Fifty Words for Rain(22)

Maybe.

As she sank into sleep, a memory struck her with painful clarity.

It was early winter, when the snow fell only in light flurries. The park near the apartment they rented was dormant. The fountain had a thin layer of ice coating it, and it glistened in the fading sunlight. The trees were bare and creaking in the wind. And a woman was walking through the midst of it, taking the shortcut home. Her slight frame was bent against the cold, and her long, graceful arms were laden with brown paper grocery bags. She wore a baby blue peacoat, beautiful but obviously worn past its wear. Her long silken hair blew freely in the winter wind, obscuring her face. She almost looked like a wraith, though a wraith of the benevolent kind.

Teetering along a few feet behind her was a child, no more than three or four, with warm honey skin and a wild mane of curls crudely crafted into a ponytail that was coming undone. Suddenly, the child let out a high-pitched squeak. She had noticed a swing set in the distance and was pointing at it in glee. She started towards it, only to be snatched backwards by the faceless woman.

“No time for games. We need to go home.”

“But I want to play, Okaasan! I never get to play.”

“Not now.”

“But the park is empty, Okaasan. No one will see me. No one will know.”

“Come along quietly and I’ll give you a sweet. Come, now.”

“But, Okaasan . . .”

“That’s enough.”

The child flung herself down and cried, with no regard for the cold ground beneath her. The woman before her said nothing, only waited for the tantrum to run its course. When it was done, the pair continued onwards, the cold wind freezing the child’s tears to her face. The red ribbon in her brown mane was coming loose and was precariously close to flying away from her.

The child turned and gave the swings one last forlorn look before mother and child both were swallowed by darkness.



* * *





Nori’s sleep that night was restless, and she woke abruptly—why, she did not know. It was early morning and still as death. Not even the birds were chirping. It didn’t bode well, and immediately she wanted to call out for Akira.

She struggled to sit upright. Her limbs failed her, filled with a sudden, overwhelming weakness. She tried to scream but could not find a voice. Her body felt as if it were filled with water that could not be contained and was certain to begin seeping through her pores.

She was quite sure that she was going to die.



* * *





AKIKO



I am not particularly surprised to find the little madam still in bed when I enter her attic. It is only eight thirty and she is not a morning person. This brother of hers must tell me the secret to getting her out of bed without a bullhorn. Lately, she’s been awake until three or four a.m. and up at seven sharp. She glows like a firefly despite the cuts on her hands and the sagging skin beneath her pretty eyes. I’ve never seen anyone so happy to receive such simple kindness.

One only needs to take a look around her room to see what she has been up to. There is sheet music strewn all across the table, along with two empty bowls. I suspect that her brother has been assisting her in smuggling ice cream up here. Yuko-sama does not like the little madam to eat sweets, for fear they will ruin her teeth and figure.

As for me, I think she is a child and should be allowed to eat as she pleases. But I am not Yuko Kamiza, cousin to His Imperial Majesty. I do not own half the land in Kyoto, with numerous estates scattered about the country. So what I think on the matter is truly irrelevant.

When Seiko-sama was a child, she was not allowed to have sweets either. And she grew up to be incredibly beautiful, with skin as clear as spring water and smooth as silk. So perhaps it is for the best.

I call out to the girl softly, to rouse her from her sleep. I know she would rather lose a limb than displease Akira-sama by being late to one of her lessons. Not that I have much to go on, but I am truly at a loss for why he is aiding her with her ridiculous notions. She is not very good. And even if she were, this little fancy of hers cannot possibly go anywhere. But then, she is still young. I suppose she hasn’t realized yet that any attempt she might make to bond herself to Akira-sama is futile. Both of their destinies are written in stone, and they are as different as day and night. Maybe he is humoring her out of pity. Or maybe he’s just bored. This isolated estate is a far cry from the bustling heart of Tokyo.

Of course, Akira-sama is exceptionally talented, which does not surprise me in the least. He is his mother’s child.

The girl isn’t responding. She needs to get up now if she has any hope of eating her breakfast before her lesson. I approach the bed with a resigned sigh.

Immediately, I know that something is wrong. Her face is drained of all color, save for an unnaturally bright flush on her closed eyelids. She has kicked herself out of the covers and is sprawled out. I can see her white nightgown sticking to her sweat. There is vomit crusted onto her pillow, and I know even before I touch her forehead that she is burning with fever. I feel my pulse flutter with fear and I surprise myself. Have I truly come to care for her so much?

I run to the garden, where I know I will find my mistress tending her prized flowers. Though we have several gardeners, she still insists on coming out every morning to personally inspect her yard. I wait for her to see me standing there. She rises, somehow managing to look dignified even though the skirt of her dark green kimono is covered in dirt and flecks of damp grass. She wipes a stray strand of hair from her eye as she addresses me.