Authors: Jennifer Fallon
Darragh and his brother are more than just half-Faerie
, she realised. They’re
Tuatha
royalty.
What puzzled Brydie more than anything was why, if the Undivided could claim such a degree of Faerie heritage, the
Matrarchaí
were going to such pains to hide it.
And why had Álmhath thought it so important to mix the Undivided’s mongrel-Faerie line with the pure Celtic blood of Mogue Ni’Farrell’s only daughter?
Having sworn to kill herself if Ren tried to leave the Ikushima compound, Aoi seemed to think it gave her leave to become his constant companion. She rarely left his side after her brother, Namito, made his startling announcement about her promise. When he woke in the morning she was waiting outside his hut. She escorted him to meals, tried to engage him in conversation, offered him endless cups of foul-tasting tea to show off her tea-ceremony skills, and generally wouldn’t leave him alone.
In another reality, he would have said she was stalking him.
He couldn’t imagine why, but he missed having Trása around to complain about it to, more than he believed possible.
Ren’s attitude toward his half-Faerie nemesis had softened considerably since acquiring his brother’s memories. Darragh and Trása were childhood friends. She had been banished from
Sí an Bhrú
around the age of fourteen, for some reason Ren couldn’t quite access in Darragh’s memories, but his feelings for her were warm and affectionate for the most part, spiced with a distrust and resentment that Ren thought may have been flavoured by his own feelings.
In the end, he supposed, it didn’t really matter. The only person in this reality who didn’t think he was Faerie and want
something from him because of it, was Trása. That made her his best friend in the entire world. Literally.
Aoi was older than Ren by a couple of years, and a virgin, he guessed, by the way she blushed crimson at him whenever she tried to flirt. And she
was
flirting with him. Big time. Strangely, her brother didn’t seem to mind.
Things came to a head a few days after Trása flew off in search of a
Leipreachán
. As had become her habit, Aoi walked Ren back to his hut after dinner, making small talk — or trying to make it. They had nothing in common, so there wasn’t much they could talk about once they’d exhausted the weather, the manufacture of traditional Japanese fireworks and his impending doom at the hands of either the Tanabe or the Empresses, as topics of conversation.
It was raining when they reached the hut. Ren turned to say goodnight, and to suggest that Aoi get back to the main house before it pelted down, when she suddenly rose up on her toes and kissed him. Her lips were sweet and moist with raindrops, utterly enticing and the most dangerous thing he’d ever tasted.
Ren pushed her away in alarm. He was in enough trouble with the Ikushima already without being accused of taking advantage of the eldest daughter of the House.
Aoi looked stunned that he didn’t want her. ‘What is the matter, Renkavana? Do you not think I’m pretty?’
‘I think you’re gorgeous,’ he assured her. ‘But … well …’ He was floundering, not sure what to say that wouldn’t offend her. After all, Aoi had offered her life as security against his good behaviour. It was rude of him to just push her away.
On the other hand, laying a hand on this girl was — Ren was certain — a very short road to a whole world of trouble and pain.
Then something useful from his brother’s memories popped unbidden into his mind — the first time he was grateful for the
Comhroinn
rather than confused by it. He might be all bumbling idiocy around strange girls, but his brother wasn’t. ‘It’s just … well, we hardly know each other, Aoi.’
She smiled up at him and stepped a little closer. ‘It is my intention that we will get to know each other intimately, Renkavana.’
Aoi meant it, too, Ren realised. On the verge of panic, suddenly Darragh’s confidence around women didn’t seem enough and Ren was out of his depth.
‘That’s really … flattering,’ he said, taking another step backward, until he was pushed up against the wall of the hut, ‘but what about your brother and your grandmother? What would they have to say about this?’
‘My brother and my
Obaasan
would welcome a child of the
Youkai
into the Ikushima.’
‘Child?’ Ren repeated, wide-eyed with alarm. ‘Who said anything about a child?’
‘I would bear your progeny with pride, Renkavana,’ she said. ‘For the honour of my House and my family.’
