"Good morning," greets Kazama, striding into the commons with a newfound spring in his step.
Amagiri blinks in apparent surprise, glancing up from his book, and dips his head in his usual gesture of reluctant respect. "Good morning, Kazama," he says, his tone guarded, as he looks up again with a question in his eyes. It has been quite some time since they have spoken directly, after all. "You seem… in unusually high spirits."
"I am," returns Kazama, glancing around. Sen normally spends some time here prior to breakfast, greeting and inspiring her staff, but today she is notably absent. "Speaking of which—have you seen my wife?"
An inscrutable expression flits across Amagiri's face, his brow twitching in a frown. "I have… not yet had the pleasure today."
Kazama pauses, searching Amagiri's face, but he seems intent on avoiding his gaze. That, and his phrasing, is more than enough to suggest that he is hiding something. "Sulking like this isn't like you, Amagiri," remarks Kazama, crossing his arms. "Had you been looking for her?"
Amagiri hesitates; there is something unusually restless about his mannerisms, something awkward in his countenance. "Yes. However, I was unable to find her, and thought better of it before long regardless." Sensing Kazama's question, his eyes and voice turn cold and sharp before Kazama can speak. "With all due respect, Kazama, this matter does not concern you."
"Whatever you have to say to her, you may say to me," says Kazama, crossing his arms and looking Amagiri up and down with some suspicion. "I am her husband, you know, and I am capable of taking a message."
Amagiri narrows his eyes, but inclines his head. He knows this is an order. "I… noticed that Kikuzuki-san returned from her mission some weeks ago, only to depart again immediately," he says, his voice edged with a sigh of resignation, and Kazama frowns in confusion before realizing that 'Kikuzuki' must be Kimigiku's real name. (How Amagiri knows it is a mystery, but that is unimportant right now.) "I had been wondering when she was set to return again, and whether she is likely to stay."
"I have no idea," says Kazama. "She only came back to retrieve some others of her clan, and then departed again."
Amagiri lets out a short sigh of subdued disappointment. "I cannot say I am much surprised," he says, shifting in place uncomfortably—a rare sight indeed, as his stance is usually solid. "These are troubled times even for demons, and each of us has a part to play in resolving them. She is no exception."
Kazama quirks an eyebrow. "Kimigiku must be very important to you, if you intended to ask Sen a question as simple as that. What is your connection to that woman?"
"I have none," says Amagiri, shaking his head, but there is a hesitation in his voice that suggests there is more to his statement than meets the eye. Given his behavior, there is only one possibility, and Kazama cannot help but chuckle. How long has this been going on, while he was too blinded by Sen to see it?
"Are you courting her, Amagiri?"
Amagiri tenses. "I… not yet, no," he says stiffly. "I have not expressed my intentions to Kikuzuki-san, nor do I plan on doing so until I have a fairer chance of acceptance. That is part of why I wish to speak with the Princess."
Kazama's lips curl into a derisive grin. "I'm surprised at you, Amagiri. Wasn't Shiranui just saying Kimigiku is a favorite companion of his?" Of course, technically speaking, the match Amagiri seeks is an acceptable one. They are the leaders of their respective clans, subservient to larger and more prestigious families. However, his intentions are overgenerous: Kimigiku has associated far too intimately with humans, in far too intimate ways, to be a prudent choice of wife.
"That is not what he said," says Amagiri, his ordinarily even temper somewhat shorter than usual, and gets to his feet. "Do not think me ignorant of either his position or mine, Kazama. I have only resolved to act in my clan's best interests."
"Is that why you are still here?" asks Kazama, leaning against the wall. Aside from a few superficial interactions and keeping the peace with the local townsfolk, Amagiri has kept to the sidelines throughout their stay in Yase. Truthfully, Kazama has no idea why he has chosen to follow him when he could just as easily have stayed home. But now…
Amagiri inclines his head in an affirmative. "I spent more than enough time at your side during the humans' war to justify remaining in my village," he says, his voice full of subtle disapproval—closer to outright insolence than he has ever come before. "Others of your vassals could have accompanied you to Yase in my stead. However…" Amagiri pauses to gather his thoughts. "I could not, in good conscience, have stayed home. Not while my duty to my own clan is as yet unfulfilled."
"As are you, I imagine," mutters Kazama under his breath. Amagiri's eyes flash blue fire briefly, but he keeps stonily silent. He has never been the kind of man to openly acknowledge that he has heard anything not meant for his ears. "I have no intention of delivering a message this ridiculous, so you had better bore Sen with the details after all. But she already has much to consider at the moment, as does Kimigiku. I'd advise waiting until her mission is over altogether before you add to that burden."
Kimigiku is invaluable to Sen on an administrative level as well as personally. Neither she nor Kazama can afford to allow such a crucial agent to leave her position until after the current impending crisis is resolved. Doubtless Amagiri already understands that Kimigiku's work takes first priority, but explaining the exact circumstances that prevent the match is impossible. Though Amagiri does not respond in words, he bows very briefly and brushes through the doorway to take his leave.
After deliberating for a moment, Kazama turns his feet toward the dining hall. If Sen has not appeared, it is most likely because she is deep in thought, and he knows by now not to interrupt her. Or maybe she is daydreaming about last night, he flatters himself, and waits.
Once served, Kazama eats his breakfast alone, his head in the clouds. Something inside him has changed since yesterday, but he cannot put his finger on what. Although still nameless, this is certainly a more pleasant shift than his frustrations over the previous several weeks. He senses a strange warmth and weakness deep within, like he has reached the climax resulting from a different kind of work.
In surrendering, Sen gave Kazama the freedom to be all sides of himself at once if he so chose. And in so doing, she uncovered a part of himself he never knew existed. It is closest in nature to the smoke in his lungs, yet the man he becomes under the influence of opium is too idle, too passive. The self Sen showed him is just as receptive to her beauty, but more alert and active, almost ambitious, in his pursuit of pleasure. But one thing still troubles him: when did it start feeling so natural for him to acknowledge her attractiveness?
