| |
Kwan found himself simply holding the brush more often than painting, distracted by the sheer joy on her face. She went back and forth, her tongue making its ungraceful appearance. A smile started on his face. He didn’t have any plan, allowing her to take the lead, and fell into usual habits.
During their break, the difference was undeniable. One side all structure and the other side all feeling. Curiosity pressed him to make the suggestion.
The end result being strange, unrefined in so many ways, but delighting him. “What do you think?”
She stared, narrowing her eye at the painting with too much thought. Still, it amused him. In the quiet of it, he noticed a speckling of paint in her hair. She brushed it back, revealing smudges under it and on her ear. She didn’t realize it. What a clumsy thing.
In steady, controlled movements, Kwan pulled the satin twine from his sleeve, breaking it in two. She shifted awkwardly as he finished, her hand quick to go to her face. He’d forgotten about the scar on her cheek.
“Does it hurt?”
“It’s ugly.”
The defeat in her tone stirred up feeling. As adamant as Hisa was about not caring for the handsomeness of someone, she became meek with her own imperfections exposed. He hadn’t thought of it as ugly or beautiful. It was simply: Hisa. And it was strange that she didn’t see herself in that same way.
Her renewed meekness prompted action. He couldn’t think of why he decided this method, only that he wanted to give the kind of comfort he received from her. In the briefness of it, nothing else existed.
In the night, as everything settled in his mind, new trepidation emerged. Juro had been a trusted friend, someone who knew about his condition and provided blessed tea as a way to assist. If Juro wanted Hisa, why help to avoid it? But Hisa was also someone he treasured. If she didn’t want to marry, he’d protect her from an unwanted suitor. Though, even he knew there was a favoritism between the two.
Was he not doing the same thing with Feng? Avoiding the unwanted affection, and quietly refusing a marriage the other insisted on?
It was a revelation that prompted him into another action, and drew up a letter to send to his former master. Genji was level headed enough that a long conversation, the plight woven in, could be resolved. Perhaps he was too much like his old mentor. Then again, that didn’t sound like a bad thing, considering.
****
As court approached, Feng pressured more. He’d realized then that there wasn’t much of a difference between his own situation, and Hisa’s. Despite anything from an outside perspective, it was the same in a personal regard. He’d need to end it—decidedly end it—before court opened.
As expected, Feng was smug in her joy at his invite. Not a second was wasted to insist on his making an announcement of something he had no intention of doing.
“I will be making no announcement,” said Kwan. “Not this year, or the next, or any after.”
“What?” Feng’s inquiry came as a gasp.
“Since I am such an embarrassment to my clan, I have chosen celibacy.” He set down his tea, hardly a sound between the cup and table.
“You don’t mean that,” begged Feng.
“I will have no woman in my bed, in my room, in any relations.”
She slammed her palms on the table, her own cup tipping over and spilling out. “You insist on it. And you won’t acknowledge my own feelings?”
“I assure you that your feelings have been acknowledged. What I am unwilling to do is reciprocate them. I do not want you.”
“You,” she began to hiss, “You would discard me so easily?”
Kwan said nothing, deciding to allow Feng the opportunity to tire herself out.
“You don’t care for the sacrifices I’ve made. Is it that I’m not titled enough? Wealthy? Beautiful enough?”
He kept silent, putting more interest in his tea than in her fit.
“And you have the audacity to pretend I don’t know that a lord takes the women of his house into his room? The declaration of celibacy is insulting!”
Kwan looked to his window, showing nothing outside of his disinterest.
“You’ll sit there to pretend that I’m insufficient, but a servant girl is invited into your room? You sent for me. And you won’t make any announcement of our engagement? Do you expect me to pine after you for centuries more until you can make up your mind?”
“What I expect, is that you will put your affections towards someone who will receive them. In trying to shame me for your own feelings, you are wasting your breath.”
“But why? What aren’t you telling me?”
He returned his gaze to her with apathy. There were a number of things he kept from her, from most everyone. More, he needed her to hurt enough to leave Mount Tora, to be in the safety of her own home. “You may find better luck with Kwang. He’s fool enough to believe your sudden feeling and tolerate your tantrums, if you’re set on tying your family’s name to mine.”
“This isn’t about names and titles!” screamed Feng. “I love you!”
“And I do not love you.”
She froze, as though the life fled her with the cold of his tone. He regretted the words, honest as they were, but held to his stone expression. She needed to be away where she was safe, where she was free.
“You sent for me...” whispered Feng, a quiver in her voice.
