…

XXXIV

You're in the city of wonder

…

The first order of business after breakfast was to close camp and head down the mountain to retrieve the scepter of Kutou. This task proved more difficult than expected, for Miaka had no memory of the lake's location. She had fled blindly through the darkness the previous night, and the sole thing she was certain of was that she had she fled down, and not up, the hillside. And the lake – though Miaka knew it had been large – was not visible from their cave.

It was fortunate that the temporary return of Nakago's powers had seen to the worst of his injury, for Miaka would never have been able to retrace her steps alone. Miaka watched, with not a little guilt, as Nakago put his tracking skills to good use. The thick trees and rocky terrain made identifying her trail from the last night difficult, and Miaka hung back with the horse, following Nakago at a distance as he trained his eyes intently on the rocky ground.

They traveled like that for most of the morning. As they walked, Miaka noticed the symbol on Nakago's forehead flickering, as though it was trying to decide whether or not to shine. It distracted her, these flashes of blue which shimmered in the corner of her eye, and she glanced toward him more and more often, until he said, "Do you require assistance, miko?"

"Nothing, I mean, no," she said, turning away to hide her flush. She wondered if he felt anything, wondered if he could sense Seiryuu's battle for freedom or had just concluded that the seal on Seiryuu was weakening by deduction. If the abrupt return and disappearance of Nakago's powers throughout the morning brought him discomfort, he said nothing, but he had said little regarding his near-fatal wound as well.

"Listen," Nakago said.

The stream was a pleasant burble against the backdrop of breeze and birdcalls.

"I think this means we're not that far away," said Miaka, who could remember stumbling through a stream on her flight the previous night. She remembered falling right after reaching the stream, careening uncontrollably down the hill, colliding with a stump and losing her grip on the scepter – which had presumably rolled down the hill with her. And that was when she had found herself on the shore of the lake.

They made for the burble of water, but sound carries strangely in mountainous terrain, and the stream proved elusive, farther away than Miaka first thought. She began to hurry, stumbling past trees and over brush in her haste to reach the stream, and it was only when the toe of her shoe touched the water that she realized that Nakago was a good few feet behind her. He was not breathing hard, but his face was slightly drawn, paler than usual, and Miaka knew – from the times she and Yui had dawdled in shop windows on the way to school and then sprinted all the way to class – that it was easy enough to conceal your breathing when you had to.

"You need to rest," she said flatly, hands on her hips, chin upraised and resolute. "Seiryuu may be breaking loose, but you still had a sword put through you last night, and you lost a lot of blood."

"And your chi is all but depleted," he said coolly. "If anyone were to attack us at this moment, defense would be difficult – hence the need to keep moving and retrieve the scepter of Kutou."

"Yeah," said Miaka, "but that won't help us if you're dead by the time we get there."

"I am not dying, nor am I anywhere close to death, Miko."

"Good," said Miaka, "because I don't really feel up to lugging your corpse around in my exhausted state. Look." She sighed, deeply and tiredly. "I don't really think we'll be attacked if we rest here for five minutes, not unless we keep on shouting at each other like this, so can't you just sit down –"

She hadn't really meant to place a hand on his chest as she said these words. That is, what she had meant to do was to give him a push so that he would overbalance (in retrospect she realized how foolish it was to think Nakago would cooperate by losing his balance), stumble backward, and be forced into sitting. But the chest her hand pressed against was depressingly solid, and she found that she had put too much force behind the shove or hadn't coordinated it properly, or something – so that instead of bouncing backward, her hand stayed there like it was fastened with superglue, and she was half-supporting her weight on her hand which was pressed on Nakago's chest, and the phrase 'Eff my life' was dancing a merry little jig inside her brain. Except her traitorous brain was also suddenly, horribly, gleefully aware of the way Nakago's chest was a chest that most women would have thought was absurdly attractive, and that Nakago was not wearing his armor. It was still on the horse, which was trailing them with forlorn bewilderment.

And it did not help that images from earlier that morning chose that precise moment to start gallivanting through her head like caffeinated rabbits. Nakago, in a rather striking state of undress, leaning close to her, inquiring (in an all-too-horribly-amused way) whether she was quite well –

"Um," she said, and she yanked her palm back as though it had touched napalm. "You were s-supposed to sit down." She uttered these words with as much dignity as anyone who is red as a beet and stammering spasmodically could hope to muster.

