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Midspring. And the house was a buzz with preparations. The snow thawed, and new grass grew thick, we had weeks before court. I hated the idea. Even with a larger staff, I dreaded the thought.
A note had come for me. Several, in fact. Urekkato’s was the easiest to find, and my ears heated at the mere sight. I read them as I walked Koji between the walls. More unwanted advice, and apology that he would not be at court, seeing to his marital duty. Good, I thought, better that I never spoke with him again.
I handed that note to Koji, letting him chew and tear it as his leisure. He wagged his tail at the sound of the paper tearing while his tongue worked to spit out pieces. I closed my eyes and counted after there was nothing left of the letter.
A note from Juro expressed his eagerness to arrive, and that he may come early. The end of it asked me to write him with whatever I desired him to bring. Again, I felt stuck. To not respond might come as an offense, enough to agitate him into indiscreet, entitled behavior. At the same time, making a request would suggest I considered—accepted—his advances. How I could outwit, and choose neither, was the complicated bit. I thought to say something akin to when he’d left court. But asking for a safe arrival or that he only be met with good weather sounded like I made an advance myself.
I was trapped.
I didn’t want to accept this as my fate, but I didn’t know where to turn. Lin and Syaoran would impress that I follow through and ask for something. Feng perhaps the same, now seeming eager to be rid of me since winter rather than to keep me on as her personal servant. I didn’t know what caused the sour change, though I’d hoped that warmer weather would usher in a better mood from her.
Others might press that, if I wanted nothing, to bid he bring me something for someone else’s delight. That, I was sure, would lead to Juro’s ire. What I needed was a friend who had nothing to gain, nor anything to lose in helping my decision. Though, Fumei was at the base of the mountain, and my brothers there with her. My mind made the obvious answer of writing to them, though fast remembered that no one in the village could read. It was a skill I’d only recently acquired myself because of Lord Kwan.
Lord Kwan... of course! He’d said as much himself that he would keep Juro and myself separate.
With that in mind, I went to search for him. Easily done, as he was beside the inner gate where a host of things were being delivered. Though, on my arrival, announcing myself, he swiftly took my shoulder to turn me around. I didn’t have a moment to understand when he commanded that I put Koji in the kennels and come to the swing with one of my night robes.
I was still his servant before I was his friend until my sentencing was up, so I obeyed. Though, I dressed over my sleepwear.
He didn’t argue or protest when I showed up. Instead, he took my hand and lead me to the wall where butterflies gathered. I couldn’t figure it out. He seemed eager and secretive and sure, though it made no sense to me. Even at the base of the wall, I couldn’t clue it together: a gentle smile on his face and an expanse of paints at his feet.
“How confident are you in your art skill?” asked Lord Kwan. When I didn’t answer, he jutted his chin to the wall in front of us. “It makes for a great canvas, don’t you agree?”
Still, as I looked between him and the paints and the wall, my mind was slow to comprehend. “To paint here?”
He nodded.
“It wouldn’t look good enough, my lord. I’m still learning.”
“I think you’ve improved in the time you’ve been here,” said Lord Kwan, answering quicker than usual and with a softness to his tone. He took up a brush, dipping it in the barrel of black color. “Paint with me.”
My jaw fell open. “It definitely won’t look good beside yours.”
He kept his expression, studying me. “What does it matter? I want to see what you come up with.”
Admittedly, the temptation was hard to resist. I found my hand reaching for a brush, my eyes kept going to vibrant yellows and pale blues and all the shades of green. With a last shy protest, he insisted again, saying to let it be wild and imperfect. That he was tired of perfect art as it was.
My excitement wouldn’t stay contained. In the same second that my hand took another brush, admiring its perfect and soft bristles, I was bringing broad strokes of paint against the wall.
“Hisa,” called Lord Kwan, low in his voice.
I looked over, seeing that he was in crisp white, and remembered what he’d asked of me. I rushed to the shade of the boughs and shimmied out of my top layers. It’d be a shame to tarnish my dress, the one he’d given me. I’d yet to dawn the ones Juro had sent, nor did I want to.
Matching him, now, I dragged my brush with absolute abandon. Color speckled my face and clothes. I didn’t mind my effort being a little sloppy, or care that my tongue stuck out. It started to come together, little by little. I’d even forgotten, for a moment, that Lord Kwan was painting beside me, until I side stepped to reach higher on the wall and collided with him. Arms, hands, sides, thighs bumping in a single, clumsy motion.
My head whipped around, my eyes wide with surprise and embarrassment. His own expression held a question, soft and slow blinking. I made a meek apology, and his gentle smile returned. Nothing was said, continuing on unhindered.
I stopped again at the feel of fingers tapping my shoulder, jumping slightly and turning around. Lord Kwan, with that same smile, offered me a drink of water. It was then that I realized I’d been painting for hours. We took a break, eating a sampling of cakes under the shade of the trees with their new and budding leaves. Looking at the wall, our canvas, the difference in skill was stark.
“Let’s switch sides,” said Lord Kwan, unconcerned.
“I don’t want to mess up your work,” I said.
“Mess what up?” He gave a knowing look, a tease at me. “I want to see what you do with it.”
I tried not to cross over the work Lord Kwan did, but after the fifth time I’d given up on being cautious. We’d gone from side to side, up and down, crossing paths. The whole time, Lord Kwan kept his placid expression and that smile on his face.