He stared her down, reminding himself that tears were the most frequent weapon used by a woman in pursuit of a man. He would need to believe that. And believe his next set of words. “I no longer need you.”
It plagued him, long after she’d left. While all else was abuzz with last minute preparations, his mind was, for a change, silent. Inward and out, he was wordless. Face in one hand, and pomegranate wine in the other, he breathed heavy and slow, staring at nothing.
“My lord?”
Kwan broke from his vacancy, slow to look over at Syaoran.
“Just to inform you that Lord Juro is settled in. As have Lady Asuka and Lord Fumito. And your brothers have just arrived.”
Inhaling deep and loosing a sigh, Kwan nodded.
“Shall we prepare to serve the peach wine?”
Kwan shifted his gaze away. “Do. And prepare Feng’s room for a new guest.”
“New guest?”
He didn’t bother to explain, wanting to get it over with.
Though, even sleep eluded him for several nights.
****
The opening day of court, an anxiousness came, knowing his former mentor would soon arrive. While Kwan couldn’t explain it, he wanted to justify his favoritism with Genji’s good opinion. But that assumed he would give his good opinion. The Elk Clan, down to the last, were never ones to be made to agree on anything if they didn’t find it genuine.
It was a last-minute decision, but he called her to his side. He looked her over. She’d grown since arriving. Taller, yes. Her face more filled out, and hair long enough to twist into a bun. But that wasn’t the point. It was when they were alone that he noticed it more, when she was free to be herself, and he himself as well.
When she began her muttering, he missed the start of it. Though, she seemed to wait for an answer. “That is a predicament.”
He gave his instruction, and a brief explanation. Cautious, he kept to the bare minimum of it, fearing it would manipulate the result. He knew Hisa wasn’t the sort with cunning to weaponize anything he said, but centuries of experience otherwise created a habit when he wasn’t relaxed.
The sight of his master, arriving in odd fashion, was exactly how Kwan remembered him. The introductory conversation reminded him of one undeniable truth, the reason Kwan respected him—revered him in some ways: Genji was a man who preferred speaking direct over the formality.
It wasn’t until an hour before the feast that they had a moment alone, with Kwan asking for a private conversation. There, discussion came about their last half century, both of them reclused and grieving in different ways.
“It’s not your fault,” said Genji. “About your brother and sisters. You are very much like your grandfather. I remember him fondly, as my former master.”
“If I wasn’t blinded by my own arrogance, I could’ve prevented it.”
“There is no sense in thinking of what could or could not have happened. It simply exists now.”
He listened to his mentor’s choice of words and quiet tone, unsure of how to counter it. “I wonder if I am still too self-righteous.”
“I suppose that’s up to you. If you have tempered yourself better, then you needn’t worry. If you have not, then begin doing so.”
Kwan scoffed. “You make it sound eloquent. Easy.”
“I’ve not been one for flowering up my words. I’m speaking to you as your teacher, and as your friend. A man in love will do foolish things, and will convince himself they are the right choices.”
“More the reason to avoid it.”
Genji shook his head, refilling his cup with red tea. “Men avoid love, making all other rational decisions, and call themselves enlightened. But you’ll notice they do not call themselves happy. A life without love is a lonely one. And a life with great love carries the risk of great loss. The question is not whether a man should avoid or embrace it, but if a man accepts it.”
“Are they not one in the same? Embracing and accepting?”
Genji breathed out a grunt, considering. “If a man is told his destiny, it is common that he will do whatever he can to deny it, or he will go to seek it out. Both are miserable for it. I would not consider that acceptance. Rather, it is the man who knows his destiny and changes nothing about his plans. He knows seeking will not bring him closer, and that denial will not change it.”
As Kwan mulled over the lecture, his heart and mind warred with each other. Could he really be expected to do nothing if he knew a calamity would come?
“About...” started Genji, shying from his direct approach. “The human in your household.”
“Hisa,” said Kwan, cuing his friend to speak his mind.
“What is the debt against her?”
“What has she told you?”
“I am asking you.”
Kwan watched, understanding that his reflex to answer by questioning had made insult. “In lieu of her brother’s crime. He’d shot down the white doe.”
Genji sighed. “Hmm. There was a curious feeling when I entered your lands. An echo remains.”
“In my distress, I’d ordered execution. Then she arrived, and the sentencing was delayed. And then Gumiho. The delay was too long, I decided to change the sentencing. It would be cruel otherwise.”
“That is sensible.”
“You agree?”
“I do. A sword that hangs by a single thread of spider silk over one’s bed, gives no rest until it falls, and little of it then.”
