Year One: Summer
Daylight is beginning to streak across the horizon, and Byakuya is already awake. It's the heat. Even in these early morning hours, the summer's sweltering is fierce. When he pulled himself out of bed in the hazy lavender shades of pre-dawn, his skin was already slick with sweat and his hair damp. He forced himself to the bath, and, after, he wasn't sure if he had accomplished anything since the steam from the hot water pulled more sweat from him.
Now, he sits at his desk, staring at one of the letters that he had received the night before. He had been terribly drunk then, nearly obliterated. He had wanted so desperately to flee the social gathering that his family had forced upon him; however, the only escape afforded to him came in an unsightly clay bottle of questionable provenance.
Upon his return home, Byakuya spotted the letter set on his desk. In his stupor, he had managed to convince himself it was a dream.
It was no dream.
There it sits, a small rectangle of white. The envelope's edges are crisply folded, the family kamon is emblazoned in red, the script is immaculate, and a deep foreboding fills him at the sight of it. Because he instinctively knows. He knows what news the envelope holds.
When he peels back the flap, his suspicions become stark reality. Inside is a formal summons to a family meeting scheduled for today. The reason for this demand, however, is left unstated. It is always left unstated. Byakuya assumes an agenda is circulated amongst the more senior members of his family, but he is not privy to such information.
Logic and experience tell Byakuya that he is being summoned, not requested, because his family plans to announce their intentions concerning the Shimazu family. If this is the case, then Byakuya has no doubt that they plan to demand his complete compliance with whatever arrangement into which they've entered.
His jaw locks as he considers what form this compliance will take. He imagines there will be an informal marriage arrangement. This seems to be the most prudent next step-not that his family is always prudent-since he doubts that they will risk the strength of their relationship with the Shimazu family if divorce seems a possible result. Yes, the messiness of divorce has set more than a few families against each other in recent years.
What else can he do, though? He has derided Tomoe and made his contempt toward her known. He went as far as to confess these feelings to her at one of the events last season. This confession sent her into an untethered spiral, and this spiral is what led to the reports that he had callously abandoned her at a spring festival. Perhaps he should have abandoned her. If only such an option had been available to him….
And yet she persists.
Does he need to lock her in an attic and set the manor on fire for her to understand that he does not want her?
"Milord," calls Maejima from behind his door.
"Yes?"
"Lord Sōjun Kuchiki requests your presence for breakfast, milord."
"In a moment," Byakuya responds, gaze returning to the summons.
His father would think to prepare him for the meeting. Perhaps he should be thankful for this bit of charity. Rising to his feet, however, Byakuya struggles to muster a single drop of gratitude. His heart is already filled too full with dread and disappointment.
"Byakuya," Father greets him the moment he enters the room.
As is custom, Byakuya bows politely. "Good morning." When he straightens, he finds Father working through one of the puzzles in the newspaper.
"How are your studies going?" Father asks, sparing him only the most cursory of glances.
Byakuya sinks down to his sitting mat, head hanging low, and he stares miserably into his bowl of rice. "Well," he manages, voice weak and unconvincing.
"Have you made any progress with your mastery of hadō seventy-three?"
"Yes, Father."
Father peers over the top of the paper. "You seem awfully sullen this morning," he notes, pausing to consider Byakuya for a moment longer. "Is anything the matter?"
"No, Father."
"I see." His father returns to his puzzle, and a heavy silence falls over them.
Byakuya pushes his rice and fish around with his chopsticks before taking measured bites. The food tastes like ash in his mouth, and giving up, he sets his chopsticks aside and stares grimly into his tea.
"I take it that you received the summons from the elders last night?" asks Father, finally.
Byakuya nods. "Yes, Father."
"I imagine that you have drawn a conclusion as to what this family meeting may entail."
Byakuya cannot speak. He's too overwhelmed with words. Horrible, spiteful words. Words more fitting for a caged beast than an heir. He swallows these words down with his tea, which leaves him with nothing to say.
"I also imagine you feel a certain way about what happens next," Father continues and issues Byakuya an imploring look.
Byakuya frowns.
Feelings don't matter in the House of Kuchiki. If they did, that summons wouldn't be sitting on his desk. The elders have an idea in their head, and they have likely consummated some version of this idea already. The meeting today is little more than performance art, meant to hammer Byakuya further into place.
