Voices of all tones and arrays had not stopped sounding for the past week, and Soul was sick of them. If it wasn't his father, it was his brother, or a maid, or even Star at the preliminary engagement meetings. Each one incessantly prattled on about who she was, when would she get here, and—as Medusa had mentioned—the unfortunate implications of that poor girl marrying such a beast.
"I haven't given it permission to choose a bride," his old man hissed.
"Father–" Wes was already doing his best to placate as the eternal buffer between Soul and their father in any storm.
"That thing"—an aged hand wafted in Soul's direction as if to shoo away a mongrel—"owes its life to Asura. I feed it, I house it, but I will not bend to any of its whims."
"Remember"—Wes cooed to the old man—"this would please Asura. If you want his attention, you'll let Soul marry, let Soul have children–"
"More little demons," his father muttered.
Soul only tilted his head, reading all the little signs of Wes's building frustration.
"He is what he is, Father."
He couldn't help the sigh that Wes's words brought to his lips. Yes, a demon, a monster, an 'it.' I guess I should at least be happy you consider me a man, huh, Wes? Soul glanced at his father, the greying hair, the almost black, beady eyes. What would it take? Not my birth, not my marriage, not my death– none of it would prove that I'm anythin' other than a pawn, a piece to gather power to your name.
"And the match is quite suitable." Wes unfurled the documents Star had created. How much of it was true was entirely lost on Soul, but his brother seemed completely enamored with all it promised. Luckily, his father didn't seem all that far behind as wide eyes trailed along each entry on the page. "See? It's definitely a substantial dowry."
The old man scanned for only a moment more before glaring at Soul. "And what does she know of you?"
Soul shrugged, only a modicum of satisfaction coming from the ire that produced from the aged man.
"She knows of his standing," Wes interjected smoothly. "Her brother has said she's a perfect picture of refinement. A woman born to be a wife."
Refinement! Soul just caught the snicker that wanted to escape his lips. What I wouldn't give to have her hear this right now. To see her face– That brought him to a pause, especially as his heart shook a beat out of time. He hadn't seen her face, not since that night she'd checked up on him, and– I miss it. He dropped his eyes, focusing on his hand and remembering the way hers felt sitting overtop of it. I miss her. Even just seein' her face– just knowin' she's there–
"She'll be arriving tomorrow. Since they're coming from afar, I've offered the annex to them along with Soul's servants– the maid and the physician." Wes instantly put up a placating hand as if it would soften the blow of his next sentence. "Soul will take a room here in the main house."
His father's tongue snapped with rage. "Next you'll expect–"
"He'll take meals with us, like a normal man of the house would," Wes lowered his voice along with his head to beg forgiveness for the words. "We have to give them the sense that he's one of us so that the match doesn't fail."
It should have been a dagger in the back, but Soul felt little more than the urge to sigh again. Yes, pretend that I'm like you, even though I'm not.
"It won't make a damn difference," his father hissed. "We both know what happens to anyone with that thing– that woman will just end up like your mother."
There was no resisting the clench of his fists.
"I promise, this girl will be nothing like that," Wes urged back. "She knows her place."
For all the lingering rage, it started to slip through his fingers at the reminder of her. No, she's nothin' like Mother, and she does know her place—Soul had to bring up his hand to cover his lips, hiding a gentle smirk—except her place would be above you, foot on your back after she beats the brains out of you.
Heavy. Burdensome. Chaos entirely made out of cloth. And now Maka had to drag that stylish but onerous kimono into a hall filled with mostly idiots. Whispering maids, hissing retainers, and Black Star were the prime source of annoyance but all of them paled in comparison to one man: Takehiko. Soul had never uttered that name to her, but after those initial engagement meetings, Star had said it like a curse. Maka couldn't say the sight of him didn't deserve the treatment.
While he was definitely only a few steps out of the grave, Takehiko's umber eyes still spoke of cold intellect rather than the dullness of age. His rigidness was the only current likeness between him and Soul, though Maka was sure the latter's was entirely out of nervousness.
"May I introduce Lord Black Star from across the seas and his beloved sister, Lady Maka."
Instead of the introduction, Maka heard Marie clearly in her mind: "Your breath propels you forward. The gown is nothing more than an extension of yourself. Move with it rather than against it."
"What a beauty!" Wes exclaimed as he rushed forward. Regardless of his exclamation, it was Star's hand he reached for first, a firm shaking bringing another deluge of sweetness. "You certainly held back, Star. She's exquisite!"
It took every last ounce of Maka's self control to prevent her from rolling her eyes. Yes, a beautiful delicate flower! Ready to be sold off by my "brother" to some man I've never met. While the sarcasm sat bitterly on her tongue, she turned her attention to Soul.