‘Okay, this is getting outta hand,’ he muttered in English, taking Aoi firmly by the shoulders to prevent her moving any closer. ‘Look,’ he told her in her own language, ‘I appreciate what you’ve done for me. It was very brave of you to take that oath to commit
jigai
to keep me here, but that doesn’t make you my girlfriend. I like you, but you’re too old for me. We can be friends, but there won’t be any funny business. Is that clear?’
Aoi studied him for a moment and then she stepped back. She didn’t look offended. She seemed … relieved.
My brother and my
Obaasan
would welcome a child of the
Youkai
into the Ikushima
, she’d said.
Jesus Christ, did they put her up to this?
Ren wanted to ask, but he was afraid of the answer. Fortunately, now he had rejected her so forcefully, Aoi didn’t
seem to be interested in any further conversation. She merely bowed low to him, muttered a goodbye and turned and hurried through the rain to the main house, leaving Ren wondering if he wouldn’t have been better off if he’d let Chishihero slit his throat the other night and be done with it.
Ren thought — or at least hoped — his rejection of Aoi would mean the end of her plans to seduce him, and for a day or so, he figured he’d taken care of the problem. Aoi avoided him all the next day, and when he saw Namito at breakfast the following morning, no mention was made of his sister’s attempt to seduce their guest. Ren found himself missing Trása even more than he had before, figuring she might be able to give him some insight into this awkward situation. At the very least, she could tell these people he wasn’t
Youkai
and put an end to this idea that he was able or willing to provide the Ikushima with any sort of child, let alone a half-
Youkai
one.
He was encouraged by her absence, though. If she’d been gone this long, perhaps she’d found a
Leipreachán
and was receiving instruction on how to open a rift in this realm, to get back to his own.
Time was ticking on. Ren figured he had less than a week until
Lughnasadh
and the power transfer. He tried very hard not to think about it — given he might well be dead in a few days — but it was always at the back of his mind.
Get a move on, Trása
, he urged her silently, wishing telepathy was one of his gifts.
We need to get out of here.
But at dinner the following evening, the situation became infinitely worse. When he arrived for dinner, Aoi was there along with Namito and the old lady, and Kazusa, who was dressed up like a miniature geisha. Ren smiled at her, wondering at the outfit. ‘What’s the occasion?’ he asked. ‘Was I supposed to dress for dinner?’
Before she could answer, Masuyo smiled and indicated that Ren should take his seat. He sat down staring at them all, wondering where the food was.
‘Do you find her pleasing, Renkavana?’
‘Pleasing how, exactly?’ he asked, figuring the question was about as laden with danger as Kiva charging into his room in a panic before a red carpet event — as she was wont to do — to demand ‘does this dress make me look fat?’.
‘Pleasing to the eye,’ Masuyo suggested. ‘Attractive. Desirable.’
Oh … this is so not happening to me.
‘Pleasing, yes,’ Ren agreed carefully. ‘And very attractive. But
desirable
?’ He shook his head, wishing he were even half the diplomat his brother was, and not just pretending. ‘She’s a bit young for that, don’t you think? I mean … no offence, Kaz … but she’s a little kid.’
‘She has already commenced her menses,’ Masuyo announced.
I really didn’t need to know that.
‘What is it you dislike, Renkavana? Her manner? Her appearance? Is she not young enough?’
‘Oh … you are
sick
, lady,’ Ren muttered in English. In her own language he addressed her more carefully, hoping his talent for language was such that there was no way he would be misunderstood. ‘
Obaasan
, I don’t find Kazusa desirable because she is a child, and where I come from, a person doesn’t desire children unless they are sick in the head. I come from a reality where grandmothers protect their children, not whore them out to strangers.’ He hadn’t meant the last bit to sound so harsh, but he couldn’t help himself. What Masuyo was suggesting was monstrous.
Aoi muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘I told you so’ to her grandmother. Namito’s expression didn’t change. Ren got the feeling he was a party to this under protest. If he wasn’t, then to hell with Aoi’s
jigai
oath.
If this is what they did to children as a matter of course in this realm, he was out of here. They all deserved to die.
