They’d been purple, the same color as the expensive dyes merchants sent us for our winter robes. Vibrant as a splash of twilight. I remembered being surprised—and delighted—by how beautifully they had grown. I should have questioned how they had blossomed so quickly, and how the flowers had taken on exactly the color and shape I had imagined.
I now knew it was because of my magic.
“There was no seed in the pot,” Lord Yuji said, baring his little teeth as he smiled, “only crushed orchid petals at the bottom of the soil. It was a game, Shiori’anma. I’ll not pass judgment on you for planting a new flower into your pot.”
“But I didn’t,” I protested.
“Admit you cheated, Shiori,” said Reiji. “We know you to be the princess of liars.”
“I didn’t cheat!” I cried. My face heated with humiliation. Everyone was staring. “I’m not lying.”
None of my brothers believed me. Not even Hasho.
I spun away, refusing to be wrongly shamed in front of the entire court. I ran to the back of the courtyard and hid behind a magnolia tree, nibbling on cakes I’d stashed in my sleeves.
Before long, a boy I didn’t recognize offered me a handkerchief. He was thin and gangly, his robes too short and his hat sliding off his overly waxed black hair. Probably some courtier’s son who’d been ordered to search for me in exchange for my father’s favor.
He looked amused—and somewhat relieved that I was eating, not crying.
“Monkeycakes?” he greeted. “They’re exceptionally good this year, but a little messy.” He touched his mouth, a polite indication that I had crumbs all over.
I snatched the handkerchief from him and wiped my lips. I was about to order him to go away when he knelt beside me and said solemnly:
“I believe you—about the flowers.”
He’d caught me at my weakest. My shoulders sagged. “I watered them every day. I talked to them, the way Chef talks to his herbs to get them to grow faster.”
“It was a mean trick Lord Yuji played on you.”
“Lord Yuji?” I repeated, twisting a lock of hair as I ruminated. “Why would he trick me? He wants me to marry one of his sons.”
The boy flinched. He asked hesitantly, “Do you want to marry Lord Yuji’s son?”
“I don’t want to marry anyone,” I declared. “But better one of Yuji’s sons than that barbarian fool in the North. At least I’ll be closer to home, so I can spend as little time with my husband as possible.”
“I see. So it’s not because you dislike your betrothed.”
“I dislike that he exists.” I sniffed, folded his handkerchief, and handed it back. “Thank you…I didn’t catch your name.”
The boy smiled, his demeanor oddly sunnier. “My name isn’t important.” A kite floated over his shoulder, exquisitely painted with a flock of cranes flying above a mountain with two peaks. He held it out to me. “Do you like it? I painted it myself.”
“It’s nice, almost as good as Yotan’s work. Are you entering it into the competition?”
“There isn’t time. My father and I have to leave before dusk. We live far from here.”
“Who’s it for?”
He took out a brush and started writing. His calligraphy was neat and precise, but I didn’t have the patience for him to paint someone’s name on the kite. My temper was already hot from Lord Yuji’s contest, and I took his kite and ran with it.
For a boy with spindly legs, he was fast. He caught up with me quickly, and in my surprise, I accidentally let go.
The kite soared high and out of reach. I started after it, but the boy drew me back. “Let it fly.”
We watched it soar high above the trees, and my heart sank as the kite grew smaller, until it was but a dot in the sky. Tears welled in my eyes, and I hated myself for crying in front of this boy I didn’t know. For losing his kite, too. For ruining everything I touched.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling terrible.
His eyes were dark and serious. “Don’t be. Kites are meant to fly, some higher than others.”