He'd just gotten to his feet, for once dressed finely in a new, stark-white kosode. His hakama was the usual black, but over his shoulders he wore a scarlet haori layered with a maple leaf yuzen pattern. It matched his eyes perfectly, made even clearer by the fact that they'd gone wide at the sight of her. He took a few steps, mouth hanging open with words obviously struggling to move beyond his tongue.
"Brother…" Wes turned, motioning Soul forward. "You know, it's not polite to stare, even at a beautiful woman." Eyes filled with mirth and amusement came back to Maka, an award-winning smile gleaming. "Lady Maka, it's a pleasure to have you with us."
Maka didn't have to feign the blush, especially under Soul's continued scrutiny as he moved to stand beside his brother. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you and your brother, Lord Wes."
"Please, just Wes."
"And please, stop flatterin' her," Star muttered under his breath. "Listen, here she is. Any problems?"
"You can't be in that much of a rush," Wes chuckled as he started back towards the dais and his father, motioning for the rest to follow.
Soul offered her a smile she recognized, not a rigid farce that matched the occasion but one like all the hundreds they'd shared over books– or tea– or a meal… I missed him. She tried to batter down the thought but it insisted on having its say, echoing a few times in her head. I was right about how strange it would be not to see him, and now… I hate that we're in a room full of people.
Star broke her from her thoughts with a brusk catch of her elbow, pulling her a few off-kilter steps forward. "Don't open your mouth," he hissed close to her ear.
Maka so desperately wanted to crack a book across his skull, but with Takehiko's eyes boring into her she had no choice but to swallow it. Remember: a dutiful little wife-to-be for now. Put on the show– no matter how much you despise it. "My great lordship," she murmured with as much reverence as she could produce while subtracting herself from Star's hold. Dropping to her knees, Maka bowed her head only inches from Takehiko just as Wes took the space next to him.
A grunt was all she received in reply.
"Please let me offer you a token– a toast to the union of myself to your son." Maka sat up slowly as she spoke, trying to ease her spine rather than snap it like Marie had advised. A servant arrived next to her on cue, a delicate set of sake cups and flask filled with the finest that she only just kept Star from guzzling the night before. As in her classes all week before, Maka pulled back her sleeve before reaching for the cups, passing them one by one to each of the men.
As she stopped at Soul, she almost faltered as the sweet words left his lips: "Thank you." It was a break from tradition as silence was supposed to be the only offering of the men in return.
Maka could only nod, swiftly bringing the last cup to Star. Next was the sake, the flask cool in her hands as she arrived at Takehiko's feet. She knelt again, tipping the hazy liquid into the saucer as she intoned: "A blessing to unite our two houses."
It was customary to pause– to show the respect of waiting for the head of the house to drink his fill and have his glass refreshed before even moving to the next. Purely out of luck, Maka had begun to bow her head in an attempt to be as delicate a lady as possible.
It only served to keep the sake from her eyes as the saucer forcefully flung towards her. She sputtered, pulling back her hair to keep the stinging liquid from ruining her sight. As she raised her head, ready to spit every last bit of vitriol she could manage, she froze.
Two cracks had sounded: one being Takehiko's cup but the other Soul's as he flung it to the side. With his hands free, he had snatched his father's offending wrist, twisting it back far enough that Maka could see the muscles strain. Takehiko's smug leer was instantly erased, fear catapulting the man back against his better judgment in an attempt to create space between himself and his son.
"Soul!" Wes shouted but stayed motionless.
"Do anythin' like that to her again," Soul hissed low as he followed his father to continue bearing down on him, "and I will let you see the monster you think I really am."
"Brother, please–"
As soon as the begging started, Soul released his father. He was quick to turn back to Maka while stripping his haori off his shoulders.
"No, it's–" Maka attempted to bring her hands up to stop him but he was already sweeping the coat around her and scooping her up to her feet.
It didn't matter the protests and voices behind them, Soul was on a collision course with the outside, still holding his haori gently around her. "I'm takin' you home," he muttered as they hit the fresh air.
Maka didn't bother to fight, the low vibration of his rage shivering straight through the cloth to her skin. That threat was real. He's never been so cold. "Soul?"
He sighed, and suddenly all that fury seemed to leave him with the breath. His fingers spoke of tenderness instead, as soft as the silk that separated them. "Sorry, not home, I guess, just… you can finally see the house."
Is that the first time I've heard pride in his voice? Maka peeked out from behind the haori, catching the pleasant hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. She let that slip away as they reached the courtyard, the engawa inviting her with all the promises of their old memories. He helped her up onto the deck, keeping the kimono from weighing her down.
The front room was now entirely restored to the great hall it used to be, light overtaking every dark corner that had threatened to swallow him whole. Gone were the stained mats and the slats of wood that hid the windows. Now it was all daylight and fresh air, set up as a living room to receive even the most formal of company. Soul slowed in the middle of it, finally releasing her and allowing Maka to slide the haori down to her shoulders. "You did all this by yourself?"
"Not bad, huh?"