Kwan quirked a brow and shook his head. “You never were good with metaphor. But I think I understand you.”
Genji sipped at his tea, the urge to say something written on his face. So, Kwan waited, patient in the quiet.
“She’s your attendant?”
Kwan nodded.
“That is a high rank from arriving as a debtor. And she thinks of you fondly.”
“Does she?” asked Kwan, more to encourage than to inquire.
“Someone of feeling. Without prompting. She speaks to the heart, with a complete disregard for decorum.”
Kwan smiled from behind his cup.
“But I do have to ask. Did you ask her... because of Isa?”
Slow, Kwan’s smile faded, and he set down his cup. “I wanted my master’s opinion. Too many say I’m too lenient. From my perspective, an effort of genuine kindness should be rewarded.”
“As opposed to the insincere kindness?”
A lengthy back and forth went on with regards to Feng. At times, Kwan dreaded he may have earned a hint of disappointment from his former mentor. The end of it interrupted with the start of the feast.
His staff in order, and some relief granted in his thoughts, Kwan noticed for the first time that Hisa sported Juro’s gift to her. Knowing her feelings on it, his head quickly assembled the missing pieces from what she’d said earlier. There seemed no better a time than when most of his household and guests were there to witness. A discipline, and a protection. He’d need to stay vigilant.
****
“Did you ask me to tend to Lord Genji because I’m a human?”
The closing of court was near, reprieve from the rigidity of his class within reach. Genji had given his happy opinion when they spoke earlier that day. A good mind to her, and a warm heart. His master’s approval stirred a pride in Kwan. “Being human is perhaps a detriment to his already shy nature. No, I did not.”
Their conversation went in the usual, pleasant pace. There was more that Kwan wanted to say, to expose, and needed to practice his restraint over his tongue.
“He’s a gentle and quiet sort of person. Neither of us really fit in. At the same time, we’re doing our best to make the effort.”
“Then you like him more than Juro?” His mind harkened back to an earlier topic. There was the implication from Genji, asking if Kwan attempted some match making, which amused him.
Kwan carried on with his soft teasing, entertained by Hisa’s flustered state and willingness to play along without a hidden purpose. Her scowl was nothing near the severity of what a lady of breeding would offer. There was still a lightness to her, endearing him.
A whisper of a reminder came to him. “Has anyone made an unwanted advance?”
Her answer given, a kindly smile returned to her face.
He would miss her. In little more than two years from then, he would miss her.
****
With his master’s final opinion given, awkward in the formality, Kwan felt a greater sense pride. Though, he wondered if Tetsuden Castle might be an overwhelming experience.
His mentor trotting off, Kwan looked to his own little magpie.
No.
Not his.
In friendship, perhaps. But nothing more. He would miss her.
“You cannot keep her all for yourself forever,” said Juro, breaking Kwan from distracting thoughts. He’d missed whatever else his former Kurai friend said before then.
“Nor do I intend to,” said Kwan, following with a measure to sooth his friend.
He started to wonder if his own interference was unwise. There were other matters to consider. If he should have told Genji that Gumiho was still alive. Surely, his master would have given council. They could seek her out and end it, quiet the ordeal; she had no army, and against the two of them... His oath wouldn’t allow it. His former tutor already having said that denial and embrace of a thing result in misery. In trying to chase out the fox queen, had he invited disquiet into his life?
Kwan glanced again to the magpie at his side. Someone who ought to have been a frustrating chore to deal with, or unnoticed at best. He would miss her.
Before the end of the farewells, he regained enough sense to remember he still hosted his brothers. For how long, he didn’t know, nor what it was they hoped to gain if they decided to stay more than a day.
While he didn’t care for how it annoyed his brothers to have Hisa attend them, his own silent grievance came with the news they planned to stay a few days after the peach gathering. Though, he suspected they wouldn’t linger too long after that. Two of them were still unwed, and court provided the best place outside of an arrangement to navigate into a strategic alliance.
Genji’s words echoed then, about love. They almost mirrored what she’d said only a year ago. It seemed so obvious then. Of course his old teacher would hold a good opinion of her.
Seong’s sudden move stole away the happy thought. Kwan kept in place, needing his will to stave from reacting.
“You spend too much time around humans and Kurai.”
It was a feat in of itself to keep from scowling, to keep from lashing at his brother’s antagonizing. “Do I?”
As expected, his younger brother broke tension, steering the topic. When they were beside each other, the youngest sons of the clan could hold against the oldest. Apart, he’d come to realize, they relived their earliest years. War had ended, and certain hungers were not sated for some.
