The Dragon's Flower Read online

  “When I was fourteen, my brother defied my father, the Shogun’s rules. I knew… that if no one did anything, my brother would be slain, and I… I could not stand aside, even if it went against the wishes of the Shogun my father.”

  He heard his wife u tter a tiny noise of distress, and he clenched his hands, digging his nails into his arms. He didn’t want to look up and see the condemnation in her eyes. “So I protected him, until he had crossed the border into Nagisa. But the Shogun was furious with me, and stripped away from me all honor and clan… the only thing he left me were my name, and my swords.” He said, slowly withdrawing one hand and tapping the handle of the katana that was never far from his side. “I’ve been wandering ever since. Until, that is, my father had mercy on me, and restored me to the clan.”

  The silence in the room was thick and cloying, and Shichiro felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if every breath of air stuck in his throat and never reached his lungs. Finally his wife spoke. “How long… how long have you been wandering?”

  Shichiro’s head shot up when he heard that, and he stared at her in confusion. That… was not the reaction he had been expecting, not by any stretch of the imagination. Her eyes were once again swimming in tears, but there was no trace of disgust or anger in them.

  “Seven years. Almost eight.” He said faintly, and he saw the sorrow increase, and once again she reached out to his hand. This time, however, instead of merely touching, she gently lifted his hand and enfolded it within her own. He stared at her, at his hand within her own, and for once did not know what to think.

  Hanako’s heart ached for her husband, like it had fallen from a great height and was badly bruised. She knew that while he had not lied, there was obviously more to the story that he had not told. Why, she wasn’t sure, but something deep and strong and wise within her whispered that Shichiro was good and brave, and would not have disobeyed his father unless his father was going to do something very, very wrong. But for some reason, Shichiro did not remember that, or… she couldn’t fathom what he was thinking, and perhaps he didn’t know, either. But, she decided, until the time he did know, until the time he told her the rest, she would comfort him.

  She could tell he had a great many sorrows and burdens on his shoulders. What good would she be as his wife, if she could not relieve some of them?

  CHAPTER SEVEN -- THE SUSPICION AND THE DISCOVERY

  There was something off.

  Shichiro didn’t know what it was, but he knew it existed. It hovered there, out of sight, on the edge of his thoughts, like an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

  Why, if she was the adopted child of Katsumi, why was her Mother not parading her at court? Hanako was very beautiful, and clever and graceful and talented. Even if she could not be her Mother’s heir, it made no sense to keep her locked up in a pagoda all the time.

  And why did she convince his father to revoke Shichiro’s banishment, just so he could marry Hanako? It wasn’t as if there weren’t any unmarried, high ranking Nishimura around, on the contrary, there were plenty.

  There was something rotten, here, something which he could not fathom, which immediately put him on guard. He glanced down at the sleeping form of his wife besides him, her hair spreading over his pillow and blanket, like the gentle tide of a midnight sea. He dug his fingers in the silken strands and tangled his own hands it, gently, so as not to awake her.

  And… there was the matter of the dragons. He was no expert, but he had never, in all his wanderings throughout all seven realms, seen a birthmark so large or precise. This entire pagoda was covered with dragons, and even her title was Princess Hanako of the Dragons.

  Shichiro had no clue what was going on, but he was going to find out. Now, the only problem was to try and find some way to leave the pagoda without being noticed. It was far easier back when he wasn’t able to just go through the door.

  He glanced back at his wife, and sighed softly, fondly. She made a slight sound in her sleep and moved closer to him, and gentle he drew the covers higher, to protect her neck from the cold.

  She sighed once more, murmured something, and then went back to sleep, oblivious of the effect she had had on her companion.

  Said companion was sitting, frozen, one hand still in the air, eyes wide and mouth very close to dropping open. She had said his name. In her sleep. His name in her sleep!

  He wanted to jump and shout and cheer and dance, and he decided that was one more thing he must look into—why Hanako-hime murmured his name in her own sleep.

