Sitting on the veranda of Shurei’s court, Sumire watched the children play as she smoked her slender pipe. It was a fine clear day, not too cool. In their game of tag, occasionally a child would dart up the steps from the yard and hide among the chatting women, who’d pretend not to notice. Bundled up in Shurei’s arms, baby Ieyasu peeked out, dark-eyed and rosy-cheeked, burbling whenever his niece stopped by to coo to him, or his nephews and their cousins dashed giggling past.

Since their arrival at Edo palace, Ieyasu had scarcely left Shurei’s side. In one another they had found solace for their loss. The little prince was happy and thriving in her care, and Shurei was smiling and laughing again, like she’d used to do so freely. It warmed Sumire’s heart to see them both content. Kouta’s and Kohaku’s too, she knew.

Not even the dark stormclouds of Princess Reiko’s resentment could dampen their good cheer—much as the young woman seemed intent upon it. Bracing themselves now as they saw her sweeping toward them across the palace courtyard, the women of Shurei’s court exchanged a shared glance of chagrin.

Haughtily, Reiko stopped before the steps, looking like a ruffled songbird as her fluttering silks came to rest. Her sharp brown eyes seized upon Shurei.

“How many times must I tell you to keep that brood of yours to your own court? My daughter cannot rest for the clamor of them chasing about like a herd of squealing pigs.”

Refusing to take the bait, Shurei said mildly, “Hai, Reiko-sama. I’ll tell them not to stray.”

But Reiko was unappeased. “That’s what you always say. And always it happens again. They are too wild by half.” As Shurei gave her chafed breast an absent rub, Reiko bit out hotly, “You shouldn’t keep spawning them, if you cannot make them mind.”

As Shurei blanched, the women lounging behind her bristled. Into the princess’s departing back, they shot her dark, dirty looks. Though many of the whores who’d traveled to Edo had taken up residence at the brothels within the city, a few had stayed on with the family. This pair, Satsuki and Mineko, now fancied themselves as handmaids of sorts. Not only this, but they had been close to Shurei all her life, and viewed her as a little sister. 

In a pantomime of gossiping which was deliberately loud enough for all to hear, Satsuki and Mineko spoke to one another behind their hands.

“…Says she who cannot mind the one she has,” Mineko stage-whispered in that insolent, scathing way that whores will talk, when they are under the protection of a powerful man. There was no tongue on earth so brazen and cutting as this. “The only one she has.”

Reiko froze, turning partway back.

“Aye,” Satsuki piled on with false pity, “and a sickly one at that. Shut up all the time and still a bother.”

Mineko tisked. “It does a body good to breathe. Or else it’ll go frigid.”

“Clam up too much, and it’ll seal shut, they say.” 

“That poor man of hers.” Mineko feigned a sigh. “No matter how hard he tries,” she sneered, wiggling her little finger derisively, “it’s hopeless.”

As the other women, whores and not, strove to keep their faces straight at this vulgar display, the cast of Reiko’s features went dark and pale by turns. Sumire doubted whether the pampered princess had ever been so much as insulted in her life, let alone made mockery of like this. Circumstances aside, Sumire could not help but pity her.

As the two snickering whores continued jeering, Sumire went to stop them—but Shurei beat her to it.

“Oh lay off her, you cackling hens!” Shurei snapped. Re-settling the baby in her arms with a huff, she turned back to her affronted half-sister. “Reiko-sama—”

But with brightly glinting eyes, the princess spun upon her heel and strode away.

Sumire found her later, in the gardens. Hidden away among the winter roses, Reiko sat weeping. Tapping out her pipe against a stone lantern, Sumire approached her across the path of crushed white rock. Reiko’s shining eyes snapped to her as she did. Her lips were pale and tight as she turned her tear-streaked face away, and dried it with her sleeve. The sleek brown fall of her hair faintly trembled.

“What do you want?”

Sumire sat down beside her on the bench. At her closeness, Reiko stiffened.

“It cannot be easy,” Sumire said, “having us here.”

Reiko rounded upon her, raw-eyed and sniffing. “It’s a disgrace. I thank the gods my mother isn’t here to suffer the indignity of it. She believed Chichi-ue was faithful to her.”

“He was,” Sumire said simply. As the princess balked at this, she added, “Shurei was born well before he married your mother.”

Reiko glanced aside. “Still, you were his mistress. There was gold he used to send west, I discovered. That gold was for you, wasn’t it?”