While it should have been the room taking her attention, it was the flecks of joy that had brought his eyes alive again that trapped her. "I think you've done the place justice."
Soul cracked a grin, a breathy laugh leaving his mouth. That pleasure existed for another few moments as he looked around the room until his eyes fell back on her. Much of it had drifted away by the time he lifted his mask. "Listen…"
Maka shook her head firmly. "You don't have to, Soul."
His shoulders settled, one hand drifting between them before falling back to his side uselessly. "He used to do the same thing to my mother."
Her chin continued on its trajectory, another negation coming quickly. "You said… you said he was in love with her."
A harsh laugh burst from his mouth. "My father's love is earned, and my mother had it until just after my brother was born." That hand clenched into a fist, the knuckles moving to dig into his thigh. "What he did was a test, and you passed," he muttered bitterly to the floor. "He wanted to see if he could embarrass you without you doin' a thing about it. It's his game, Maka, but I won't let him do that to you."
"Soul, I…" Part of her wanted to scream about foolish protections, but the weighty sadness in his face brought her tongue to a halt.
"It's the least I can do." A bit of his smile came back with the murmur. "You're doin' me a favor, right? So just let me protect you from what I can for now."
Maka nodded slowly.
"Alright, well…" His eyes darted around the room for a moment before he took a step forward to pass her. "Your room's just where I said. You'll find some more clothes, and you know where the bath is. Wash the sake away and try to forget." She turned, watching him step onto the engawa only to halt. His fist tapped at his thigh a few times before he glanced back at her. "You cut your hair."
It had completely fallen to the back of her mind so Maka had to reach up as if to remind herself. The sake still plastered some of the hair to her but it was no longer just the smooth tresses she was used to. Marie had straight-cut the strands framing her face. "It's the style for engaged women," Maka murmured. "Plus, Marie said I didn't really have anyone fooled as Masao so I should try a little harder to look different."
"It looks nice." He tried to wave his hand to add some kind of nonchalant air to it, but Maka saw him work nervously through a swallow. "All of it– you look nice."
"So do you," Maka replied as she finally remembered to pull the haori from her shoulders. "I'm just sorry your jacket got ruined." She tried to offer it back to him, but he simply turned his back to her.
"It's too fancy for me." He chuckled as he took another step, giving her no chance to hand it off.
She pulled the silk back to her chest, fingers fiddling in the weave as she watched him go. I should have argued… A sigh rattled her. There's no point in him protecting me. I don't need him to. I don't need him– whether I'm doing him a favor or not, I don't. A firm nod followed the thought as she moved back towards the hallway.
There wasn't a cobweb or floating assortment of lint to be seen, all the floors shining from a fresh mopping. Maka followed the way he'd shown her to the side by side doors, opening the one he'd designated as her room. It was quaint– definitely only slightly bigger than the room she and Jackie had shared back at Shibusen. Bedding had already been arranged and beside it was a finely decorated trunk.
Maka was unable to unravel her fingers, bringing the haori with her to kneel in front of the chest. Opening it exposed an array of kimonos, yukatas, and sleeping robes to keep her in all the colors the world had to offer. While a wave of joy threatened to take her, her mind stubbornly tried to set her back. I'm not some princess. If all I'm here to do is to get finery–
Her heart tried to beat back just as tenaciously, fighting against that useless complaint. Maka slammed the chest shut in hopes of silencing it, but with the lid shut her view behind it was unobscured, showing the shelving of books that had somehow missed her initial notice. There were the new ones she had bought as Masao, but sprinkled among them were ones she didn't recognize. She moved on her knees to get close enough, hand running along the spines to process all the new names. The last tome—a bright robin's egg blue—trapped her.
The Bamboo Cutter and the Moon Child.
The old one was just a finger crawl away, leaving this new one even more stunning. Finery was one thing, but books were a treasure. Books were a commodity that even in Maka's wildest dreams having duplicates seemed like a sinful waste of money. She finally released the haori to her lap so she could pull it from the stacks, opening the cover with itching curiosity. It was no simple retelling of the tale but a beautiful, painstakingly illustrated masterpiece.
While the stink of the drying sake should have been driving her to the bath and then back to the chest for fresh clothes, Maka was glued to each page instead. It was her favorite, but no one other than her Papa should have known that. No one else should have seen through to the real joy that washed over her every time the moon child was found, or the amusement at the failure of those future suitors at their trials for the grown princess's love. Finally, the ending always filled her papa's eyes with tears while Maka had been so sure—so absolutely set—in the idea that it should only bring happiness.
Afterall, Kaguya-hime went home, back to where she belonged regardless of the relationships she'd formed on Earth. Regardless of who loved her, and who she might have grown to love. It was her duty to go back to be with her people, not live in the finery of some palace or marry any mere man.
So when she arrived at the last page, that final ascension, Maka expected an easy smile on her lips as her heart settled. Instead, she found her hand once again settling on the haori, fingers straining into the fabric.
