Hotohori stamped the red seal at the bottom of the document in from of him, and rubbed his face. He was getting very tired. The request for assistance by the attacked villages swam before his eyes. He shoved the pages to the side and stood up. It was way past midnight; he was half asleep already.
The wide halls seemed deserted, despite the guards who greeted him at irregular intervals. His steps echoed back in a muted hush. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of his sandals hissing across the floor, and trailed his fingers along the wall. He felt like he could notice everything, the weight of his hat, the way his robe brushed his skin, the sounds of people sleeping around him, the fish in the ponds outside. The palace was familiar. Ahead, a vase blocked his path, but he knew it was there, so he dropped his hand and stepped around it. Again his thoughts returned to Mount Rekakou. He pictured the dark room in his mind. He was thinking about the silhouetted figure standing with its back to the moon, when he felt somebody beside him. He looked down, without haste.
"Hello, Miaka. Why are you awake?"
Miaka yawned and stretched, then replied casually, "Oh, I was hungry. I just went for a little snack."
"In the middle of the night?"
"Oh, sure. I can eat any time."
"Yes. I've noticed." They kept their voices low as they walked down the hall.
Miaka sweat-dropped. "Well, that's not necessarily a bad thing."
Hotohori smiled slightly and sighed. "I know. I wasn't criticizing you, Miaka."
"Oh, I know. It's okay." She gave him her goofiest grin. "Aren't you hungry? The cook told me you haven't been eating. And I don't think this nighttime wandering is too new, either." Miaka waved a finger at him. "I thought you were up last night, too. Am I right?"
"Hmm. Miaka your perception astounds me. You are quite correct. There is just too much for me to do and to think about. I don't have time to eat and certainly not to sleep."
Miaka stepped around him, forcing him to stop, and pitched her voice a little more loudly. "I think you just don't want to. You've had plenty of time to eat and sleep before." Her voice became concerned. "What's really wrong, Hotohori?"
Hotohori sighed; he didn't want to tell her.
"Please tell me, Hotohori. I might be able to help."
He looked down at her big, brown eyes. They pleaded with him, to give her the information she wanted. Hotohori made a small, frustrated motion with his hand. "I doubt it." It was the first time he had tried to keep something from her. He stepped away, but she grabbed his arm, holding him back.
"Hotohori, don't keep it inside. Please tell one of us, even if it's not me. We're your friends. We can help if you let us."
The Emperor started walking again. Her touch had been like a shock. He couldn't deny it. He was still so much in love with her, no matter how she felt about him. Whatever Miaka wanted, was hers to take, even if it was his fear. He stopped and leaned his back against the wall. "Miaka, every time I fall asleep I dream about . . . " He stopped abruptly. Even awake, he could see the blood on his hands.
"Oh." Miaka squeezed his arm gently.
"I had hoped that the dream would leave me, now that I know for sure that you're all right. But it hasn't. I know you are alive, that Nakago isn't here, that Tamahome is not in his power, that the raids on the border have ceased. But the nightmare hasn't. I'm afraid to sleep. I almost . . . crave this dream . . . when I'm awake. I think about it all the time. It has some horrible fascination in my mind. But I feel paralyzed when I sleep, a weight holds me down and I see the images, and blood. And when I'm awake and I think about the nightmare, my chest burns, up into my neck. I want to sleep, but I can't. The dream is terrifying!" He brushed his hand over his face. "And I'm so tired."
Miaka's eyes were open wide with worry. She wanted to help. "Why don't you ask Mitsukake for something to help you?"
Hotohori turned away from her and stared vacantly down the hall. "Because I hadn't thought of it." His voice was weary.
Poor guy. He really must be tired if he can't think of something so simple. Miaka looked at Hotohori. "Why don't you go lie down, and I'll get Mitsukake."
"No, I don't want to bother him tonight." But Miaka was already running down the hall. He wasn't going to be able to stop her, he knew.
