Author's Corner

I was going to wait a bit before uploading this but I hit a writing streak the other day and pumped out a bunch of chapters in advance, so here you go!

EIGHTH BLOOD

Chapter 46: Dressmaker

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Once upon a time, there lived a tailor who was so talented that even deities commissioned her to make them clothes.

She used magic to weave her fabrics, so she went by many names, but the one most people knew her by was the Dressmaker. No one knew her real name – including her – for it had been taken by the deity called Time hundreds of years ago as a reward for winning a bet.

Despite her glowing reputation, there was a catch to using her services, for she dealt not in money, but memories. They ranged from small to large depending on the quality of the clothes.

The more beautiful the craft, the more important the memory had to be.

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Sesshoumaru mulled over the panthers' offer as he left the sanctuary of his room.

Another power for the Tenseiga, hmm? He was reluctant to believe their words. They were cats, after all. There was also the fact that the last time the sword had received a new power, it had been an utter waste of time. He still secretly mourned Meido Zangetsuha. Inuyasha hadn't worked for it like he had, nor had he been required to lose anything to fully master it.

Totosai's words echoed in his mind.

It appears that your heart now has what it was lacking. Tenseiga has reacted to the change in your heart. A heart that felt rage and sorrow for the sake of another, most likely.

Why had it been necessary for Kagura to die in order for him to be deemed worthy? She'd been a victim – not a test – and a part of him still resented the Tenseiga for not being able to save her. The sword had been designed to protect others, but when he'd needed it the most, it had failed.

He suddenly became aware of Octavia's scent. Why was she alone?

Traversing several corridors and staircases in pursuit of her, he eventually found her leaning against a wooden bannister on the fourth floor, staring out to sea. The angle made it so that he could only see one half of her face, but she looked almost . . . wistful.

He wondered what she was thinking about.

He kept his youki hidden and took the opportunity to observe her for a while. Her eyes always softened whenever she thought no one was looking, and the brash facade she often wore melted away to reveal a girl who was desperately trying to hide the fact that she was lonely.

His jaw tightened as he stared at her silently. This fondness for her . . . where had it come from? It had snuck up on him.

Everything about her was so frustratingly unpredictable. It irritated him to no end that she was harder to read than he'd thought. This all culminated in him becoming incredibly restless if he went more than a couple of days without seeing her. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't stop thinking about her. It was positively degrading.

How long until the Tenseiga decided that she also needed to die in order for him to be worthy?

He ceased masking his youki and pushed it out towards her. She tensed when she felt it and her expression hardened, but she didn't turn to face him. All she did was remove her hands from the bannister and wait. He walked over to her slowly, struggling to understand her behaviour. She only acted this way when she was annoyed or upset. Was she still angry with him? No. If she was, he would have sensed it. Her rage was impossible to ignore. So why wouldn't she look at him?

She was still tense when he joined her by the bannister. Her kimono was fastened tight at her neck, and she was deliberately hiding the other half of her face. But why?

Despite his better instincts, he reached out and cupped her cheek. The action surprised her so much that she let him turn her head without resistance. Her eyes were huge with shock as he assessed the damage that had been done to the left side of her face. Her bottom lip was bruised and swollen, with a large vertical cut at the centre of the bruising. Her cheek was also covered in blue and purple patches, and she had a rather prominent black eye. His eyes travelled down to her neck, where he saw an assortment of deep cuts that were shaped like claw marks.

His chest burned.

"Who did this to you?"

When she failed to respond, he felt the fire in his chest burn hotter. The hand cupping her cheek didn't waver. Instead, he pulled her even closer, not caring if anyone saw them.

"Was it Kanetsugu?"

She averted her eyes. "No. He just watched."

His fangs ached as the fury seized control of him, needing to pierce flesh.

"Hiroto," he snarled.

Her throat bobbed anxiously, confirming his suspicions. Red seeped into his eyes, and he tightened his grip on her face. He was going to rip out that prince's damned spleen.

"Don't," she breathed, grabbing his wrist when he tried to leave. "I'm fine. Honestly. You know how they are. They forget how fragile I am—"

"This is not like last time. He put his hands on you after I specifically said—"

"Don't ruin your alliance over me."

Words failed him.

She was right, of course. He couldn't risk offending Taiki by accusing his son of attacking her. The Lord of the Southern Lands either wouldn't care or he'd think he was a liar. Octavia meant nothing to them. Yes, they were intrigued by her, but if they had to choose, they would side with Hiroto every time. A month and a half ago, he would have, too.

But he owed it to her to keep her safe.

"This isn't about alliances," he growled. "He disobeyed me."

"No, he didn't. I agreed to his terms. I knew what I was getting into. It was my fault, not his."

"Don't be ridiculous. What he did was absolutely monstrous—"

"Then why didn't you stop him?"

He froze.

