Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(28)
“Uh, I think Mr. Fuchigami said something about sericulture?” My royal profile is a little slim. A hobby is in order. Mr. Fuchigami pitched ichthyology with a concentration in carp. A nonstarter. I piped in with how much I enjoyed baking—too common. Tomorrow, we try sericulture. Truth: I’m not one hundred percent sure what sericulture is. Next, I’m going to suggest falconry. The imperial household employs a falconer and everyone knows all epic quests start with birds of prey.
“Good luck, though I don’t think you need it. Mr. Fuchigami reports you did splendid with the mock banquet setting this morning. All eyes will be on you at the wedding instead of the bride.” He smiles with pride again. He’s practically beaming with it. I have no desire to dim the lights.
“Yeah,” I agree, smiling right back. Then we sit together, him and me, near the greenhouse that may or may not have been built for my mother.
11
Sericulture should come with multiple warnings.
Warning one: the event involves facing off with ultra-perfect twin princesses to whom you can’t help comparing yourself.
Warning two: there will be photographs. The occasion will be documented and released to the press (in other words: don’t eff it up).
Warning three: worms. Worms. WORMS. Nobody mentioned sericulture was the production of silk through rearing of silkworms.
I stand in front of a table. Akiko and Noriko are across from me, their gazes hawklike. It is truly an art form to look down your nose at someone the same height as you. Between us is a piece of parchment paper filled with leaves and the writhing bodies of about a thousand silkworms. Surrounding us are imperial minders: ladies-in-waiting (mine and the twins’), chamberlains, photographers, and a guard or two. Akio included. We’ve taken to giving each other the silent treatment, communicating exclusively through third parties.
A flash erupts. Picture number four.
Japan is surly this morning. A storm swept through outside Tokyo last night. Howling winds and rain threatened to whip the cherry buds from their branches and kept me tossing and turning. Now, the air in the open room hangs heavy like a frown. Also it smells sour, like wet tatami matting.
Noriko—or is it Akiko?—whispers to her twin. They both possess the same high cheekbones, winning smiles, and even teeth. Blunt bangs frame their perfect faces.
Their lips twitch with laughter. My God, even their laugh is pretty, reminiscent of the sound of temple bells. “Cousin,” one says, voice low enough so only I can hear. Another camera flashes. I fix my face into an easy smile. Mariko is watching—with concern? Mild annoyance? Hard to tell. But I see her, and it feels as if she sees through me.
“We were just commenting how lovely your dress is,” the other one purrs.
I look down. Smooth the light pink fabric over my stomach. Feel the pinch of the elbow sleeves. “Oh. Thanks—”
“Yes,” the other twin agrees, all snide and snotty. “It makes you appear so slim.”
I dig my fingernails into my palms. I want to punch their noses. How hard is it to get blood out of linen? A million curse words fill my mouth.
The royal silkworm breeder and his assistants enter the room. They’re clad head-to-toe in khaki like exotic zookeepers, carrying baskets filled to the brim with mulberry leaves.
One of the imperial photographers whispers something to Mr. Fuchigami. The chamberlain smiles. “An excellent idea. We will take a photo of the three princesses together.”
Akiko and Noriko step around the table in unison, and it makes me jump. I shall now forevermore call them the Shining Twins.
A bold silkworm has left the safety of the mulberry and parchment cradle. It inches its way toward my pinkie nail. The little chalk-colored fella is slightly hairy and fat—its rotund body reminds me of how my stomach feels every Thanksgiving. Forget the AGG and the Black Bear Diner, these suckers are really living their best lives, crunching on mulberry while being gently warmed under lights.
Another flash. The Shining Twins pose demurely for the camera, but the picture has caught my face downturned. “Your Highness,” Mr. Fuchigami says. I tip my chin up. The Shining Twins move in closer.
“I admired you at the family dinner,” one says.
“I wish I could eat like you,” the other says.
Whoa. Shots fired. Still, I smile sweetly for the camera. Flash. I turn slightly left. This twin has a little mole beneath her eye, a beauty mark. “I bet I could make you.” I say it loud enough for both to hear.
Finally, one says behind me. “Oh, Aki-chan, our cousin is funny.”
I focus back on the silkworms. The one making a run for it has disappeared.
“You must have learned that from your father,” says Akiko.
I did not learn that from my father. Could not have learned that from my father. We just met. The Shining Twins are reminding me I am the Crown Prince’s mess. They’re here to clean me up. My eye twitches. What is their deal? Is it the limelight? They can’t stand sharing it? Am I stepping on their silk-covered toes? Either way, I am now positive this day is going to end up with a girl in jail. It’s me. That girl is me.
Baskets of mulberry leaves are held out. The cameras go wild. This is the moment they’ve been waiting for—we’ll place the branches on top of the silkworms, feed them, and take part in an ancient ritual six thousand years old. This picture will state I am but the spoke in a wheel on a car of a train where everything is working perfectly. It’s wonderful and slightly terrifying to be part of something bigger than yourself. This institution, this title will outlast me. My knees buckle. I feel small, not up to the task.