Sen glanced out at the silent forest. There were no foxes there, of that she was certain. She knew the sound of fox footsteps over dirt, and there hadn’t been any for days. The forest was vacant.
She could taste her father’s disappointment, so she said nothing. Her brother had been hoping for meat tonight, but it looked like there would be nothing but rice and grains again.
They walked in silence back to the house, where Youna was waiting in the open doorway. Sen’s father pushed past her with a bloody hand.
Sen toed off her shoes and followed close behind. Servants were arranging half-empty dishes on the table while her mother held the baby. As soon as her father stepped into the room, her mother drew back. “Why did you not wash at the river?” she said.
Sen’s father ignored her and sat down so heavily that all thedishes rattled. Sen sat on her cushion beside Seijiro, glancing at the murky gray porridge sprinkled with herbs that Sen didn’t recognize.
Her father picked up his spoon and bowl with a bloody hand and began to eat without giving thanks for the meal.
Sen made uneasy eye contact with her mother, whose expression carved into a deep frown. “You didn’t bring back any meat for us either?”
“Okaasama,” Sen whispered, for she sensed the dangerous edge to her father’s spirit. His shadow stretched taller along the wall behind him, swelling until it was nearly twice her mother’s height.
“You have no job,” her mother said, clutching Kotaro tight to her chest. “You spend all day in that forest, andyou can’t even bring food for us?”
A dangerous silence fell over the table. Sen knew it was the hunger talking—her mother’s eyes were bloodshot, her lips chapped. But still, she had made a dangerous error.
Sen tried to stay as still as possible, as if she could wither away from her father’s anger. Seijiro scooted closer to her as their father set down his spoon and bowl, turning slowly to his wife.
“I have no job?” he said quietly. “Then tell me, whose savings pay for the servants that help you make thissludge that you call a meal to serve me?”
Sen’s mother winced, clutching the baby to her chest.
“Who protects this house from the men who would have you killed?” her father continued, rising to his feet. Seijiro’s grip tightened around Sen’s arm.
“Who keeps your children safe?” he said. “Who made you the wife of a samurai when your father was nothing but a shit shoveler?”
“I’m sorry,” Sen’s mother said, bowing as best she could with the baby in her arms.
Sen’s father scoffed, his shadow swelling up past the wall and spilling onto the ceiling. “Unlike you, I don’t have servants helping me do my job,” he said. “Why don’tyouprovide food for this family, since you seem to think you’re the head of house?”
Sen’s mother was crying now, tears dripping down the top of the baby’s head as she mumbled a string of apologies.
“Sen,” her father said.
Sen jolted at the sound of her name. What had she done wrong?
“Go get my kaiken,” her father said.
Sen knew better than to keep her father waiting when he was like this. She hurried off to his room and snatched his short dagger from his shelf. When she returned to the kitchen, her mother was hugging herself and sobbing, while her father was holding the baby.
Sen clutched the kaiken in both hands, her gaze shifting uneasily to Kotaro. Surely her father wouldn’t hurt his own infant son, would he?
“Sen,” her father said evenly, “I want you to help your mother prepare the meat for dinner.”
Sen’s mother let out a sob and hugged herself tighter. Even Seijiro was crying, huddled back against the wall. Kotaro was the only one who seemed unfazed, staring at Sen with wide eyes.
“How, Chichiue?” Sen said quietly.
Her father looked down at her mother, who extended a trembling hand to the table. She pressed her palm down and carefully spread her fingers out.
“Your mother is going to provide for this family, since she thinks I’m not doing a good enough job,” he said.
Sen stayed perfectly still and silent, terrified of saying a single wrong word and unleashing her father’s wrath on her instead of her mother.
“And you,” her father went on, “will show your brothers how clean your strikes are.”
