Gin and Kuro: The Greatest Stories

Maenomi liked spending time with Teha. She knew she would have a hard time letting it go from the first afternoon after work.

Her parents had already moved all the valuables, leaving only bare necessities. Maenomi chose not to question why Teha’s parents were still out—she assumed they were told the two would offer some final prayers before the Tekazu family went away. That’s what Maenomi said to explain her morning-long absence to her parents, at least.

Instead, Maenomi toyed with the edge of a ribbon forgotten on the floor while Teha flipped through the poetry book the ribbon had encased; the candies that Maenomi brought with her were mostly gone by now, dispersed between the two girls and casually eaten as the desire came. Maenomi watched Teha through the corner of her eye, and every now and then Teha looked up and smiled. After a specific page, however, that smile faded.

“...Did you ever ask your parents if you could come with us?” Teha asked. “I know it’s a bit late, but then you could meet up with us down the road.”

Maenomi shook her head and sighed. “I never had the chance to ask Father, and all Mother would do with the information is carry it along to Jukazu. She wouldn’t even give it consideration—just gossip.”

Teha bit the edge of her lip. “...That’s unfortunate. My parents would have loved to host you.”

“Their hospitality would have run out eventually. They’d get tired of me.”

Maenomi shrunk a bit, but Teha barely delayed in slapping her book closed. That startled Maenomi enough to catch her attention as Teha’s expression shifted to sympathy.

“Just because your family did doesn’t mean mine will,” Teha pointed out.

Maenomi couldn’t help a little bit of self-deprecation—around Teha was the only time she was allowed to indulge in it. “Oh, I doubt they even notice me. My only use to Mother is gossip, and only Lady Aimiki understands what runs through my father’s mind every day.”

“What about your brother? He cares.”

“We’re less ‘siblings’ than we are strangers that happen to share parents. He’ll listen to me, but he doesn’t really spend time with me unless I’m the only one available. I don’t think that counts.”

Teha frowned, but didn’t give any immediate response. She turned on her back to face the ceiling with a sigh.

“...I’m worried about you—about how you’ll fare in the years to come. I just…have a sense of dread. Like we’ll never see each other again.”

Maenomi’s heart ached at the admittance of it; she had the same feeling ever since Uncle Tsunkei left with Jukazu and Teiki. It made it hard to appreciate her time without the two eldest children mocking her.

She slowly sat up, took a deep breath, and reached for the poem book. The movement caught Teha’s attention, but she just watched instead of speaking.

Maenomi opened the book, flipped to one of the last pages, then pushed it towards Teha. She shuffled a bit as Teha read the passage.

“‘On sunny blue skies; our clear future lies ahead; a hope eternal.’”

Teha gave her a quizzical look. Maenomi would have laughed if she wasn’t so nervous.

“Turn the page.”

Teha nodded and complied, carefully moving the page over. Her eyes lit up when she saw a folded letter inside, pressed flat to stay hidden. It took ages to write without Miss Tsujihara noticing. She didn’t have as much free time as she used to.

She watched as Teha scanned the letter, read and understood the words and let it sink in. Maenomi didn’t know what else to do.

“This is…” Teha whispered it and trailed off, almost unbelieving.

“A promise,” Maenomi said firmly, finding it in her to smile. “I have everything planned—a few months after I turn eighteen, I’ll fake a letter saying that an eastern noble wants my hand in marriage. They’ll send me off without too much investigation because that’s my role, and they’ll never check on me because it’s too much of a hassle to get past the mountains. I’ll change my name, find you, then we’ll call each other sisters or whatever we must to actually live together.”

“And you’re sure that would work?” Teha asked. She didn’t seem to doubt Maenomi’s sincerity, just the logistics. It was ambitious—or at least, ambitious considering the normal things girls her age would try to seek out.

“By then, Jukazu will be king.” She couldn’t place a reason why, but she knew that was true. It echoed like a voice in the back of her mind. “I’ll be as inconsequential as a weak Kuro heir, so he won’t care. Father and Mother won’t bat an eye with all the other marriages they’ll have to arrange, and I can invite Kyuru so he’s not alone.”

“A lot can change in two years,” Teha murmured. “What if we’re different?”

Maenomi shrugged. “I’ll just hide away in the east somewhere. Once Princess Maenomi is married off, whoever she becomes afterwards is free to do anything. I won’t miss the palace—I never will.”

