In the aftermath of the attack and the months that followed, Izayoi delved into her lessons. She followed Fuiasu-sama's every order, matched her expressions as best she could with her softer human features, and did everything she could to forget about that night.
Where Kagome was burning rage and stifling emotion, Izayoi was cool poise and polite, empty smiles.
Court composure was her armor and her weapon.
If, at times, she resented the life she'd been thrust into in order to save Kagome all those years ago, she bottled that up just as she did every other emotion and presented the court and her make-shift family with a smile.
Nothing could ruffle the smooth silk of her kimono or the perfect coif of her hair.
At least not while the sun was up.
At night, she was a cocoon of fear and tears, barricaded inside her room and drowning the scent of her emotions with as much incense as she could manage—which itself resulted in a scent seal placed around her room.
The loss of Atsuki was a brand against her heart. She'd loved him, in her own way. He'd been a mentor and a friend to her more than any other in the Citadel, even Kagome. He'd been an outsider, like she'd been an outsider. And he'd been half-human, as she was human. She loved him like the family she'd lost so long ago, and missed him like a lost limb.
The attack of those demons was a brand against her skin. She could still see the brusies even after they'd healed months later, still feel the way their eyes crawled along her skin like insects searching for a crevice to hide away in, the way their hands tore and crushed and stole and laid claim like chains selling her into slavery. She healed and she survived, but she was never free of their grasp—even in her dreams.
In the morning, she took refuge in the routine of readying for the day. She spent hours in the mornings doing her own hair and paints, picking her own clothes. There was a quiet solace in those feminine morning rituals that helped rebuild her shields each day. She became well-known in court for the simple elegance of her kimonos, none the wiser that she chose those styles because she could don them without help. It was one of many secrets she took pleasure in.
Izayoi put all of her attention on learning the ins and outs of life in a royal court. She was a princess in her own right and used that to her advantage. Even as a human, she still outranked everyone in court except those in the pack. If anyone dared address her as anything other than her rightful title she simply waited and held their gaze until they corrected themselves or her guards made them do so.
She was a princess and a ward of the west and owed all due deference. Every ounce of that esteem was used to push her goals forward—that is, to work her way into the heart of the court until there wasn't a soul there who didn't want to spend a meal at her side or take a walk with her through the gardens.
If there was a member of court being shunned, she invited them to sit with her and break bread. If there was a new emissary at court, she was the first to speak with them, the first to entertain them. If a servant made a mistake, she merely smiled and helped where she could—showing kindness in a court more accustomed to lashing out. The court followed her because of her status, but also out of curosity.
It was a charade, and an exhausting one at that. The kindness was real, and the civility with which she treated all she came across was true, but the smiles and the conversation, the finery and the entertainment—it was all a lie, a façade built to ease her way into a crowd more accustomed to killing humans than to lauding them.
It was grueling, but it was necessary.
There were spies in the West—not that this was a surprise to anyone, least of all Izayoi—and she had every intention of weeding them all out, one-by-one.
That night, they'd been trapped in the gardens because of a red mist seeping into Kagome's and Sesshoumaru's chambers—spotted only because it dissolved as it sank outside into the pouring rain. In the aftermath of that night, they'd found lanterns scattered throughout the citadel with remnants of that dust. Further examination proved it was targeted to put youkai to sleep, but if either Izayoi or Kagome had inhaled it—the results could have been fatal.
Only someone from inside the castle could have planted those lanterns, and there were too many to have been the work of just one person.
Izayoi wanted vengeance, no matter how long it took.
So she put on her paints, the pretty kimonos, the perfect hairstyles, and she fluttered through the court like a dragonfly.
When attacks came, she did not defend herself. It was mostly court antics—drinks thrown in her face, gossip spread like a virus, attempts to sabotage her status. She took it all with a pasted on smile and let them sink themselves like so much rubbish in a polluted stream. It might take a while, but eventually everything sank. The few times court drama was more violent, her body guards defended her. She was only human, after all. None of them needed to know about the private lessons she took each night.
The game she was playing was a long one, but that was of no consequence. What did she care of time, when centuries had passed but her body looked only twelve years old? Her family was long dead and her lands ruled by descendants she'd never met—no, all that mattered now was the pack and the attack and destroying whoever had tried to hurt them.
Amidst all of this, Fuiasu became her closest confidant.
There was warmth and distance there, in equal measure. Though Izayoi was unsure why the Lady was keen on her, she did not question it. Fuiasu was pack, after all, and one of the few people left that could be trusted.
Plus, Fuiasu gave her all the court information she could possibly need, from names and birthdays, to marriages and affairs, to political treaties and exiles, and everything in between. It was just as grimy and obscure as any human court, if not a little more cruel.
She glanced at the Lady in question, watching as she read the missive from Kagome. As she waited, she reached over and lifted the tea pot to pour them both another cup. "I like this tea blend, Fuiasu-sama. Where did you get it?"
"Toga sent it from Goryeo." A frown marred her lips. "This will not end well. She should take part in court, as you do, not galivant off and trounce all over its tradition."
Izayoi didn't answer, instead staring at her own missive from Kagome. A quick glance as Fuiasu threw hers to the table proved they were identical. "She wants to hold a memorial in a fortnight."
o.O.o
word count - 1188