Hotohori went into his room and sat on the opulent bed. He rubbed the back of his neck. The reality of it was that the dream was so terrible he didn't want to face it. But something in his heart wouldn't let it go. The dream was so demanding; he didn't want to ignore it! Even if he couldn't face it. And again the slivers burned. They had never worked themselves out. He hadn't told Mitsukake, but he kept feeling them. Miaka was right. He needed food and sleep. Sleep the dream would not let him have.
He leaned his side against the headboard. Tasuki, Mitsukake, Tamahome. He had hardly talked to them at all. It wasn't that they weren't talking to him, but Hotohori was still at odds with what had happened, his attack on Tamahome, the feelings of betrayal by Mitsukake. He felt uncomfortable around them. His eyes dropped shut, but his mind kept churning. He was already making judgmental mistakes. If he began to make political errors, it could be deadly for the empire. He had to think of the empire first. Without realizing it, Hotohori drifted into a light sleep.
A garbled, raspy voice drifted over the dread scenes playing out before him. Hotohori tried to hear the words as they came through the fog of sleep. "You are a Warrior of Suzaku. You know the truth."
Hotohori looked up, his eyes blurred with tears. He held Miaka in his arms, and her blood ran over his hands. "No, I don't," he called. "It wasn't real!"
The voice rasped, "You're a fool! You take the powers Suzaku has given you for granted! Listen! Listen to the arrow; it knows. It is from the empire that you fear. Their god." The serpent symbol on his neck began to glow; the path of the arrow felt pricked with heat. Miaka vanished from his embrace.
The light shifted in unearthly patterns, and Nakago stood before him. "This is the fate of all the people at the east gate of Eiyo!" Fire sprung up before him, and suddenly Hotohori felt heat on his face and a sparkling pain in his side. He jumped back, wide awake. The pain remained, and a singed odor hung in the air.
Hotohori tore off his robe, throwing it to the floor, and stamped on the silk material. He bent and picked up the robe. On the front a small hole was melted through. He looked at the table beside the bed. The small oil lamp flickered with a single flame. He had bent over it in his sleep!
Hotohori gasped. What was he doing? The burn on his skin was in the same place the arrow's tip had penetrated his side. The Emperor put the robe back on and pressed his hand over the burn. What was this dream? He had to listen.
Voices in the hall drew his attention. "Hotohori?" It was Miaka.
"Come in."
Mitsukake noticed the smell right away. "What happened, Highness?"
Hotohori moved his hand. "I burned myself." Mitsukake immediately set the teapot he was carrying on the table, and advanced on the Emperor.
Miaka nibbled her knuckles. "Are you all right?"
"It's not very bad," Hotohori replied.
"No, it's not," Mitsukake concurred. He used his power to heal the burn. "But it's in a very interesting place. How did you manage to burn yourself here?"
Hotohori tipped his head back, to look at the ceiling and away from Mitsukake. "I was being careless."
"Hmm. Highness," Mitsukake said, "Miaka told me you are having trouble sleeping. I brought a tea with herbs that will take you past dreaming and let you sleep."
Hotohori shook his head. "I don't want it."
Miaka was surprised. "Hotohori?"
"I did, but something happened while you were gone. Mitsukake, Miaka, I thank you, but I want you both to leave now." He wouldn't answer their questions. He waited until they left, then laid back on the bed. This time he waited for the dream to come and didn't fight its horrible images.
The morning sun found the Emperor sitting at the dressing table. He was scrutinizing his reflection carefully. His bright gold eyes were faded. The sleeplessness was starting to show. Drat! Hotohori's fingers trailed down the mirror's surface. "What does it mean? Is it some sort of prophecy? I thought I almost understood last night. Death and fire, and the east gate."
A knock at the door jarred his senses. "Your Highness? Emperor?" Tamahome put his head around the corner.
"Come in, Tamahome."