Desperately, Miaka hoped she would wake, open her eyes and discover that this had been a bad dream, or even one of Tomo's illusions. She pondered the solidness of the forest floor beneath her (depressingly solid) and the probability of that ground spontaneously evaporating (depressingly slim). It did not help that Nakago looked coolly entertained by her actions. But even amused, there remained an aloofness about him, a kind of distance that suddenly, irrationally bothered her. His face was close to hers; she wondered what would happen if she leaned forward, took her nails to his face and scratched and scratched at the surface to get at the person underneath. It would not work, she thought; his mask was not like Chichiri's – it was deeper than skin, and it would take more than her sad attempts to pull it loose.

"I wish to stand," said Nakago.

"Fine." She said the word briskly, in tones that were almost relieved. She could not help feeling as though she had been somehow rebuffed, even though she was the one who had snatched her hand away a moment ago. It irked her. She raised her chin. "We'll stand and rest. I'm tired, even if you can keep walking all day. Healing you was no piece of cake, you know."

As soon as these words had left her lips she knew she had made a mistake again. The pink hue that invaded her cheeks was proof that she had ventured upon another Highly Humiliating Topic (HHT). Worse, Nakago seemed to have a kind of sixth sense for these kind of things. It was, Miaka thought miserably, a little bit like the way rattlesnakes can sense infrared, except with Nakago it seemed to be somehow tuned to her embarrassment level, which was currently Fry-An-Egg-On-Your-Face.

"Strange," he said, "how little of this healing I seem to recall. Since our rest stop gives us a few minutes, perhaps you might enlighten me as to what actually transpired while I was unconscious?"

And Miaka knew, from the half-smirk that played about his mouth, that Nakago knew perfectly well what had happened, or if he had not known, he had at least guessed by now from the look on her face, which was nine different shades of red. Her hormones were to blame for getting her into these situations, her inane ability to trip over her own mouth, and now she must look like she had swallowed a lemon, for she certainly felt that way. The only dignified thing to do right now was to suck it up, pretend that her ears weren't burning, and answer bluntly, which he would not be expecting at all.

"You were losing blood, and you needed a chi transfer, so I kissed you," she said flatly, and emboldened by the way that one eyebrow rose nearly to his hairline, she added snidely, "Actually, I had expected you to be better, but I guess you couldn't help it – you were half-dead, after all."

There. She still felt shaky, but she had not wilted into a puddle of a humiliation like she would have done one year ago, and her retort had been decently acerbic. She turned on her heel, not wanting to see if he opened his mouth to reply, and said, too quickly, too harshly:

"Are you ready to go? We still have to find the scepter."

It was a fact he had been remarking upon for the past half hour, and he did not hesitate to remind her of this; and at this reminder she scowled and shot off a snappish reply, and they were back to normal again, heading once more down to the lake where the most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan had just picked up the errant scepter of Kutou.

-v-

"Sniff! Good boy. Now, go on, hup!"

The skin of the most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan was pale and perfect, cream-colored like the cherry-blossoms on Mount Taikyoku. The most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan did not remember these cherry blossoms, and even if she had, she would have been stung by the comparison, for clearly she was more lovely than any measly sort of flower.

The dog of the most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan had been a gift from her husband, the Emperor of Hong-Nan. The Emperor was the only person in the entire kingdom who could possibly rival her in beauty. Nuriko had known, the moment she laid eyes on her husband two years before, that they could, would, and simply had to be married. Not only were they surely made for each other, two swans in a sea of geese, but it would also have been a great pity if their mutual loveliness were not concentrated into heartbreakingly beautiful offspring.

In the latter regard, her plan had become somewhat muddled. Nuriko was not really sure what had gone wrong where her and Hotohori's son was concerned, but he was quite shockingly chubby. Houki had told her babies grew out of these sorts of things in time, and Nuriko hoped this was true. Of course she still loved Boushin, but some days she regarded him with fond confusion, as though not certain entirely how she had given birth to such a creature.