The sun hung low, illuminating our effort in a strange and pleasing way. We’d put together a scene captured in time. A lake, flowers and trees, small animals, a couple of men and a lady walking through—simplicity in the imagery rather than anything lifelike. He’d made it look so obvious—of course it would be positioned and colored that way, to show vibrancy in the flat portrait.
As I looked over the beautiful mess, I noticed how Lord Kwan didn’t bother to correct any mistake I’d made, letting it simply be there on all sides. A pin needle of guilt poked my insides, glancing at how I’d accidentally gone over what he’d painted several times. He said nothing about it, staying in silent admiration.
“Should we continue tomorrow?”
I looked at him, unable to read his face, and back to the wall where so much still remained blank. Smiling, I nodded. Poor Koji would stay in the kennels, but only for a single day more.
****
By the end of the second day, my once crisp-white night robe was sloppily spattered and smudged in color. Compared to Lord Kwan, whose messiness was minimal, I looked utterly wild and may as well have no bit of the white color to show. But I liked it. And if it was too much hassle to clean, perhaps I would be allowed to keep this piece when I leave.
The thought saddened me. When I leave. I would miss my friend. Even though I had his permission to visit whenever I liked, I would find myself busy more often than not in trying to take care of my father and brothers, to keep up with the demands of the house and my village. And though I knew it was wrong, I was still in love with Lord Kwan.
I’d told him about my dilemma regarding Juro’s letter. He’d suggested answering with a riddle. Something that seemed like a fool’s errand, but had a simplistic answer at its core. I wasn’t good with riddles, and my muttering of it earned me several suggestions.
The bird that can carry both rainbows and shadows.
The glow of the moon in the daylight.
A tooth from an animal that never chews with it.
The gem that is only found in mouths of the ocean.
A stone that contains starlight.
The polished breath of a fire sleeping inside its mountain.
I mulled them all over, unable to figure out any of them. Not until he explained it all. Then it seemed obvious. In trying to recall every detail I knew of Juro, I thought carefully about which one to choose.
“What do you think?” asked Lord Kwan.
I craned my neck this way and that. We’d added mountains to the picture, and a river. Butterflies of all colors and shapes were put in, some more elegant than others, always in pairs or groups and never alone. Lord Kwan had painted a family of hares, hidden away from the people, and a bird with brilliant feathers soaring over the lake. A dog was added to the visiting group of people, though it looked awkward and disjointed as a flat image trying to look up at something. Owls were painted against a tree, with a frog tucked away in the grass below. And a pair of deer at the far end of the painting, where the people had not yet come through.
It was, to me, a beautiful scene that offered a dozen stories. A little messy, not at all true to life, but like something out of a dream.
I spent too long admiring it, and didn’t notice when Lord Kwan came to my side until his fingers combed through my hair. I sucked in a surprised gasp, looking up at him looking down at me. He paused only a moment, continuing to divide my hair and weaving it into two short braids, tying them off with the soft twine at the end of his sleeve.
Before I could ask, he took my hand to demonstrate how much paint was on my palms and fingers. “You keep brushing your hair behind your ears.”
Awkward, I smiled. Even with my scar exposed. Only on remembering, I reached to cover it behind my fingers.
He wrapped his own around mine, lifting them away. “Does it hurt?”
I shook my head. “It’s ugly.”
Mulling over my words, he watched me a while. Silent, he walked to the mural, taking a brush from a sheer brown color. Delicate, he painted scars on the people in the picture. Not quite as unsightly as mine; though when I mentioned it, he insisted it was about the same. And still, they were beautiful.
****
In my room, I decided on asking for the glow of the moon. Composing my letter, I thought it sounded well enough. Though, that was before my eyes caught the edge of Urekkato’s previous letter. The one I’d written over and looked at almost daily.
I remembered then that I still had a spell on me, and that he may have known about every riddle Lord Kwan had told me and which one I chose. Shutting my eyes, I crumpled up my letter, furious with myself. It was Urekkato last time who sent Juro. Of course he’d expose which one I chose and what the answer was.
But what else did I have? What trick or bit of wit could I use to prevent offense and refuse him at once?
I remembered: the puzzle box had a riddle.
A heart without pride, a hand without greed. Feet not idle, tongue not hateful. With eyes that see through stone.
Even I didn’t know the answer to that, but I copied it down all the same. It did sound like I was genuinely asking for something while also not asking for anything. Midway through, I shut my eyes again, and once more when I’d finished. I didn’t know how long a while was in ending the spell, but I wanted to keep this secret secure from Urekkato’s meddling.
Let him.
The mere memory of the phrase on that letter made my blood burn. Would he have been so casual if he were a servant? A human?
If I hadn’t only just kept the spell gone, I’d have stared at where I scribbled over his note. Again, I wished I’d never agreed to that spell. Even if Lord Kwan were in danger and in need of help, there was no guarantee of Urekkato seeing it.
My one comfort was that my eyes had always been closed when Lord Kwan... When Lord Kwan kissed me. I tried to shake off that longing, that memory. When I couldn’t, and my emotions threatened to burst through me, I took my pillow to scream into it again. He was my friend, my master, and intended for someone else—someone he’d sent for, and who’d loved him for years.
How could I, when I would’ve been distraught to hear Kyu married someone else? The boy I’d secretly held feeling for, even knowing it was unlikely he’d felt the same way. Would it have been just as bad?
Ridiculous. That was one of the first exchanges we had when I began to labor. And I felt more that way than ever before: ridiculous.