“Kenshiro?” My whole face felt hot, and suddenly there were knives in my throat.
When Kenshiro released me, he was wiping away tears. “Does it hurt, Shefali?” he asked. “Do you need anything? If it exists, we’ll find it—”
“It…” I swallowed. It hurt constantly, but the pain was a fact of life now. I couldn’t escape it. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Has it changed you?” he asked. “You’re acting like the same sister I’ve always known, and you’ve brought Shizuka-shan. You must be the same, yes?”
You spoke then, holding yourself tight. “Your sister,” you said, “is fighting demons we cannot see. Sometimes they…” You touched your throat. “They cloud her judgment. But she is learning. Growing. She will master them soon.”
Kenshiro paced about the veranda.
Snot trickled out of my nose. I tried to swallow. No, my throat was too dry, and the knife was still there.
“Is this why you did not eat?”
“I don’t need to,” I creaked.
“Not at all?” he said. “What happens if you do eat? I do not want you to force yourself, Shefali, but people might notice. We must come up with something to say to them if you cannot eat at all.”
“Ash,” I said. “Tastes like ash.”
Which was true. The few times I’d attempted eating, everything tasted burnt. Everything except raw meat and blood. Kenshiro did not need to know that yet.
He rubbed at his chin and nodded. “Is it the same when you drink?” he asked.
I nodded.
“She no longer sleeps, either,” you chimed in. “An hour or two at most each week.”
At this, Kenshiro quirked a brow. His dark green eyes moved from you, to me, to you. “Were you often forced to share rooms while traveling, O-Shizuka-shon?”
For once in your life, you were caught off guard. You opened your mouth, shook your head, and raised your hands all at once. “I, ah, well—”
“One tent,” I cut in. “No money.”
Kenshiro kept his eyes on you, but nodded. “I see,” he said. “Yes, I suppose you girls didn’t want to identify yourselves either, isn’t that right?”
This pause was enough for you to get your footing again. “Exactly right,” you said. “If it was known we were traveling, I imagine we would’ve dealt with far more bandits.”
You sounded confident. So confident, in fact, that it was clear to anyone who knew you that you were lying. When you said things, they came into being; you did not need to be so firm about it.
Kenshiro nodded once. Something in his face changed, but then it was gone. If he was beginning to wonder about us, there were larger things to worry about. “Shefali,” he said, “you are a smart girl, I know you have already seen healers. Does anyone know what is happening to you?”
“No,” I said.
You raised your hand, stretched it out toward me, and—
Drew it back, once you realized how you’d already aroused suspicion. This charade already hurt me. I did not like this; I did not like having to pretend I did not love you. Especially in front of my brother, of all people. It was not fair. If you were male, my father would be falling over his own feet to get us married.
Why was it so different because we’re both women? Traveling through Xian-Lai, we noticed for the first time men leaning close together, cooing into each other’s ears. Women walked hand in hand out in the streets, and no one batted an eye.
Why was it so important to your uncle, to my father?
So many other things about Xian-Lai enraptured me. Whenever we saw commoners, they were kind to me, and did not gawk at me or my skin or my hair. No one here spoke a word of Qorin, but that was all right; we spoke hobbled Hokkaran together. In Xian-Lai, I was invited to tea whenever I went out riding. In Xian-Lai, they used Qorin messengers instead of Hokkaran ones. In Xian-Lai, my difference was something I could take pride in.
I loved the music. I loved the people. And though I could not taste the food, I could smell it, and it was sumptuous enough that way for me to enjoy.
I did not want to leave this place. Not for a while. If I could not be on the steppes, then Xian-Lai was not so bad.
“Shefali,” my brother said, “you may stay as long as you like. Whatever comforts you need, I will find for you. I don’t know how your … condition affects you, but rest assured, you are still my baby sister.” He embraced me again.
It was not the reaction I was expecting, but it was what you expected. Whenever we spoke of this moment—of what might happen when my brother learned what happened—you were optimistic.
“He will still love you,” you said.
“My mother exiled me,” I said.
You propped yourself up and kissed my forehead. “Because she is a harsh ruler, Shefali, with an image to maintain and people to keep safe. Your brother has not seen you in years, and I’m certain that has worn on him. He will be overjoyed to see you again, no matter the circumstances.”
I didn’t believe you at the time. How could anyone look on me and still see a child of eight? Yet here we were, and Kenshiro loved me as much now as he had then.
Over the next few days, we got to work on the details. Kenshiro made all his guards swear an Eightfold Oath not to speak of my sleeping habits. Lady Baozhai served me only the smallest portions at meals—a mouthful, no more. Enough to avoid being impolite in public. A notice circulated around the palace kitchens. I was on a restricted diet, Baozhai said, due to a wounded tongue, which also explained my quietness.
And as much as I wanted to avoid attention, Kenshiro had already sent out invitations for the small tournament he promised me. Magistrates from throughout the Southern Provinces promised to attend. He could hardly uninvite them now.
But we had the benefit of knowing when they’d arrive, and knowing when the tournament would be. Six months from our arrival, to allow the magistrates time to travel. Six months to figure out how I’d get through such an arduous social engagement without baring my teeth or eating more than a mouthful. If I was confined to my quarters at night, that was not so terrible, but the thought of eating too much turned my stomach.
Besides, I was not going to stay in my own quarters. Not for more than a few minutes at a time.
In the northeast corner of the garden was a plum tree. Beneath its leaves like butterflies we spent our mornings. Thanks to its distance from the garden entrance, not many people bothered to visit it. Remote, peaceful, the sounds of nature swirling around us: it was the perfect place for meditation. Sometimes, different kinds of meditation.
You spent whatever time you could in the gardens. It soothed you, I think, to spend time near the plum tree. In its clearing, you practiced swordplay and calligraphy alike. On the rare occasions a visitor asked to see you, you met with them there.
You kept saying I needed a hobby.
“One that does not involve taking life,” you said. “Something creative, to soothe your mind.”
“Hunting,” I said.