The decorative plate Keigetsu had flung earlier was sitting on the far end of the table. A beautiful work of art though it was, it wasn’t suited for practical use.
“Let me tell you a story,” Keishou began as he traced its sleek gilded patterns. “This was when Reirin was around six years old, I believe. A relative of ours gifted us these delicious apricots, and my brother suggested we preserve them in alcohol. The idea was that we would each keep our own jar and treat one another to its contents upon coming of age.”
Although Keigetsu was confused by the abrupt digression, this sounded believable enough to her. The Kou siblings had probably always been close, they had probably always been popular with their relatives, and they had probably always enjoyed making homemade treats.
“What does that have to do with—”
“Reirin immediately gave her share of apricots to our brother. She smiled innocently and said, ‘If we each wait until we come of age, I doubt I’ll make it in time.’”
The follow-up was so shocking that Keigetsu was struck speechless.
No, that wasn’t quite right. It was the plausibility of it that stole the words from her mouth.
Keishou smiled sadly as he watched the color drain from Keigetsu’s face. Eventually, he looked away and idly arranged the dried apricots atop the table. “Even more than what she said, it was the nonchalant, cheerful way she said it that really stuck with me. Hm, what’s a good analogy here? It was as though she was playfully pointing out the obvious, like, ‘The sun would never stay in the sky past nightfall, you silly.’”
Kou Reirin had always dwelled in the company of death. As early as age six, she had lived her life with the knowledge that it would soon be over.
Overwhelmed, Keigetsu balled her hands into fists. “That’s exactly what I can’t stand about her.” She hated it enough to make herself cry.
“I know. We find it just as frustrating. Or so I claim, but we never actually tried to do anything about it. I’m sorry.” Keishou reached out to gently dry her tears on his sleeve, his voice thick with remorse. “It hurt to watch, but part of us was probably relieved to see her so unperturbed. After all, if she ever came crying to us about how she didn’t want to die, there would be nothing we could do for her. What would we have done if our darling baby sister spent every day weeping for fear of death? I can’t even imagine.” By the end, it sounded more like he was talking to himself than to Keigetsu.
Dismissing those thoughts with a light shake of his head, Keishou crouched down to the Maiden’s eye level. “Our sister could tell as much, so she cast aside her fear and regrets. And we both applauded that as a show of resolve. We’re partly to blame for Reirin being so desensitized.”
“Then, what? You want me to let it go on your account?”
“No. Here comes my main point.” His black eyes bore straight into Keigetsu. “After our sister congealed into a distorted shape, you are the only one who ever managed to put a crack in her.”
The light those words shone on Keigetsu’s heart was like a candle unexpectedly offered to her in the darkness. “What? Me?”
“Yes. We left Reirin to her own devices in an attempt to be kind, but you always take care to scold her. ‘That’s not normal! You should feel more fear! More anger! More desire!’”
“Hmph. Are you calling me hotheaded?”
Keigetsu turned her head aside in a huff, but Keishou doggedly met her gaze again.
“No. You’re dazzling,” he said, so earnestly that it was impossible to pick the statement apart. “Our sister has changed since switching bodies and spending time with you. She’s learned to lose her temper, feel down, get into fights, and run in circles—all the things a sixteen-year-old girl is supposed to do. I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart.”
“I-It wasn’t because of me that she—”
“It was all you,” he declared with finality. Keigetsu gasped. “Lady Keigetsu, in my sister’s eyes, you are more radiant than a full moon that emerged on a pitch-black night. Your words are the only thing that can sway her.”
Keigetsu bit her lip, her sole defense against the sob threatening to escape. Why were the Kou siblings like this? She was nothing but a sewer rat wallowing in the muck, yet the sister always called her a comet, and the brother likened her to the moon.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Keigetsu.
“I assure you it isn’t,” Keishou responded with a smile. Then he faced the table once more and began to tidy up the many items littering it. “My point is, Lady Keigetsu, that your words are more certain to get through to her than anyone’s. You needn’t hurl figurative plates at her with an onslaught of shouting.”