At the moment, her son was waving his hands toward the hunting dog she was coaxing, a large brown-furred animal with floppy ears and a decidedly eager expression. "Puppy!" he said merrily.

"Dumb dog," Nuriko said severely to the hunting dog, who was regarding her with wagging tail and eyes that were liquid and innocent. She still held the scepter, and waved it at the dog, in a manner half-chiding. "I said, find the person who smells like this. I said, HUP!"

Brown hair, long and flowing like the ribbons that trailed from her dress in artful cascades, fell to the small of her back in bossy but glorious curls that were the envy of half the women of court, and possibly some of the men as well. At the moment, Nuriko was wishing she had brought along more pins to keep it from getting into her eyes.

The woman who accompanied her, who – if not for a small pimple currently festering above her left eyebrow – might have contested Nuriko for title of most beautiful woman in Hong-Nan, or at least won third place, said, in a serene voice that befitted the wife of the Emperor's brother:

"Maybe he's tired. We have come a long way today. Perhaps you shouldn't be so harsh on him."

Nuriko blew the errant tendrils of hair from her eyes with a dissatisfied huff, poking the scepter deep into the ground in frustration. "Houki," she said. "I know tired dogs. And I know lazy dogs. This dog is beyond lazy. This dog is setting a bad example for my son. This dog – NO, BAD PUPPY, MYSTEROUS GOLDEN SCEPTERS LEFT LYING ON LAKESIDES ARE NOT TO PLAY FETCH WITH!"

Boushin began to cry. Houki reached forward, gently brushing strands of hair from his face. "Your mother's just a little upset," she said soothingly.

"Darn right I'm upset!" said Nuriko, waving the scepter emphatically. "Now it's covered in dog spit. …Sorry, Houki."

Houki shrugged. She had grown up in a farmstead before she came to the palace, and they were beyond the ears of others who would be bothered by Nuriko's frank speech. Perhaps their humble beginnings explained why they were still close friends; despite years of practice, neither had quite adapted to the perfect ways of court life. Nuriko was comfortable in fine dress and could use proper manners when it suited her, but she had a presence that bothered those court traditionalists who did not think it was proper in a woman. Houki was well-versed in manners and knew, better than most, when to be silent; it was the constant elegance, the lack of simplicity, that troubled her about palace life.

"I can't just leave this thing lying beside the lake," said Nuriko. "It's solid gold. Who in their right mind would abandon a solid gold scepter beside a lake? I've never seen anything so absurd."

"Maybe you were meant to find it," said Houki.

Nuriko, still staring at the scepter, was assailed with an odd feeling, beginning in her chest and thrilling through her fingertips. It was not warmth or strong emotion, but it was a kind of pull all the same, a strange feeling, like the sensation of long-forgotten memories dragged unwillingly to the surface. She was not unused to such feelings, nor was she unused to abruptly disregarding them as soon as they occurred.

She hefted the scepter in her hand, frowning at the weight of it. She had the oddest sense that the scepter disliked her, or found her an object of some disdain. That was ridiculous. It was a scepter, not some contemptuous court noble! Defiantly, she clutched it tighter and let out a ladylike snort.

"I do not suppose you plan to tell me," said Houki, in teasing tones, "your reasons for having us sneak from the palace at six this morning for a forest trip, without guards or protection."

"It's perfectly safe," Nuriko said, a little defensively. "Pooch will warn us of any intruders."

She shot a reproving glare at the errant dog, which had climbed onto his hind legs as though begging for sweets. "On second thought," she said, "we'd probably have more luck fighting any attackers off with treebranches."

Houki watched silently as Nuriko sighed and raked long fingers through her free-flowing hair. "I just have this feeling sometimes, you know? I get all cooped up and frustrated. I mean, don't get me wrong, Hotohori's wonderful, and court life's a peach, but some days I feel like it's not really what I signed up for. I guess I thought so long about how I would win Hotohori's heart that I never really thought about what would happen after that happened, you know?"

"Perhaps you require a hobby," Houki said.