“I was never his mistress. That gold was for Shurei.”

“But you were a courtesan,” Reiko said, glancing back.

“Long ago,” Sumire replied with a nod. “By the time I met your father, I had not been one for years.”

Reiko absorbed this in silence. She bowed her head. A curtain of silken tresses fell into her downcast face. Sumire resisted the motherly urge to brush them back.

“She looks so much like him, your daughter,” Reiko said quietly. “None of the rest of us do. Except Ieyasu, perhaps…” When her face lifted to Sumire again, her eyes were hard, a piercing look that mirrored Kohaku’s precisely, for all her claims of bearing no resemblance to him. “I know my father never loved my mother. I wanted to believe this was because he was incapable of it, but that isn’t true. It’s because he’s always been in love with someone else, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Sumire said, smiling wistfully, “but that isn’t me.”

Reiko’s shoulders slumped. “Then, who?”

“A priestess named Kagome.”

“…Kagome,” Reiko muttered, furrowing her brow. “Yes, I know that name. She was my mother’s mentor, traveling companion of my aunt and uncle in their warrior days. But she vanished from here many years ago, in infamy. I didn’t know Chichi-ue knew her at all.”

Sumire was surprised. “He never spoke of her, even in passing?”

“No. Not that I can recall.”

Gently, Sumire advised, “Then I would not speak to him of her now. It is a subject of considerable pain and disappointment to him. He has endeavored as best he can to forget.”

“Not well enough,” Reiko said harshly. But when she looked to Sumire, her expression relaxed. “Thank you for telling me. It is some consolation to know the truth, bitter though it is. I won’t press him about it.” The princess sighed. “It wouldn’t do any good, anyway.”

Sumire smiled slightly. “Your father may have his faults, but lack of tenacity is not among them.”

“No,” Reiko laughed. A spark of genuine warmth softened her stern features. “I can see why he is so fond of you.”

“And you, princess,” Sumire replied. “He spoke proudly to me of how you favor your lady mother. He thought highly of her. He must think highly of you as well.”

Reiko’s eyes sheened. “I miss her,” she said tightly. “Very much.” Her voice quavered. “I feel so lost without her.”

Sumire took her hand. Together they sat for a while, watching the finches hop and twitter along the dark spines of the trees.

“We were lost before we came here,” Sumire said softly, after a time. “Our homeland was wasted by years of war. On the horizon there was only the promise of more bloodshed to come. And so we made the difficult choice to leave. Who can say whether we’d have suffered less if we’d stayed? We nearly starved along the way. Once, we almost fell to the sword. This crisis cost Shurei the child she’d been carrying.”

Reiko’s hand tensed in hers. “I did not know. If I had I would never have said—”

Sumire shook her head. “I am not telling you this to shame you. I am only telling you so that you will know, so that perhaps you may understand. You two are sisters. Shared grief aside, you have more in common with one another than not.”

Reiko’s eyes lifted to the vast blue skies. “I always did long for a sister.” After a moment, her gaze fell again. Not quite looking at Sumire, she asked askance, “May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Sumire replied.

“If a man cannot…that is,” Reiko stammered, flushing, “if he seems to have trouble—”

“Staying hard in bed?” Sumire guessed, and Reiko exhaled, nodding in relief. “Can he manage it at all?”

“Yes, I’ve noticed…in the mornings when I wake before him, for the longest time I’ve seen him…manage it. And sometimes, ah—”

“He releases in his sleep?”

Reiko’s face flamed. “Yes.”

Wryly, Sumire observed, “So the problem is not with him.” Before Reiko could take offense at this, she added warmly, “Good.”

Reiko’s expression screwed up in disbelief. “How is that good?”

“Because this means it’s within your power to fix.” 

With the young woman’s dubious gaze fixed upon her, Sumire wrestled with how best to phrase it. She had seen firsthand how Reiko emasculated her husband. A tack too harsh and she’d become defensive. Too soft, and she’d remain intractable. 

“You outrank your husband, do you not?”

“He has title,” Reiko said, “but yes, I do. The match was made when I was very young and my father was not yet a liege lord.”

“Yet you proceeded with the engagement?”

Reiko nodded. “When the time came, I wanted to marry him, because I saw how plainly he adored me.” She glanced away. “I was determined not to make my mother’s mistake.”

