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Home, Kwan debated with himself. Perhaps it was best left a secret. Something to stay his hand from turning on his kin, and lure her out on his terms. The same thought beckoned his caution: would secrecy leave them vulnerable? She had the audacity to trek on his lands, so close to his personal home.
Without the doe...
He needed insight. From someone who had nothing to gain, nor anything to lose. He’d sent for Hisa, only to be informed of her condition. It dawned on him then, how odd it was to have not seen her all day when she was usually about on some self-appointed duty. Finding her in such a state, the need to act fell over him. Lin informed him of her last interaction with the girl. It shouldn’t have progressed that quickly, human or spirit.
It’d been days since his encounter. Why now?
His fondness extended beyond a master and a servant. Maybe that proved enough to make her a target to hurt him. And he didn’t doubt that she wouldn’t understand it if he started to distance himself from her. To have so few friends, only for one to isolate you. Like isolating the moon from the stars.
Saburo and Susa also seemed unwell, forcing his hand. He’d sent his house of guards to get Feng from the groves and bring her to his home. Somewhere he could protect her as well. Whatever she thought of his summons didn’t matter, so long as it kept an innocent from becoming a pawn to Gumiho.
He thought it over and over. Feng was unaffected, though Gumiho seemed aware she was hiding on the mountain. Magic was at play, but not from her. It left his own household to cast the spell, or introduce it by other means. The obvious suspect was Syaoran. Anyone else who knew about the event outside of his home would accuse him first. What good did that serve Gumiho?
Then again, what did it serve to plague those individuals specifically, days after the encounter?
With word of some recovery, despite his exhaustion, Kwan went to her. He had to see for himself. And the sight brought relief. The realization of it solidified that he truly was too fond of her as his servant, as his friend. Silence became a discomfort as the notion rooted itself deeper, and he tried any other topic to help ignore it.
He rambled, seeing questions on her face. Questions he wasn’t ready to answer. “I will be away some time come autumn. Summoned to a royal wedding. See if you can help Lin keep Feng and Syaoran busy or entertained and out of trouble while I’m gone.”
More unspoken question came over her face as she blinked at him. And there was the thought of being away, of leaving his home, and everyone in it, unprotected for a time. If she fell ill again?
The words rang in his ear: I’m only human, my lord. But I hope it will be a long time before you have to think about that.
Too relaxed with himself around her, and too tired to realize the action, Kwan laid a kiss to her forehead. “Good girl.” He didn’t give himself time for the mistake to settle, leaving promptly and without a second glance.
It was days after, when full health was restored in his house, and he allowed himself to halt his magic, that he ordered a bath drawn. The ginseng restored some of himself, delaying the drain of his power, but it felt not enough this time.
Absent minded, he’d walked the veranda in waiting, aimed for the bath when he saw steam escaping it. Though, he was unaware that she’d had the same idea in her recovery. He saw her shoulders and back, still browned from a lifetime in the fields, through the start of opening the door. He’d closed it, standing there in confusion. Why should he, a lord, wait? And what difference was there when he’d seen more than a dozen naked women, lovelier and pale?
It was different from that. She wasn’t a lover, or a spiteful princess, or an ambitious servant. She was a friend. Perhaps not for long if he’d gone in and ordered her out after having stripped down. Hand on the door, he hesitated. He couldn’t do it. The value of her opinion of him outweighed the immediate pleasure of a hot soak.
One piece of himself damned the view of justice, advising him to send her away. Another piece refused to abolish his total sense of law. And a quiet piece harbored the feeling of comfort in every memory.
In three years, he would miss her.
****
Kwan watched the dancers during the wedding feast. The dazzling red, white, and pink colors of their silks moving in harmony, breaking only to form a new pattern that delighted the eye. A perfection that annoyed him.
He looked to the bride and groom, further irritated by the initial circumstance of it all. The insistence of his holding court first. Lacking a larger household, his energy was spent in making up for it, allowing the guests to enjoy themselves and pretend to be pleasant without hinderance. Only the mildest inconveniences escaped him. Whereas now, the decadence spanned an entire palace.
He shifted his gaze.