Drawing himself out of his meandering thoughts, Kazama gets up, stretches, and makes his way to Sen's room. He has no proof, but something tells him that Sen may still be lying abed. Kazama may not have any trouble falling asleep last night, but he suspects it may have been different for her. And if that is so…
Entering Sen's room without announcing himself, Kazama discovers to his satisfaction that he is right. However, though he intends to awaken her, he hesitates, eyes lingering on her face. His wife is beautiful, even in slumber, or perhaps because of it. Now, Kazama can admire Sen freely, no artificial courage required; now, she does not turn away from him or scowl under his gaze. She only lies there peacefully, chest rising and falling in deep even breaths, oblivious to the world outside her futon. And to her own loveliness.
…No. Shaking loose his shallow reflections, Kazama may have come to terms with her appearance, but now is not the time to wax poetic. Kneeling next to her, he reaches over to rest his hand on her shoulder, but—"I suppose this is retribution for my intrusion a few weeks ago," mumbles Sen, a faint stirring the first hint he has of her wakefulness before she opens her eyes. "Good morning, Kazama-san. What do you want with me at this hour?"
Kazama does not know how to answer, beyond having been curious about her whereabouts, so he changes the subject. "This hour is much later than usual for you. Did you find last night so exhausting?"
"Not especially," replies Sen, turning pink. "Rather, I awakened too early, and then chose to go back to sleep." She seems to be having trouble looking Kazama in the eye, and he smiles. "What are you smirking about?"
"Oh, nothing in particular," responds Kazama, grin widening as her eyes spark, more rose than amber in the sunlight. "I simply find it amusing that we have been sharing a bed for months, yet only now you decide you cannot meet my eyes."
Perhaps to spite him, Sen looks him full in the face. "You know very well why that is."
"Because I made you feel something," says Kazama. "Do you resent that?"
After a brief hesitation, Sen shakes her head. "I might have, once. But… not anymore. I…" She pauses again, fixing her eyes firmly on the ceiling, and takes a shallow breath. "I saw for myself the effort you made for my sake. If you can maintain that standard going forward, and if you believe the work to be worthwhile, then… far be it from me to insist on doing everything myself."
"Then on the nights we decide to engage, we must also choose which of us is in control," says Kazama. "I hope you're ready for more power struggles, because I have no intention of surrendering so easily anymore. Not now that I know what I have been missing."
To his great surprise, Sen only smiles. "I think we both know, after last night, that the occasional quarrel isn't such a bad thing after all. As long as we keep it confined to one of our beds. And if dominance is the only thing we fight about anymore, Kazama-san," she adds, sitting up at last, "we should consider ourselves lucky."
Kazama shakes his head. "Dominance has always been the only thing we've fought about. All our other arguments can be traced back to this in some way. Therefore, now that you have permitted me to have my equal share, I doubt I'll have as many complaints in other areas."
Sen heaves a sigh, but Kazama can see her smile through it. "We shall see, my husband," is all she says, sitting up at last, and stretches luxuriously. "We know one another well enough by now to know that if anything else does divide us, it will not be a quiet disagreement."
Though Kazama half expects Sen's words to prove prophetic, the days melt quickly into another month of autumn, this time passing in a blur of something like contentment. Even another several days of mood swings and necessary distance as Sen's cycle begins anew is not enough to dampen Kazama's spirits entirely, although he is somewhat disappointed that all their efforts have thus far been for naught.
Yet, so gradually he had not noticed his shift in attitude until now, Kazama has begun to consciously understand that the destination is not the only thing worth savoring. Sen had even tried to tell him so at the beginning of their marriage, insisting that he recognize her attractiveness for what it was instead of pretending to think only of their duty, but his pride interfered. Thankfully, it seems that his reluctance to admit that she could make him feel anything has lessened now that he has been allowed to exercise the same power over her.
In fact, more often than not, Kazama finds himself looking forward to his nights with Sen for their own sake, rather than simply because they are a part of his duty. In a way, he is almost grateful that they have another month to themselves before they might need to consider adding another variable into the mix, just as Amagiri and Shiranui had mentioned. Given that Kazama and Sen have only just made some semblance of peace, and given Yase's precarious condition, it would be inadvisable to readjust a stride they have only just hit.
Shiranui's other warning, however, still echoes in his mind: the Kazama family's displeasure with his choice of wife. Kazama has still not heard anything from his father on this matter, but more and more, he has begun to notice the undertones of displeasure in letters past. Initially, he had thought that they related only to his refusal to respond, and to his absence from home. However, he has come to understand that they have as much to do with the reason for his absence—his marriage to Sen—as his unavailability.
But how long has it been since Kazama received one of his father's written scoldings? Much longer than it has been in between the past few installments of his indignation. It must be several weeks, now. With his former conflict with Sen now laid to rest, Kazama's most prominent unease now stems from his father's sudden silence—a source he never could have anticipated, given how irritating he always found his persistence. But it isn't like Lord Kazama to give up, or to let any of his sons have the last word. Something must have happened.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Kazama gets his unspoken and unthought wish within a few nights of first taking note of his father's peculiar lack of lectures.
"You," observes Kazama, stopping short in the hallway as he encounters an unexpected obstacle. Hiroaki. Although they spend a similar amount of time around Sen, given their respective roles in the palace, their paths have not intersected very often, and they have never held a conversation. Perhaps that is by Sen's design, although over the past several weeks, Kazama's insecurities have lessened enough to accommodate Hiroaki's existence. Sen speaks little of him, and Kazama sees little of him. Why, then, has he gone out of his way to stand before him now…?
Now that the haze of jealousy is gone, Kazama can examine the boy with unclouded sight, and ironically, his observations now might have served to bolster his self-assurance in the beginning. Even in the warm glow of lamplight, Hiroaki's skin is pale and mottled in places, his dark hair tied up in a haphazard ponytail. His eyes—a dull blue-gray, like the evening sky just after a storm—do not meet Kazama's, darting quickly about the hall as though looking for a hiding place or an escape route.