"You do not wish to share these feelings, then, I take it." Father's features soften, and Byakuya looks away, choosing instead to stare at the fusuma on the opposite wall.
The painting is of two cranes, squawking at one another. The birds' contours are sketched out with hasty strokes, and the colors are muted blues and greens. Just behind them is a small teahouse on a lake. Byakuya wishes he were there and not here.
Father sighs. "Your attendant noted that you've taken to walking at night. Almost every night, for nearly a year. Where do you go, Byakuya?"
"Are you commanding me to cease my evening strolls?" asks Byakuya, words filed down and pointed.
"No, Byakuya, I'm not commanding any such thing. I am merely noting that you seem preoccupied as of late. And, when you're not preoccupied with whatever thoughts possess you, you have taken to sulking. It's unbecoming behavior for an heir."
"Are you commanding me to cease my sulking, then?"
"Byakuya."
"Well, what do you want from me, Father?"
It's obvious to Byakuya that Father is driving at something. Perhaps he is preparing Byakuya for the queries that Byakuya will face at the hands of the elders. They've probably drawn the conclusion that Byakuya's indifference toward Tomoe is different in some way from the disregard that he has shown to the other suitresses. He doesn't think his behavior has changed. What has changed is his family's desire for him to find a suitable wife. It has gone from insistent to obsessive in a year flat.
Byakuya also assumes his family knows his romantic interests lie elsewhere. He thinks the elders mean to pin his indifference toward Tomoe on that. This, too, is all part of the performance. Summoning him to the meeting so that they may pull this information out of him is unnecessary if the goal is fact-gathering. The goal, however, is not the simple gathering of facts. No, the goal is to chastise him for lowering himself so openly, for risking the family's name, for debasing them through his actions.
Byakuya doesn't care for this narrative.
"Who are you seeing on these walks?" Father's voice tears through Byakuya's thoughts.
"No one."
Father loosens a sigh the way an archer loosens an arrow, and his gaze flies to the garden on display through the open door. "It's the girl, isn't it? The former maid. Hisana." Byakuya thinks Father means for his guess to come in the form of a question; instead, it sounds like a foregone conclusion.
"Why did you send her away?" Byakuya asks, bracing against the pain. The pain hurts more than he anticipated-sparking and electric- feeling like a fuse snaking across his chest.
"I didn't send her away," says Father. "Returning to the Academy was her decision."
Byakuya swiftly protests this obvious lie, "She had left the Academy without proper authority. Protocol dictates that she should not have been able to regain adm—"
"I wrote a letter of recommendation, and I asked Shunsui to do the same. This satisfied the Academy's reservations, and they waived this provision in their internal policies."
Father pauses to consider Byakuya once more. "But, you're not really interested in the Academy's internal processes, are you? You want to know why she left, and I can't answer that question. I can only assume she thought she had a better chance at making more of her life there than she could as a maid, which may be the case. She seems talented. It's possible that she may rise through the ranks of the Gotei 13. Perhaps she will become a lieutenant, and, then, you can openly see her again."
Byakuya scowls.
Father is mocking him. He doesn't really believe Hisana is capable of attaining the rank of a lieutenant any more than Byakuya believes that Hisana asked to return to the Academy. But, he'll bite on this obvious lie. "Becoming a lieutenant would take fifty years at minimum."
Father's gaze shifts from the garden to him. "Lucky for you, the wives of this family don't survive for long. You'll likely be a widower in fifty years' time."
"I don't wish to marry Tomoe."
"Well, you can't marry Hisana. Such a union is against our laws."
"I can wait, can't I? I have many years ahead of me."
"It is doubtful that either your grandfather or I have fifty years left to spare. Protocol dictates that the bloodline—"
Byakuya immediately bulks at this notion. "Bloodline?" he chaffs. There it is: his family's constant posturing even among itself like a dragon eating its own tail. "There are cousins and branch families and—"
"And none of those cousins nor any of those branch families possesses the strength demonstrated in our line. If we do not—"
"I am not interested in taking part in a breeding program, Father."
"Either way, Byakuya," Father says, brooking no further argument, "protocols demand that the line of succession be secure before you take over as the Captain of the Sixth. Will you wait for her, then, potentially leaving our family's post open for… others… to claim?"