The jumbled pile of teaware and furnishings was rapidly put back in order. Keishou placed the mooncake he had tried to feed her on the decorative plate, then presented it to her with a graceful flourish.
“My sister has only just begun to awaken. Would you consider presenting your feelings to her one at a time? Everything you say means so much to her that she longs to savor each and every bite.”
When presented separately on the large, elegant plate, the mooncake was appetizing enough to make her mouth water.
It was strange. This man had barged into her room and even attempted to cram sweets into her mouth, yet his words penetrated Keigetsu’s defenses so easily that she felt no desire to refute him. Before she knew it, she had even accepted the proffered plate. The glossy mooncake looked so very dense and delicious. Knowing Keishou, its filling was probably even her favorite: black sesame and walnut.
Now that I think about it, Keigetsu realized as she gazed upon the mooncake, I’m not sure I ever told her I was worried about her.
Earlier, she had been so furious that all she could do was scream, “Why don’t you get it?!” When her friend reacted with dismay, she had snapped that she hated her, even said she didn’t want to talk to her, and stormed off.
The night before, she thought she had made Reirin promise to stop being so reckless, but in hindsight, she had broken down crying partway through and settled for practically threatening her with “I won’t let you forget this!”
Going back even further, when she rushed to save Reirin from the well, or after watching her fall into the Violet Dragon’s Spring, Keigetsu had been so overcome with shock and rage that all she did was shout things along the lines of “Why are you like this?!”
It occurred to her that maybe, just maybe…
I might not have room to talk about anyone else.
Keigetsu fidgeted, embarrassed. It was even worse when the girl she was dealing with was in some ways an infant, having only just begun her emotional awakening. Chances were good that she meant no harm and genuinely didn’t understand what Keigetsu was trying to express.
Perhaps I went about this all wrong. I should have looked her in the eyes and spoken slowly, the same way I’d explain things to a small child.
Rather than raising her voice, she should have said, “I’m worried about you. Please reconsider that strategy.”
After how much of her childhood she’d spent getting berated by her mother, Keigetsu ought to have known how helpless and scared it could make someone feel to be the subject of a one-sided tirade.
“Looks scrumptious, doesn’t it?” Keishou asked of his proffered treat. “I asked the kitchen to prepare the sesame balls earlier, but the rest I packed hoping I’d have a chance to give them to you.” He grinned. “The filling is black sesame and walnut, by the way.”
At that, all the tension bled from Keigetsu’s shoulders. “Knew it!”
“Hm? Knew what?”
“Nothing.”
Perplexed, Keishou furrowed his brow and leaned in closer, but Keigetsu turned her back on him. She didn’t need a mirror to know she was smiling, and she would have hated for him to see it.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll start by eating this mooncake.”
Keigetsu pulled out a chair and sat down. As soon as she had indulged herself with the mooncake, she would go talk to the other girl. She did seem to recall deciding to take the first step toward resolving their next fight.
“After that, I’ll—”
Go apologize. Before she could say as much, she heard two voices from beyond the door and paused with the mooncake halfway to her lips.
“Pardon the interruption. Permission to enter, please.”
“We come bearing a message from His Highness.”
It was Tousetsu and Leelee.
“Whoops, forgot it was still closed,” Keishou mumbled as he got the door. The two hardworking court ladies briskly let themselves inside.
Keigetsu set the mooncake back on the plate. “What sort of message? For what it’s worth, I’m done lashing out. I plan to apologize to Kou Reirin once I’ve finished up here,” she said, sheepishly wiping her fingers on her sleeves.
The pair of visitors exchanged glances, then nodded.
“That’s excellent news,” said Tousetsu.
“In that case, this ought to be the perfect time to tell you,” said Leelee.
“Again, tell me what?” asked the Maiden, a dubious look on her face.
Both court ladies put a hand to their mouths and bent forward, as if they were about to let her in on a secret. “You see…”
Keigetsu reacted to the message with a surprised blink, then looked to Keishou for guidance.