This was his fault. He had caused this. Miaka… her arm crushed and bleeding, the light and innocence gone from her lovely eyes. The sight of it had torn his heart out. Suzaku forgive him, he should never have let her out of his sight. What had he been thinking to let her go with only two? Celestial Warriors the others might be, but he was the one ultimately responsible. He alone was triply bound to protect her, as a Constellation of Suzaku, as Emperor of Hong-Nan, and because… because he…
He dashed away a tear. No. He would not continue to torture himself in this way. Let the blame rest with the one truly responsible. Tamahome. This he could scarcely believe. This brought knots to his stomach and blood throbbing to his temples. Her prime protector. Bringing a weapon down upon the one he had sworn to love. Even at this distance, Hotohori could scarcely keep his hand from his sword hilt. He ought to have cut the boy's throat while he had the chance. Diedu or no, such behaviour was unforgivable. Tamahome had allowed himself to be tempted, to be corrupted. How could such a thing have happened? Miaka should have been Tamahome's every thought. Hotohori sighed. Was not this the way it was with him? Ever since the Priestess of Suzaku had appeared, had not his every breath been for her? All he longed to do now was to take her in his arms and kiss away her hurts. And the fact that he could not – that she had broken from him and run – whose fault could that be but his?
The golden detail on the chamber wall blurred out of focus and back in again. Now he was back where he had begun, and this headache was enough to make him sick. Miaka. War. The future. How was he to proceed with only six Constellations? He had to stop worrying and think. He had to plan for the sake of his country. Miaka. The look on her face. Did she blame him? Where on earth was she?
"Your Majesty." They were at the door again: the inescapable servants, trays in hand, heads bent down to the ground to avoid the radiance of the Imperial face. Yes, well. Perhaps certain court conventions were entirely justified. The foremost tray was almost touching his robes. "Your Majesty has not yet eaten."
"We are…" Was that feeble-sounding voice really his? He cleared his throat and tried again. "We are not to be disturbed. Our instructions were quite plain. Has the Priestess of Suzaku been located?"
"Your Majesty will please try this delicacy." If their heads got any lower, they would sink into the foundations.
"We are not disposed to eat at this time." Could he not be left alone for two minutes together? The scent of plum and oyster was turning his stomach. He pinched his upper lip and took a deep breath. Control. Control. Lose that and you lost any semblance of authority.
"Your Majesty is unwell? Your royal physician…"
"No." Why did they not dim these lamps? His head was swimming. "The physicians are occupied with Master Tasuki. And Master Mitsukake will need his strength." Suzaku help him, it should be Miaka they were tending. She was in no state, no state at all. Could he possibly have offended her? He would never willingly cause her a moment's sadness.
"Has the Priestess…?" He was wasting his time. These people knew food, bowing and not much else. Hotohori bade a silent farewell to his precious moments of solitude.
"Bring the Celestial Warriors to me."