  *****

  It was several weeks into their marriage when Hanako finally brought up the subject of their wedding. She was obviously very nervous, but she lifted her chin and plowed through anyway. “Shichiro-san, what… what was your reaction when you discovered you were to be married to me?”

  Shichiro, who had been polishing his sword, paused and thought back to their wedding. “Mm… well, I was very nervous as the thought of getting married, but when I realized my bride was you, I felt, well… relieved, I guess.”

  She blinked her bright, beautiful blue eyes at him, and he couldn’t resist grinning at her. “Relieved?” She asked carefully, clearly confused.

  “Yes, relieved,” he affirmed. “I was told I was to be married to a princess of the Fujioka clan, and as you know, there are many, many of them. I was… concerned, for most of the Fujioka I have ever met have been, ah, well, stuck up, to put it plainly.”

  The corners of her mouth turned down, and she set aside her embroidery a moment to tilt her head to the side in sympathy. “I have never met anyone from my clan aside from my Mother, so I do not know how they act, but Mother told me how people can be… greedy, and cruel, and absorbed in their own selves.” Her eyes were wide and seemed almost to fill with tears, and she pressed her lips together for a moment before continuing. “It is a terrible thing, that they would act such a way, isn’t it? I can’t quite understand why they would. How can they not understand that the Heavenly Emperor loves more people than just themselves?”

  Shichiro stared at his wife, and wondered if perhaps he had accidentally married a celestial maiden. Hanako was too pure for this world, otherwise.

  She bit her lip, and he was momentarily distracted by this, so that he almost missed what she was saying. “So, I do not know my family and I don’t know if they are as you say, honored husband, and I wish with all my heart that they aren’t. But… I trust your word, and if it is true that they are such, I… am very sorry and I apologize most deeply for my family.”

  She immediately began to bow her forehead to the floor, and Shichiro leapt to his feet and darted over to her, snatching her hands and holding her half upright. “No, Hanako-hime, don’t bow, please.”

  Hanako blinked at him in confusion, and he felt his cheeks begin to burn slightly and he rushed to explain. “It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize for your family, after all, it’s not like you know them, right? You said so yourself! And you’re so nice and kind, you’re nothing like them at all, so there’s no reason for to apologize! I promise! So please, don’t. You- you don’t need to apologize for anything, really.”

  She stared up at him, and he suddenly realized he was still holding her hands, and he stared down at them, frozen. He loosened his grip, but all of a sudden realized he didn’t want to pull away. And, well, it’s not like they were in public or anything (it was his own house! Well, of a sort) and she was his wife, so it’s not like they were being indecent and he wouldn’t be chased around by vengeful male relatives.

  So instead he carefully settled back on his knees in front of her, and brought their joined hands together in his lap, and watched carefully to see how she would respond. She wouldn’t meet his eyes but looked off to the side, and a pretty pale pink color heightened the smooth pale arc of her cheekbones, but slowly, she sat back herself, and her fingers remained firmly in his grip. A sudden burst of a warm, flame like feeling arose in his chest, and he found a grin spreading across his face, and he tight
ened his hold on her pale, chill little fingers. Had he ever thought before how much he liked her hands? He couldn’t remember, so he took the moment to remind himself. She had very nice little hands—they were white and soft and small, but best of all, they were quick and nimble and capable, and oh so very gentle. Yes, he liked her hands very much. He ran a thumb along the backs of her knuckles, and the pink shade darkened, but her pretty blue eyes looked up at him at last, and they seemed to be smiling, so he decided that he should try this—holding hands—more often.

  “Anyway, you didn’t let me finish.” He saw her eyes widen in remorse, and he grinned and shook his head. “No, it’s alright, you don’t have to apologize for that either—just let me finish, please.”

  She nodded, and he sighed and grinned a little. “Anyway, when I first realized my bride was you, Honored Wife, I felt very relieved. Almost all of that was because I wasn’t doomed to marry some stuck up Fujioka princess with her head as large as a hydrangea… and that I’d get to marry you instead, because I know, as much as I know how to wield a katana, that you’re nothing like the rest of them.”

