Chapter Eight
A lot happened in a few weeks.
Mother found out she was pregnant again; the progression was almost instantaneous. Within days, it seemed, she began to swell and glow like a ripe fruit – her kimonos became flouncy dresses, making her look bigger than she probably was, and she wore more rouge than usual so that she was always blushing, always bright. Even though the new baby was still months away, the butlers were kept busy with preparations. New nursery. New toys. Fixing new poisons for the milk and ordering weighted diapers.
Come listen, Lumi, dear. Come put your head on Mother's tummy and listen to your little brother or sister.
Even though Illumi couldn't ever hear anything, could detect no life within his Mother's belly, he never said so. He would lean in and pretend to listen, finding the whole thing pointless but also relishing it. Secretly enamored with every second that he lay there, Mother stroking his hair, telling him he was such a good big brother. She would let Killua prod at her belly button, and she would patiently answer Milluki's questions, and she would let Illumi lie quietly until he would wonder if perhaps she'd forgotten entirely that he was there. Her pulse throbbing steady along his cheek. Her hand still knotting lazily through his hair.
Illumi liked it when Mother was pregnant. He liked how Father stayed home, and hovered at Mother's side like a shadow. How he would hold her hand, expecting her to crack at the lightest pressure –walking down stairs, opening her own doors. Illumi, pour Mother's tea. Illumi, hold Mother's fan. No, Illumi, there will be no training today.
Babies changed everything.
Even Datari was more nicer when she came to visit.
After the Flaminias were told about the pregnancy, Datari had been sent to convey their congratulations and to deliver gifts (a crystal baby bottle, and a particularly sadistic looking teething ring). The journey between the Flaminias' estate and Kukuroo Mountain was a tiring one – two days on an airship, followed by the Testing Gate (Datari could open to the second door on her own) and the trek up the mountain. As such, Datari was invited to stay a few days before returning home. How fortunate and suspicious, then, that a maid had been sent along with her as well as a week's worth of clothing and feminine necessities.
The two of them, Illumi and Datari, were relegated to an exorbitant number of hours together. Presently, they had been sent off on a walk around the mountain. Datari's shoes clattered like castanets down the rocky bits and she walked painfully slowly, admiring, not saying much. And still, even after wasting so much time and walking so little, she stopped for a break. Swooshing to sit upon a branch, her dress's green material disappearing against the moss, she gave Illumi that stony smile.
"You'll probably want lots of children one day, right, Zoldyck?" she stated more than asked, and tapped the space next to her, signaling for Illumi to sit.
He didn't. "It's what will be expected."
"Mmm. My mothers have told me." In the broken shards of sunlight, she looked ghostly and cold. No freckles. Ghoulishly blue eyes rather than that warm, pooling grey. "They say that you and I will be expected to have boys, boys, and more boys."
"I suppose."
Illumi hated the way she said 'we'. As if there was a 'we'.
"My question wasn't what's expected of us though. I asked if you'll want kids. As in, would you have them if you had the choice?"
"What does that matter?"
Flicking her hair back with a delicate, melting shake of her shoulders, she sighed. "Just answer the question, you slug."
Illumi thought for a while. He didn't see how it was relevant, whether he wanted kids or not. There was no other way of continuing the Zoldyck line, and there was nothing that really concerned Illumi apart from that. At least, he didn't think there was. He'd never really considered it before. Now, however, confronted with the question, Illumi felt something warm unfurl in his chest – pregnancy, babies, looking after them like he looked after Killua… there was nothing Illumi could think of that would make him not want children.
Eventually, he shrugged, and said, "Yes, I'd want to have babies."
"Gross. I wouldn't."
"Why not?"
Languidly, Datari shifted her weight and lay herself across the branch. The dress fell across the shape of her legs, her hips and her stomach, like a second skin, shadows hinting at the body of an almost-woman. She stretched her legs, cat-like, and made a lazy noise like a yawn. Illumi looked away, not knowing why he did so but feeling he should, not liking the way Datari turned her head slowly across her shoulders to stare at him.
"Because babies ruin everything," she said. "I'll never be able to work properly as an assassin if I also have to be a mother. And I like what I do now. I meet lots of interesting people, and do lots of interesting things." She smiled darkly. "Not that I'd expect you to understand what I mean. You Zoldycks work very differently to how we do. I bet you probably haven't even come close to doing half the things I've done."
"Like what?"
"Like kissing somebody. Stuff like that."
The word hung in the air, ugly like a wound. Illumi tested it, its shape unfamiliar in his mouth – "Kissing."
