Takkan had brought me to his chambers. They were neat and sparse, unlike Megari’s. His sword hung on a rack, his armor and helmet in an open closet. To the left, by the windows, there was a desk surrounded by books and tall stacks of paper.
“That’s what I wanted to show you,” he said, leading me to the desk. “I thought you might appreciate it.”
Nearly a dozen paintings rested on the low table, all inscribed in Takkan’s neat hand. They depicted moments from Kiata’s most beloved legends.
“It’s meant to be a gift for Megari when I have enough stories,” he said sheepishly. “I fear by the time I finish, she’ll be too old for them.”
One can never be too old for stories,I thought, tracing over the painting of Emuri’en. The cranes with scarlet crowns that looked so startlingly like my brothers. The impossibly long hair that intertwined fates and sometimes changed them.
It was beautiful.
I knelt, studying painting after painting. There was the moon lady with her hunter husband, and one of Lord Sharima’en, the god of death, with his wife, Ashmiyu’en, goddess of life. There were stories about dragons chasing tortoises, and bamboo cutters who encountered magical spirits in the trees. But there was one painting that didn’t belong.
It was at the bottom of the pile, and I tugged at it gently while Takkan let in more light from the windows.
He’d illustrated a girl with long black hair and rich vermilion robes. She was carrying a potted orchid, and above her flew a kite, blue as painted porcelain. Something about the scene made sorrow bloom in my chest, though I could not place why.What is this?
A shadow passed over Takkan’s face. “That’s not for Megari.”
For whom?I mimed.
Takkan took a deep breath before responding. “Princess Shiori.”
The name thudded in my ears.Oh.
The girldidlook like me. My brothers were even there, six young princelings in the background. I reached for one of the brushes on his desk and wrote in my book:
You knew her?
“I had no choice in the matter,” Takkan said stiffly. “Our betrothal was arranged when we were children. Father always said it was a great honor to our family, given that we’ve never been as powerful as those who live closer to Gindara. It came as a surprise, one we couldn’t turn down.”
Had he wished he could turn it down? I’d been surprised too. “A lord of the third rank?” I’d complained more than once. “If I’m going to be sent all the way to Iro, can’t he at least have a villa in Gindara so I can visit?”
I swallowed the memory, filled with shame.
Takkan went on: “I’d heard plenty about her. That she was rebellious and impatient, full of mischief and a liar. But everyone who knew her loved her. They said she had spirit, and a laugh that no one could resist.
“So I wrote her letters. I wanted to get to know her, but how do you introduce yourself to a princess?” He laughed, but there was little humor in his tone. “Mother suggested I write her stories, and so I did. They were about myself, life in Iro—with little drawings. The winters here are long, so I had plenty of time. I was told Shiori was curious, so I’d try to end each story on a suspenseful note, hoping she would write back to ask what happened next.” Takkan had wound himself tight, telling me this story, and now his shoulders finally bowed, and he folded himself over his knees. Quietly, he said, “But she never did. I don’t think she even openedthem.”
I was glad for the bowl on my head, because I couldn’t look athim.
I remembered those letters. Every few months, my maids brought one to my chambers, each envelope thicker than thelast.
“At least he has beautiful handwriting,” I’d said the first time, seeing my name in Takkan’s hand. But I didn’t read any of them. Didn’t even open them. Part of it was out of petulance, but mostly…mostly, I hadn’t wanted to face my future. My bleak, horrible future, married to some bleak, horrible lord.
If I could go back to the palace now, those letters would be the first things I searched for.
Rude,I mouthed, pounding my fist on my palm.You must have been angry.
“I was angry,” admitted Takkan. “I was even planning to tell her so when I met her, but…” He sighed. “But she made me change my mind.”
Now my brow furrowed. For the life of me, I did not ever remember meeting Takkan—except when we were children, barely old enough to have memories.
When did you meet her?
“My family was in Gindara during the Summer Festival one year. I tried to find Shiori to introduce myself, but the royal children were occupied. There was a contest—just for them, organized by Lord Yuji.” At the name, Takkan tensed. “He’d given the six princes and princess each a pot of soil the month before. Orchid seeds were sown in each one.”
I remembered. A test—for “moral character,” Yuji had said. Andahai, Benkai, Wandei, and Hasho had passed; they’d watered the plant every day, but not even the slightest bud had sprouted. Yotan had broken his pot in a fight with Reiji, and both had admitted it, so they had passed as well—for their honesty. But I…I had failed the test because my pot had bloomed with orchids.
