.
“Is that what you call this, Itsuki?” said the Emperor. “A beautiful day, and not an affront to our divine authority?”
Shizuka’s chest went tight. “Mother, what is he doing?”
“Whatever you’re planning,” said O-Shizuru, her voice harsh, “you know she meant no offense. We’ve been over this. She is six years old, Iori, six years old, and if you hurt her—”
From inside the litter, the Emperor clapped. Two soldiers stood on each side of Shizuru. Itsuki grabbed his daughter by the shoulders.
“Willful child,” said the Emperor. “Was this your doing?”
She spoke before she could think about it. Things never went well when she honed her thoughts. Then speaking became like dragging knives across her tongue. Talk, she thought. Just talk. The words will come, and they’ll fix everything. They always do.
“Yes,” she said. “It was. All I did was change their color. If you are the Son of Heaven, you can change them back. Gods can do whatever they wish.”
Her father squeezed her tighter. That wasn’t the reaction she wanted! He was supposed to be proud of her, he was supposed to relax!
“The Son of Heaven,” she continued, “shouldn’t have to tell his guards to hold my mother back, either. Are you afraid of her?”
“Discipline her,” said the Emperor.
An eternal moment hung in the air, punctuated by black caws. Shizuka’s heart punched against her ribs.
O-Shizuru stepped in front of her husband and daughter. She didn’t draw the white sword at her side—but her hand was on its pommel. “Go on,” she barked at the guards. “Lay a hand on my daughter, and I’ll lay your hand on the ground.”
“Shizuru—,” said Itsuki.
“I mean it!” roared Shizuru. “Try me, if you are so brave!”
The guards all wore masks; Shizuka could not see their faces. Still, she knew they were pale.
“Wearing war masks to fight humans,” said Shizuru. “To discipline a six-year-old girl. How dare you?”
“Hold the girl down,” snapped the Emperor, “or face Imperial justice.”
Shizuka remembers to this day the rattling of the guard’s armor. Remembers how they stood trembling in front of her mother, remembers the fear in their eyes.
And she remembers her father whispering in her ear. “Shizuka, I’m sorry, but your mother is going to hurt those men unless you kneel. Please play along, and this will be over soon.”
She remembers thinking, distinctly, that she didn’t care if those men were hurt, because they served her uncle.
But if her mother hurt them, then … what would her uncle do? If she gave him a reason, a real reason? What if he sent O-Shizuru North, what if he told the guards to kill her?
Shizuka’s jaw hurt. She didn’t like being this afraid. She knelt.
Shizuru started shouting at her, at her father, at her uncle, at the world. Every harsh syllable made Shizuka’s head pound. Fear choked her. Something awful was about to happen, wasn’t it?
Yes.
One of the guards lit a torch, then another, then another, then another.
One by one, they marched toward the bushes.
And the others?
The others set fire to the roses. To the jasmine, to the dogwood, to the lilies; to cherry and plum; to all the flowers she’d come to know like old friends.
To all her father’s favorites. Her father held her as they watched, as Shizuka screamed and screamed and screamed.
That day, thinks Shizuka—that was the day she learned to truly hate her uncle.
She sniffs.
To a lesser extent, that was when the public learned to hate him as well. The Hokkarans, that is. The Qorin knew Yoshimoto for a snake before he assumed the throne, but only the destruction of beauty appealed to courtly, art-obsessed Hokkarans.
By the time Shefali next visited, the gardens were coming back to life—but only just. Not that Shefali seems to have noticed. For the better, then.
The daffodil still stands, untouched, unharmed by the fire so many years ago.
Shizuka—no, Empress Yui—shakes herself away from the past. She has spent long enough staring, long enough dwelling in painful memories.
The book in her hands smells of pine and horses. She holds it to her nose and takes a deep breath.
Part of a person’s soul is in their scent, as Shefali would say.
Shizuka has long missed this one.
LET THE WINDS OF HEAVEN BLOW
When we were eight and I stayed with you for the winter, your father gave you a choice.
“Either you learn the naginata or the sword,” he said. “You may choose only one.”
You did not have to think about it. “The sword,” you said. “It is about time Mother recognized my talent.”
Your father smiled in his soft way. He reached out to muss your hair. Perhaps he decided not to; he drew back after half a second. But the smile stayed.
“Are you certain, my little tigress?” he said. “The sword may be your mother’s weapon, but it is far more dangerous. You must be closer to your opponent. If we lived in the best times, you would never have to draw your sword; if we lived in better times, you would only fight humans. But…”
“I do not care whom I have to fight,” you said.
O-Itsuki looked away. The smile on his face didn’t change—or at least the shape of his mouth did not.
Once, when he was a young man, O-Itsuki took the field against the Qorin. He did not do much fighting. For the most part, he sat in his brother’s tent, listening to their generals panic.
Many times, when he was a bit older, O-Itsuki accompanied his wife into battle. He did not do much fighting then, either. But he watched good men and women writhe in agony. He watched Shizuru put them down rather than let them become monsters. He watched Shizuru slay creatures twice her size. Perhaps these things were on his mind. But they were not on yours.
“I was born to hold a sword. If the gods saw fit to give my mother one, they’ve seen fit to give me one, too.”
“The gods did not give your mother her sword,” Itsuki said. “Her ancestors did.”