"I would," says Byakuya. "If that is what is demanded, but I don't believe such demand will ever be forced. The family would never cede such power."
"Foolishness, Byakuya." Father's eyes narrow, the gleam burning in them sharpens. "I thought you had outgrown such childish fantasies and understood your place and the responsibilities that you must bear."
Byakuya looks away. "You sound like Grandfather."
"Hisana may never attain such rank, Byakuya. What is your plan then? Abandon your duty? Your family? Your unit?"
"If my family would cut ties with me over who I take as my wife, then those bonds were never strong enough to keep."
Father's gaze flicks up to the ceiling as if he cannot believe where the course of this conversation has gone. "Love makes fools of us all," he says, voice low, almost sympathetic. "But, this will pass, Byakuya. I promise. It will. And once it does, you will do better to have the support of your family to that of a woman who you will come to resent."
"Resent?"
"Yes, resentment tends to follow once reason and logic set in, once you realize the price you paid was not worth the cost of a feeling, no matter how pretty it may seem to you now. Feelings are fleeting things, Byakuya. They can never be a frame or a bedrock on which to build your life."
Byakuya's fingers curl into fists, and he turns his head so that he may stare longingly at the door. He would like to leave with haste, but Father has not dismissed him.
"I know this is not what you want to hear, but sometimes letting go, while painful, is fortifying. It allows space for growth."
"And, sometimes letting go only leads to regret and more pain." A fact he knows well.
"I understand you feel very passionately right now, but give it time. This, too, will fade, and one day you will struggle to remember this moment and these thoughts."
Byakuya stares at his father. He wants to say something pointed, something heated, something angry and explosive, but misery seals his mouth shut and forces his head down further.
"Let us move on to happier subjects." Father reaches under the table and produces a small stack of papers, which he sets in front of him. "The family has arranged for a trial marriage with Tomoe," he continues, paging through the term sheet. "She and her things will arrive at the estate in a week's time, and she will remain here during the trial period of a year. At the end of her tenure, you will be wed in the spring of the following year. That is the agreement into which our family and the Shimazu have entered, Byakuya."
"It is only a trial, then. Under what conditions may the trial fail?"
"The families' word or her word only."
"No."
"No?" Father's brows raise in mocking amusement. "You don't have any levera—"
"Exile me now. Or wait and I will formalize it at the meeting."
"Byakuya, don't be dramatic."
"I do not agree to those terms."
"You don't get a say—"
"I do, and I refuse."
"What conditions, then, do you propose?"
Byakuya lowers his gaze. "If either of us objects upon the end of the trial period, then the arrangement terminates, and we will not be wed."
"So, you consent to the trial?"
No. He does not consent, not in the traditional usage of that word. However, if this concession will guarantee a way for him to fully and cleanly extricate himself from a doomed arranged marriage, he will suffer Tomoe for a year.
"I will consent, but it will be a true trial. I will not be burdened with the expectations or intimacies of a legal husband."
Father nods. "Understood. I think the family will be agreeable to this amendment."
Father then picks up his papers and leaves Byakuya sitting alone and bristling at the unsettling feeling that he has somehow sold himself short in this negotiation.
Guilt plagues Byakuya for the rest of the day. He wishes he could see Hisana now and explain to her this arrangement before she hears about it from her peers or, worse yet, reads about it in one of the sources that passes for news in the city. He, however, is not afforded such luxury. Instead, he must hold the dim light of hope that maybe, just maybe, the story will run in the morning's paper, and he can break the news to her tonight.
She is going to react poorly, he thinks.
While Hisana doesn't subscribe to the traditional notions of propriety, she is not without scruples. Her scruples, however vast in number as they may seem to him, are often inscrutable to his mind. She'll probably view a trial marriage not as it is meant—a sham-and see it as an engagement that she will not desire to run afoul of.
His heart drops every time his mind presses on this conclusion.
"Hey," calls a friendly voice from his right.
Before Byakuya can react, his cousin is jabbing her elbow into his.
"Stop brooding," she teases.
It's Yasuko. Her mother, Haruko, is his eldest aunt, and Grandfather's first-born child. She also sways considerable power amongst the Kuchiki elders. Her daughter, however, is a professional socialite, but mostly harmless.
Mostly.