Conversation went down a predictable path, with sly insinuation woven in, and insults uttered without taste. Kwan ignored it, thinking instead how best to irritate his brothers enough to cause their leave.
“Seong. You are wed. What do you think?”
His answer came as no surprise. A reiteration of things already known.
Kwan pressed on anyway. And when he understood that the eldest among them wouldn’t fall into the usual trap of this sort of talk, Kwan looked for a different avenue.
A human’s perspective. And if there was argument, he could use Genji’s good opinion of her. Regardless of what any of them thought, no one dared to openly speak ill of the Elk lord. He was, still, formidable, and followed the old ceremony of handling slander.
“All I’ve heard is a transaction, but nothing really about the lady herself. Or about love. It sounds...”
“Go on.”
“Hollow, my lord.”
Kwan could feel the indignation pouring from his eldest brothers. He didn’t waste the opportunity. “How is it that my human attendant speaks more sense than my brothers?”
The pressure of magic directed at him, and he delighted in it. Waiting, his tongue and sword arm only needed the slightest retaliation to act.
As though on cue, and more dignified, the youngest brother spoke up, echoing Genji’s and Hisa’s words, and bringing in a lordly levity to them.
Unsurprising, Seong answered with pragmatism. And Yuz with insult.
****
In spite of the discontent, his brothers were determined to stay until they could speak with Dareun. Try as he may, the stubbornness of any tiger, once their mind is set, wouldn’t allow for distraction.
Since he could not convince their leave, he plotted his own. If only for a short time. It hinged on agreement, though he was confident of it.
The rigid ceremony of what had become an annual reprieve grated his nerve. His brothers insisting that Syaoran’s presence was an insult to their ways pressured his friend into abstaining from the ride.
Hisa, thankfully, was defiant. Ignoring commentary, she got into her saddle with dignity.
The exchange with the Dareun went on longer than he’d anticipated, addressing each of them rather than Kwan alone. It didn’t matter. Whatever omen, whatever glad news, he’d decided to take up Genji’s advice and accept it rather than to fight it or seek it out. Come what may, a popular human slogan.
The minutes ticked on in his thoughts, anxious to get back and see if she faithfully waited, or took on his intrigue and rode out.
Happily, the latter—though his face stayed stone, feigning a vexation on the matter.
She was easy enough to find. Saburo always knew what direction any of his mares went, no matter their speed. On the flat of a boulder, in a picturesque state. Her smile content, sunlight dancing through the trees on her.
A magpie indeed.
“Hisa.” His smile returned at her jump. While he didn’t mean to startle her, it was a humorous sight, endearing. “You wandered off. I had to come looking for you.”
He was glad that she didn’t barrage him with questions or chastise his scheme, and gladder still when she got riled up in their banter.
“I know you’re a powerful Juneun. But you’re my friend. And I don’t think I’ll ever not worry when my friend is hurt, no matter how powerful they might be.”
Regardless of all else, he looked back with a fondness at the memory. Anyone else would wait around or insist they push on, a silent demand of action. She was different, pleading that he stay still. The reminiscing brought the echo of a feeling, of her small frame trying to shield him from the elements; the softness of her breathing and warmth of her cheek.
He realized how long he lingered on the thought, shaking it away.
Other conversation took place, distracting him.
“Have you decided to accept Juro’s proposal?”
“Hm?”
“You’ve been wearing the dresses he’s sent.”
“Oh...”
Something in her defeated tone grabbed him, causing him to look over at her. His hand loosed its hold on the reins, wandering to her. When he realized it, he stopped, resuming his posture.
“It was muggier, and that one breathed a little more and was easier to move around it so I can attend you, my lord. Not, not that I dislike the one you gave me—it’s my favorite one. But it’s not really suited for working. And I don’t want to damage it.”
“And you don’t mind if the ones Juro sent are damaged?” She looked away with discomfort, gnawing her bottom lip. Paused for thought, he redirected. “If you were to have another, what would you want it to look like?”
She blinked at him, squinting her eyes to read him. Kwan kept what smile he had, tilting his head expectantly.
“I don’t know.”
Brow cocked, he realized she figured out the implication. A discomfort lingered in it. “What if you were to make one?”
“I’m not that good at it, my lord,” laughed Hisa. “But I have been practicing.”
“Supposing you were well practiced. What would you make?”
That did the trick. Her face scrunched with thought. He didn’t need to read her mind to follow; the unladylike contortions told him everything.