Tamahome looked at Hotohori in the mirror. "I don't want to bother you. I can come back later."
"No. You're not bothering me. I was thinking about coming to see you."
Tamahome crossed the room and stood beside the Emperor. He watched Hotohori in the mirror. "Highness, we haven't spoken for a while. I'm not sure what that means for us, especially as warriors of Suzaku. Are we still mad at each other? Because, I want you to know that I have forgiven you for the attack in the throne room. I really overreacted. I'm glad you're here. But now I just feel like there's still something wrong."
"Yes. I know you have, and I thank you. I am not certain, however, if I have forgiven myself. I'm not mad at you. I'm angry with myself. I very nearly killed you because of a dream."
"Highness, don't be so hard on yourself. I know why you did it. And you didn't hurt me."
Hotohori looked Tamahome in the eye. "What if I had? I would have killed you if Chichiri hadn't stopped me. No words of yours would have been enough to convince me you were not under Kutou's influence. Not only would I have killed you, but I would have broken the Suzaku seven and destroyed our chance of summoning Suzaku. I would have doomed my empire . . . And turned Miaka against me. Only to find out that Mitsukake was right."
Tamahome listened to the confession seriously. "But you didn't. Emperor, isn't there something I can do to help or at least ease your mind?"
Hotohori stood up. "No. What I'm feeling . . . It's not something that you can do. I have always tried to make my decisions based on the best interests of this empire. Except for Kutou, we have negotiated peace with all the bordering nations. This nation is just too small to fend off any serious attacks. But this . . . No, it is very difficult right now. Your trust and forgiveness are helping, but . . . I have always been so certain of the choices I've made. But now I'm not. I am second guessing my every decision which villages to send aid to, which ones to relocate. Where to send larger patrols. I've relied on Suzaku to guide my decisions; now I don't feel his presence at all. Our military could be conquered so easily. I feel like I must increase the guard here in Eiyo, yet we're not in danger. I feel that something is going to happen soon. Something I am supposed to prevent."
That evening, Hotohori sat at his desk, stamping documents once again. Across from him Miaka sat leaned over the desk, her chin on her arm, staring at his hands as they moved from page to page. Hotohori felt a mirth that was wrapped in pity for her. Miaka looked utterly wretched with boredom.
She had spent part of today with him, because she had almost started a fight that morning with a guard by saying something that was probably perfectly acceptable in her world, but was not allowable here. While her comment had been amusing to the Emperor, the guard had found it less so. Hotohori had called the guard away before the matter got out of hand.
So he had asked her to let him instruct her further about the duties of the court. But Miaka had begged off, saying she wasn't any good with history, or government, or the fine points of etiquette. And he had left it at that. But Tamahome had heard the offer and encouraged her to go, so a while after lunch, Miaka had sidled up to the Emperor and accepted the lesson. As she followed him around, he explained things that Miaka didn't understand. She had paid attention during the reports from the armies and territories. She was genuinely interested to hear how and which villages had been restored after the raids. But once they left the crowds for the solidarity of this office, she tuned out. The more he explained, the more her attention wandered. He had to agree with her on one point, though. The certifying and stamping of the endless writs was very boring! The corners of his mouth tipped up, and the Emperor set the stamp aside. Miaka was trying to stifle a yawn.
"Well, Miaka. Do you know everything there is to know about the country now?"
"More than I wanted to, I'm sure," she mumbled out the side of her mouth. She pushed back her chair and stood up with an insincere giggle. "Ha-hah, yeah. Thanks for showing all this to me, really, but I don't think I'm cut out for this governmental stuff. I'm just kind of hungry, so I'm going to get something to eat, okay?"
Hotohori sighed and waved at the chair. "Miaka please. Sit back down."
She scooted the chair back to the desk. "Miaka, I'm sorry. I should have realized what a bore this would be for you. I had just hoped you would find it helpful."