"You know, you were an easier child," says Yasuko, jabbing him harder. This time her elbow finds bone, and he jerks away from her reach. "There it is; there's the fire."
"Yasuko," he warns.
"So, little Byakuya is getting married." Her voice sings out so loudly that it draws the attention of several other family members waiting in the courtyard to be called upon by the elders.
"I am not."
Her brows shoot up, almost to her hairline. "No?" she gasps in mock outrage. "Although, I'm not surprised at your hesitance. Tomoe is a bore," she quickly adds.
"I'm not hesitant."
"Fine," she sighs. "Recalcitrance. Is that better?"
Not particularly. He is more hostile toward the arrangement in a general sense and steadfast in his decision not to bend to the family on this front.These feelings, however, are not fit to share so he asks instead, "Why are you here?"
"Divorce."
He lifts a brow as if to say, "go on."
Yasuko purses her lips and shrugs. "It didn't work out."
"An arranged marriage not lasting?" Color him surprised.
"I know! Whoever would have thought?" She grins up at him. "Unfortunately for me, the husbands who marry into the family tend to stick around like bad air."
Oh, yes, the alleged Kuchiki curse only strikes the wives who marry into the family. This myth, which gets retold at every family gathering, omits several key details as to why the women spend more quickly than the men. One of those details being that a large number of the women meet their deaths during childbirth, a fate that the men do not have to endure.
"Apparently, if you stay married for fifty years, the family throws you a big shindig," she continues.
"You wanted to avoid that event," he surmises given the timing.
Yasuko nods. "Yeah. Really did not need a celebration to our undying love." She nearly gags on the last few words.
"How is Auntie taking the news?"
"You know," she begins and shrugs her shoulders. "Poorly, but Mom takes everything poorly. I'm surprised the Flowers Quarters didn't flood over from all of her tears. Fake tears, mind you. The woman wouldn't know a genuine emotion if such a thing clapped her on the ass."
"I'm certain genuine tears were shed when she realized the number of supply routes that the Matsunaga family holds and the possibility of divorce ripping those away from the family's investments." As soon as he says the words, his heart sinks.
This sinking feeling only intensifies when he stares down at Yasuko, who is nervously biting her lip. Her expression morphs from one of scornful bitterness to pitying guilt.
The reason she found him in the courtyard was to give him a warning in the only way that any member of his family knows how: Indirectly. Her divorce is going to cost the family, and they are going to look to him and the possibility of securing an alliance with the Shimazu family as a way of shoring up this loss.
Unbelievable timing.
"I'm sorry, Byakuya," she says, glancing up at him with soulful eyes. "Arranged marriages are tough. I think the best you can hope for is mutual apathy."
Byakuya's lips part to respond, but the words scatter in his head as soon as he hears his name. It's Seike Nobutsune, the steward, who calls from the doorway that leads to the Great Hall, where the elders have convened.
Seike lifts his chin once their eyes meet. "Your presence is requested by the council, milord."
Byakuya gives a slight nod. Before he can take a step forward, Yasuko bumps his arm with hers one last time and says, "Good luck in there. Their fangs are sharp today."
It has been a long while since Byakuya last observed the humbling protocols of entering a family meeting. First, there is the bowing on the floor. Then, there is the effacing request for entry. Finally, there is the uncomfortable manner in which he must little himself as he crosses the room to where his father sits.
In his younger years, Byakuya would practice for hours in anticipation of this moment, burning the little hesitations and gaffes from his muscle memory. He was all too excited and eager to be part of his family's decision-making apparatus. Even more, he wanted desperately to imitate his elders' mannerisms and wisdom.
In a word, he was an idiot.
Now, he sits dressed in his finest silk staring into the dimly lit corner of the room, the corner where the shadows linger untouched by lantern light. He has sought respite in this pitch-black place for nearly a century now.
"This is a reminder that we are fifteen minutes over the assigned time for this topic," says Nori Yokoyama, Aunt Haruko's personal secretary and the currently elected House Secretary for purposes of ensuring the agenda is followed and reporting the meeting minutes to the senior family members for approval and certification.
"We can table this topic for further discussion," says Grandfather.
"Agree. We should move on to the Shimazu arrangement," says Aunt Haruko. "Nori, please note that we will discuss the Conservation Project at the next meeting."
"Yes, milady."
