Someone spoke up, someone with a soft voice. I glanced over. For the first time, I noticed there was a woman standing next to Kenshiro. Taller than you, though not by much, she wore Xianese-style clothes. That is to say, one loose-fitting plum dress with impossibly large sleeves and a short green jacket over it, with even more impossibly large sleeves. I envied the cut of it—Hokkaran dresses were so narrow they afforded little movement; Baozhai’s dress at least allowed her to walk like a normal person. The jacket’s high collar came just beneath her jaw and closed with two elaborate clasps I could see from a great distance away. It gave her the look of a flower on a stem.
Yes, I think a flower is a good comparison. Not a peony, or a chrysanthemum, or any of the ones you favor. No, she was a stem of lavender, straight-backed and fragrant.
Kenshiro took her arm and brought her closer. If he was grinning before, he was beaming now. “Shefali-lun,” he said, “this is my heart of hearts, Lady Lai Baozhai.”
Instead of the full bow favored by Hokkaran courtiers, she bent at the shoulder and touched her lips. “I am eight times honored to meet you, Lady Alsharyya,” she said. I winced at the name, but she did not know any better. And then her polite smile became something more genuine. “To be honest, I have always wanted a younger sister. I have so many older ones.”
And this time, there was no fighting the flush on my cheeks. She thought of me as a sister? We’d never met. But … well, if my brother liked her enough to marry her, then she must not be so bad. She hadn’t commented on my appearance or my color yet. As far as I was concerned, she was doing a fine job of being a sibling.
I did my best to mimic her half bow. When I rose, I also attempted a warm smile that did not bare any teeth. I think I succeeded only in pulling my lips back.
I tried to think of something to say. It is not every day one meets a new sibling for the first time. A momentous occasion like this warranted something sage and profound.
“Thank you,” I said.
That would have to do.
Horns sounding behind us tore away our attention. The forty guards gathered in the courtyard bowed their heads at the same moment.
I turned.
You sat on your red gelding, riding in through the gates. You robbed breath from my lungs—but you always do, Shizuka.
“Presenting the Eight-Times-Honored Imperial Niece!” shouted the crier. He’d not announced me. I did not hold it against him. “May she live long as her storied ancestors! Look how her Heavenly blood paints her cheeks red! Witness her regal bearing, her unmatched beauty! We of Xian-Lai are blessed to be in your presence, Highness!”
You fought to keep that imperious look on your face. It was a battle you lost. Halfway through the crier’s diatribe, you cracked a wry smile. It’s a miracle you did not roll your eyes.
I covered my own mouth to hide my teeth; I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you.
But I did somehow manage to forget that one is supposed to prostrate themselves in the presence of royalty. Only when you gestured at me did I remember, and I hoped that no one caught sight of me standing as you entered.
I’m sure someone did anyway.
I listened for the sound of your feet hitting the ground. Your golden voice soon followed.
“My two feet have touched your land, thus you are twice blessed,” you said. “Approach. I bid you speak your name, Lord of Xian-Lai, and speak your lineage. In speaking to me, you are again twice blessed.”
I’d never seen you do this before. Had things changed because you were heir now? Or simply because you’d gotten older?
“May it please Your Imperial Majesty,” Kenshiro said, “I, Oshiro Kenshiro, son of Yuichi and Burqila Alshara, am Lord of Xian-lai.”
I love my brother, but I do think it’s foolish he had to go through all of this and not his wife. He was Lord of Oshiro, without a doubt, but his claim to Xian-Lai came only through marriage. Was it not more fitting to let the actual heir to the Province take care of all of this?
But I am only a simple barbarian, and what do I know of politics?
You raised your right hand and waved him forward. “Come,” you said, “Oshiro-tun. Kiss my feet, and be twice blessed; kiss my hands, and be eight times blessed.”
It is a strange thing to see someone you love become something else. I’m certain you know what that is like, for you have seen me in my states.
What I witnessed that day was not horrible. I do not dread its memory; nor do I think you’ve gone through some irreparable change.
But it was uncanny all the same to see the face I so loved become so distant. Even your flaming tongue was cold now. You hardly sounded like yourself.
I watched as Kenshiro kissed your feet and your hands in turn, and I imagined what you would look like on the Dragon Throne.
Is it a comfortable throne, Shizuka? You have no wife to stand at your side. Do you wear the Dragon Crown, or the Phoenix one I so admired as a child? And if it is the Phoenix Crown—do you touch the places where the feathers used to be, and think of me?
Once this strange ritual was complete, you allowed yourself to return to the Shizuka I knew.
Kenshiro got to his feet with a monklike smile. “O-Shizu—”
“Husband,” Baozhai cut in. She tilted her head toward him as a silent reminder.
Kenshiro cleared his throat. “Ah, yes!” he said. “You must forgive my terrible manners, Lady of Ink.”
I cocked a brow.
You chuckled. “So it is true, then, Lady Baozhai?” she said. “Your people do not name the Imperial Family?”
“And yours never write your name fully,” Baozhai said. “We do not speak your name for the same reason. It is an old custom.”
“I see,” you said. You raised a brow as your lips curled into a smirk. “Was it you, Oshiro-Lao? Did you pick the name?”
Kenshiro shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “I could never be so poetic. It was my wife’s doing.”
Baozhai, for her part, preened at the attention. She shot her husband a coquettish glance, then gave you another half bow. “I felt it fitting,” she said. “Scholars even here in Xian-Lai mimic your hand. If you would prefer something different…”
“No,” you said. “‘Lady of Ink’ is acceptable.”
Baozhai’s relief was visible in her slightly slumping shoulders; in the breath she let out all at once. “Thank you, Lady of Ink.”
Baozhai wasted no time, and no expense.
An hour, at most, was all it took to prepare the feast. In that time, she offered us a change of clothing and took us on a tour of the Bronze Palace. Here were some soldiers her ancestors were buried with, here were some portraits of them, here was a massive garden twice the size of yours at Fujino, here was a bridge over the garden’s private river. Everywhere we went, a young girl followed throwing jasmine in front of us. Two men carried umbrellas behind us. I kept trying to avoid mine, or at least get him to put the umbrella down.
“The sun is bad for your complexion, Lady Alsharyya!” he protested.
“Why?” I asked.
“It makes you dark—”
Such foolishness did not dignify a response. All I did was point at my own skin, at its loamy brown color, and keep walking.