At length, Hiroaki clears his throat. "Y-yes, sir," he says uncertainly, his voice high and quiet and somewhat hoarse. Such softness is more befitting of a prey animal than a demon, thinks Kazama scornfully; a direct assistant to the Princess of Yase should carry himself with more confidence. "My sister and I went into town today to fetch the mail, so the Princess instructed me to bring you this letter. I…" He proffers a scroll, bowing his head deferentially. "I believe it is from from your hometown, Kazama-sama."
Kazama recoils as his father's stern face flashes across his mind, as if burnt into his memory, and his lip tugs up in an automatic snarl. "Don't call me that."
Hiroaki stumbles back a step, his eyes widening in a mixture of alarm, horror, and confusion, and almost drops the letter. "I—I'm sorry, Kazama…" More than his apology, the boy's panic as he tries to come up with a suitable alternative is entertaining enough to induce his forgiveness. "K-Kazama-dono!"
Nodding shortly, Kazama takes a step forward. Unconventional, and perhaps less respectful than he deserves, but better by far than the name his father insists on. Plucking the scroll from Hiroaki's loosened grasp, Kazama reads the exterior: to my son and heir. The handwriting is neat as ever, but the slightest bit shaky. This is an unusual opening, coming from his father. For all his insistence that his son learn to lead, he never liked to admit, even obliquely, that his own reign might someday end.
Bowing lower still as he backs away, Hiroaki turns stiffly and flees down the hall. Smiling faintly as he can practically smell the boy's terror, Kazama strides after him, then branches off toward his own room. Not that he ever looks forward to hearing from his father, but something about his handwriting combined with his wording tells Kazama that these are not glad tidings.
As soon as he shuts the door to his room, he opens the letter and reads. To his surprise and suspicion, the note is very short compared to his father's usual pointless ramblings. Chikage, it begins, not in his spidery handwriting. I dictate this letter through your stepmother in the vain hope that if you will not listen to me, you will listen to her.
You seem to be laboring under the delusion that power is a choice that you have not yet made. This is not so. Your position is an influential one, whether you like it or not, and it is vital that you learn to use that title to its fullest potential. Furthermore, while you have made it clear that you would prefer to cast aside your birthright, you still insist on producing an 'heir'. I ask you this: if you absolve yourself of all responsibility to lead the Kazama clan, then what will your child inherit, apart from your own obstinacy and ignorance?
I have summoned you home time and again, and through each day of silence I grow older and wearier. There are more than a few life lessons I cannot convey via letter, and I must know that you will at least hear me out in the time we have left. I have no intention of restricting your precious freedom, and I doubt anyone could force you to cooperate; I wish only to see my son again, and pass on what wisdom I can.
This is the last message I will send. I pray you return soon.
Kazama lets out a long sigh, letting his hand drop to his side, as the ground seems to drop out from under him. The content of this letter is not new—simply a reiteration of sentiments long held—but the phrasing is troubling. His father has suffered from respiratory illness for some years, and it has only been getting worse with time, but he has never once acknowledged it. But now… if he has finally seen fit to use such ominous phrasing, he may have sensed that the end is approaching.
Indeed, the sense of resignation his father's words convey is unprecedented, and therefore unnerving. Contrary to the implications of his opening statement, Kazama's father knows better than to think his son would ever willingly listen to his stepmother. The only reason he would have delegated a task like this is if he has grown too weak, either in body or will, to write the letter himself. Something is wrong, after all.
And, as Kazama's turbulent thoughts settle and then solidify into a single path, he understands that he has no choice save to go. Sudden as this news may be, he must return to his village as soon as possible—if only to assess the situation with more clarity. He can expect no further elaboration from his father, and depending on the severity of his condition, he may not be able to offer any. Besides that, family is family, no matter how impersonal Kazama's relationship with them may be. If his father's health is deteriorating, he can dodge his duty as son no longer.
Taking a moment to muster his determination, Kazama forces himself to acknowledge and accept his own unpreparedness. Given his father's denial, he had no way of knowing how far advanced the illness truly was, especially as none of his previous summons hinted at having had such a reason. He supposes he should have anticipated this, but he has been preoccupied with finding his place in Yase. More than that, having avoided thinking about his family and their ridiculous expectations, he blinded himself to any subtler sense of urgency his father might have been conveyed. Now, it may be too late.
After a few more deep breaths, Kazama makes his way to Sen's room swiftly. If she received any messages today, she will undoubtedly be answering them at this time. Sure enough, her voice answers to Kazama's brief announcement of his presence: "Kazama-san," she greets him, glancing back at him as he closes the door quietly behind him. "It seems that today has brought news for the both of us."
"What's yours?"
"Please, tells me yours first," says Sen, gesturing for him to sit, and Kazama grudgingly obeys. "I sense that yours may be graver, so mine may serve as some small comfort afterwards."
Kazama narrows his eyes, then reluctantly inclines his head. "As you know, my father has sent another message," he says, holding up the note. It still does not feel quite real, as though it might vanish from his grasp at any moment. "He dictated this letter to my stepmother, and writes to hasten my return. My father's health has been declining for some time, and now… he may be dying. It would be best for me to hurry home."
Setting down her brush, Sen looks at him seriously, scrutinizing his expression. "And dare I ask what your feelings about this development are?"
"Feelings?" echoes Kazama, frowning. "I have none to speak of, but they are irrelevant in any case. I must go."
Sen does not look convinced, but does not press the matter. Instead, her response is immediate, disarming: "I will come with you."
Kazama stares at her in shock. "What?"
"I will come with you," repeats Sen, a little more slowly, as though his problem is one of hearing. "I have never met your family, nor do you have any intention of telling me about them. If your father's condition is indeed so serious, this may be my only chance to introduce myself."
"But what about your duty to look after Yase?" demands Kazama. "According to our terms of marriage, neither of us have any influence over the other's people by default. Would you really abandon your own village at a time like this for the sake of taking an inferior position in mine?"
Sen only holds up a letter of her own. "That is where my news comes into play. Okiku has sent her first conclusive report since her second departure. Although Yase is certainly not safe, and the extent of the discussions in the imperial court is still unknown, she writes with conviction that the humans have no immediate plans to act violently." She smiles somewhat sadly. "They still have the aftermath of their own war to consider, after all."
"Oh."
