The Dragon's Flower Page 16

  The question is, how smooth will the path ahead be? Taura is generally… non-confrontational, besides the fact that we were allies long ago, in the era of the warring realms. Not to mention that the previous Shogun died only a year ago, and his successor, the Princess Shimizu Shiori, is young and naïve, and should be particularly easy to manipulate. And I connections, after all, from my mother’s family.

  If we are able to prove that Hanako is indeed descended from the ill-fated Emperor Hanshin, which we can, Miyukimura, who has always been loyal to the Emperors, will likely gladly follow along with us. Yamazaki, however, may be more troublesome… still, the clans are currently locked in another one of their endless power struggles. If I intervene, I may be able to use the wars to my advantage, and be sure that whoever ends up on the Shogun’s seat be someone who will support the Empress.

  Such a strategy will also be profitable with dealing with Miyukimura, if they decided to be… difficult. I believe that if they refuse to cooperate, Shogun Osamu might fall greviously ill and pass away, and it will be a terrible shame indeed, for Ishikawa Osamu-Hachiro was known to lead with great wisdom. I shall feel it to be my duty and support a candidate in the battle for the seat in this tumultuous time in Miyukimura’s history.

  Nagisa and Karigane, however… they will pose a problem. Karigane is famously loyal to the Emperor’s line, but they are also famously wary of Akiyama, and Karigane’s relations with Masaki for the past century or more have been more than hostile. They will not trust a candidate for the Imperial Throne put forth by either of us, and will probably suspect a fake or a trick of some kind, and refuse to assist us. The current Shogun, that stripling Miyamoto Tatsuya, is young and stubborn and headstrong, and has been all but indoctrinated by that disgraced, spoiled brat Isao in Nagisa.

  Speaking of Nagisa, its current Shogun in all but name is the lord heir, the self-same Prince Hamasaki Isao. The cast-out fifth son of Tsuneo, and both my new son-in-law’s elder and full brother. This may give me an in with him, but I highly doubt it. He is also very stubborn and will not bow to someone he disagrees strongly with. I might be able to convince him, if I use Shichiro’s status well, and perhaps even make him my messenger… still, I doubt it. He and I have been at odds for some time… since even before he was thrown out of the Nishimura clan in disgrace when he abandoned Masaki.

  He is a very dangerous foe indeed, one I cannot comfortably allow to exist for much longer. He will need to be dealt with, and soon. I’m sure that once Isao is gone, little orphan Prince Daisuke will be named Shogun, but he will dearly need a regent of some sort. A guardian, to protect the child from the cruelty of the outside world.

  I am sure I will be able to find someone suitable for the job.

  Shichiro’s head jerked upright at the mention of Daisuke, and his eyes widened in horror. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen to his kind, fun-loving little nephew if Katsumi got her hooks into him. Hanako was truly blessed that she had escaped Princess Fujioka’s influence nearly unscathed.

  Daisuke grinned up at Shichiro, his eyes lighting with excitement. “Yeah! I’gonna be big when baby’s born, an’ I’gonna be the bestest big brovver ever!”

  “That’s a very good thing to be, Daisuke. Do you want me to tell you some things about being a big brother?”

  “Whats you wanna tell me, Unca Ronin?” Daisuke, asked, tugging on his sleeve.

  “You’re going to be a big brother soon, Daisuke-dono, and that comes with special responsibilities. Did you know that?”

  Daisuke shook his head in confusion. “Nnnooo. Wha’ kind resposnibilibitees?”

  “There are many responsibilities, but there’s one that’s the most important. You’ll have to watch out for your baby brother or sister and protect them with all your strength. You’re their big brother, and that’s your job. And most importantly, you never leave them to face trouble alone, if you can help it. That’s what your Papa—my older brother—did for me. Can you promise to do all that, Daisuke-dono?”

  Daisuke nodded, clenching one fist and his face twisted up in determination. “Yes, Unca Ronin! I’ll do it! I swears!”

  “No.” Shichiro whispered. “That… I cannot let that happen. Daisuke will be safe, and Isao will be safe. I saved Isao before, and I can do it again. And… and Hanako… I won’t let Katsumi harm Hanako! I won’t let her harm anyone!”