Byakuya's gaze drops to the table, where he finds the cup of tea that has been poured for him. He has never seen his father or his grandfather eat or drink at one of these meetings. Their cups are always full, and their bowls are always empty. Perhaps it's because their opinions are constantly being sought by the other elders that neither deem it worth the trouble. Or perhaps they think it indecorous. Byakuya has always adhered to this unspoken protocol without question.
Today, he takes a sip of tea when he hears Nori read the terms that Father had supplied him that morning.
"Oh, there's an amendment," she says, flipping to the next page, surprise pitching her tone up a few octaves.
"An amendment?" echoes Aunt Haruko.
Byakuya takes another sip, wishing it was sake, not tea, filling his cup.
"Yes. It amends the termination conditions to allow either of the intendeds to terminate the arrangement at the end of the trial period. Previously, only the families or Lady Tomoe Shimazu could terminate the arrangement at such time."
"Oh?" Aunt Haruko's voice hits a particularly high note.
Byakuya sets his cup down, gaze returning to that dark corner of the room.
"Yes, Haruko," replies Father, "marriages are reciprocal arrangements. It would be unfair for the lady to terminate without affording Byakuya the same consideration."
"What's the point, then, Sōjun? We all know how that will end. I find it difficult to believe that the Shimazu family will accept this change."
"I have discussed this modification already with Yoshinori. The Shimazu are aggregable to it," Father says, voice even and smooth.
Aunt Haruko chortles. "And, what comfort do we have from you and Byakuya that this termination condition will not be used in bad faith? This arrangement is time and resource-intensive. I, for one, do not wish to spend all this effort only for Byakuya to ignore his duties for a year as he waits for the term to end."
Vague sounds of agreement fill the hall, which encourages Auntie to continue, "We need a clear direction as to the line of succession. If we are assuming Byakuya's claim is valid then—"
"We are not litigating the current line of succession, Haruko," interrupts Father.
"Then, he needs to marry and produce an heir. It is his duty to this family, and it needs to be put to bed soon. Especially—" Her voice cracks.
Byakuya braces against the urge to scowl when Auntie starts to sob.
Yasuko was correct.
Auntie has never felt a genuine emotion.
"I am aware that your daughter's imminent divorce is a complication—"
"We are about to lose our supply lines in key territories that are partial to the Tsunayashiro. The Tsunayashiro are no fools, Sōjun," interrupts Hisashi Kuchiki, the leader of the second major branch family. "They are likely rushing to bring the Matsunaga back into the fold tonight. We are going to lose key access points, and the money and investments that we have already made in these areas are going to be seized by the Matsunaga and Tsunayashiro. This is devastating for us and our affiliates."
"I am aware, Hisashi. However, it is not lost on me that the cause of this injury was a poor match. I agree with you that there is much to gain in bringing the Shimazu under our banner, but there is also a cost if this arrangement goes poorly. A failed trial marriage for Tomoe is an easier wound to mend than a failed marriage," Father argues. "Especially a failed marriage after a year-long trial."
"I want assurances from your son, then, Sōjun. He needs to have skin in the game. We are exhausted by the callous indifference that he has displayed and continues to display this far into the process," cries Auntie.
Byakuya thinks her tears are genuinely felt now.
"Yes, Sōjun, we must have some guarantee of Byakuya's compliance with this arrangement," says Hisashi.
Byakuya catches the flicker of father's shadow out of the corner of his eye, and he girds himself for what will come next.
"What assurances do you require, Haruko?" Grandfather asks, his voice entering the hall, a low quaking rumble.
"We require—"
Father shifts uncomfortably on his sitting mat. "You came prepared, Haruko."
Among the susurrus of papers being straightened, Byakuya swears he hears Auntie grinning. He's too weary to spare her a look, though. Her face is unpleasant enough when she isn't gloating.
"The first assurance that we demand is for Byakuya to attend all pre-planned engagements for the durations scheduled."
Father scoffs. "Byakuya has never missed an engagement."
"Sōjun, don't be so obtuse. You saw the coverage as well as anyone else did. Byakuya reportedly abandoned Tomoe at the spring festival." Auntie feigns scandalization.
"We are now citing The Seireitei Communication as a primary source of authority? In this hall? Truly?" Father counters; notes of disbelief ring loudly in his voice.
