“Kagome,” a voice spoke to her, deep and even and cool.

She knew that voice. It was the voice she loved most in all the world.

“Kagome, I am here.”

But when Kagome woke, she was alone.

Her lashes weighed heavy, the very tips of them crystallized with frost. But she was dry. Around her fevered form, the ground was bare of snow.

She laughed, short and sharp.

Joints creaking, she rose slowly from the roots of the tree where she’d slept, bracing herself against the scored silver trunk. Papery bits of bark remained embedded beneath her nails. She picked the splinters out with a wince, and the thin lines of red pain began to fade away.

A fine, downy layer of snow blanketed the flinty ground, glittered from the spiny branches of the trees. In the pink light of dawn, the whole forest glowed like a jewel. In another hour or so, the snow would be gone, and so would the splendor. The woods would be grey and drab once again, all the jagged edges exposed.

But Kagome didn’t wait. She still had a long way to go.

Through the wilderness, she trudged on alone. Hidden thorns caught at her skin, ripped at the ragged hem of her dress. Sharp rocks peaked through the snow as she tread by them, slicing at the sides of her feet. As the snow began to melt, it muddied the gritty earth. A trail of dark, bloody footsteps marked Kagome’s course.

By the time the high timbered walls came into sight, her sandals were worn to pieces. Kicking them off, Kagome re-entered the castle, barefoot and bedraggled.

The guards stopped and stared at her, the bustling servants also. Continuing her slow, haggard march, Kagome wondered if she looked as defeated as she felt.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Passing by one of the courts, she paused and looked in. The rooms were largely bare. Open trunks lay about, which the maids were hastening to pack, at their princess’s soft-spoken direction. Catching sight of Kagome, Marika stopped mid-sentence and frowned. The maids cast a wary look between them, before hurrying off to busy themselves in another room.

Slender and straight as a reed stem, Marika approached her, already clad in a simple traveling kimono. Her dark brown hair was bound just as simply, in its usual worn blue ribbon. It had belonged to her mother, Kagome knew.

Marika’s dark eyes skimmed over her. “I heard about Natsuko’s attack,” she said, her voice soft and uncertain. When Kagome made no reply to this, Marika asked, “Has something else happened? You seem…out of sorts.”

“I slept in the woods last night,” Kagome answered. Seeing that Marika had absolutely no idea what to say to that, she looked past her at the trunks and said, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You can stay here, and marry whomever you’d like. Or no one at all.”

Marika stared at her, her gentle eyes flaring wide. The tension in her slim shoulders softened. She glanced aside.

“Thank you,” the princess said, “but I think I will go all the same.”

Kagome blinked. “You will?”

Marika nodded. “Since we fought, I’ve been thinking about what you said, and realized there was some truth in it.” Shyly, she met Kagome’s gaze, a touch of color rising to her fair cheeks. “They say Prince Shingen is generous and kind, and that he loves music.”

Kagome smiled slightly. “So he does.”

Marika’s gaze fell. “I’m sorry I called you wicked. That was unfair.”

“I’m sorry I arranged a marriage for you behind your back,” Kagome replied. “I should have been open with you instead. You have a good head on your shoulders, Marika. You’re going to make a fine Lady.” As the princess bit her lip at this, Kagome eyed her. “Are you sure you want to go?”

“I’m sure,” Marika replied, straightening. “This place…it doesn’t feel like home to me anymore. To be frank with you,” Marika said, her eyes trailing from Kagome’s disheveled figure to the hushed, grey courtyards beyond, “I don’t feel at ease here. For a while now I’ve worried what will happen when Chichi-ue dies.”

Kagome nodded to herself. You and me both.

“Marika,” she said suddenly, her gaze lingering upon one point of the castle in particular, “there’s something I’d like to ask of you, if you’re willing.”

The princess regarded her curiously. “What is it?”

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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