"Other than barking the head off the prime minister when he displeases me and staring for long hours at Hotohori and playing with different ways to style my hair? Yeah, I've thought of that." Nuriko lowered the scepter against the ground – tap, tap, tap. "It's more than that though. The weird thing is," she said, "sometimes I feel like this isn't really where I'm supposed to be. That everything's off, from what it should be. Everything seems darker lately, not like we're near war exactly but… like something's coming. Something bad."

"Something is coming," said Houki. Her eyes were not good, and she was half-squinting into the distance. "Two people," she said. "And possibly a horse."

Nuriko had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach again. This time, it felt like a touch of destiny. Or like her morning eggs had simply disagreed with her. She couldn't decide which.

Pooch, in a belated attempt to be useful, let out a half-hearted bark.

And Boushin, inevitably, began to cry.

-v-

Their meeting was awkward, as it had rarely been in the Shijintenchisho. Nuriko blamed it on Miaka's traveling companion, who seemed to be able to take any innocent interaction and almost effortlessly succeed in turning it into a staring contest.

Nuriko had always been confident in her ability to stare people down, but Nakago, with an ice-cold glare that could probably freeze stone, was quite skilled at holding one's gaze until, shaking and watery-eyed, his hapless victim was forced to turn away through sheer loss of will. But Nuriko had her son to think of – the son who was currently being rocked by Houki, while Nuriko stood before him like a protective shield, the golden scepter clutched in her hands.

"Nuriko," said Miaka brightly, "Perhaps we should –"

"Miaka," said Nuriko, and her grip on the gold rod was so tight her knuckles were practically white now. "I don't think you quite comprehend the dangerousness of the situation."

With the arrival of Miaka, Nuriko's other memories, the ones that had been slumbering for the last two months, had sprung abruptly to the surface. It was almost dangerous, because remembering her Shijintenchisho life also granted Nuriko the memory of a strength she did not have, and with that came a reckless sense of freedom. Nuriko's grip on the scepter tightened, a cheerful – and perhaps slightly deranged – smile starting across her face. The arrogant bastard who stood before her had killed her precious Hotohori in a former life. She wouldn't back down, not even if he wanted a fight.

Nakago, Nuriko noticed with irritation, seemed to be practically at ease, despite the fact that Nuriko was glaring at him with an expression that could have set whole buildings on fire. "Intriguing," he said coolly, as though he was commenting on the weather. "What brings the Emperor's wife and son into the forest, alone, with no guards or protection?"

"We do have the dog," Houki said politely.

Pooch let out another indecisive woof and settled himself comfortably on Nakago's boot.

"Stupid Pooch," Nuriko muttered half-heartedly, taking a brief hiatus from her staring contest with Nakago to shoot a disapproving look toward the dog. "I hope he kicks you."

Nakago glanced toward the animal that lay at his feet. "Clearly an exemplar protector," he said dryly. As if on cue, the dog whuffed happily, tongue lolling. Miaka reached forward and began to massage Pooch's ears.

"I'm rather inclined to think that it's your safety you ought to be worrying about, instead of ours," Nuriko said flippantly. "You're Kutou's prized shogun, you're in enemy country, and you also killed the Emperor of Hong-Nan in a former life. No, Houki, I will not stand down! I am not letting this bastard shogun anywhere near Boushin."

At these words, Nakago's eyes slid to the form behind Nuriko, cool interest sweeping across his features. Boushin, perhaps sensing the attention, puckered his face into a piercing wail that lanced the clearing. Nuriko couldn't blame him.

"So this is the future Emperor of Hong-Nan," said Nakago.

Nuriko clenched her fists. She could hear Boushin whimpering behind her, obviously distressed. Something about the feel of her son clutching her skirts and shivering seemed to conjure up all sorts of mothering instincts Nuriko had never known she had. She bristled. "What about him?" she demanded.

Nakago's eyes drifted, lazily, back to Nuriko. "I merely think it is a pity," he said, lip curling, "that he seems to have inherited none of his parents' beauty. Though perhaps his mother's ill manners are a different story."

Nuriko saw red.