"Oh, if you want grievances from a direct source—the lady herself—I am happy to supply them!" counters Auntie.
Byakuya closes his eyes. He cannot wait to hear the charges that Tomoe has thought to level against him.
"Hearsay is not necessary, Haruko," says Grandfather. "Byakuya has never been partial to Tomoe Shimazu, that much is evident."
"Which brings me to the second assurance," begins Auntie. "Outside of engagements formally approved on his calendar, Byakuya may only leave estate grounds if accompanied by a retinue."
At this, Byakuya straightens, gaze flying to Auntie. He wants nothing more than to rip into her as he protests, "I will not—"
Father, however, quickly intervenes, "Ridiculous, Haruko. Such measures are unnecessary."
"I have it on good authority, little brother, that Byakuya has been late for several engagements due to his evening strolls. Attendants and guards alike have been left scrambling to find him. First and foremost, this poses a security risk. We can't have an heir wandering the streets, his whereabouts unknown to the family. He may be taken or, worse, killed. Secondly, we have no insight into where he is going on these walks to ensure propriety is maintained."
"Haruko, truly? A security risk with Byakuya? If there's an opponent beyond his abilities, then our security measures will surely fail as well." Father sucks in his cheeks and shakes his head. "On your second point, say more."
"There are rumors, Sōjun," she hisses. "Rumors that his attention is passionately diverted to," she pauses for a beat then whispers the rest, "an Academy student."
"Byakuya," says Father, "are you seeing a student at the Academy?"
"No," he answers without a moment's hesitation.
"There. He is not seeing an Academy student."
"Haruko, what is your support for such a claim?" asks Grandfather.
"Some of the staff reports that Byakuya was particularly close with a former maid who has since left the family to study at the Academy," Auntie replies.
"So, the basis for casting aspersions on my son's character and seeking to restrain his movement is that staff at one point noted that he was close with one of the maids?" asks Father. "Any other reports to suggest that he has maintained this relationship?"
Auntie huffs. "Tomoe, herself, speculated that Byakuya was interested in another."
"Unless you have better evidence of impropriety, Haruko, then the request that we require a retinue for all unapproved travel is denied," opines Grandfather.
Grandfather's blue gaze then digs into Byakuya's soul. Instantly, Byakuya feels the uncomfortable pressure of a probing, and he relents. His reiatsu uncoils so that Grandfather may search him. For what? Byakuya can only guess.
He assumes that Grandfather wishes to pluck at him for signs of falsity. Whatever Grandfather finds, however, appears to satisfy him, and his attention returns to the council. "I believe we have come to a consensus," he says.
"And what consensus is that, Father?" asks Auntie.
"The arrangement as modified will be proposed by our family for the Shimazu family's approval, and Byakuya will ensure his timeliness to all social engagements."
Auntie scoffs, but before she can protest, Grandfather cuts her off with a firm, "You are dismissed, Byakuya."
Byakuya follows the dismissal procedures. He bows low. He carefully extricates from the table then the room, bows again, and leaves.
When Byakuya finds Hisana at the bridge at twilight, his thoughts are static. They remain static for what feels like eternity. The sun's light is mostly strangling in the darkness that creeps around them, like a dense fog, when his senses return. Only then does he realize that Hisana has lightly looped a finger around one of his own.
It isn't her warm that draws him back to the surface, though. It's magic. Or the lack of it. Unbeknownst to him, Hisana has been threading her magic delicately through his reiatsu like a vine lacing across a lattice wall. The tapestry that she has weaved must have taken her an hour, but he barely notices its sweet effect until it begins to unravel suddenly, violently.
Any sense of calm, of peace, that found Byakuya disappears, and reality slams into him all at once. He feels the jarring heat prickle the back of his neck and cheeks. He smells the pine and the grass. But, mostly, it's the roar of the river that captures his attention. The water's current is swift, but the summer's dryness is beginning to tame it. In a few months, the river will dwindle into a stream and go dormant until the winter's and spring's wetness fills it again.
Hisana watches the river as if it is a predator lurking in the wood. Her hand tenses against his, and he feels her recoil at thoughts that she will never confide in him because of the thing he did to her a year ago.
"Do you wish to—"
Do you wish to talk about it?
"No," she replies before he can finish the question. Then, she looks up at him, her eyes bluer than he remembers, and she forces a wan smile. "Maybe someday."