"Yes. Kissing."
"I don't see what kissing and being an assassin have to do with each other."
"Oh, kissing can be very dangerous when done right." Graceful, with all the slicing poise of a snake, Datari sprung up from the branch and lunged toward Illumi. "Let me show you."
Everywhere, from toes to fingers, Illumi's body contorted to the offensive. Things went blank for a moment, Datari's aura suddenly flaring with vivid, shocking intention – not quite hostile, but close to it. Illumi felt everything go sharp; he gripped one of his needles before he had the chance to stop himself. But then, just inches away, Datari stopped. She leaned into her hip, aura dissipating, and she threw her head back in a bold, disdainful laugh.
She pointed at him mockingly. "See? You were ready to attack me, all because I said I'd kiss you." Her attention went to the needle in his hand. "Interesting choice."
Illumi narrowed his eyes at her. Exhaling hard, he returned the needle to his pocket. "I've been experimenting…" he said, by way of explanation and in an attempt to detract from Datari's comment. "Needles work well because they're discreet. And they work well with my Nen because–"
"Blah blah. Back to my point now."
"You don't have a point."
Ignoring him, Datari made a thoughtful face – it almost pained Illumi how much like Chiara's it was.
"Have you wondered why our parents want us to get married? Like, us two specifically," she asked. Illumi had no chance to answer. "No, it's not because I'm one fine specimen of a lady. I'm sure that was a consideration, but what this is really about – well, the kiss thing illustrates it pretty well, actually. You and I – we have nothing in common. Nothing. We don't get along, you don't like me and I don't like you."
"I don't understand."
"Come. Sit with me."
Illumi watched her sink down towards the grass. Once again, her dress pooled around her and made her look as though she were a part of the forest. Like a silky-haired violet, peering out from the ground. She said nothing, waiting, and only after some time of impervious, mistrustful deliberation did Illumi relent. He sat too, up straight and unflappable, as Datari offered him a – surprisingly soft – smile. It looked wrong on her. Objectively pretty though she was, she did not have the face for a smile; it made her look like she was in pain, it made her look a little uglier. The realisation drove a quick, sick pleasure through Illumi. Datari couldn't affect him like she thought she could.
Or maybe she just wasn't trying to. That was also a possibility. Her family may have been second-best, but she still would have been a dangerous person to underestimate. And so Illumi did not relax into a slouch when she did. He listened for tell-tale signs in her voice, watched her half-woman body for signals that she might spring on him again.
"Our parents don't want us to like each other," she said. "It would be too much of a liability. A distraction. Assassins aren't supposed to like anyone. Right?"
"Right."
"Right. So it suits them just fine if we would rather not have anything to do with each other." Datari plucked at the grass without tearing her gaze away. "When we get married one day, you'll be able to expend all your energy on your family business without getting sidetracked by your sweet wifey. That sounds convenient, doesn't it?"
"It does."
"And you're okay with that?"
"As you said, I would rather be a good assassin than not."
"So there's nobody you'd rather get married to? Nobody you actually like?"
There it was. The crinkle in her words. The crook to her expression that made Illumi's back go stiffer. "Are you asking again as if it were my choice?" he questioned.
Datari laughed. "You're getting it now."
"No. There's no one."
"Really?"
"Really."
"What about my sister?"
Something caught in Illumi's throat. Chiara? Why would he want to marry Chiara? Marry her? Could he even do that?
After their last visit, where Chiara had danced and then refused to speak to Illumi, he had written her another letter and sent it off. He hadn't apologised – why would he, when he'd done nothing wrong? – but in some sort of tender hope, he had told her that he'd liked watching her. And in that, he had hoped she would realise that he was saying a lot. He hoped she would understand that it had taken him hours to write just that one line, and that the whole time he'd been replaying her dance in his head like it was the only memory he had, coloured with the taste of strawberries and morning light and the fine, supple feel of her wrist in his hand.
No reply had come. Illumi tried not to wait around for one, but the more time went by, the more he found himself itching. Day-dreaming. Wanting to dig up the first letter she had sent from their hole in the garden. He had buried it there, in a shoe box, for no one's eyes but his.
But that was only a letter. That didn't mean he wanted to marry her.
Datari's smile widened, and took on a more portentous tinge. "I knew it," she said. "I knew it. You do like her. Tadashi says you're just a creep, but you do like Chiara."
"That's not–"
"That's why you wanted her to dance, isn't it? She was so upset, she thought you were making fun of her." Like some kind of bird, Datari screeched in delight. "But it's all because you like her! And she likes you! Illumi and Chiara, sitting in a tree, k-i-s–"
"Huh?"