  He jammed the scroll back in its container and stood up, kicking dirt over the fire quickly to put it out. He had already rested, and could go some miles further tonight. He didn’t have much time to waste at all.

  *****

  “Little brother.” The voice was low and quiet, but hissed with a sharp, urgent edge. “Little brother, wake up.”

  Shichiro wrinkled his nose and flung an arm across his face, expecting to ward off the harsh, irritating light of a candle held close to his eyes. But when he cautiously blinked open his eyes, he didn’t see anything. It was dark.

  Shichiro sat up, blinking at the darker patch of shadow that knelt beside his futon. “I-isao?” He yawned. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” Isao said quietly, and Shichiro felt a hand slide behind his head, drawing him slowly forward until his forehead rested against that of his older brother’s. Shichiro felt a sudden odd feeling in his stomach, as if it had tripped and fallen.

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it, big brother?” he asked quietly.

  Isao sighed. “I have to go. I don’t know when you’ll see me again.”

  Shichiro’s fingers trembled painfully, and so he fisted them in the sleeve of his brother’s gi. “Why? Is it because of what you found out?”

  Isao nodded, slowly. Shichiro felt his brother’s bangs brush against his cheeks. “You know why I have to do this.”

  “I know.” Shichiro said. “Father’s plan is wrong.”

  “And I’m the only one who can stop it.” Isao whispered. “That’s why I have to go. Aika, her father, all her people are in danger. What use is skill, is honor, if I cannot save them?”

  Shichiro let out a shuddering breath, and let his other hand clutch Isao’s brother. “Stay safe, big brother.”

  “Of course.” Isao said. “I can’t very well do much rotting in a ditch, now can I?”

  There was a little silence, but then slowly Isao stood up and pulled away, his fingers slipping free from Shichiro’s hair.

  “Be careful, Shichiro. You’re the only brother I’ve got.”

  With that he stepped away, his footsteps a mere whisper across the ground. The soji slid open.

  “Isao!” Shichiro whispered.

  Isao paused, halfway through the door.

  “May the Immortal Dragon guide your footsteps, big brother.” Shichiro said, getting on his knees and bowing his forehead to the ground.

  After a moment, Isao spoke, and his voice was sad and gentle. “Farewell, little brother.”

  Then the shoji slid closed, and he was gone.

  Shichiro sat there, in the darkness, for some time.

  He knew Father. Father would be expecting Isao to react this way. They would be waiting—and Isao would be in danger. If no one came to his aid—

  What use is skill, is honor, if I cannot save them?

  Shichiro rose from his futon and padded over to his clotheschest?. On top was his hair tie—in one swift movement he gathered up his hair in a high ponytail, hanging proudly from the crest of his head. He shed his sleeping yukata and clothed himself in hakama and dark gi, and slipped his sandals on his feet. Last of all his took his wakizashi and katana, and stuck them in his belt.

  Father and all his teachers said he was one of the most skilled swordsman in all the lands, for all that he was fourteen. And Shichiro would use this skill to save his brother.

  *****

  CHAPTER EIGHT --- THE FREEDOM AND THE PRICE

  Nearly four weeks after her husband fell ‘mysteriously’ ill, Hanako was eating lunch when a frantic rapping at the shoji door nearly startled her so much she
dropped her rice ball. She scrambled upright and hurried to the door and slid it open, just in time to catch her husband as he stumbled into her arms.

  “Shichiro-husband!” She squeaked in shock, stepping back hastily in an attempt to keep both of them from falling over. “Are you well? Are you sick? What should I—”

  Strong hands came up to grip her elbows, and Shichiro steadied himself, lifting his head and interrupting her nervous tirade. “Hush, it’s alright, I’m fine. I’m just… tired… give me a moment, please.” And with that, he let his head fall forward again against her collarbone.

  Hanako felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, but she didn’t dare move. “O-oh, o-of course. Take all the time y-you need.”