Maybe someday sounds like a pretty lie.
With a glance, Byakuya reels Hisana away from the grassy bank and that perilous water, and they continue on their stroll. The white noise of the river is the only sound that finds them, obliterating all else, for a long stretch of the path.
The tension in Hisana's hand eases once the sounds of birds chirping and frogs bellowing fill the air. Now, it is his turn to linger on the events of last year, which somehow manages to reach across time to trouble him once more today. "The night before the art exhibition," he says, voice as mild as he's ever heard it.
Hisana lifts her head and nods.
"Did you know, then, that you were going to leave?"
Her expression slips into a somber look, and she nods again.
"Is that why—" He catches himself and exhales a short breath. He shouldn't. The thoughts that come after seem wrong, but he can't help himself. "Is that why you rejected my offer for tea that night?"
The shades of somberness that once painted her quickly give way to a sly grin, and Hisana shakes her head. "I don't remember your offer that night being one for tea, my lord." Dusk's dying light shines bright in her eyes. "But, yes."
"Was there any other reason?"
She smiles at him, features soft and kind. "No."
Byakuya wants to make her the same offer now because he wants her in that way, but also, because a part of him—a terrible part of him—thinks this act may bind her to him tightly enough that she will not seek to cut ties when he confesses the arrangement with Tomoe. His male family members, usually in moments of heady bravado, have spoken at length about how intimacy, once deepened, can ensnare someone. Usually, in these stories, his relatives were gloating over conquests that meant nothing to them but spelled heartbreak for their suitors, as if causing heartbreak was an achievement on par with winning a duel.
Byakuya searches Hisana's face for a long moment. He then glances away, into the thick velvety shadows that snake through the wilderness on their right.
He isn't convinced that he has the skill to lay such emotional snares. Nor, if he's being honest, does he wish to trap Hisana. But, he does want her, and he does not want her to leave him.
"Would you accept an offer for tea now?" he asks.
Her smile dims, and her gaze falls to the dirt path. She considers his offer for a long while. Silence blankets them in the interim, clinging just as thickly as the summer's humid air.
With each step, Byakuya grapples with the realization that Hisana already knows about the arrangement. Perhaps she is struggling through the same mental calculations to which he fell victim earlier that morning.
"My lord is not able to make such an offer in earnest so I can only assume that he makes it now as a means to tease me," she answers, head bowed and brows furrowed.
Byakuya's indignation evaporates at the thought that she misunderstood the nature of his offer as being a cruel gesture of vanity. "I would never tease about such a thing."
She raises her head. "My lord." Notes of sorrow darken her voice, but she refuses the sight of him.
"You know," he says.
She gives a slight nod. "I came tonight to give my congratulations and to say farewell."
He shakes his head. "I don't know what's been reported, but the arrangement is meaningless."
"It doesn't sound meaningless, Byakuya."
"It's a toothless performance. After a year, the ties between her and me will be severed."
Hisana's brows pinch together. She probably wasn't expecting that response. He is rarely so forthcoming about the intricacies of his family's many fictions.
"Why?" she asks.
"You know why. You said it that night on the servants' porch."
"The night you tried to banish me?"
"I was never going to succeed in banishing you," he sighs.
"You didn't know that at the time."
"I would've called you back."
"How capricious."
"I was." Was. It's a slip of the tongue. He's still prone to caprice, but not where she's concerned. His feelings toward her are dogged.
She goes silent for a few long moments before asking, "How long have you known?"
"I learned about the arrangement this morning."
Her jaw tenses, and the little crease between her brows returns. "How long have you suspected, then?"
"I didn't think you'd care."
She chuckles. "You're a terrible liar."
He exhales a sharp breath. "I didn't think it would happen."
"How not? What woman would dare spurn Byakuya Kuchiki?" There is a falseness to her voice that needles him.
"Now, you're teasing me."
"No. Not really. You're—" She holds the note of the last word for a few seconds. "What woman would say no?"
"Would you say, 'no,'?"
Dreadful silence follows his question.
He knows silence isn't an admission that she would refuse him, but refusal is the only interpretation that his mind latches onto. Although, perhaps rejection is the response society demands from her. He's the headstrong, stubborn, hotheaded heir. That's what people say about him. That's the myth of him. So, Hisana has to be none of those things. She has to be cautious and steady and careful and perfect because she shouldn't trust his judgment after being warned so thoroughly, and she thinks that she has far more to lose on this gamble than he does.