‘You told Aoi she was too old for your taste,’ Namito said, breaking his silence. ‘Now you claim Kazusa is too young? Must we line up every nubile female in the compound for you to choose one the right age?’
Ren looked around the table at them in stunned disbelief. Kazusa was smiling at him, almost as if she was oblivious about what exactly it was her grandmother was planning for her. Aoi wouldn’t meet his eye. Namito seemed frustrated and angry, but Ren wasn’t sure if the
Daimyo
was angry at his guest or his grandmother. Masuyo looked determined. And annoyed.
‘You people are crazy,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Certifiable, card-carrying lunatics. The lot of you.’
Aoi and Kazusa both gasped. Masuyo had turned purple and looked ready to burst something vital.
‘You offend us at our own table?’ Namito asked, bristling at the insult.
‘You started it,’ Ren shot back, alarmed at how childish that sounded. And how inappropriate it probably was. This was a world where people committed suicide rather than face dishonour. Not a good idea to belittle their customs, he guessed. He rose to his feet, figuring he would be better served leaving now, before he did too much more damage. He’d lost his appetite and any desire to spend a moment longer in their company. Ren turned to Masuyo, the architect, he was sure, of this diabolical plan. ‘Thanks for the offer,
Obaasan
, but I decline. I decline your granddaughters. I decline every nubile female in the compound. And I decline your hospitality.’ He glanced at Aoi, adding, ‘I’m sorry you took that oath, Aoi, because you really shouldn’t have. You don’t know me. And if the choice I have is between you committing
Seppuku
and me sleeping with your little sister … well, bad luck for you, I’m afraid.’
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left the dining room, grabbing his
geta
on the way out and carrying them in his hand. He wasn’t sure he had the guts to leave the compound itself, knowing Aoi would have to follow through on her oath if he did, but the least he could do was not share a meal with them.
It was fully dark when he emerged onto the veranda. He glanced up at the sky for a moment, hoping to catch sight of a white owl, but the sky was empty.
Where the hell are you, Trása? I’ve got to get outta here.
He headed down the steps and along the raked path to his own hut. Someone had lit the torches lighting the path. Most people had eaten, he guessed, and were taking care of the last chores of the day before seeking their beds. That was another thing he’d learned about realms without electricity. They tended to go to bed much earlier than he was used to. He walked in stockinged feet across the compound, carrying his wooden sandals, back toward his own hut, the damp sand soaking his feet.
‘Renkavana!’
Ren stopped, hung his head for a moment in resignation and then turned to find Namito coming up behind him, armed with a
katana
and carrying a spare.
‘You have insulted my House, my family, my
Obaasan
and my sisters.’
‘What can I say, Namito? It’s been a busy day.’
‘I demand you allow me the opportunity to restore my family’s honour.’
‘Knock yourself out,’ he said, turning away.
He figured he was safe. Namito wanted to restore his honour. He wasn’t going to stab Ren in the back. The
Daimyo
wanted a fight. Ren had no intention of giving him one.
‘Stop!’
Ren took a deep breath.
This is going to get very ugly.
He turned to face Namito again, under no illusions about how long he would survive a sword fight. His entire experience with bladed weapons involved a school term of weekly classes with Olympic foils, the odd bit of instruction with bored stuntmen while on set with Kiva, a few lessons with Ciarán that ended, every single time, with him getting his butt kicked, and the knowledge — but not the skill — acquired from his brother during the
Comhroinn
. He would last a minute or less, he figured, if he allowed this to escalate into an actual fight.
The problem was, in this world where people offered to kill themselves as a surety against a stranger’s good behaviour, a mere sword fight to the death to restore a man’s honour was probably a routine occurrence.
Everyone had stopped to watch. Aoi and Kazusa had come out onto the veranda with Masuyo. Fiery torches lined the path, making Namito look every bit the devastatingly well-trained samurai he was. Ren glanced around, his heart sinking.
The bigger the audience, Ren realised with despair, the less chance he had of talking his host out of this.
Namito tossed the blade to Ren, who took a step back so that it landed in the sand at his feet.