I will describe her for you, since you have pictured her often, I am certain. Jealousy is as cutting as any knife—you might as well know what she looked like, I think, if you are going to hate her from a distance.
Like you, she was not tall—though I think she is a bit taller than you are. Where your hair is ink, hers was like charred wood: more dark brown than black. Round was her face, small and dainty her lips. She wore a two-layer green robe, with the first layer leaving her shoulders bare. There was only one ornament in her hair, a modest enameled orchid. Twenty-four, perhaps—not much older.
But she had a warm face, a welcoming face, like an old friend you’ve only just now met.
She waved toward me with the fan in her hand. “Graymare-sur, do you seek company tonight?”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. My first instinct was to say yes, to comment on the delicate silver stroke of her collarbone, to invite her somewhere private and—
I will not anger you, Shizuka. You know in those days the basest thoughts sprang to mind first. Rest assured, I thought of you asleep and banished the more lascivious thoughts.
Well.
No.
I cannot say that I banished them. I am honest with you in all things, and though it pains me, I must be honest when it comes to this woman. The way she smiled at me lit me up. Her skin was so smooth that I wondered how it would feel against mine. What were her hands like? For she would not have your duelist’s calluses.
It had been some time since I was treated so kindly by a Hokkaran. And I did have questions. Where to find food, for instance. I did not have any money, no, but perhaps a singing girl might know where to go when times are tough and stomachs are turning.
So I rode up to the winehouse. In one motion I dismounted.
“Stay put,” I said to Alsha in the tongue of swaying grass.
You’re the one doing the wandering, she said back to me.
That horse. At times I think the other Qorin are lucky that they cannot hear their horses truly speak to them. I’ve never met a horse who wasn’t fond of sarcasm. They’re worse than scholars.
I shook my head at Alsha. “Don’t make me tie you,” I said.
You wouldn’t dare, she said. And she was right, of course. With one word I told Alsha to stay put. I did not tie her to a post, as you might think I would. If anyone tried to steal her, I felt great pity for them, for soon they’d be lying on the street with several crushed bones.
The woman looked at my horse. As a child hearing tales of phoenixes and dragons gapes in excitement, so did she gape at Alsha. “Forgive me!” she said when I walked to her. “She’s the most beautiful mare I’ve ever seen, even among those my Qorin mentors had.”
Finally, someone who wasn’t hateful. Though it did set me wondering what a singing girl could learn from Qorin women. Hunting? Riding? She didn’t look like she did much of either.
It might please you to know that in smiling, I bared my pointed teeth, and the other girls on the veranda skittered inside.
But the one I was speaking to stayed. She opened her fan. I smelled jasmine.
“May I touch her?” she asked.
I shook my head. She was satisfied with this, and gave a small nod.
“Ah, understandable!” she said. “One cannot write the Son of Heaven’s name, one cannot touch that horse. All things divine are beyond mortal reach.”
Your voice is a lantern: bright and commanding. Hers is a campfire, warm and inviting, clinging to your clothes long after she has left.
I said nothing to this, for I could think of nothing to say. My experience dealing with attractive women, at that point, began and ended with you.
“You’re a quiet one,” she teased. With the tip of her fan, she touched my shoulder. “But I can make you sing, if you’re willing. Why don’t you come for a walk with me?”
She was not afraid to touch me. She’d seen my teeth, and they did not faze her—still she looked at me with eyes like ripe figs.
I do not know what came over me. But I can tell you it was warm as the first breeze of summer.
When I offered an earnest, if close-lipped, smile, she took my arm. She wore wooden sandals shorter than yours, and so her steps were a bit longer. I slowed my pace a great deal to keep up with her. One never thinks of how long one’s legs are until walking with someone shorter.
I thought of how to approach this. Should I ask right out if she knew where I might find some food for free? Should I listen to whatever she was going to say? For on her lips were unborn conversations.
One thing was for certain. I had to make it clear my intentions were not romantic. I had a goddess descendant waiting for me in a tent at camp, and I had to return to her soon. As pretty as this girl was, I could not allow myself to listen to my urges.
But those urges were doing their best to get my attention. She had a way of moving, you see. Deliberate and confident, as if she knew I could not keep my eyes off her. The more I watched her swaying hips, the more I imagined—
No. No, I could not. So what if Kharsas often took more than one lover? I was content with you.
As I opened my mouth to tell her I did not want those services, she opened hers and spoke.
“Do not be afraid,” she said, “but I know who you are.”
We’d come to a stop behind what I assumed to be an inn. Besides the two small horses in the stable, we had no company. I think that is what she was looking for. Yet still I searched, still I tried to see if she’d set me up for an ambush. I reached for a bow that was not there, fumbled for my knife. What if they were coming for me, the Yellow—?
“Shh, shh, shh, do not fear,” she said. “It’s only you and me. I’ve told no one. I swear to you eight times, I mean you no harm.”
Was she serious? Her brow, her gaze, even her posture—all colored with sincerity. She held her hands up as she spoke. They were larger than yours, but softer, too, and—
I didn’t have time.
One more glance around.
I took a breath. “You know?”
“Ah, you speak!” she said. She touched my chin. She wore a nervous smile and I wondered how often a singing girl smiles in such a way. “I was worried your condition affected your speaking. My brother, he told me you spoke at Imakane—”
“Brother?” I said.
She nodded. “My brother, Kato, he worked at the bathhouse,” she said. Now the words came tumbling out of her, and she could not stop herself from speaking. “When the Yellow Scarves attacked, he started praying to the Mother for a quick death. He told me some of the things he saw and…”
She took my hands in hers. She did not hesitate at all—she took my hands, with their talons, and cupped them between her palms. Then she touched her forehead to our joined palms.
“Thank you,” she said. “Eight times, I thank you. If you had not been there, Kato would’ve been tortured like the rest.”
Her voice cracked. Now tears poured from her sweet plum eyes, ruining the makeup she’d taken so long to apply. I stood there, unsure of what to do. Surely she could not be serious. Moved to tears, grateful for what I’d done? Touching me, knowing what color my blood ran?
I did not know this woman two hours ago.