"Huh?"
Illumi's heart did that thing. Aggressively. He blinked at Datari, feeling his face sink into some sort of terrible expression. "Why would you say that?"
"What? That you like Chiara?" Datari cocked her head, suddenly looking less like a woman and more like a little girl. A curious, cruel little girl. "It's true though, isn't it? Or… oh! Oh! You didn't realise it? No! I thought it was so obvious. Mommy told her to leave you alone, but she wouldn't stop talking about you after we first met."
Datari flicked her hair again. "Illumi-kun this, and Illumi-kun that," she continued. "And my god, she was so jealous about me getting to come here this week. She wrote out her reply to your letter about twenty times, I think. Speaking of which," raising her eyebrows, animated and Chiara-esque, "I must give you her letter. She asks that I bring back another one from you when I go home."
"You're mistaken."
"Excuse me?"
Illumi shook his head in an attempt to convince himself. "I don't like her. And she doesn't like me. Not in the way you're saying."
The girly expression vanished into a sneer. Datari leaned towards Illumi, speaking in a low, inimical voice, "Then what? Are you dense, Zoldyck? One too many hits to the head or something?" She tutted. "Believe me, Dashi and I are surprised too, but Chiara has always liked creepy things. Tell her a scary story and she giggles. Introduce her to a bug-eyed, robotic Zoldyck boy and she goes all cutesy. Do you know, Mommy showed us a photo of you before we met? Chiara keeps the photo in her music box, where she keeps all her other weird shit. Like dead butterflies and a squirrel skull."
Somehow, that made Illumi's heart rush even more, beating against the walls of his ribcage with a vengeance. He tried to stop it, but he only felt himself smile. "Oh."
"So anyway." Datari pressed her hand down the top of her dress, and pulled out a pack of gum. Mother had done this once – stored something between her boobs. Illumi blushed, and looked quickly to the trees. Datari continued, "I didn't tell you this for nothing. I actually have a proposition for you. Gum?"
"No."
"Suit yourself." She unwrapped a piece, and began to chew. Thankfully, she left the pack at her side rather than putting it back down her dress. "We both understand that we're not expected to like each other. Likewise, we both like other people. So, to keep everyone happy, this is what I suggest – we'll spend time together like this, do as our parents ask and all. We'll get married someday. But, between the two of us, we are free to see whoever we want."
"I don't understand."
"Some people call it an open relationship."
"Open?"
Datari groaned. "God, you're slow. We can see other people, even if we're married."
Illumi frowned. "I don't understand. Why would we do that? Mother and Father would never allow it."
"That's the thing. They don't need to know. I'm very good at keeping my relationships secret. You can figure out how to do the same."
"But–"
"But, what, Zoldyck?"
"You'll be my wife."
She blew a bubble, pink and pale. When it popped, Illumi watched her tongue wrap around it like a worm. She chewed, chewed, chewed, staring at him with annoyance. "Yes. I will. And I'll rear your Zoldyck babies like I'm supposed to. But I will also fuck whom I want, when I want, because I am not prepared to give up the boys I like for this."
Conspiringly, she lowered her voice, "Whether you do the same or not, it's up to you. But I saw how you looked at my sister. Boys don't just look at anyone like that. Chiara is still little, so she doesn't quite know how she feels yet. But when she figures it out, she'll be heartbroken if you pretend not to feel the same." Chew, chew. Another bubble, another flash of tongue. "That'll put all of us in a very tough position, don't you think?"
No response. The only sound that carried between them was the wet squelch of the bubble gum and the watchful titter of birds overhead. Time was passing quickly, though nobody would wonder where the two of them were – nobody would worry about them getting back too quickly. Illumi considered her words, suffering over them through a sort of daze. She was fifteen, only two years older than him; he had a world more experience than she could ever hope to have as an assassin. And yet, the gap between them suddenly seemed tremendous. Unbridgeable, even.
She was some foreign creature, closer to an adult than Illumi, and suggesting things he himself would never have thought of. Out of the box. Rebellious to the point of being lethal. It held an appeal Illumi couldn't explain. She told him things that were so, so very tempting to believe – that Chiara liked him; not only like, but liked him. That something could come of it, if Illumi wanted it to.
Did he want it to? Did he believe it?
Datari held her hand out to him, white and faintly trembling. Her nails were long and painted in mulberry purple. Blue veins snaked beneath her skin. "So," she said, sounding like Dahlena in her pointed, splintering tone, "do we have a deal, Illumi Zoldyck?"