Teha paused for a moment, then sat up and smiled.

“I accept, then.” She gave a teasing look—a genuine, joking one unlike what Mother always wore. “I expect to see you on my doorstep in two or three years’ time, Mae—you better not keep me waiting.”

“I won’t.” Maenomi moved a little closer, then hesitated. Teha chuckled and gave her a peck on the cheek; she pulled away as they grew warm, Teha doing the same.

They sat there for a moment, then Maenomi stood up.

“I should head back. Miss Tsujihara hasn’t been feeling well, and with Shiharu busy I’m the only one left to help wrangle the younger ones.”

“Good luck.”

Maenomi nodded. “Travel safely, Teha—and send me a letter once you get there, if you can. It’ll be nice to have a reason to hide away once Jukazu comes back.”

Teha murmured a promise, and Maenomi swept down to pick up the ribbon on the floor. She held it out to Teha, but she shook her head—so Maenomi took it with her instead, idly tying it to her wrist like a bracelet on her walk back home.

…

Maenomi went to the bedrooms as soon as she came home to decide on an outfit for the next day—she didn’t like making Miss Tsujihara do it when she very clearly hid pain. No one hid anything as long as they were in these walls, whether it be the truth or an ailment of some kind. Everyone always knew.

Instead, she paused halfway there; Shiharu’s impatience showed through, undetectable to everyone but those most experienced with it. Knowing her uncle’s mistress might start yelling made her want to ignore it, but she also knew Kyuru would be in a foul mood for the rest of the day after. She hated the idea of her goodbye to Teha being overshadowed by family drama at home.

She followed the voices to Miss Tsujihara’s room and carefully poked her head in as Shiharu sighed. Her somewhat-aunt perked up when she noticed Maenomi; Miss Tsujihara, drawing with Akemi an arm’s length away, looked at her but stayed silent. The rest must not have noticed, too busy arguing or drawing or doodling in the corner of the page instead of doing math.

“Oh, good, you’re back.” She offered a smile despite firmly gripping both Kyuru and Chiki’s shoulders. The boys glared at each other, likely over a toy. “I need to check on Dazuki—can you help me get everyone over to the nursery?”

“I can still watch them,” Miss Tsujihara said, frowning both in dissatisfaction and pain. “It’s just a migraine.”

“A migraine that no remedies we have here can fix, apparently,” Shiharu pointed out. “You need rest, dear—rest, water, and a good meal. I’ll not be responsible if our first successful hire wounds up dead from overworking.”

“It’s just noise. I’ll be fine.”

“I appreciate the dedication, but maybe it’ll stick if I put it this way—you write to your family back home, don’t you? And your mother’s ill, isn’t she? If you suddenly stop writing, she’ll be worried. No one here wants to tell a parent they’ve outlived their child.”

That managed to make Miss Tsujihara pause, but she still resisted.

“It’s not that serious.” Yet she murmured it and glanced away like she knew it wouldn’t work. She probably didn’t want to seem weak or lazy, but the bar was low—others had gotten out of work with much less.

Maenomi stepped in, only now being noticed by her little brother. Rinatsu and Chiki saw her by extension, but Akemi kept drawing.

“It’s impossible to win an argument with Shiharu,” Maenomi said relatively gently. “Teha is now on her way out of the capital, so…I have the free time. I can help Rinatsu with her schoolwork.”

Shiharu loosened her grip on the boys’ shoulders and beamed at Miss Tsujihara.

“See? We have a plan. Now let Maenomi and I get these children out of your room so you can rest. I don’t want to see you out and about until you’ve gained some color and you’re not stumbling around from pain, do you understand?”

Miss Tsujihara opened her mouth to protest, shivered, then sighed and shuffled back. Akemi let out a little whine once she realized her distant drawing partner was done for now.

Shiharu stood up and clapped her hands.

“Okay! Rinatsu, go with Maenomi. Kyuru, Chiki, and Akemi, we’re going to visit Dazuki—be very quiet or his crying will summon an oni.”

Threats of mythical creatures always put the littlest ones into shape; they had imaginations where such an abstract warning was terrifying. It encouraged them to get up and obediently follow Shiharu out of the room, the woman scooping up any paper they were using to draw with. Rinatsu took an extra second to show some disdain, but didn’t actually say any protests.

Maenomi closed the door behind her and Rinatsu. Miss Tsujihara was such a hard worker—it would be a shame to lose her.