"Besides," continues Sen, ignoring Kazama's dissatisfaction, "even should the worst happen—heaven forbid—I am a great deal less experienced in matters of war than the vast majority of my vassals. A clan is more than its leader; we must trust in its people to uphold the order, even in our absence. In times of conflict, my presence is more a symbolic comfort than a practical one."
"But a comfort nonetheless."
Sen, predictably, sees through Kazama's remark. "Why is it that you are so insistent that I remain behind?" she asks, tilting her head. "If our relationship is still oriented exclusively around producing an heir to your family, all that should matter is that I am safe. And, if I stay with you, we can continue our… attempts."
Kazama takes a deep breath, searching for the right words. How he feels more strongly about Sen accompanying him than he does about his father's possible demise is beyond him, but he cannot help himself. Unfortunately, Sen is much more adept at fighting reason with emotion than he is. "Regardless of Yase's present situation, you know my family does not approve of you."
"They have not been given much of a chance to change their minds."
Kazama stares at Sen incredulously. Judging from her expression, she is serious. "Do you really think you can change their minds?"
"I think no such thing," says Sen matter-of-factly. "Rather, as I believe I've said, I think meeting them personally is as good a chance as I will ever have to make a good impression—or, failing that, the right impression." She looks Kazama in the eye, unyielding. "Our child will be their heir, Kazama-san. Even considering current tensions, becoming better acquainted with your family is a priority."
Kazama lets out a long breath, shaking his head. He cannot think about this deeply enough while he is still mulling over the meaning of his father's latest letter. "If it means that much to you, I'll consider it."
"Then consider it well," says Sen. "I can see no downside. My making an effort to bridge the gap between our families could make all the difference in times of trouble. After all, your people may be somewhat more charitable if the people of Yase ever have need of somewhere to go."
"If you say so," mutters Kazama. "But I'll still need some time to think."
"Very well," says Sen, returning her gaze to her own reply before her. "I leave the final decision in your hands. But I suggest you make it quickly."
Tucking his father's letter into his sleeve, Kazama takes his leave with light head and heavy heart. As he loses himself in thought, his feet do not take him back to his room, but rather to what has become his favorite courtyard during his stay in Yase. The night is chilly, almost more winter than autumn, and the sky is starless. The snows should come soon. But Kazama's thoughts are far from the weather; he has much else to contemplate.
On his own, he could escape into past identities to ease the transition. However, he has become another man in the time he has spent away from his family, and bringing Sen along means that he is trapped in that present. It feels impossible to both be the brother and son his family knows and to be Sen's husband. Somehow, he must either unite all the fragments of his identity or decide which one to prioritize. And to complicate matters still further, Kazama very much doubts that Sen will change his family's minds about her at all. If anything, she will confirm their low opinion of her simply by being her own indomitable self.
Kazama barely remembers returning to his room, but he must have at some point, as he becomes conscious of his own walls around him. Lying motionless and awake in his bed, he studies the ceiling through tired but sleepless eyes, mulling over potential solutions. And, to his astonishment, he finds one almost immediately. Perhaps it is because he has exhausted all his doubts, but upon closer examination of his family's disapproval, he discovers a subtler kind of satisfaction or even excitement beneath all his unrest.
Sen is as powerful an ally as she is an enemy, so if any of his family members pick a fight with her, he will at last have a real excuse to side against them in his turn. And besides, Kazama has sworn to himself and Sen alike that he will not be the one to explain his past, and he knows better than to think curiosity as ardent as hers will cease on its own.
And just like that, the solution stands clear before him, revealed with the same alarming suddenness as the news itself: perhaps it would be more convenient if Sen could arrive at her own conclusions by accompanying him.
This thought provides consolation enough for Kazama to sink into slumber, but it seems as though he barely closed his eyes before he opens them again to find cold gray sunlight streaming into his room. It takes some time before he remembers why his thoughts feel so ponderous, and even longer to convince himself to move. But eventually, Kazama drags himself out of bed and over to his desk. A summons of that nature demands some warning before his arrival, especially given his previous silence.
Father, he begins. Amagiri and I will return as soon as may be. We will depart two days from the time I send this letter, and proceed with all due haste. He pauses, brush hovering over the inkwell, but sets it aside instead. Better not to tell his father that Sen will be joining them; it will only agitate him more.
Letter in hand, Kazama hastens to Amagiri's room and, upon being invited inside, finds his vassal turning to face him politely.
"I have reason to believe that my father's health is failing," announces Kazama, without pausing for pleasantries. "I will be returning home the day after tomorrow to see what can be done. And, fiancée or no fiancée, I request that you accompany me." Amagiri understands this is no mere request, but Kazama sees in his somber expression the same doubts that plagued him through the night.
"You are not the only one who has failed to meet your clan's expectations," points out Kazama, between exasperated and amused, after a pause. "And your mother cannot be harsher on you than my father will be on me. You've been the Amagiri clan leader for more than a decade now, and you can put your foot down, you know."
But Amagiri only sighs. "There is little point in continuing this discussion, Kazama," he says, looking up at him again. "I have known where you stand on this matter for years. But I will accompany you, as is my duty."
Rather than respond, Kazama only nods and takes his leave. He must go to Sen and deliver his verdict before he thinks better of it.
By the time he reaches the dining hall, Sen is already almost done with her breakfast by the time he arrives. Seating himself across from her, he waits until she finishes her sip of tea to speak. "You may come," he says, and Sen freezes just before she puts her cup down. "We leave the day after tomorrow. Be ready."
"I take it this is not a decision you have made lightly."
"Not at all," says Kazama. "But if you are that fixated on coming along, and if you can guarantee Yase's safety in our absence, then it may be useful."
Sen inclines her head. "I can guarantee nothing, but Hiroaki-kun and Okiku's families are more than capable of collaborating to manage my affairs. It has been that way for as long as this village has existed, whenever the ruling family is summoned elsewhere." Kazama only nods distractedly, picking at his breakfast, but cannot focus on the food. He cannot change his mind now, and though he knows he made the right decision, he hates the sensation of being trapped.
"Does your hometown have a name?"
It takes Kazama a moment to process Sen's question, and even then it means little to him. "Most of the townsfolk refer to it simply as 'the Kazama village'."
