Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(62)

“Stop pushing, ladies. Line up!” said Mieko, and line up they did.

Emi and I knelt. I spooned out the steaming soup into a bowl, and Emi passed each in to one of waiting women inside.

“So,” I whispered, “what is it like?”

“Like?” Emi grumbled.

“The Retreat?”

She was silent for a moment. “Boring.”

“Oh.”

Then she turned toward me and her eyes sparkled. “Anything exciting happening out there?”

“Uh,” I gulped, spilling a bit of broth onto the step that was serving as our serving table, “I hit Aimaru over the head with a stick.”

Emi laughed—bright and happy, like a dog’s welcoming bark. “I wish I could have seen that!”

“But—!” I spluttered. Toumi was scowling from the barely-open doorway, waiting for her meal. I filled the bowl that Emi was holding, and she passed it up to Toumi, who took it with a grunt and began slurping the soup, still watching us as she walked away. I lowered my voice again. “I thought you... liked him.”

“Shh!” Emi’s face fell, not into its usual frown, but into a grimace of shock.

She handed a bowl out, then sighed. “Anyway... What were you doing with a stick?”

“It was the one we use to chase rats. I was... pretending it was a sword.”

“Oh.” Emi’s eyes narrowed. “Murasaki?”

“Hmm?”

“Your sash.”

Not wanting to say the words, I lifted the red and white silk.

Now Emi’s eyes got wide. “How—?”

“I think,” I whispered, looking past her into the room full of women dressed in red and white, “that I got it because I told Mieko-san what kunoichi were. That they are—” Assassins. Killers. “—soldiers.”

Emi nodded, passing a bowl up to one of the women. “That makes sense,” she murmured quietly. “That’s why they have us doing all of the slaughtering and butchering.”

I hadn’t thought of that. The teachers had said that what we had learned from Kee Sun would help us as kunoichi. My stomach contracted.

Emi grunted. “But what about the dancing and singing and writing and such?”

Laughter bubbled through the doorway. It appeared the Horseradish girls were teasing Toumi.

“I think,” I whispered, “that we’re going to be spies too, some of us. Gathering information.”

“Oh!” Emi nodded. “That’s why we dress as miko! So we can go anywhere and no one notices us!”

That too made sense. Shino pushed her way in front of Fuyudori and demanded another bowl. I was going to refuse, but Emi shook her head. “I’m stuck in here with her for the next few days. It’s not worth aggravating her.”

Next Fuyudori came forward. “Good evening, Risuko-chan.” She smiled her too-sweet smile. “Do not feel too badly. You will be here with us soon enough.”

Emi, who was facing away from Fuyudori, crossed her eyes; it was all I could do not to laugh as I poured the head initiate’s soup into the bowl that Emi was holding. “Yes, Fuyudori-senpai,” I managed to say.

“Lovely,” said Fuyudori, taking the bowl. She peered down into the soup. “Turnips?”

“Radishes,” I answered apologetically.

“Oh.” Her shoulders drooped, and she walked away, sniffing at her bowl.

I poked at Emi with the ladle, and she actually smiled. “Fine,” I whispered, spooning out her bowlful of soup.

“She’s been impossible all day, wringing her hands and weeping about the lieutenant. I thought Mieko was going to strangle her.” Emi’s brow furrowed. “Actually, from what you’re telling me, that might have made for a much more useful lesson than playing music badly.”

I considered that for a moment. I think that Emi meant it as a joke, but somehow, it didn’t seem terribly funny at the time. “Kee Sun said that he had to send Fuyudori away from the lieutenant’s rooms.”

“Oh!” said Emi, her voice excited even as her face remained glum. “She was so worried about Lieutenant Masugu that she snuck out not long after you brought the rice this afternoon. Sachi actually had to hold Mieko back, or Mieko would have skinned her.”

“Huh.” I put the lid back on the tureen.

“Wait,” Emi said, lifting her bowl to her lips. “You could stay and have your meal with me.”

“All right.” She stood and stepped into the doorway. I knew her well enough by then to know that the sadness on her face was neither habitual nor feigned. “It’ll be boring without you. All they want to do is complain, eat or sleep.” She started to close the door, but turned back toward me. “Say hello to the lieutenant. And, uh, to Aimaru.” Her nose and cheeks were already reddened by the cold, but now a pink flush rose up her neck.

“I will,” I answered, but she had already closed the door, slurping at her soup.

—

When I got to the guesthouse, Aimaru was far happier to see the soup tureen than he seemed to be to see me, but even so he smiled when I extended Emi’s greeting to him.

“Is your head all right?” I asked. The bruise on his forehead was the deep purple of maple leaves.