She’d screwed it all up, thought Ah-Duo.
She looked at the faces of the other three—she was sure they’d noticed, but they were pretending they hadn’t; that was helpful of them. She wished it hadn’t happened. She would will it away.
She considered why Yoh had summoned Yue like this immediately before his surgery, and why he had called her, who to all appearances had nothing to do with the matter.
Yoh, in her opinion, had no intention of letting Yue go. Was that because of that silly promise he’d made to her so long ago, or because, in order for him to be “Heaven,” he wanted Yue to succeed to the same? Whichever, it had caused him to bring Ah-Duo to this making of his “will.”
Normally a woman like her, not even a consort, would have no place at a gathering like this. He ought to have brought his Empress, Gyokuyou.
There was a simple way for him to ensnare Yue: All the Emperor had to do was publicly name him as his successor. Yue might have many enemies, but he also had many allies. It would confound people that His Majesty had named his younger brother and not his own son to follow him, but that could be dealt with; he only needed to tell Yue here and now that he was in fact Yoh’s own child.
Even Yue would not be able to refuse a direct order from Yoh.
The other princes were still so young, and Yue was a superb administrator. Those two facts would far outweigh the lowly status of his birth mother, Ah-Duo. Plenty of families would be eager to back him.
It would, however, be a bolt from the blue for the Empress and her clan.
Yoh’s Imperial affection fell fully upon Gyokuyou. It wasn’t just her position; he genuinely liked her as a person. Ah-Duo herself had shared tea with Gyokuyou several times and thought she was a fine consort. At least, she wasn’t the kind who would deliberately seek to bring the country down from the inside.
It wasn’t that Ah-Duo wanted to see Gyokuyou put in a difficult position. There was no need at this late date to reveal that her supposedly dead son yet lived.
Even if those involved understood, though, there must have been qualms. Yoh was not a person; he was Heaven itself. All others were merely people. Yoh could be permitted anything he might do so long as he was Emperor—so long as the mandate of heaven was not taken from him.
Heaven could treat people as it wished. It need not worry itself with what it meant to choose someone as a partner for the night on a whim. Heaven possessed the right and power to look after a person for her entire life.
Hence it need spare no concern for the matter.
Yoh was Heaven—but what about Yue? Was he the same? Ah-Duo had summoned Maomao here in order to find out. She wanted to know what choice Yue would make, if Maomao would be hemmed in, entrapped as Ah-Duo had been.
That had been the question on Ah-Duo’s mind—but Yue was not Heaven, but a person.
Yoh was still looking at Ah-Duo. She looked back, hiding the place where the teardrop had fallen with her hand.
“Yoh,” she said. “You heard what Yue said. What will you do?” She was fairly sure she had managed to sound like her usual self.
Yoh was quiet, agonizing—even though it was not for Heaven to show hesitation. This was why Ah-Duo never seemed to know what to do with him: these flashes of human frailty.
“Can they be sent home for the time being?” he said at last.
“Yes,” she said.
Yoh must have decided to cool off and collect his thoughts, for he suggested breaking up the meeting.
Yue and Maomao were both agog at Yoh’s behavior. Yue probably still didn’t know why Ah-Duo was here, nor why she had summoned Maomao. He was such a perceptive boy, but still he didn’t realize: There had been a time when he had called Yoh “Father.”
People must have told him many times that he reminded them of Ah-Duo. And in fact, Ah-Duo had served as Yue’s body double before.
If he actually did understand what the relationship was between himself and Yoh, and was simply acting as though he didn’t, that was fine too. Or perhaps Suiren had hidden the truth just that skillfully.
It didn’t matter either way.
To Ah-Duo, Yue was human. She had been able to determine as much tonight.
To Ah-Duo, Yue was a son. But she was not able to say so. For him to remain human, he could not be her son.
“Are you quite sure about this?” Yue asked Yoh.
“Yes.”
“What will you do about the surgery?”
“Don’t fret. I will accept it, as I must.”
Maomao looked even more relieved than Yue at that.
“And what about your will?” It was Ah-Duo, not Yue, who asked this hardest of questions.
“I’ll write it later. For the time being, I want you to go.”
Yue’s face was filled with anxiety. Maomao looked uncertain as well, but not too distressed; it seemed that knowing Yoh would accept the surgery was what mattered to her.
“I suppose I should excuse myself, then.” Ah-Duo got up to follow Yue and Maomao.
“Wait,” said Yoh.
“For what?”
“I want something with you.” He took her hand and would not let go.
“Yes, yes, very well. Don’t mind us, kids—you go home.”
Yue and Maomao shared a look, but left the room.
Once it was quiet, Yoh finally released Ah-Duo’s hand.
“Don’t ask me to take dictation on your will. If you die, I’ll end up executed when people think I forged it.”
“As if I would do such a thing.” Yoh looked at the ceiling.
“You’re not going to write that Yue should be the next emperor?” Yoh remained silent, so Ah-Duo went on. “If Yue were sitting in that seat, he would do the job perfectly well. And most likely abdicate of his own accord when the Crown Prince came of age.” Still Yoh gazed up at the ceiling. “He might not be one of the greatest rulers known to history, but he certainly wouldn’t be one of the worst.”
Yoh’s eyes were open wide.
Finally Ah-Duo said, “Can you live with yourself if you don’t tell Yue that you’re his father?”
“Can’t I write it down?”
“No. I’m not suited to be the mother of the nation, right?” Ah-Duo replied with self-deprecation. “You know, I really thought you were going to tell him—tell him about the mistake I made.”
“You thought I was going to do that, and yet you’re the one who deliberately brought in an outsider. That girl has less and less hope of ever running free again.”
“I don’t think it would be a problem to tell her. Maomao is clever.”
“She ought to be; she’s Lakan’s daughter. If she ran off, I’m not sure we could catch her.”
“If she ever tries, I’ll be sure to help her.”
“Whose side are you on?”
She saw now why Yoh gazed continually at the ceiling all throughout their conversation. He was trying not to let the tears spill out of his eyes. All this blustering talk was probably just an act so that he looked strong.
“Ah-Duo,” he said. “Do you resent me?”
“Yoh,” she replied. “Do you think I couldn’t?”
“Is there something that I failed to give you?”
“Ha ha ha. That’s the thing.”
Yoh had been good to Ah-Duo. Both as the crown prince and once he became emperor, he had ensured that nothing would hamper her. Even after she left the rear palace, he had looked out for her, making clear to all and sundry that she was special.
“Did you wish you could have made me mother of the nation?” she asked.
“You were the one who asked me to, weren’t you?” There was a scratch in Yoh’s voice. “You’ll keep your promise with me, won’t you, Ah-Duo? So long as it stands?”
“I will. And on your part, how many promises to me have you broken?”
Ah-Duo reached out to her little partner in crime. Not to do anything so kind as to wipe away his tears—instead, she tugged on his beard.