Miaka waved off his concern. "Oh, that's all right, Hotohori. It was all stuff I needed to know anyway." She picked up the stamp and began to fiddle with it. "And some of it was really interesting, after all. It's just this part is really, um, well, that is, it's just that, well, it feels like jail. That's all. We haven't done anything for hours except sit here and read this stuff." She dropped her head forward, without thinking, and her forehead landed on the bright red stamp. "Ow!" She sat up and wiped the mark, smearing the ink across her face.
Hotohori didn't say anything. He knew exactly what she meant about jail, and he agreed with her.
Miaka went into a super-deformed fit, rubbing the ink with her arm, her skirt and even on Hotohori's sleeve.
"Yes. Your spirit is too free to be locked in a cage, even one as beautiful as this." He waved his hand at the gold ornamented ceiling and titled floor. Miaka had climbed up on the desk. She sat back on her heels, red-faced and fuming at the ink. "The life of the Priestess is weighing on you. I can tell." He thought of her playing in the forest of the northern kingdom. "Chasing a fish in a stream is more suitable to your personality. I'm sure you miss your world."
Miaka's deformed state snapped back to normal. She looked at her hands, resting on her knees. "Hotohori? Remember when we were in the northern kingdom? I lost the flowers you gave to me."
Hotohori nodded. "Don't worry. They were just flowers."
Miaka slid her feet over the edge. "They weren't just flowers. When you took that arrow for me, I thought I would never see you again! And when I dropped them, I lost the last thing you gave to me. But while we were searching for you, we found a whole field of them, and I thought of you."
The Emperor's face was wistful. "I've never seen a whole field of friendship flowers. They need cold winters; so it's rare to find them here. It must have been very lovely."
Miaka's eyes tipped up into smiling bows. "It sure was, and they smelled great! But I was thinking about finding you." She selected a piece of paper and pushed the page around the desktop with her finger. "I kept thinking you were probably dead already, so I picked some of the flowers and brought them back with me. Then, when I heard you were okay, I was going to give them to you, but I forgot them in the shrine, and I guess somebody stole them, or threw them out 'cause they disappeared. They did get kind of ratty on the trip."
The Emperor put his hand on her arm to stop her babbling and smiled. "Miaka, would you like to have them back?"
"What?"
"The flowers."
Hotohori reached into the collar of his robe and pulled out a large gold locket. He drew the long chain over his head and handed the necklace to Miaka. "If you open it, be careful they don't fall out."
Miaka held the locket in her cupped hands. The metal was warm from being against the Emperor's body, and the locket had a lovely etched pattern, around which a distorted image of herself was reflected back. Miaka popped open the clasp.
A fresh fragrance wafted out of the locket. And there, to her startled eyes, were a dozen pressed and dried blooms, as sweet and purple as she remembered them.
"Hotohori? You took them?"
"Yes. When I came back from Mount Rekakou, I went to the shrine to pray and found the vase there. At first, I thought it was a trap set by Tamahome. Remember I thought I had killed you, and he was the one who knew. But there was no trap other than that they reminded me of you. In the end, I kept them."
Miaka closed the locket and the fragrance faded. She covered the shining gold with her hands, then handed it back. Hotohori gently pushed her hand back.
"Keep the locket," Hotohori told her. "It's yours."
"Wow! Really? Thank you! It's beautiful!" Miaka slipped the chain around her neck, then held the locket up, watching it spin. She dropped the locket to her chest and put her hand over it. "I'm glad I have them back."
Their eyes met. There was an intenseness in the Emperor's gaze, but Hotohori looked away and rose from his chair. "I think it is time to eat. Why don't you go now, and I will be along shortly."
"Okay!" Miaka bounded off the desk, as if the moment had never happened, and ran out of the room, a flurry of skirts and ribbons.
Hotohori sat back down. He stared at the empty door a moment longer, then turned back to the desk. The stack of papers was shorter, but not even close to finished. He sighed and picked up the next page.