  “Thank you, Hanako-koi.” He sighed, and Hanako was certain that her blush could be seen in the village at the foot of the mountain. After several moments, he sighed once more, his breath tickling her neck with a strange, prickling warmth, and straightened slowly. Hanako bit her lip when she got a good look at his face. His eyes were droopy and slightly glazed in weariness, and the skin beneath was darkly bruised with exhaustion, and she had already felt how his limbs trembled slightly when he rested in her arms.

  Silently, she took his arm and led him across the room, removing the swords from his obi and assisting him carefully to the finest cushion she had, and he slumped in relief to the floor. Once he was settled, Hanako bustled about, gathering the largest portions of her lunch that she had and setting them out before him, before fetching the sake and pouring him a cup, before settling down to sit at his side in the case he needed help.

  He slowly ate a rice ball and drank the sake, before finally speaking again. “Hanako-hime, I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  Hanako felt her heart jump to her throat in anxiety, and unthinking she reached out and grabbed ahold of his hand, biting her lip in nervousness. “What… what sort of bad news, Shichiro-san?”

  He sighed and stayed silent for one long moment, squeezing her hand gently. Finally he reached out and smoothed a thumb along her cheekbone, right underneath her eyes. “Did you ever ask Princess Katsumi where you got your pretty blue eyes from?”

  Hanako stared at him in confusion, her mind equal parts bewildered, and distracted by the pleasant warmth of his hand on her cheek, and the tingling trail left by the brush of his thumb. “No… she does not know where I got them from, as I told you.”

  Shichiro bowed his head, and his hand trailed down from her cheek and around to the back of her neck, where Hanako knew the head of her large birthmark rested. The fingers stroked up and down, and Hanako shivered slightly at the touch, before she suddenly felt herself tugged forward against her husband’s chest. His head came to rest against hers, and his arms wrapped around Hanako securely, but one hand remained on the head of the birthmark.

  “She lied, Hanako-hime.”

  Hanako’s breath caught, and her mind seemed to freeze as if a sudden blast of winter had caught it in its icy grasp. No. No, no, no. This cannot be… he must be mistaken, mother would not… she… she wouldn’t!

  But Hanako remembered. She remembered the sweetly painted lips and the honeyed words, that had left a strange, cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. The too-smooth sentences and the silence of her handmaidens.

  The cold, cold eyes that seemed to gleam strangely from time to time, which made Hanako wary and caused her mind to shift uncomfortably.

  But… if she did lie… why would she? What should she gain?

  “Why?” She asked, and her voice was the pained whine of a wounded child, and she felt the sudden dampness on her cheeks, and realized she had been crying without even knowing.

  “It’s all connected,” Shichiro said, stroking up and down her back with a gentle hand, trying his very best to comfort her. “Your eyes, your birthmark, this tower, the dragons on the walls and the screens and the pillars and the everything… it all comes from one reason.”

  “Why?” Hanako croaked again, and she was aware, dimly, that she was shaking, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Hanako-love…” He muttered, and slowly, gently, Shichiro pushed her upright, bracing his hands on her shoulders to hold her steady. “Hanako-hime. Listen to me. Are you listening?”

  She stared at him, unblinking, and he watched the slow, constant welling of tears as they slipped down her cheeks. After a moment, she blinked once, slowly, and sent a cascade of fresh tears down her blotchy cheeks. “Y-yes. I… I am listening.”

  “Good.” Shichiro said, and then because he couldn’t stand it anymore, he lifted up one hand and very carefully wiped away the tears with his sleeve. She shuddered once and leaned against his hand, and Shichiro verily gently tucked a few stray hands behind her ear and replaced his hand on her shoulder.

  “You…” His tongue didn’t want to go on, and Shichiro didn’t blame it. After all, how often did you say something like this? Yes, please, merchant-san, I’d like three tangerines and oh, by the way, do you know my wife is the Empress?

  He almost wanted to laugh, but he bit down on his uncooperative tongue before he began again. “You are the heir of the last Emperor.”

  Hanako stared at him. She stared at him for a long, long, long time. Then suddenly, she burst into tears and collapsed into his chest.

  Shichiro panicked but did his best to comfort her. Her tears, evidence of her pain, were soaking into his haori, causing his heart to ache in sympathy, but he had no idea how to stop them. It was not a pleasant experience, to feel so helpless when your wife was in such plain distress.