  “Oh.” She said and ducked her head, but her voice had had a happy sound to it, and as she lowered her head he caught a flash of a smile, and his heart eased from some tenseness he hadn’t even noticed he had before.

  He smiled at her, and then said gently, “Well, what did you think when you first realized you were going to marry me?”

  “O-oh!” Hanako felt herself gasp out in sudden surprise at having the question being turned back at her, and she twitched in the sudden need to cover her startled mouth that was undoubtedly gaping in an unsightly, undignified way that no proper wife would ever let be seen by the light of day. However, her husband seemed to guess what she was thinking and gently tightened his grip on her hands so she couldn’t escape. She quickly snapped her mouth shut, and felt color at her embarrassing slip up spread across her face.

  She cautiously chanced a glance at Shichiro, but he was still smiling, and Hanako could read no sign of disgust or disappointment in the handsome features of his face. She swallowed once, and bit her lip for a second, but she supposed that there was no harm in answering. After all, he was her husband.

  “When Mother first told me I was to marry, I was very happy, for I would finally get a chance to fulfill my purpose, you see!”

  Shichiro’s heart ached for her. She had been stuck in this tower so long, she obviously felt like she wasn’t worth much. Couldn’t Hanako see how special she was?

  “And… and when I found out who I was marrying, I was very, very happy.” Hanako felt her lips turn up in a bright smile to match the glowing sun inside her chest. “I was nervous before, for I had never met anyone besides you and Mother, and my handmaidens, and I don’t think they have names. I have asked, but they will not tell me. So the prospect of meeting someone altogether new, and marrying him, and not knowing if—if we could be friends at all was… worrying. But!” she curled her fingers into the warmth of his large, sword-roughened hands in an attempt to convey the delight and excitement and pure, bountiful happiness she had felt when she had heard his voice. “But then I heard you speak, and I realized there wasn’t any reason to be nervous. I was going to get married, and I would be marrying a friend! What better purpose could there be?”

  She beamed at him, brightly, and hoped that her smile was just a shade like his, bright and grounded and so very true and real. He was staring at her smile, shocked, and Hanako watched in excitement as a much smaller smile slowly crept out to sit on his mouth, and her heart jumped happily when she saw the bright truth and tangibility of it. Perhaps he sees my smile, just as I see his? Hanako wondered, and wrapped that thought up carefully and set it where it would be safe, for it was a very lovely thought indeed, that warmed her all the way down to her toes.

  Then slowly, he lifted one of her hands, slipping in his darker, tanned fingers to twine tightly with her own, and Shichiro drew it to his mouth. Hanako stared at him, entranced, as her husband leaned his head forward. He ever-so-gently brushed his lips across her knuckles and the back of her hand, like cherry blossoms alighting on the snow, or the wind kissing the surface of the pond at the base of her pagoda.

  “I am glad,” he whispered, and the warmth that cascaded through her at that moment put anything she had felt from his smile to shame, like the silver sheen of sunlight in winter is dwarfed by the bright gleam of summer.

  “I am very glad,” Shichiro-her-husband whispered against the back of her hand, “That I made you happy.”

  *****

  After Hanako had fallen asleep one night, Shichiro snapped his eyes open and crept out of their shared futon, sneaking his way across the floor and into the outer room. Once he was there, he snatched a dark blue haori (decorated with dark green embroidered dragons, very much like everything else here in this pagoda), slipped it over his shoulders, and stepped out onto the engawa.

  The mists of rose up over the mountain, thin and wispy. The full moon was hanging in the sky, waxed fat and bright, and its light shone down like ghostly fingers slipping through the mist and shining eerily on the water. Shichiro shuddered slightly in the cool air, before crossing his arms and leaning against a post.

  The more time he spent with Hanako, the more the entire situation didn’t make sense. For one, why had Katsumi adopted a child without naming her heir, or at least claiming Hanako to be the child of Katsumi’s dead husband, the Shogun. If he had done his math right, the timing between his death and Hanako’s birth would have fit such a story, even if it might be close. Besides, this was Akiyama and Katsumi was Fujioka. They thrived on such tales and falsehoods! It would not have been hard at all for Katsumi to convince the daimyos of Akiyama that Hanako was the natural born heir of Shogun Kiyotaka.

