Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(54)

“I b-brought the herbs for M-masugu-san.” When he didn’t move aside, I added, “From Kee Sun-san.”

Though his expression didn’t soften in the slightest, he stepped aside and slid the door open for me.

Inside, the guesthouse was a mess. Screens had been tipped over, tatami mats rolled up and replaced carelessly, and a vase lay in the middle of the floor. I began to pick it up, but realized that my hands were already full, and that I had more urgent work than to neaten the lieutenant’s rooms.

The other Little Brother stood at the entrance to the bedchamber, a scowl of distaste on his usually warm face. I heard a groan from the other room and then a quiet, high-pitched curse. “Hiding things! I told you,” snarled a hard-edged voice that I had to convince myself could possibly be Mieko’s. “Play games with the kunoichi and you’re going to get hurt. I told you!”

I wanted to rush forward, to try to help Masugu, but fear rooted my feet in the floor.

The lieutenant gave another wordless groan, and Mieko shouted, “You had to drink it all! Idiot!” And a missile—a sake bottle—flew through the doorway and shattered against the wall by the Little Brother’s head. For the first time since I met him, he actually flinched.

Now my feet tore themselves free; I ran into the room, the medicines still clutched to my belly, ready to defend Masugu.

The lieutenant lay on his side on his bedroll, his eyes open but unfocused, his face slack and shiny with sweat. Mieko too was sweaty, but where his face was pale, hers was unusually flushed. Her hair, which was usually so neatly arranged, flew wildly around her head. She looked like a bear. An angry mother bear.

She punched his shoulder with a force that surprised me and he groaned. She growled and shook him, muttering, “Idiot! Nothing to throw up. You had to drink it all last night, didn’t you? Baka—yarō!” Mieko gave Masugu another shake and then slapped his back.

I must have gasped, because she looked up, and when she saw me, her face hardened. “You.”

“I won’t let him die,” I squeaked.

Slowly her eyes widened. “What have you got there?”

I walked and knelt opposite her, in front of Masugu, trying to let her know that I was going to protect him. “Ginger. And mugwort.”

“From Kee Sun?”

I nodded.

“No tonic?”

“He’s making it now. He said the ginseng needed to be fresh.”

Now her eyes narrowed. “Give me the ginger.”

In spite of my mistrust, I gave it to her. As she opened the lid, I looked down at Masugu’s face. His eyes looked warm yet somehow inhuman; it took me a moment to realize that it was because the pupils had all but disappeared.

She sniffed at the pickled ginger, and then pulled out a slice and nibbled at the smallest portion. She nodded, her face settling back into the calm, focused mask that I was used to. “Give me the ginger,” she said. “You can burn the pellets—against his feet, I think.”

“I...” I pulled both herbs back to my chest. I don’t know what I envisioned—that she was somehow going to use the ginger to finish poisoning him? “I... don’t know how to burn the mogusa. I might hurt him.”

“You could hardly hurt him any more than he already has been.” When I remained frozen with the herbs held tight to me, she huffed, but held out her hand again. “Then give me the mugwort.”

I did. I could think of no excuse not to.

She yanked a long straw from the tatami and lit it from the small brazier that warmed the room. “If you’re going to be helpful, crush some of the ginger under his nose.”

I did this too, squeezing a slice between my thumb and finger. His nostrils twitched at the fragrant scent, though the rest of his face continued to sag.

The bitter odor of burning mugwort clashed with the sweet heat of the ginger. I looked down to Masugu’s feet, where Mieko knelt, that fierce concentration still on her face: a she-wolf, now, rather than a bruin. In her long, elegant fingers, she held one of the smoldering pellets against the lieutenant’s bare instep. Her eyes flicked up. “Don’t cram it into his nose. He needs to breathe.”

Glancing down, I realized that I had in fact pushed the ginger into his nostril while my attention had strayed. “Oh. Sorry. Sorry, lieutenant.” I cleared the airway and got a fresh piece of ginger from the pot.

She grunted, lit another pellet of mogusa, and held it against Masugu’s foot. This time, he actually gave a small wince. “So,” she said, “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Find—?” I began, but at that moment, the lieutenant groaned, and his eyes, which had been open but misty, focused up at my face.

“’ko?” he murmured, and then his face, which had been as lax as that of a dead man’s, twisted into a flabby grin.

“Ko?” I asked. I couldn’t think why he would call me by my nickname; he was always so careful to call me Murasaki.

“’ko-ko,” he burbled, and his fingers reached up to stroke my cheek. They were cool. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mieko stiffen. “Ma’me?”

“What?” I blinked down at him in confusion; on the one hand, he was awake, which was good, but on the other, he as behaving so...

“Ma’me!” he repeated, and his face twisted in a babyish pout. His fingers closed on my chin. Mieko’s eyes widened. Big, round tears rolled across Masugu’s nose. “Ma’r’me! Mar’me, ‘ko-ko!”