Fifty Words for Rain(59)

Akira flushed. “It’s nothing. It’s just started.”

She smiled at him. “Otanjoubi omedetou gozaimasu, Nii-san. Happy birthday.”

He snorted. “I had hoped you’d forgotten.”

“I know you don’t like birthdays.”

“Quite.”

Nori shuffled her feet. “I won’t bother you too much. I have a present for you.”

Akira leaned back against his pillows. “I told you not to get me anything.”

She pulled the package out of her long bell sleeve. “I made this.”

She handed it to him, and Akira inspected it, in that infuriating way he inspected everything, as if he was already preparing himself to be disappointed.

Realizing that she was not going to go away until he opened it, he sighed and peeled back the wrapping paper.

Inside was a handkerchief made of ivory silk, with little treble clefs embroidered in the corners in gold thread. In the bottom right corner she had sewn the kanji for his name.

Akira looked up at her. “How many tries did it take you before you ended up with this?”

She concealed her hands, which were covered in tiny needle pricks. “Not many.”

Akira smirked at her. “A dozen?”

She cheated her gaze to the side. “A bit more, actually.”

He laughed. “Well, I did tell you not to go through the trouble.”

She nipped the inside of her lip. “I know you did.”

He gestured to the score in his lap. “Well, as you can see, I’m busy.”

“It’s your birthday,” she protested. “We really should celebrate.”

Akira shrugged. “I was born. Now I’m one year older. What is there to celebrate?”

She was, not for the first time, amazed at his cynicism. “Life?”

He shrugged as if there were not much to celebrate about that either.

“I have work to do.”

She hesitated. This was the part where she was supposed to leave.

“I think you are angry with me,” she ventured. “Are you?”

Akira tsked. “No.”

“If this is about what happened with Grandfather—”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Akira snapped. “It was mine. You never should have been in that room. I knew your presence would inflame him beyond reason. That’s why I planned it the way I did.”

“I insisted on being there,” she said sulkily. “I taunted him. It was my fault.”

“I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” Akira said. “I knew better. But I listened to your childish wheedling instead of my own judgment. I won’t make that mistake again.”

She stepped forward. “Oniichan . . .”

He held up a hand to stop her from coming closer. “From now on, I expect you to do what I tell you. There will be no more negotiation.”

“But that’s—”

“I’m not going to argue with you. Just do as you are told.”

She looked at him, and his silence, in the face of her anguish, said all that needed to be said.

“Happy birthday,” she mumbled again and went out.



* * *





Nori tried to speak to him again the next day, but he brushed by her without a word. She could feel a cold wind blow as he passed. She let it be, and for the next month, she saw very little of him. Soon Akira would return to school for his last year. Though she did not look forward to him being away during the days, it was better than him actively ignoring her.

At eighteen, he was only part adult. It was not until twenty that he would reach full majority. She comforted herself with the thought that it would be several more years before he would be expected to return to Kyoto. But she knew that he would never be content to sit by the fire and knit, as she was. He was ambitious and restless, and sooner or later, the tides would carry him away.

She found things to do, as she always did. In the mornings she helped Ayame with laundry. They hand-washed the delicate silks in large basins full of soapy water scented with rose petals. Then they would hang them on the line and watch them blow in the breeze. They didn’t say much to each other. But Nori didn’t think that Ayame disliked her. So that was something.

She spent her afternoons reading. This house had a great library, full of all kinds of books. She asked Ayame to pick out some that girls her age might be reading in school. It seemed like, for now at least, the issue of her education had been dropped. It was likely that after the incident in the dining room, Akira had decided it was best not to push the issue. Her existence was not the closely guarded secret it once was, but they didn’t flaunt it either. He’d finally gotten her papers through the black market, not the courts, but he’d assured her this would suffice if they were needed.

Her evenings were reserved for music. Sometimes the few remaining servants would gather around and listen to her play. Afterwards, there was a contented silence that enveloped the room like a warm blanket.

The nights were the worst. She avoided sleep like it was a deadly plague. She walked the house aimlessly, trying to keep her eyes from drifting shut.

The nightmares she’d had as a little girl had returned. But they had grown, just as she had. And they were bigger than she was now. She couldn’t fight them. She would wake up gasping for air, sure that there were hands around her throat. And then she would cry and cry until she retched all over the floor.