"What is it like?"
"If you intend to come with me, you'll find out."
Sen gives him a carefully measured look, more inquisitive than irritated. "I still don't understand why you shut down every time your past is mentioned."
"You may have gathered from our more trivial conversations that I have very few happy memories of my upbringing," says Kazama. "I prefer not to think about it, and therefore, I prefer not to talk about it. My reluctance has nothing to do with you."
"Then tell me what about it you find so hateful," retorts Sen. "Unhappy memories shape us just as much as happy ones, you know. Quite possibly, more so. I know you have informed me that your relationships with your family members are impersonal, but this is not apathy. This is active avoidance, and I would like to know why."
Sen is genuinely curious, and she has never been any better at letting sleeping dogs lie than he has. Kazama has little choice but to respond. "My father has never seen me as an individual, and my stepmother and half-brothers all distrust or even resent me," he says flatly. "Furthermore, I was confined to the village until well past my coming of age, and I also stayed there in the months prior to our wedding. I've had my fill of living among those who do not respect me."
Sen has the self-awareness to understand that he is also talking about her own past behavior, and lowers her gaze, but does not let the conversation end there. "Why… do they resent you?"
"I've never asked," says Kazama delicately. "But I suppose it is difficult for them to accept that I am pureblooded and they are not."
Sen nods hesitantly. "Yet you have no interest in the power you have been born into, and they have no hope of claiming it even in your absence," she murmurs. "I understand." Kazama opens his mouth to ask how she can possibly understand, but she senses his rebuttal and adds hastily, "I mean that I understand why you don't want to go back. I assumed that you simply had no personal attachment to your family, but now I see why you have been so agitated." She lowers her eyes. "Forgive me."
As silence expands between them, Kazama frowns. How can Sen be satisfied with so little information? He had always thought that he would have to answer a multitude of uncomfortable questions as soon as they started talking about family. After all, she has told him most details of her own childhood even without being asked—her father's death before her birth, losing her mother in her youth, being raised by the council for lack of any close relatives…
Sen gives a wry smile. "Is this really cause for such astonishment?" she asks, quoting Kazama from long ago. "I am curious about your family, but I have never intended to coerce you into revealing anything. All I needed was a brief explanation, which you have now given me." Smiling, she returns to her meal. "One step at a time, Kazama-san. I have no wish to force the issue. But, sometime before we arrive at your village, I would like to know what exactly I have gotten myself into."
Kazama cannot suppress a chuckle at her phrasing. "Depending on my mood in the coming days, I may tell you more. But the first thing you should know is that in my village, a Kazama's word is law. You had best get used to that idea in the coming days."
Sen hesitates, then laughs. Good; she has learned to distinguish his humor from more serious sentiments. "We shall see, Kazama-san. Regardless of your family's expectations, I prefer to think of us as equals. Even your father, the illustrious Kazama-sama, does not technically outrank me, even if he is several decades my senior."
"Then perhaps they had best get used to you," says Kazama, smiling despite himself. "But I don't intend to give them any warning. Better that they find out what manner of demon you are in person; I doubt I could put it into words they'd understand in the meantime, and I'd rather give you the advantage of catching them off-guard."
Sen nods, then pauses. "Do you think… their opinion of you will change because of your connection to me?"
"Not for the better."
"Do they really hate me so much?"
Kazama hesitates. "They hate that you have drawn my attention away from my rightful place, and that you are to have some claim to our legacy. It is your status they despise, and you have little hope of persuading them that you do not intend to misuse it. You, yourself, are irrelevant to how they feel." Kazama crosses his arms as Sen opens her mouth. "Now, hold your tongue. I've told you more than enough for now."
Sen closes her mouth again, but he can see disagreement in her expression, stubborn and petulant. Still, she obeys for now, although he knows it is only a matter of time before she asks something else. Though the air between them feels tense throughout the rest of the day, the few words they exchange are distinct in nature from the biting tone of their usual arguments. If Kazama had caused Sen any real offense, she would not linger after dinner to pour him sake.
They do not speak the entire time it takes him to get through the first bottle, but Kazama finds himself admiring Sen's natural poise, more elegant than any of her geisha. He has not been able to focus on her exclusively since he received his father's letter; all his attention has been spent coming to terms with a change in plans and personas, and bracing himself for the time to come.
The first words that pass between them are Kazama's, almost an outburst, as his suspicions make themselves known. "Do you think me more likely to answer your questions if I am drunk?"
Sen hesitates, but shakes her head. "No, Kazama-san. But I know how you like your evening sake, and I have nothing better to do at present than serve you."
Her intention to seduce him out of his thoughts is as obvious as it is generous, but Kazama ignores it. His thoughts need time to loosen up before he can decide whether to accept her advances tonight. "I see," he says. "Then drink with me."
Sen bites her lip pensively. "I will have a cup for each of your bottles," she says, after a long pause. "My alcohol tolerance is… not especially high, so I have never much enjoyed drinking."
Kazama shrugs. "Your loss, then," he says, gesturing. "Pour. This next one is yours."
Sen takes his cup and drinks from it, and though she grimaces, she swallows properly. They have not drunk from the same cup like this since their wedding. Then, her eyes were frightened but resolute as she sipped at the sake, a flush spreading across her face that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Now, they are calmer, alight with curiosity, yet still she keeps her pretty mouth shut.
As they study one another in turns, the contents of the second bottle gradually disappear, and then a third. Waiting for Kazama to make the first move, Sen seems determined to be the picture of wifely obedience. Perhaps it is only the sake, but her impression of a lady is as amusing as it is accurate, given her barely subdued restlessness.
After he drains the last of the final bottle, Kazama finds his spirits sufficiently replenished for conversation. Sitting back with a sigh, he revels in the warmth spreading from his throat through his body to create a pleasant half-numb haze. He is not drunk by any means, but tipsy enough that, given Sen's valiant effort at patience and understanding, he feels lenient.
"Go ahead," says Kazama finally. "As a reward for behaving yourself, I'll talk about anything you like until I grow bored."