She was halfway to Nakago when Miaka and Houki grabbed her and yanked her back. Had Nuriko still possessed the otherworldly strength she had been graced with in the Shijintenchisho, it would have been no contest, but in this world, she was only as strong as any other female tomboy. Nuriko yelled and fought and struggled, but Miaka had a very sharp elbow, and Houki had a surprisingly mean right hook. Somehow, they overbalanced and ended up on the grass. Miaka sat on Nuriko's legs, and Houki pinned Nuriko's arms to her sides. They all sat panting for a moment.

"Give up?" Miaka said.

"I yield," said Nuriko weakly. "Now get off my legs!"

She sat up. With a jolt, she realized that Boushin had been watching the entire scene with unadulterated fascination. All of his fear seemed to have vanished, and the little miscreant was gazing at her almost delightedly. Lovely, Nuriko thought. Hotohori will be so pleased that I am teaching our son to be a hooligan.

She saw her son glance at Nakago. "Playing!" he said, waving a chubby finger in her general direction.

"Yes," Nakago said calmly, "They do seem to be having a good time, don't they?"

Nuriko opened her mouth to offer an indignant retort. But Miaka got there first, jumping fluidly between them. "I think," she said, a touch breathlessly, "that we should all calm down and start over and make some kind of effort to put aside each other's differences and be diplomatic, because we have much better things to be doing right now than starting fights with the people we need to work with." And Miaka directed a glare at Nakago.

It was a reproachful glare, a familiar, annoyed glare with no real ill will behind it. It was the sort of glare that Nuriko had given Hotohori on numerous occasions. At any other time, Nuriko might have frowned thoughtfully and pondered this development. But today, Nuriko had Boushin and Hotohori to protect. She had a duty to keep Eiyou safe from evil shoguns. "Miaka," she said, glowering, "have you lost your mind?"

"Well," said Miaka, almost hesitating. "No. I don't think so."

"Then shut up, and allow me to kill him."

Miaka grabbed her wrist again. "Nuriko," she said, and her voice was almost desperate, "how much do you want Eiyou to be overrun by demons?"

Nuriko paused. Her this-world mind said, there's no such thing as demons, but the part of her that was still anchored in the Shijintenchisho – the same part of her that seemed to be linked with the odd brush of destiny she had felt earlier – was mumbling, Oh, shit.

Slowly, she relaxed, and Miaka, as if sensing her change in mood, loosened her grip on Nuriko's arm. Nuriko stepped back, shaking the blood back into her hand and grimacing.

"I think," she said, "you've got some explaining to do."

-v-

They listened, all the way back to Eiyou, as Miaka described her journey into Kutou, the battle with the Emperor, and her journey with Nakago into Souen. It was easy to see that Nuriko believed her but didn't want to believe her too, like a man in denial about the collapse of his house. As it had been with Tasuki and Mitsukake at Souen, the return of Nuriko's memories had been abrupt, a kind of set-eyes-on-Miaka amnesia reversal that left the seishi irritable and faintly confused. Houki seemed to have remembered too, but Houki had a poker-face to rival Nakago's and a gentleness that made Miaka feel clumsy and rude, and if she was unsettled by the return of her memories, she let nothing show.

Miaka was grateful. She was grateful that Nakago's mark appeared to have ceased flickering to life on his forehead as it had been doing for most of the morning, because it would probably worsen the relations between him and Nuriko still further. She was pleased that Nakago and Nuriko were no longer engaged in the staring match to end all staring contests, and that Nakago had ceased baiting Nuriko at every opportunity. She was grateful for Houki, who appeared perpetually polite and rational despite the return of her memories, and who, if she felt any ill-will toward Nakago for the death of her then-husband Saihetei, outwardly showed no sign of it. "I apologize for our behavior earlier," Houki told Nakago, palms together, proper, as Nuriko hummed a soft note of annoyance in the background.

"Your apology is not necessary," said Nakago, inclining his head slightly. The action surprised Miaka, as did the fact that his expression was practically respectful (or as near to respectful as she'd ever seen Nakago act). Houki accepted his statement with composure, bowing with exactly the correct depth as was befit a woman of the emperor's family showing deference to a rival emperor.

"So, all you need now," said Nuriko, "is the sword that belongs to Hotohori, and some objects from Sairou and Hokkan? And then you will summon the gods, and then Tenkou will disappear?"

Miaka nodded. Put it that way, they were eons away from finishing their task. She felt depression sweep through her.

