On Thin Ice (Prequel to Guild)

Chapter Fifty-Two: Dawn

           Grim and glittering frescoes determined who within the Hall of Tears could keep secrets. Today, they found the High King himself unworthy. The ghosts behind the painted icons betrayed his confidence again and again, their whispers compounding until they became impossible to ignore.

Arata Yukimura opened his eyes, and found his sister's already upon him.

A swell of discomfort. The churning of a stormy sea. "Mariko, why aren't you sleeping?"

"Couldn't sleep," she whimpered, rolling onto her back to look up at their galaxy of stone. "Loud," she said. Hands flew to ears. Pressed in much too hard. "Why's he so loud, Ara?"

"Ha. You know the king."

"The king? No, I..."

Matching frowns. Arata sighed.

"One of those nights?" A wrinkle formed in the girl's nose. Down went that noisome gaze. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Think so." Her chin lifted in a last effort to conceal her quivering lip, the tears sparking above.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"It won't stop it."

Arata nodded, then turned his back on his sister and his sleeping family, suddenly dreading whatever awaited him beyond those doors. Mariko didn't wake over trivial matters. Wouldn't hear the spirits whispering over something petty as extending a dinner invitation to the shogun.

Mariko's dreams foretold suffering. Suffering and-

"Ara?"

Around. Mariko had settled back into the pelts on the floor and now mimed pulling her hair. "Beads," she said. "Make sure they hear you." As a man and as a legal equal. Arata nodded his thanks and pulled them from the chest the eight of them shared: the drawer supposed to be left empty, for their father, if he ever showed up. If Hikarishi's armies didn't return and-

Arata left. A lump in his throat forbade a goodbye.

...

                  The girl used the chaos and distraction to twist the blade that someone else had plunged into her patron's soft belly. After all, he'd eaten well all his life. His so-called beneficiaries made do with scraps. Scraps of the produce they'd cultivated, the animals they'd raised from birth and slaughtered even as their sickles whispered other names and fit more nicely around other necks.

An opportunity presented itself, so she took advantage of it. She propped her basket on her hip, lifted her chin, and strode out the door like a woman on a mission, and an officially sanctioned one at that.

"Kanya?" Kanya stopped, schooling her expression to look receptive with a touch of eagerness. "Where do you think you're going with that? Don't you know it's each-hand-on-a-spade what with everything that's going on?"

"Yes, ma'am. Giya asked me to-"

Grey eyes squinted down at her basket, picking out each frizzled bit of whicker, each vegetable she'd piled as if she'd been laying bricks. Precious. Each and every vegetable she'd selected was precious and perfect, but she couldn't tell that to the mistress. Instead, Kanya would do what she did best: widen her smile, brighten her teal eyes with all the gratitude she felt for Hikarishi and her beloved patron.

"Giya asked me to dispose of these immediately. They can't be seen or served to our esteemed guest when they're spotted and suited only to pigs."

Mistress leaned forward.

Don't look at them. Don't look-

"Very well then," she said, and she stepped aside. "Just don't be long."