Sen frowns at his generosity, or perhaps at his phrasing, but has a question ready. "Takahiro is… one of your brothers, isn't he?"
"Yes. The second of three."
"You'd been writing to him about the situation here in Yase," continues Sen, her words the slightest bit indistinct. She, too, is feeling the effects of the alcohol. Maybe that will relax her enough that she doesn't pelt him with questions. "Are you on good terms with him? Or at least… better than the rest of your family?"
Kazama hesitates. "I don't know. I told you once that I was raised to be honest or be silent, and my brothers are no exception. Out of the four of us, Takahiro is the only one who prefers to be silent. He treats everyone, friend and foe, with the same distant courtesy. No one is ever sure what he truly thinks of them."
"Then… why did you intend to direct your letter to him?"
"Our clan does not have an information network comparable to yours in any way, but Takahiro fancies himself something of an agent all the same," says Kazama. "Just before I left to marry you, he requested that I tell him of any important developments during my stay here—most likely just so he can be the first to know."
Sen nods slowly. "How old is he?"
"Eighteen this year."
Sen raises her eyebrows. "A prodigy, then."
"He likes to think so," says Kazama, gauging the mood between them as he falls silent. Despite Sen's lack of insistence, he finds that he feels oddly compelled to give her just a little more, and indulges the impulse on a whim. "As does my stepmother."
Sen regards him with no small amount of surprise, but does not question Kazama's openness. She should know better than anyone that while his mind may not be easily changed, his behaviors are, especially when sake is involved. "Are you close to her?"
Close? Kazama laughs at the very idea. "She loathes me. My very existence is a threat to her and hers. And to complicate matters, my father didn't remarry until I was almost a man, so I was… less impressionable than perhaps I might have been as a child. It couldn't have been more than a few months of living in the same house before she stopped trying." He shrugs. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no mother."
Sen swallows. "And your birth mother…?"
"Died giving birth to me."
Eyes widening, Sen drops her gaze immediately. "I'm sorry," she says, hanging her head—perhaps out of sake-augmented sympathy, or else shame at having asked such an obvious question. She may not have known the method of his mother's passing, but demons do not divorce like common humans. She must have known the possibilities were limited. "I didn't know."
Kazama shakes his head. "It happens. It may be rare among our kind, but it still happens. And it isn't as though I knew her."
"So…" Sen trails off awkwardly, struggling to find the right words, and Kazama resists the urge to smile. Her not-entirely-sober attempt at tactfully changing the subject is enough to keep him entertained for now, but all his good humor vanishes with her next words. "Your father raised you, then?"
"He tried," says Kazama shortly, after a brief hesitation. "But I don't think he succeeded. For as long as I can remember, his idea of parenting has always consisted of force-feeding me his ideals daily." He bites his tongue as more memories surge forth unexpectedly, carried on a tide of sake, and his heart beats faster in a warning. That is more than enough for now.
Thankfully, Sen catches his grimace and falls silent, though Kazama can still see the curiosity in her countenance. But she needn't know any more, he reasons, letting out a long breath. After all, what percentage is there in revealing that he essentially raised himself? Sen would undoubtedly offer him pity if she heard of his father's decree that, as a pureblooded demon, he should not associate with any lesser demons—including any of his nursemaids.
Yet Kazama does not think of his situation as particularly pitiable, past or present. Furthermore, he knows himself well enough to know that Sen's inevitable attempt to sympathize will only frustrate him, even if she means well. Most of the details of his upbringing have remained painstakingly buried for all the years since he first left home; there is little point in digging them up again just so Sen can examine them.
"Thank you," murmurs Sen, stirring Kazama out of his thoughts. "For telling me so much." She shifts closer to him, but he rises abruptly to avoid being caught in her spell. Sen has dislodged many more recollections with which Kazama must make his peace before their departure, and sake is distraction enough for one evening. Any additional sedatives, and he will no longer be able to process his thoughts at all.
(And besides, Kazama cannot deny a peculiar kind of satisfaction in seeing Sen so unfulfilled. It proves she needs him as much as he needs her, and he remains in control of the distance between them, however near or far.)
"Kazama-san," says Sen, rising as well, and there is a profound confusion in her eyes, almost distress. "Have I displeased you?"
But Kazama shakes his head. "I just need more time to think, and you have always been a detriment to my focus." And, ignoring Sen's glower as her plans for the evening are frustrated, Kazama sweeps out of the room. Until he can square his past with his present long enough to master the art of filial piety and propriety in his head, he cannot afford to lose himself entirely.
The next day is the last chance Kazama has to enjoy Yase until his return. Since the servants will pack for his journey, he spends his time wandering the palace grounds, mulling over how exactly he should present himself to his father now that he has spent so much time independent of his influence. Kazama-sama, he thinks, and his resentment—so old it may as well be inborn—flickers back to life. Has his father ever considered that a part of his son's disinterest in ruling is an equal and opposite reaction to his own obsession with power?
But no, thinks Kazama, wrenching his mind away from his toxic thoughts. He should not be thinking of such petty complaints when his father's condition may be serious. However, despite his repeated attempts to turn his thoughts around, his anxiety only seems to build as the day progresses, until finally the sun has set and he finds himself laying out his traveling clothes for tomorrow. If his thoughts will not cooperate, thinks Kazama bitterly, that at least is something tangible he can finish.
This is the first time he has touched his Western clothing in more than a year. In part because of his shift in thinking as well as allegiance, he had sworn never to don it again. However, if he must pass through areas under the humans' jurisdiction, it is best if he reminds them of his former rank among them. And besides, wearing this uniform demands a willingness to set aside his conventional values, to obey rather than command. It is fitting, he supposes, for a sudden and reluctant homecoming to a family that has never loved him, and that he has never loved.
There is no possibility that the fit will have changed, but he has the urge to try on his clothes anyway, and see if he can practice slipping into his old persona in so doing. Perhaps this is the key he has been missing, the way to blur the line between old and new. It takes him some time to remember the appropriate way to wear these garments, but Sen's voice does not interrupt him until he has finished pulling on his coat. "Kazama-san?"
