“Wow.” Gomei’s response to his little brother’s outburst was an unexpected one. “Your voice rings so clear.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mm, I’m glad I got to hear you speak before your voice changed.” He nodded to himself, sincerely moved. “Ah, though I also look forward to hearing what becomes of it.”
While Genyou was still reeling, Gomei took a bamboo container of ointment and bandages from his sleeve and applied them to each of Genyou’s swollen wrists.
“Let’s start with some first aid. The physicians in the main palace can be hit or miss, so you should assess your options carefully. If a doctor picks up on the scent of this ointment, you can trust their nose.”
Genyou wasn’t sure how to respond to this unsolicited bit of advice.
As Gomei put away his tools with brisk efficiency, he went on, “I won’t deny that there are a fair number of thoughtless buffoons among the Kou. I understand why you might struggle to believe that I was so taken with your performance. But you know something, Genyou? I really do love music.”
Gomei twirled the dagger he had used to cut the rope like it was a toy. All that sword training had left his hands large and imposing, yet according to the man himself, he preferred to use those calloused fingers to handle a zither over a blade, to grip a flute over a brush.
“Granted, up until a few years ago, even I was of the firm opinion that singing and playing instruments were a woman’s domain.” He returned his dagger to its sheath. After savoring the light, metallic sound it made, he abruptly looked Genyou in the eye. “Have you ever paid a visit to a war zone or disaster area?”
Struggling to follow the change in topic, Genyou fell silent for some time before answering, “I have not.”
“I see. You should make a point of it someday. It’s a chance to hear all sorts of music.” Gomei made himself right at home in the dungeons, sitting with his elbow propped on his knee and his chin in his hand. “Not the polished sorts of performances we hear in the inner court, to be clear. Soldiers always get drunk the night before they go off to battle, and someone will spontaneously burst into song or start playing the flute. They play songs of home, nursery rhymes, odes to their wives. However awkwardly, those rugged soldiers will sing their hearts out, backs hunched and tears in their eyes.”
His intelligent eyes absently lingered on the flame of his torch. “If the enemy camp is close enough, you can hear them singing as well. The lyrics are in a foreign language, but the meaning still manages to come across. Next, imagine you pay a sympathy call to the incinerated villages. The women there sing lullabies with haunted, hollow eyes. If you visit a disaster site, you’ll find men chanting rice-planting songs while they gaze upon their devastated fields.” Gomei dropped his gaze uncharacteristically and looked at his own hands. “They aren’t singing for joy. They aren’t playing the flute to show off. They make music because it’s their only way to cope. Their songs are almost like a prayer—or a wail.”
This soft-spoken speech was so far from what Genyou expected to hear that he stared long and hard at his half brother. He never would have imagined such a happy-go-lucky man telling stories like these.
“I always thought the Kous’ composure was one of our best features, but hearing those rasping singing voices and the mournful notes of those flutes made me second-guess myself. All this time, had I been too indifferent to those labored prayers and wails? Had I turned a deaf ear in the past?” Gomei curled the palms he was staring at into loose fists. “Now, whenever I hear music, I make a point of listening carefully. I ask myself questions like, ‘What thoughts and feelings are contained within? Is someone wailing? Have I failed to hear their cries and let my subjects’ lives slip between my fingers?’”
Genyou remained silent for a long time, observing his half brother in silence. This all sounded to him like a very Kou-like line of thought.
This man was a born ruler. He saw everyone around him as a subject to be protected, and he assumed responsibility for their lives as easily as he breathed. His heart and hands were as vast as the earth, so he lowered his towering body into a crouch and pressed an ear to the ground, desperate not to miss even the shuffle of the insects crawling over the ground.
“So you see, Genyou,” said Gomei, eyes flicking up to meet his brother’s gaze, “I can’t help but worry when you refuse to speak up. Next time you’re in danger, promise me you’ll ask for help. I needn’t be the one you turn to—but should you ever call upon me, I swear to come running.”
Genyou’s brow wrinkled. He realized now that this man was not associating with him as an expression of his own self-absorption. The crown prince had his own set of principles, and those were what drove him to reach out. Still, Genyou couldn’t stomach being treated as a charity case, grouped together with the common rabble Gomei sought to protect. No doubt this man would extend an offer of help to anyone out of simple concern, be they a pauper or a child from enemy territory.
“I would rather you avoided putting me in danger in the first place,” Genyou eventually replied, averting his gaze to stare at his swollen wrists. “There’s a reason the fourth prince and his friends came after me, and why Mother refuses to wash her hands of me, and it lies in your interest in me. You needn’t beg me to seek help when the matter could be resolved by simply avoiding me altogether.”
“Genyou—”