The bride, clad in shades of red, sat placid. A pond without wind above or fish below. Her features a perfect reflection of her status, painted to conceal anything else. Not a hair out of place.
And the groom in brilliant cerulean, with his family crest proudly displayed on his chest. Contrary to Eumeh, he grinned, relishing in his achievement and indulging anyone with high enough praise in conversation.
All of them blissfully unaware. From perfectly practice smiles and rehearsed conversation, to hungry eyes looking at a stranger they hadn’t seen in well over fifty years. A stranger from a high family, and still unmarried.
The performance ended, applause given, and Kwan dismissed himself.
Outside, away from the chatter and the music and the stench of decadence, Kwan breathed in the night air. Humid, and fast becoming crisp and cold. He walked the grounds in the moonlight, acknowledged politely by patrolling guards.
Wandering, aimless, memories flooded back—of sentimental things, things once bittersweet now forever soured. He’d brought her to places like this when he was a much younger man, when he didn’t care for power and laughed and delighted in court. He’d put peach blossoms in her hair in spring. Orchids in summer. Forget-me-nots in autumn. He was happier then, absconding out of their trappings and into fields of sunflowers, some as tall as they were, or taller. The memory of how they would hide their love for each other there burned him, causing a scowl to form. Memories now streaked with scarlet.
It was over now. All of it in the past, and better to be forgotten. There were no more moonlit escapades.
His lungs took in air, soothing away the intrusion on his heart.
“Kwan!” His brother’s voice broke him from the thought. Kwang walked over, a pleasant expression on his face. “Isolating yourself again? You know at least eight girls have had their eye on you all night.”
He looked away from his brother, slow and in full control of the movement. “You seemed to have them well entertained.”
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Kwang with a laugh. “Beautiful women want to give me their attention. Why not entertain it?”
Kwan grunted. “You sound like Juro. He’s well aware of the social climbing, and takes full advantage as far as he can reach.”
“Does that include your human servant?” teased Kwang.
Kwan said nothing, refusing to indulge in the gossip.
“You act like Gumiho is still around. The entire reason this wedding is even happening is because she’s dead. Things can go back to the way they were.”
“We can never go back to the way things were. Before Jiana.”
The younger brother sighed. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for that. You have to move on, let it go.”
“But I let her get close,” growled Kwan.
“It was centuries ago,” groaned Kwang. “Are you going to blame yourself for Huan and Seung, too? They took up the chase, long before Jiana died. Our family has a reputation for acting rashly, and for our stubbornness. And we’re not even the most reckless family of note! The Samjos have us beat there.”
Kwan remained wordless.
“What about the rest of your judgement?” asked Kwang. “Borsi was loyal. If not for his soul getting stolen from him. Juro as well, even if his power doesn’t measure up to any of us. Kaoru, Xan, Yanmei... Grandfather set an example. It can’t be helped that we try to follow in his footsteps. People still talk about him. A harbinger of peace. A healer. Warrior. Every title except king.”
Kwan sighed, slow and quiet.
“Do you wish you were more like Beom and Seong?”
Kwan pause at his brother’s question. “Sometimes I wonder, if I was, could so much tragedy be avoided?”
Kwang shook his head. “What good does it do to think like that? I didn’t know our eldest brothers the way you did. But everyone compares them to our grandfather. I don’t think they’d want us to waste our lives regretting mistakes of the past.”
Kwan looked to his youngest brother, the start of a smile on his face. “And our father thinks you’re the one lacking the most wisdom.”
Kwang shrugged. “Anyone can say something that sounds profound and call it wisdom. What we’re in sore need of is compassion.”
“Genuine compassion,” corrected Kwan. “Not the mere appearance of it.” He said the words, immediately regretting it. Was it compassion that drove him before, or ambition? A need to prove something, to be compared to his family patriarch? Or was it sincerely from the heart? He was young then, and perhaps he couldn’t distinguish one from the other.
The younger brother mulled it over, looking to the stars.
Kwan too, looked to the heavens. Clouds dragged over, hiding precious light for spells of time.
“I’m going inside,” said Kwang, “before I catch a cold. Imagine that being what I take with me from a wedding.”