It takes a moment to register his name in his consciousness, as though it does not belong to him anymore. The past couple days, spent thinking of so many other members of the clan, seem to have dislodged it from its rightful place. "Come in."
Sen opens the door, and there is a small pause before he hears the door slide shut again slowly—as though she has lost all strength somehow. "Ah," is all she says, apparently brought up short. However unusual that may be for her ordinarily, it is in keeping with her behavior today; she has seemed as lost in thought as Kazama, except for the times he caught her staring.
Kazama glances at her over his shoulder, buttoning his coat. "Do you need something?" But rather than respond, Sen hesitates, visibly wavers in place. It is unlike her to be so cautious these days; whatever news she brings must not be good. "If you have something to say, then say it or go."
Sen takes a deep breath. "You might not like it."
Kazama narrows his eyes. "I am in no mood to put up with your attempts at cushioning blows," he says, crossing his arms. "You should know by now that delaying the inevitable is pointless and irritating. Out with it."
"It's just that…" Sen clears her throat daintily, lifting a hand to her mouth. "I think… those clothes suit you."
Mouth agape, Kazama blinks, caught completely off-guard. He had expected her to inquire even further about his family, or cancel her involvement in tomorrow's journey, or any number of other things. A compliment was reasonably close to the last thing he had been expecting. "What…?"
"I—I said, those clothes suit you," repeats Sen, turning red, and looks away out of embarrassment. How precious; even after all their nights together, she is still embarrassed to admit that she finds Kazama attractive. (But then, a voice reminds him, he has hardly been any more forthright with her.) "That's all."
"That's all?" echoes Kazama, smiling despite himself. His wife's intrusion is a far more welcome diversion than he could have guessed, if his distance has reduced her to such a forward state. This may be some fun after all. "Now you're being neither silent nor honest. You made a choice when you started talking; commit to the compliment, and explain yourself."
Sen glances at him out the corner of her eye, tilting her chin up in a huff. "I am under no obligation to say more, especially not if you keep acting like that," she retorts. "Why should I stroke your ego any more than I already have? I know better than to think you'll return the favor."
Kazama's smile widens. "If you really thought so, you wouldn't have come here in the first place," he says, and Sen narrows her eyes almost imperceptibly as she struggles with his challenge. "But thinking for long enough at a time does work up an appetite, you know. I may be hungry, but I might never realize it if you don't tell me what you're thinking."
Glancing aside, Sen clears her throat again. "W-well, I'm sure you are aware by now that I find you… attractive," she begins, approaching one step at a time, almost as though expecting him to run away. "And since these Western clothes are so much more form-fitting than your usual kimono, I am inclined to like them. That's all."
Kazama grits his teeth as Sen lifts her hand to caress his cheek, his body reacting to her proximity despite his best efforts to resist, and the thoughts that have so long commandeered his attention begin to dissipate. His body seems much more sensitive now that he has spent days on end deep in his mind. "Form-fitting?" he growls. "I think you mean tight."
"Oh?" returns Sen, tilting her head. "I thought tightness was comfortable for you." She blushes to her ears as she says it, but still she meets his eyes. Such is the strength of her desire for him, then. Kazama stares at her, feeling a feverish flush spread across his own face at her boldness. So this is what prolonged deprivation does to her. If he were only stronger, he would do this much more often.
Taking the opportunity to advance until she brushes against him, Sen takes Kazama's hand and plays with his fingers, a smile tugging at her lips as he swallows automatically. "Only s-someti…!" His heart stops and his breath vanishes mid-response as she lifts his hand to kiss one of his fingertips, lips and teeth and tongue heightening his senses and evoking other sensations soon to come.
There is no backing out of this, but truth be told, he desperately needs the distraction. Another night of abstinence will not help straighten out his thoughts any more than they already have been. "If these clothes are so uncomfortable for you, let me help," murmurs Sen, clasping his hand briefly in hers before letting it fall. Her fingers are nimble, suggestive, as they busy themselves with the buttons on his coat. And all the more as they untie his cravat. Slowly.
"H-hurry up."
But Kazama's words, unconsciously spoken, have quite the opposite effect. Sen stops altogether for a moment, then undoes the last knot. Half-playfully, she turns her back on him, taking his cravat with her. "If you are not enjoying yourself, I could always leave. As you have requested—!"
Even before Sen finishes speaking, Kazama embraces her from behind, tighter, closer, unable to help but chase the pressure in bursts of friction. There is no need to respond in words for now; Sen can feel for herself his answer. But then, Kazama can also feel hers. Sliding his hand into her kimono, he traces her breasts, fingers skimming over smooth skin and defined nipples.
Her breath catches at his touch, and she rubs instinctively against him. "No, you can't," says Kazama, his voice a whisper in her ear, and Sen makes a faint noise of frustration in the back of her throat. Turning around again, she slings his undone cravat about his neck to draw him closer, dragging his head down so she can press her lips and body clumsily to his.
She tastes the slightest bit like sake. Not strongly enough that she is drunk, but it does explain her confidence, her openness… this epiphany. Perhaps Sen, too, is nervous about tomorrow. Heat of more than one kind floods him at the all-too-obvious realization that he is not alone after all. Sen, too, will have to make a choice: will she be his wife, or a stranger? And is he just another Kazama, or is he her husband?
But in the moment, they are nameless, a man and woman locked in an embrace as old as time.
Pulled back into his body as he surfaces from their kiss, Kazama seems to be missing a moment from his memory. One of Sen's hands has undone his belt and found its way into his pants. His breathing and thoughts become increasingly more irregular, scattered by Sen's increasingly more practiced motions. She knows the risks, but as long as they time things well…
But time moves too gradually. Growing impatient, Kazama slips his hand deftly into Sen's kimono to knead her thigh, then moves his fingers farther up. He can feel that she is beyond ready for more; why does she delay? To give him a taste of his own restraint? "Th-this takes some concentration, you know," gasps Sen, fingers slackening on the buttons of his vest. "Distracting me isn't going to h-help."
"Oh, take your time," says Kazama, smirking. She may have taken control with one hand, but he has wrested it from her grasp with only two fingers. "But if I finish you before you're done, you stay for another round. I intend to be satisfied tonight."
