Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(60)

“Yes,” I murmured, “but what?”

Aimaru shrugged and prodded the fire. “Well, they searched there before. And the stables.”

I had forgotten about that. “And maybe in Lady Chiyome’s rooms. Though why they’d want to do that, I have no idea.” It seemed like a good way to ensure a very painful death.

“Well,” he mused cheerfully, “whoever it is can’t have found anything, or they wouldn’t have almost killed Masugu-san.”

He was very quiet when I told him what I had realized about the nature of the kunoichi. That they were nothing but killers.

“Oh,” he said, ladling out the rice. “I thought it might be something like that.”

“I won’t do it. I’d rather die.”

He smiled at me—that sunny, open smile. “All that lives, dies, Murasaki-san.”

“I know that. People keep telling me that. And... Just Murasaki. Or Risuko. Please, Aimaru.”

He nodded, the smile undiminished.

We distributed the meal around the compound. Only Chiyome-sama and the Little Brothers ate in the great hall. Kee Sun was with Masugu-san, and the rest of the Full Moon’s inhabitants were in the Retreat. The red of their robes, which I had always associated with good luck, now seemed instead to be the stain of blood.

—

As we were cleaning up after the meal, Kee Sun returned, looking even more tattered and grumpy than usual. “Got one of those Little Brothers sitting with him now,” he said in answer to the question that neither Aimaru nor I had voiced. “He’s past the worst of it—he’s sweatin’ the poppy juice out at this point, and the tonic’ll help that.”

He must have seen my relief, because he added, “Mind, he’s goin’ to be weak as a puppy till after the New Year, I shouldn’t think. No goin’ around kissin’ young ladies for him!”

Aimaru blushed, even as he smiled his usual smile. “We served the meal to everyone, Kee Sun-san.”

“So I noticed,” chuckled the cook. “And nobody else poisoned that I’ve heard tell! Yeh’ll do, yeh’ll do. Now get outa my kitchen with yeh, Moon-cake. The other of them Little Brothers is waitin’ to give yeh a lesson.”

Aimaru obeyed immediately, bowing to Kee Sun so that the bruise on the top of his head showed and smiling at me for just an instant before disappearing out the door.

“Did yeh break the rat-chasing thingee, Bright-eyes?”

“I...” I picked up the remains of the stick I’d broken over Aimaru’s head

“And would yeh breakin’ it have anythin’ to do with the lovely bruise atop Moon-cake’s head?”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“Can’t?”

“Can’t...” I waved the stub of my pretend sword. “Can’t.”

“Huh.” Kee Sun plucked the handle from my hands and tossed it into the fire. I watched the pine smolder and then catch flame.

My eyes filled as I watched the sword handle burn. “My father...” I choked down the thickness in my throat. “My father... last thing... he said to me... ‘Do no harm.’”

“Huh.”

“When Lord Imagawa... wanted him... to be a samurai... again.”

Sharpening and wrapping his swords, then putting them away. Putting on his best scribe’s robes. Bowing to Okā-san, who was trying not to weep, then to my sister, and finally to me. He had turned and left, but I had run after him. He stopped, just past the old cherry tree that grows over the little shrine to the forest spirit. I had wanted him to turn, but he had not. I had wanted to touch him, to pull him back to the house, but I could not. ‘Otō-san!’ I had called.

His back straight, his feet at shoulder width—The Two Fields. Then—in the quietest voice imaginable, Father had said, ‘Do not follow me. Do not follow my path.’ He had begun to walk again, but before he had taken three steps he had stopped again, his face still away from mine, and had said, in a terrible sob, ‘Do no harm, Murasaki. No harm.’ And then he had walked away.

While this scene played itself out in my memory, Kee Sun cut up ginger for the soup. The scent was sharp and sweet and hot, and I found myself thinking that perhaps smells could be like herbs, balancing our elements; I know that I felt dark and sour in that moment, and the smell of the ginger was like a tonic.

I watched the flame licking at the stick so that it looked like a snake.

“I met yehr father,” said Kee Sun.

“I know. Lady Chiyome said.”

“I saw him fight. Saw him fight the Old Soldier at Midriver Island. He was a warrior, yehr daddy.” Kee Sun dropped mushrooms and slices of radish into the soup. He gave a thoughtful grunt. “Now yeh know, seems to me, just walking across a field, yeh do harm—to the grass and the ants and such.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“And I’d’ve thought, if a body had a blade and the way of usin’ it proper,” he went on, measuring handfuls of dried onion greens into the broth, and then stirring with his long-handled spoon, “that protecting folks that didn’t have swords and such from bandits and the like would be doin’ less harm then standin’ aside and doin’ nothin’.”

I stood there, crying, wiping my eyes and my nose with the sleeves of my jacket. “But... The kunoichi...”