“I do like how comfortable the mature fashioned ones are. But I also like how pretty the ones like you gave me are. Either way, neither is very good for being a servant. I’m always afraid that if I move too quickly, they’ll tear, or if I zone out then some part will get caught or get stained. If I were to make something, I think I’d want to make it like your hanboks, my lord. They’re more practical.”
“The pants?”
“I do really like the dresses, but as I said: they’re not the best for being a servant or for work in the village. And if I were skilled enough, I could sew in something decorative. An animal or flowers, maybe.”
A plan began to form in his mind. “And what color would this hanbok be? If you could pick any in the world, and it so happened to be laying around, which?”
A coy and childish look consumed her face, her head tucking into her shoulders. “Pink. Or maybe lavender. But I know an earthen color wouldn’t show as much dirt or stains, and I’m messy enough as it is.”
“It’s poor form for a servant moping the floor to be messy as well, don’t you think?”
“I do try my best. But I guess I get so caught up in trying to make everything else tidy that I forget about my own appearance.” She smiled, wide and laughing.
“Would you keep the jacket of it pleated, or straight?”
“It depends on the season, my lord. I like the pleated look, but it might not be the best for this time of year.”
“And the sleeves?”
“The closer fitted style. The wide sleeves do look handsome on you, my lord; but if I wore that sort, I’d probably get them snagged and ripped.”
“I see. A very practical style.”
“And if I were very skilled, I’d pattern it with peony flowers.”
“Peonies?”
“They’re my favorite. They come in soft colors, and they have so many pretty petals, and the smell—so fragrant!”
“I would have thought hibiscus was your favorite.”
“Hm? Why that one, my lord?”
“Hibiscus means to be gentle. Peonies’ popular meaning is wealth and prosperity.”
“I didn’t know that. Maybe I ought to collect the seeds if I can, and try to grow them in the village, so we can all share in it.”
“It used to be the flower for bravery, but the magnolia is more popular for that meaning now. As well as beauty.”
She didn’t notice his closing words, lost in her own planning.
“Hisa. When we’re alone, you don’t have to refer to me as a lord, if you don’t want to.”
Brought out of her daydream, she blinked at him, quizzical.
“A friend shouldn’t have to be so formal, especially when no one else is around.”
“I suppose,” said Hisa, a shy giddiness to her tone.
Quiet.
Bird songs, and the breath of the wind taking up the wordlessness in a distant, beautiful choir.
“But I think wisteria suits you more.”
“Wisteria? Why’s that?”
“Wisteria flowers mean someone who is welcoming and steadfast.”
Hisa laughed. “Lord Kwan has a high opinion of me.”
Kwan shifted his gaze down and to the side.
“Which flower means the person has a big imagination?”
He looked back to her, taking in her eager expression. “Lupines, I think.”
“Then, when I’m skilled enough, I’ll make one with peonies, and one with lupine.”
“Ambitious.”
“What about you, my—?” He quirked a brow at her stumble. “My friend. Do you have a favorite flower?”
Kwan grunted his amusement. “I never thought about it.”
“In all your centuries, you never thought about a favorite animal or a favorite flower?”
Kwan quietly reveled in her teasing. There was an innocence to it, in lieu of the facetiousness common elsewhere. “Sunflowers.”
Hisa stopped her words before a single one sounded, mouth open and eyes darting into a different direction as her expression faltered.
“Were you going to say something?”
“I was thinking, then I’ll make one for you with sunflowers. But, men don’t usually wear something with flowers on it.”
“Oh? You think I would refuse a thoughtful gift from my friend after she worked so hard on it?”
A shy and mischievous smile replaced her previous expression.
Quiet.
“What do sunflowers mean?”
Kwan looked back at her, soaking in her curious stare. “They can mean a lot of things. Radiance, recovery, hope, respect... a passionate love...” He slowed his words, watching her face twist with imagination. “Happiness, cheer, loyalty, adoration, and longevity. To name a few.”
“That sounded like a lot more than a few.”
“Warmth, strength, appreciation.”
Hisa laughed.
“Thankfulness, peace, good fortune, and luck.”
“Are there anymore?” teased Hisa.
“Most likely, but I don’t know them.”
Her smile grew, losing its mischief and turning up her cheeks. “It’s so strange to think how one thing could have so many meanings. In the village, one of the elders would say things like a cloud with a curly end means a big storm is coming. Or that if birds are quiet, it’s an omen of ill fortune—or that death is waiting for someone. But it’s usually one or two meanings.”
“It keeps things simple. Great houses enjoy complexity, and sometimes it can get overwhelming to try understanding what something means. A lot of miscommunication happens that way.”