Sumire was relieved to learn this. “Frankly, your highness, I believe the problem is that your husband is intimidated by you. Perhaps he is even intimidated by how much he loves you. This sort of fear can soften even the best of men.”

It was clearly the right thing to say. At once, Reiko clasped her hands intently.

“I don’t want him to fear me! How can I make him not feel this way?”

“It may take some time and trying,” Sumire said, “but start by complimenting him, sincerely. This will build his confidence and ease his fear. And most of all, don’t comment on it if he begins to flag. Just embrace him and tell him that you love him.”

Gratefully, Reiko nodded. “I will try.”

The following day, when Mineko and the others were away playing dice, Reiko came to Shurei’s court with a delicate-looking little princess in tow. Outside on the veranda with baby Ieyasu nursing at her breast, Shurei glanced to her mother in surprise. Sumire’s lips curved against the stem of her pipe.

“I thought our girls could play together,” Reiko said, “for a little while.”

Still looking rather confounded by this, Shurei called her daughter, who was already peering through the doorway at the other little girl. At her mother’s call, she bounded out and down the steps, grinning at her shying cousin.

“I got a new doll, would you like to see it?”

Timidly, the little princess nodded. Shurei’s daughter grabbed her hand, and they disappeared together into the house. Reiko ascended the steps. From the neck of her exquisite kimono, she withdrew a small glazed jar and offered it to Shurei.

“My mother’s liniment,” Reiko said. “To ease the discomfort of nursing.”

Blinking, Shurei accepted it with a smile. “…Thank you.”

Reiko smiled back.

That night, sharing a cup of tea with Kohaku in his solar, Sumire imparted these good tidings to him. 

“I think the two of them are finally getting along.”

“Good,” Kohaku said, closing his eyes as he took a scalding sip. His fine black hair was long and loose. He was as hale and handsome now in his forties as he’d ever been, and she couldn’t help but admire him. “I’ve been worried about her.”

“Which ‘her’?” Sumire teased.

“Either,” Kohaku said, setting down his blistering cup with a frown. “Both.” He folded his hands into his dark sleeves. “They have each been put through the fire, in their own way.”

“And you, my lord?”

Kohaku made a dismissive sound. “I have been in the fire so long it feels stranger not to be in it.”

Sumire wasn’t convinced. “I’d imagine it’s no small trial, to lose your wife of so many years.”

“It’s not so much the wife I miss.” At Sumire’s questioning look, Kohaku sighed. “She was my closest companion, my childhood friend. It’s her that I miss. Without her beside me, I feel unmoored in this place.”

Sumire nodded. “I understand.”

“I knew that you would. You have always understood me best.” As she ducked her head at this, Kohaku took her by the chin. “No, it’s true. If the gods have ever granted me anything, it’s that you came to me now, when I needed you most. You and Shurei both—you are the best of me. You have always been.” Kohaku’s voice turned bitter. “If I’d married you, I could have been the best version of myself.”

“Kohaku, please—”

“I know what you’re going to say. That you never wanted to be some man’s wife. But I wouldn’t have reduced you to that. You could have had your freedom, and so could I. I could have lived as a taijiya, like I was born to be. You wouldn’t have resented me for it, and I wouldn’t have resented you. I would have been a good husband to you. Only to you could I have been, that’s what I believe.”

Sumire smiled at him tenderly. Kohaku was right, she realized. She did understand. Better, it seemed, than he understood himself. Because despite these claims of his, she knew with a pang that what he spoke of could never have been. Because she understood herself too well. What she had endured as his erstwhile lover she could never have borne as his wife.

She could never have shared a life with him while another woman held his heart. 

He took her face in his hands. When he kissed her, she felt the passion in it, the hunger in it. But these were not for her. These feelings were only channeled through her. She understood then, too, how Ieyasu had been conceived, and realized that in this way, he was a bastard the same as Shurei—

Or perhaps, even more bizarrely and paradoxically, legitimate. Born in surrogate to Kohaku and his true, phantom love.

Sumire was past the point now of bearing him another. Yet she let him disrobe her all the same, let him take her with the image of another emblazoned behind his eyes. And she took her pleasure from him too, bittersweet though it was. Her back to his chest, she rode him on her knees while he held her in the cup of his hand. To the bliss of their separate delusions, they came together, conjoined by mutual need.

And when she returned to her bed and woke alone in it the next morning, she saw in the mirror upon waking that her dark hair bore its first silvery streak of gray.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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