  The real question was—why go to such lengths to hide the child? Something just didn’t sit right with him. And it was obvious that something stank about this marriage alliance. If Masaki and Akiyama were truly allied, they would want a strong front. The youngest of Shichiro’s brother’s—Akihiro—was still as of yet unwed (this is now cannon if I stated differently somewhere else it will be subject to change--), and there were many princesses or noble ladies in the vast Fujioka clan, and there were also plenty of daimyos in Akiyama who were closely aligned with that family. The best way to seal an alliance would have been a loud, public marriage between Akihiro and some Akiyama lady. All the other realms would already know by now of the alliance in the works, and the marriage would have done an excellent job of increasing morale. So why go to such lengths to keep it secret?

  And why Hanako? And why him? Hanako, he supposed, made sense, for she was (oddly) the adopted daughter of Katsumi, and who better to seal the alliance with than the child of the Princess of Akiyama? Not to mention the fact she was well educated, Well, in most subjects, anyway, Shichiro thought, a faint grin flashing across his face. She can be surprisingly naïve in others, like the… hat incident.

  Hanako was also graceful, kind, sweet, and uncommonly beautiful, especially with her exotic blue eyes. Eyes her shade were very rare—the only ones Shichiro had ever met were members of the Miyamoto clan of Kirigane, and it was absurd to believe Hanako had come from thence. The Miyamoto were tight-knit, and it would be extremely difficult for even Katsumi the Sly to pull of such a feat and face no vengeance.

  Still, it made him curious, and it rankled. Shichiro was not particularly fond of the sensation when he was unaware of something that might have a chance of affecting his precious people. And Hanako was, undoubtedly, a part of this mess. And something, deep down, in his gut, told him that it might mean danger for his wife, for Hanako.

  Shichiro was never one to stand aside when his precious ones were in danger. And Hanako was more than a precious one, she was his wife, and had sweet smiles and gentle hands. If this whole mess meant that she would be in trouble… Shichiro planned to let nothing stop him from keeping her safe.

  But how was he to do so, and whe
re should he first start looking? If Hanako was involved in it, her origins might be an important part. But Hanako had only said that she was adopted, but nothing of the circumstances. He would have to ask her… and then, he would go and investigate on his own. Whatever tale Hanako had been told, it had undoubtedly come from Lady Katsumi.

  Isao had long ago told him (back when Isao was young and Shichiro was younger, and Isao had still been serving their lordly Father in Masaki) about the best and only way to deal with Princess Katsumi: assume that every word that comes from her mouth is a lie, and only pick through it afterwards to find what grains of truth might be buried in the morass.

  Isao didn’t trust Katsumi very much.

  So it was decided. Tomorrow, he would ask Hanako of her origins, and then he would leave, just for a little while. He wouldn’t go far, only to Chiyono, and there he would find what he could, and send a message to Isao—who would undoubtedly close to tearing his hair out in worry.

  Shichiro snickered at the thought of Isao’s peeved distress, and wished Ichiro the best of luck dealing with his irate monarch. Shichiro himself had much better things to do… like going to bed and snuggling with his tiny little wife. Humming to himself, he slipped back inside the pagoda and slid the shoji shut behind him.

  There was a faint red shimmer in the moonlight, and a fox slipped out of a dark corner and sat in front of the door, curling his bushy tail about his paws. The fox seemed unconcerned with the fact that his presence there was highly unlikely, based on the fact how high up he was in the pagoda. This fox seemed to be of the extremely clever sort, and had decided that he was too clever for little human institutions like logic, and there he was.

  A moment later a twining gleam of green and golden scales twined itself about one of the pillars and lowered its head next to the fox, and the strange pair of them contemplated the shoji doors thoughtfully.

  “The mortal swordsman grows suspicious,” The fox says, “I could smell the clever thoughts whirling about his head. He knows that there’s something odd, and he’s determined to find out what it is. He may even be on the right track, but my nose isn’t strong enough to pick up such particular things.”