"Retrieving the objects from Sairou and Hokkan could be made simple," said Nakago, "if a war-council with the Emperors of those countries was held at Eiyou to address the demon threat."

"Hm," said Nuriko noncommittally.

"In that case," said Miaka, staring at him, "why didn't you just invite the Emperors of Sairou, Hokkan, and Hong-Nan to visit Kutou?"

"Do you believe, Suzaku no Miko, that with Kutou's record of conquest and betrayal, attendance would have been high? I do not."

"Smart man," said Nuriko.

They were entering the city proper now, and it was noisier than Miaka remembered. There was also far more confetti, which fell upon their shoulders in waves as they strolled through the palace gates.

"Right! I forgot it's a holiday," said Nuriko. "Let's swing through the shops on our way to the palace, if you don't mind, I've got a few items to pick up."

She said these words flippantly, but had Miaka been listening more carefully, she might have recognized a subtle undertone to that flippancy, a kind of throwback to an earlier time in the Shijintenchisho, when Nuriko had tried to trick her into stepping into a weed-filled koi pond. Miaka, relieved by Houki's overture of friendliness, suspected nothing, and Nakago sensed hesitation but pinned it on caution and not outright deception.

They traveled slowly. In the case of Houki and Nuriko, Miaka sensed that the subdued pace was more out of appreciation for their surroundings than anything, but Miaka was grateful for the reprieve from fast walking. She wondered if the reason Nakago had ceased baiting Nuriko was not out of a sudden realization that he needed to be polite, but simply because he was tired. She was exhausted, and she was not recovering from a deep sword-wound. Nakago's face was still paler than usual, and there was a darkness beneath his eyes that she had never seen before. If his powers had been sustaining him that morning, they were certainly not doing so now.

The city of Eiyou was even more beautiful than Miaka remembered, for it was strung with crepe and baubles and paper lanterns for the festival. There were tents with everything a customer could desire, from necklaces and jewels to horses and camels. Despite the beauty, Miaka could not help the curling unease in her gut, a kind of coiling within the pit of her stomach that refused to go away. This city held memories.

Nuriko stepped into a stall heavily draped with carpets and strung with lights to buy incense, and Houki followed her. Miaka, who had no particular love for incense, and besides that no money, stayed outside. Nuriko's voice drifted out at her from within the tent, calling Miaka's name, but Miaka shook her head, choosing instead to stop and admire a glassblower's work in a nearby stall.

They were standing on the same street on which she and Tamahome had lived. She could not help but glance down the cobbled road every so often, in the direction of their house, which lay farther down, just beyond the market district. It was impossible to see in the growing darkness. But I know it's there. Miaka shivered. She didn't think she was ready to go back yet. At the same time, it seemed disloyal to Tamahome somehow, to be so intent in avoiding the past.

"You are troubled?" said Nakago.

Miaka could not help but wonder at the eerie way in which he seemed capable of reading her moods. She supposed it probably had something to do with his uncanny ability to sense chi. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. She sighed.

"Yes – perhaps – not really. I don't know. Hey, look, there's a tiny glass boat!" She reached up and touched the beautiful replica of a galley-ship that hung from the ceiling of the glassblower's stall. "And a flower! How does the shopkeeper possibly make them that small?"

Nakago shrugged. "Glassmaking was a technique perfected in Hokkan and brought to the other three kingdoms by traders. It is an ancient art, and a secret one. I suspect only the masters of the trade know the answer to your question."

Miaka glanced at Nakago, surprised. She had expected Nakago to call her out on her abrupt subject change, not to go along with it. But he was not even looking at her; he was regarding the dangling glass flower with an almost pensive expression. Miaka glanced back toward the glass sculptures. She could not help but think of how few truly beautiful things she had managed to create in the space of her life. It made her sigh, a little.

"Did they have festivals like this in Kutou?" she asked Nakago.

"A few," said Nakago. His expression was inscrutable, but Miaka thought she sensed a trace of disgust in his tone. "The Emperor banned most holidays, believing worship of rain-spirits or seasonal events detracted from the peoples' appreciation of him. The people were allowed to celebrate his birthday, and the anniversaries of his most prized conquests, as holidays."