Rather than respond in words, Sen redoubles her efforts both above Kazama's belt and below. Inhaling sharply at the force of her advances, he loses strength, and his own hand drops back to his side: she has won this round. By the time Sen finally finishes with Kazama's vest and moves on to his shirt, he becomes vaguely conscious of a dampness that means the end is not far off, but it takes him several seconds to convince himself to stop her.
"Stop," he hisses, his tone urgent, and grasps her wrists to keep her hands still. "You have already humiliated me once, and I need these clothes for tomorrow's journey." He forces himself to look away from her, taking a deep breath. "Now, disrobe. I need to clear my head a moment if you want this to last."
"I-if you insist, Kazama-san," pants Sen, dazed, as Kazama kicks off his boots… but he pauses, distracted by unexpected unease. This is not dissatisfaction with his dominance, no mirror of Sen's contradictory desires weeks ago, but rather apprehension at her response. Oddly, where once he found great pleasure, his surname on her lips now unnerves him. Out of habit, he drifts momentarily back into his mind to further examine the emotion.
The title of leader came with the task of representing his clan to strangers—and, by extension, Sen—through his family name. And, for a time, it truly felt like his own, as powerful and independent as Kazama himself. It did not define or control him, but nonetheless it felt like a part of his being, something to honor and cherish. Yet, over the past days, the prospects of visiting his village along with Sen have shaken that confidence. Who he is depends in part on which name he uses, and like his identities, he must choose one going forward. And deep down, Kazama knows which it must be.
Soon, Sen will meet the others of his clan, and he will become just another one of them in her eyes. Before long, she will see another side of his surname, and the warmth will vanish from her eyes each time she must say it. He will no longer be the only Kazama in her world, and he refuses to share his title with anyone else. It is simply a matter of summoning the strength to say it, bringing the sentiment to the surface of his consciousness.
Taking a deep breath, Kazama settles back into his body in time to discover with some relief that Sen has only just finished undressing. He must not have spent more than a minute at most fitting all the pieces together in his mind. "If you are going to come to my village, we will be staying with my family—the other members of the Kazama clan," he says, fumbling with his words and fly in the same breath. "My surname is… won't be mine alone. Anymore."
Sen sinks to the floor to kneel before him, making no effort to move to the futon, and Kazama stifles a groan as she shifts in discomfort and anticipation. There is no hint of deceit in her mannerisms; she is not appearing so vulnerable out of a desire to manipulate him. Her need is genuine, and infectious. "And wh-what do you suggest I do about it?" she asks, her gaze fixed helplessly on Kazama as he casts the last of his clothes aside and stands fully naked before her.
There is no time to feel embarrassed at her stare, but Kazama's heart quickens all the same in fear of being bared. Swallowing, he crouches before her like the beast he is about to become. "Call me Chikage."
"Chikage-san," echoes Sen in a whisper, stars in her eyes. In that breath, his identity seems to change, solidifying into a leash or a lifeline. The world stops at the sound of Sen's hiss, and he lunges forward to push her the rest of the way to the floor on an impulse. Does he seek to silence her, or to make her say it again? It doesn't matter; it doesn't matter. Actions speak louder than words, even his name.
Sen's inhibitions are lower, now, and she does not trouble to stifle a little cry as Chikage holds her against the floor—a faint vocalization of pain and excitement as her back presses into hardwood—the catch of her breath as he finds his way in. All this is enough for him already, but he must ensure that she feels it too. Holding himself back through sheer willpower, Chikage applies pressure and then friction in just the right place, working as hard as he dares.
Thankfully, it only takes several quick shallow motions and a single, deeper roll of his hips before she stiffens and twists beneath him. Sensations lick at Chikage like fire—skin on skin, outside on in, soft and hot and wet—and, yes, tight as she had promised—slowly in the first second, then faster and faster, until he can stem the tide no longer. Especially not after Sen's halting, panting whimper: "Ch-Chikage… san!"
Her voice is only a stuttering breath at first, but gains strength until it is the volume of her speaking voice. Still, it sounds much louder in his ears, deafening as his heartbeat, and his body convulses in response, lowering over hers so abruptly that he must catch himself. "Yes," he hears himself whisper, a barely audible reply to her own cry, and leans heavily on his forearm.
Yet, though the name feels right, the sensations that follow are too overwhelming, his soul as oversensitive as his body in the aftermath. The ordinarily welcome warmth of Sen's expression has become scalding, their once-pleasurable proximity suffocating. Letting out a long exhalation, Chikage separates himself from his wife and rolls onto his back to catch his breath. Thoughts raining down on him like a hail of arrows, he smothers the inexplicable desire to gather her close to him as a shield.
Staying his hands, Chikage fixes his eyes blindly on the ceiling, still grasping for his place. Too much has happened too quickly these last few days, and it has only just begun. He still feels as though he is free-falling, dizziness setting in alongside the afterglow. Only one of his problems has been resolved, and even that may yet cause trouble. His insistence that Sen use his given name did not stem from any desire for further intimacy, but doubtless she will misinterpret the sentiment and assume otherwise.
And for the last time, Chikage sees his way forward all too clearly. Enough has changed already; he must cling to the position he knows, lest he lose himself altogether, and ensure that the barrier between them remains intact enough to act as a landmark amid his turbulent thoughts. "Go," says Chikage quietly, once he can speak again, and glances over at Sen. Her expression is distant and her eyes faraway, but she is smiling in genuine happiness. "I'll see you in the morning."
The sudden confusion in Sen's countenance, almost hurt, makes Chikage's heart skip a somewhat guilty beat—but he refuses to take back his words. "A-are you all right, Chikage-san?" she asks, sitting up, and pulls on her nagajuban.
Chikage gives a short nod, and though he senses another question on her lips and in her eyes, he cannot answer it. He has answered more than enough of her questions already, and besides, Sen makes it impossible for him to think straight in the first place. Under these circumstances, responding to a formless question with no right answer is far beyond his capabilities. Better that she leaves him alone.
"Go," repeats Kazama, more insistently, and Sen tosses him one last look of betrayal before gathering the rest of her kimono and obeying without another word.