Her eyes locked him in place, haunting him. The question was like a knife, twisting deeper and deeper into his gut. Why didn't you stop him? He would have if he'd known it was happening. It was difficult to get a fix on her when other Daiyoukai were around. Especially strong ones like Hiroto. His scent had overpowered hers, and she'd become a needle in a haystack.

"Well?" she probed.

"I would have," he answered. "Had I known, I would have been there in an instant."

It seemed to reassure her. "I know," she said. "I'm sorry. I was just . . . I'm disappointed in myself. I thought I was better than that, but I'm still a fucking idiot. I shouldn't have let him get to me. I knew exactly what he was doing, and I still fell for it. Embarrassing, right?"

"Not at all."

Her jaw tensed. "I'm not blind, you know. I see the way they look at me. I might be your ally, but that won't stop them from treating me like an insect. I'll never be anything more if I keep hiding behind you. I have to prove to them that humans aren't weak. We might not be able to run a hundred miles per hour like you can, but that doesn't mean we're useless."

Her desire to prove herself struck a chord with him. He knew how it felt to be belittled by those whose approval you craved most. He hadn't realised she felt the same.

"I want to be worthy of standing next to you," she whispered.

You already are.

His pupils dilated as she finally released his wrist. He found himself studying her bruises once more. Why should she have to go to such extremes to prove herself to them? As far as he was concerned, they weren't worth the effort. His own experiences had taught him that there was no pleasing them. No matter how hard she tried to change their minds, they'd never accept her.

They didn't deserve her, anyway.

"Does he at least look worse than you?" he joked.

She laughed, but it was cut short by a grimace. She gingerly touched her swollen lip and hissed in pain. "Ow," she grumbled. "It hurts when I smile."

"I shall try not to be too humorous, then."

Her eyes glittered with amusement, and her mouth convulsed slightly. "Stop it."

He chuckled.

Although he would never admit it out loud, her presence was starting to affect him in ways that it hadn't before. He found that he was always oddly at ease when he was with her. The weight on his shoulders seemed lighter whenever she was around, allowing him to forget that it was there for just a moment. He couldn't decide if it was a result of her powers or something else entirely.

He'd never known true peace before, or comfort, or even joy, but they all paled in comparison to the way he felt when her eyes dazzled like a forest after a rainfall, or a field warmed by the sun.

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The Commander had sent her on a quest to find a tailor.

Asuka had no idea what he wanted with the creepy woman who lived on Mount Fuji, but she knew better than to pry. He'd stopped confiding in her about his plans a long time ago. If she asked, she could be demoted from her position as second-in-command.

The aforementioned tailor was a strange creature with puce eyes and a hood that hid her hair. There was something very unsettling about her that Asuka couldn't quite put her finger on. When she'd showed up on the woman's doorstep and demanded that she accompany her down the mountain, the tailor had voiced no complaints. In fact, it was as if she'd been waiting for her.

Asuka tried not to meet her gaze as their rowboat sailed south along the Fuji River. Fortunately, the tailor hadn't said a word since leaving her house, and she moved so infrequently that it was easy to pretend she was a statue or a doll. Her puce eyes were fixed on the sheet of fabric in her lap. Asuka had never seen eyes like hers before. They looked borderline alien.

She was rumoured to possess strong magic. That was all the Commander had told her when he'd asked her to bring her to him. Was her magic like his? It was too early to tell.

"You have beautiful robes," the tailor remarked casually, spooking Asuka so much that she almost dropped the oars into the river. "A lot of love went into making them. I can smell it."

Asuka shuddered.

The tailor's lips curved into a smile. "Is he beautiful, too?"

Asuka blinked. "What?"

"The one who sent for me. Is he beautiful, too?" She giggled when she saw the blood rush to Asuka's cheeks. "He is, isn't he? You certainly think so. After all, he is the one you dream about."

"Shut up."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. Mortal hearts are usually drawn to what is radiant—"

Asuka glared at her. "Just shut up! You don't know what you're talking about. Let me remind you who's in charge here. If you piss me off, I might throw you overboard and let you swim the rest of the way. That cloak looks pretty heavy, so I'd think carefully about what you say to me."

The tailor laughed harder.

"The same goes for laughter," Asuka added sharply.

"Sweet girl," the tailor cooed. "You try so hard, but he never looks at you the way you want him to. I can help you get what you want. I could make you a dress so fine that he won't be able to take his eyes off you. For a price, of course. I think red would suit you best."

"I don't want anything from you."

"You will. Everyone always does."

Not me, Asuka thought defiantly. She refused to resort to such measures. A dress wouldn't change the way he felt about her. He might have changed since that day all those years ago, but deep down, she knew he was still the young boy that had held her hand and wiped away her tears. She didn't care that her feelings for him were one-sided. She'd be loyal to him until her dying breath.

"Angels don't damn themselves for mortals," the tailor said. "They only do that in stories."

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