“Rui,” he whispered, quiet as an echo. She barely stirred. She knew she looked awful, face swollen and bruised, dirt and ice still stinging in her eyes, nose red and dripping. Her breath steamed; the ground lay crystalline with frost. “Rui,” Sen said again. “Did they give you anything to eat?”
Rui shook her head.
“Here.” Sen offered a small millet cake from the plate. She opened her mouth weakly, craned her neck, but couldn’t reach. He had to step up to his toes to meet her mouth, but she was so weak she couldn’t even bite. Finally he tore a piece and offered it to her with his hand.
“Water,” Rui croaked.
He lifted the flask, did his best to angle the spout over Rui’s lips, but she was too high up, and most of it only spilled across her tunic. Sen cursed. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, voice raw. “Won’t make much difference anyway…”
“You’ll freeze.”
She coughed, a rough, scraping sound. Her throat felt stiff and cracked. “Sen… why are you here?”
“I couldn’t just leave you.”
“They’re gonna kill me,” Rui muttered. “What’s the difference.” She shook her head, tears glimmering in the faint torchlight.
“It’s okay,” Sen began.
“He’sdead,” Rui gasped. “How is it okay?”
Sen didn’t have an answer. He gave her another sip of water. Somewhere far off, the sun was rising, and with it came the sounds of a new day. Birds began to call. A door slid open: Hakaru emerged. At a word, Sen paused, and stepped away.
“I’m sorry, Rui,” he said. He started to say more, but couldn’t find the words before the guards cut Rui down and dragged her from the yard.
Hakaru was shouting. “That kusa’s a fuckingdeadwoman! We will have her head!”
“Noisy,” his brother admonished. “Calm yourself.”
“She struck me in the face! She stole a—”
“I didn’t!”
Rui’s voice sounded so small among the uproar of the clamoring lords in the Ogami’in’s hall. Kijin everywhere, all shapes and sizes, all towering over her below the high ceilings and polished wood. They shouted, arguing, shoving back and forth, and she could see nothing but rage in their eyes.
Somewhere by the columns, a few monks looked on.
Hakaru demanded her head again. “She insulted me,” he grated.
“And you are still angry about it,” Lady Iyo said, from her place at the center. “You should spend more time with the monks and learn a thing or two.”
Rui caught her eyes, then flashed away, trembling. Lady Iyo was the lord.And you do not look a kijin in the eyes.
“Forgive her,” Sen said, his voice so thin among them.
Hakaru scoffed. “She murdered a guard. You cannot just forgive her!”
“My son is right,” Iyo said. “There are consequences.”
The lords burst into argument again. Rui caught only fragments, all marked with the same disdain, the same disregard and judgment. “Whip her.” “Take her head.” “Hang the girl.” It grew louder and louder until the roar of it was all she could think of. Killer.Killer.
“Let the parents decide!”
The voice made a resounding drumbeat above the rest. The bear-warrior Azamaro had been silent, but now, when he spoke, the others fell away.
“The boy who died. If we are to spare her life, letthemdecide. She must make amends, but to the boy she killed, not us.”