"That's terrible," she said, and she wondered if one of the holidays that Kutou celebrated was the conquest of his tribe, his people. "People should be able to celebrate what they choose," she said, "not what's forced on them."

He was silent, whether in agreement or reliving a memory of days long past she did not know. She was tempted to ask him if one of the holidays really was the conquest of the Hin, but she held back; the easy peace between them was almost unprecedented, and she found herself reluctant to disturb it.

"There are people watching you," she murmured, a few minutes later. The air was warmer in Eiyou than it had been in the mountains, warmer still because it was the city, and a lazy breeze brushed past to catch her hair.

"It is no matter," said Nakago. "They are curious. They fear me, perhaps, but they will not attack."

"And when they manage to attract someone who will?" Miaka hated to let worry ruin the pleasantness of the evening, but she did not like the nature of the whispers that Nakago's presence was garnering. "What about when my presence causes them to remember the Shijintenchisho, and the shogun who led the attack against Hong-Nan?"

Before he could reply, she had ducked back into the tent, intending to call Nuriko and Houki out, make them hurry up toward the palace, where they would be, if not perfectly safe, at least capable of obtaining an audience who believed them.

Neither Nuriko nor Houki was in sight. The tent was empty of customers, empty save for a thin, balding man who seemed to be the shopkeeper.

"Pardon me," said Miaka, panic rising, "but you wouldn't have happened to see two woman enter this tent, just a few minutes ago?"

"They left through the back," he said, indicating a loose tent-flap and staring at her with disdain.

"Thanks," said Miaka, and she emerged into the sunlight again, insides twisting with unease. "Nakago," she said, "I think we should go."

Only then did she notice the glint of metal off the swords of the imperial guards that surrounded them, the cold expressions directed toward both her and Nakago. A deep sinking sensation swooped through her stomach, and she swallowed convulsively. "What's this?" she said. "What's going on?"

"You are together, then?" The leader of the guard gave a swift nod, and two of his subordinates broke off from the rest and took Miaka roughly by the shoulders. "You are under arrest and will be immediately escorted to the palace, by order of Nuriko, Wife of Saihetei, Emperor of Hong-Nan."

Author's note:

Well that was a fun (and absurdly long and somewhat silly) chapter! Thanks to Helena, Desert Renaissance, and tohru78 for your reviews of the last one and for keeping up with the story. I do realize that this is kind of an absurd number of updates in so short a time period. But I do want to finish this story sometime within this lifetime…

In case you're confused (although I hoped you figured this out by now): in this world, Nuriko and Hotohori are married, and Boushin is their son. Houki is married to the emperor's brother, whose name I can't remember off the top of my head and who isn't particularly important to the story. Nuriko is one of my favorite characters in Fushigi Yuugi because of his/her unrivaled awesomeness factor, so I'm quite pleased that he's/she's finally made an appearance. And yes, Nuriko did just order Miaka and Nakago arrested.

So, looking back (on like, this entire story) I just realized I royally screwed up with the naming. All of the Suzaku seishi ought to have both a non-seishi name (which they're known by in the new world) and their Shijintenchisho name (which they go by when they're around Miaka). Like Kaen and Soi, Ayuru and Nakago. And they don't, because I guess I just had a stupid mental blip where this was concerned. …Ooops? Anyway, it's not that important to the story, but it's suddenly bothering me. But I'm not going to go back and change it right now because that would take a long time and probably just create a lot of unnecessary error.

The other naming error I made was Hong-Nan vs Konan and Qu-Dong vs Kutou. Apparently Hong-Nan and Qu-Dong are the Chinese names of the kingdoms; Konan and Kutou are the Japanese names. Since I'm using mostly the Japanese names for things, I should probably start using "Konan" if I'm going to be consistent. Mehhhh. There needs to be a global find and replace for all the chapters at once.

-v-

Questions/Comments (from you):

The teasing and subtle physical attraction shows a bit of their changed dynamic. I can't wait for more!

Voila.

-v-

Questions (for you):

1. Too much emphasis on Nakago's chest in recent chapters? (Heh…)

2. Thoughts on Nuriko's characterization in this chapter? Too... er... deranged?