He would disagree if only she would say the words. He would tell her that he stands to lose far more than she should their bond be severed. He would tell her that this offer would not be a casual thing to be abandoned at the first hint of trouble, that he has considered this and all the associated consequences long and hard.
And, yet, he doesn't blame her. She's not wrong to question his judgment. He has been reckless, and she has seen his recklessness and its consequences firsthand.
"It doesn't mean anything," he says instead. If he can't convince her to accept such an outcome, he may be able to persuade her that this informal marriage period is a fleeting moment in time.
Her brows rise, and she shakes her head in silent protest.
"It will dissolve, like all the others."
"Others?" she gasps, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Numerous."
"Recently?"
"No."
"So, before we met?"
"Yes."
"When, then?"
"The marriage agreements began when I was young. Very young. I was promised to another. She died during my adolescence. Then, my family arranged another betrothal. The same fate befell that lady, and—"
"What?" Hisana's eyes widen even more. "There are several dead intendeds?"
"Many souls, even ones born in the city, do not live long lives."
"How many dead ladies, Lord Byakuya?"
"Three."
She stares at him, mouth hung open.
He proceeds, as if dead intendeds are normal, everyday occurrences in Seireitei, and with a breeziness ordinarily reserved for commenting on the weather. "Exactly. So, after the third, other families were hesitant to offer their daughters out of superstition."
"Have you ever stopped to consider whether your family is cursed?"
He snorts at this.
"Seriously. Three dead noble girls. Seems like marrying into this family is dangerous business."
"Marrying into any noble family is dangerous business, Hisana. It's a business transaction among individuals whose goals rarely align and who too easily grasp at violence for solutions."
"So, what happened after the third lady died?"
"Nothing for a while. Then, there was the omiai. During which time, my family arranged trial marriages periodically."
"Did you like any of the ladies?"
"No."
"And?" she urges, drawing the word out for a few beats.
"It never worked out. The ladies were all enamored at the thought of marriage but did not like its realities. Several were terribly suited to even the most of mundane chores required to maintain a house. Others wilted under the expectations of the family."
"Did you ever engage with the women?"
He watches her closely. "Intimately, you mean?"
She flushes a little. "No, emotionally."
"I barely met them. I had been sent to training for most of the trial periods. The ladies were rejected by my family, not me."
"So, it's a job interview," she surmises.
"Yes."
"Will you be sent away to train, now?"
"No. My performance is a condition to allowing me to terminate this scheme."
She smirks. "You seem skeptical."
"I am weary," he says. "This is nothing to concern yourself with, Hisana."
"It seems inevitable."
There's a warning in her voice, one that he instantly hears, and his face shutters. "You will not see me once it begins, then?"
"It would be wrong," she says.
"Why?"
"It's improper."
"This is technically improper."
"It would be hurtful."
"Why? We're friends."
Hisana tenses, and she rips her gaze away from him. "She won't think that."
"She won't know."
"She'll find out."
"Then, what?" He wants to define this thing between them. He wants to press her into admitting that what they are isn't just friends.
He wants her confession.
"What would you say?" she asks.
"What would you have me say?"
"Nothing." Hisana wraps her arms around her chest and withdraws into herself.
He, however, remains steady, studying her, trying to memorize her every line, the bend of her lashes, the sweep of her brows, just in case this is the last time he sees her. Silvery moonlight limns her, turning her skin a soft shade of blue.
She is beautiful, he decides, perhaps the most beautiful woman that he has ever beheld, and his heart trembles at the possibility that she feels nothing but friendship between them.
Although, he hasn't exactly confessed his feelings plainly, either.
Neither of them wants to say it. Neither of them wants to be wrong. And, so here they are, the question hanging over them like a sword.
"I'd like to be more," he breaks first, voice low.
Hisana drops her head. "Byakuya," she says with a ragged breath.
"I wish to see you again."
Biting her lip, Hisana is careful to keep her eyes off him. "Goodnight, Lord Kuchiki," she says quickly then turns and begins down the path.
Byakuya watches her.
He should stop her. Call to her. Do something. But he cannot.
The waves of agony have swallowed him whole.