“A legend?”
He nodded. “She said that every person walks with two shadows. The one the world sees. . .and the one only yourtruelove can see. The person’s soul mate.”
A chill rolled down my spine.
Slow.
Electric.
Heavy.
I swallowed. “So what are the shadows in these paintings?”
“My guess is that they are the second shadows. The ones revealed only to the person meant to see your soul without armor.”
My chest tightened.
I stared at the painting again—at the ink, the wings, the impossible enormity. At the way, the shadow curled protectively around the woman’s body.
“Did you believe Kenji’s mother?”
He let out a muted laugh. “I was a child. I believed everything she said. Kenji too. We used to talk about how our wives would see the shadows. We were kids. What did we know? But later. . .”
“What?”
“When we were older. . .she told us not to put faith in it anymore.”
“Why not?”
He glanced toward another painting—a man in ceremonial armor bowing toward a shrine. Behind him, a massive hornet-shadow rose like a crown made of storm clouds.
“Because,” Hiro said softly, “she told us that the Fox never saw her shadow so. . .”
Something in me cracked open.
Hiro continued, “She laughed when she said it, but not in a happy way. She said the legend was probably just an old village superstition.”
My heart thudded once.
Or the Fox wasn’t her true love, and it made her sad to realize that after having kids with him.
Hiro’s expression turned firm. “We should go.”
“You’re right.” I went back to walking down the long hallway. Still, my gaze drifted back to the paintings.
A warrior with a wolf-shadow, jaws open in silent howl.
A tiny girl kneeling in the snow with the shadow of a massive elephant rippling behind her like wind.
An elder with a bear.
A painting with a breathtaking mother holding a baby while a tiny dragon unfurls behind the newborn.
I looked at him. “The people in the paintings were Kenji’s mother’s family?”
“Yes. Her bloodline. Her clan. They gifted my brother with this island and people.”
“People?”