  *****

  Hanako didn’t want to wake up, for she had the feeling she’d awaken to find the state of things as unpleasant as they were when she fell asleep. Still, Shichiro’s gentle, warm voice slowly coaxed her back into awareness, and when she finally swam up back into the light, she found that she was still wrapped warmly and comfortably in his arms.

  “Are you awake, Hanako-hime?” He asked gently, and she nodded against the fabric of his gi, not trusting herself to speak yet. Her eyes burned and there was a strange, uncomfortably rawness in the back of her throat. Hanako’s face felt sticky and hot, and she could feel strands of her hair that had dried against the skin of her cheeks.

  They sat there for a long time, before Hanako finally managed to gather herself a little and stirred against her husband’s embrace. She didn’t look up though, not yet. She could not bear to see his face.

  “Is…” her voice cracked painfully and rasped against her tongue, and she stopped in embarrassment. Hanako was Shichiro’s wife, and she should have been more—more composed, more mature, more something…

  But Shichiro merely smoothed a hand along her hair—which had somehow come undone and had fallen in a long sheet down Hanako’s back—and hummed encouragingly. Hanako still did not want to, but she also did not wish to disappoint her husband… and besides, she had to know.

  What she would do when she did know, she wasn’t sure yet, but she’d figure that out when the time came.

  “Is there anything more?” She whispered, and Shichiro told her.

  He told Hanako of how her father had given her to Princess Katsumi, in exchange for her own life. He told her of Katsumi’s plan to restore the Imperial throne, with Hanako as her puppet (all the lessons about the daimyos and samurai and noble clans, and ceremonies and manners and etiquette and traditions, they all made sense now) so that Katsumi and Shogun Tsuneo would rule over all seven realms behind a thin veneer of Hanako’s reign.

  He told her of how Katsumi planned on subduing the realms, cajoling or bribing or assassinating her way to triumph, and with every sentence her heart bruised and bled and broke and broke again.

  When he was done and silence had fallen at last, Hanako gathered the cracked and bleeding pieces of her heart and fitted them together carefully, like the pieces of a broken ceramic bowl being mended by lacquer and gold. It wasn’t perfect nor truly healed, but it would hold.

  She sat up, drawing herself together with
painful slowness, wiping what she could of the mess her tears had made with her sleeves, before looking up and meeting Shichiro’s eyes.

  His face was calm but sad, full of solemnity and a strange pain… pain that he did not feel himself, but for her. Most of all, there was no lie in his gaze.

  The same could sometimes not be said of Mother.

  “Well, then.” She said, her voice quiet and weak, but controlled. “What is your plan, husband?”

  Shichiro’s eyes flew wide, and he said, “You… you believe me?”

  Hanako frowned slightly. “There is no lie in your gaze, Shichiro-san.”

  “Ah, I just thought…” his voice trailed off, and he said, “Katsumi may have lied, but she’s still your mother… you might want to side with her.”

  Hanako’s heart ached at the thought of the words she was about to utter, but they needed to be said. “I… I find myself doubting whether or not Mother ever actually loved me, and besides… you are my husband. Compared to you, Princess Fujioka has no hold over me.”

  Her husband stared at her for some time, before he finally smiled (just for a moment, but it was there) and nodded, one hand sneaking out to take ahold of her own. “Very well then. I have a plan.”

  Hanako nodded, ready to listen. Shichiro tugged thoughtfully on his ponytail with a faint sigh, before starting, “We have to get away from the pagoda as soon as possible, and head towards someplace where we will have powerful allies. We need to get the evidence I collected to them immediately.”

  “Do you have anyone in mind?” Hanako asked softly, and Shichiro nodded, almost absentmindedly.

  “Yes. We need to head to Nagisa. Hamasaki Isao, the crown prince of Nagisa—he’s my brother, and he will help us. He’s also the Shogun’s heir, so his prestige and position will be invaluable.”

  Hanako nodded again, for this seemed to be a very sensible plan indeed. “What sort of things do we need to get ready, then?”