Rumors

Haruka knew that everything Suzune was doing, the cookies, the fruit, the music, was an attempt to coax him out of his melancholy, so he couldn’t bring himself to maintain his somber mood any longer. He feigned a smile, a fragile, barely-there thing.

It was enough. Suzune smiled back, a genuine, radiant expression. The Young Master is finally happy, she thought, a quiet satisfaction warming her.

When the music ended, she simply asked if there was anything in particular he wanted for lunch, then excused herself with a bow, leaving him alone in the grand, silent study.

Haruka randomly pressed a couple of keys on the piano, producing two sharp, discordant notes that hung in the air like a question. I was holding her back, he thought with a pang of guilt. Without me, she would have played even better.

He stood up, sat down at the heavy oak desk, and opened Macbeth. For some reason, he saw a shadow of Yukishiro Tomoe in every book he touched, her memory a persistent ghost. He closed it wearily, then thought, She’s already buried. What’s the point of me being so sentimental?

He opened Macbeth again. As if guided by a cruel fate, the first page depicted three witches chanting on a vast, desolate heath, prophesying Macbeth’s dark and bloody future.

Haruka laughed at himself, a short, bitter sound. “Three witches to prophesy for Macbeth, but I get a discount—just one, and an old, mad one at that.”

The old miko’s prophecy was like a spider scurrying across his field of vision just before sleep. Even after closing his eyes, he couldn’t shake the unsettling suspicion that it might crawl onto him while he slept.

He tried to dismiss it, but the thought kept returning, insidious and persistent. My parents are both dead, he reasoned. The prophecy can’t come true. He didn’t care about any of it, except for one thing, a single, tormenting question: whether Lady Murasaki was his biological mother.

He had tried to stop caring about the “biological” part, afraid of losing the hard-won, fragile affection he had found. But the weeds of doubt continued to sprout in the fertile ground of his mind, telling him that he did, in fact, care. He cared desperately.

Haruka closed the book with a snap. “I’m being as indecisive as a woman,” he said to himself, his voice sharp in the quiet room. “If I want to know, then I should find out. Will the answer just fall from the sky if I sit here in this study?”

His mind made up, he decided he would uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

Just as he stood up from the chair, there was a crash. He had accidentally knocked over the teacup at his elbow. The white porcelain shattered into a dozen pieces, and water splashed across the polished floor.

This isn’t a good omen, Haruka thought. He was about to clean it up himself, but there was no broom in the room. He went to the door to call for Suzune, but after calling her name twice, there was no response.

Haruka found this strange. She usually came at once, a silent, attentive presence. He stepped out of the room and called again. Two maids came hurrying over, their faces pale with anxiety. He recognized them as the sisters, Shiraki and Ryo.

Haruka stopped them. “Have you seen Suzune?”

“That’s what we were coming to tell you, Young Master,” Shiraki said urgently.

“What happened?” Haruka sensed that something was terribly wrong.

“The Second Young Mistress stopped Suzune,” Shiraki said, her voice trembling. “She said she was going to pull out some teeth for her to see.”

Haruka was shocked. He thought Kiyohime was still holding a grudge against Suzune for reporting on her. But then he remembered that Kiyohime didn’t seem like that kind of person. Still, seeing their terrified faces, he knew they weren’t lying. “Take me there,” he said, his own voice tight. “Tell me on the way.”

And so, Shiraki and Ryo led the way. But after only a few steps, Haruka stopped. He turned to Ryo. “You know where the head butler is, right?”

“Yes, Young Master, of course I do,” Ryo said.

“Then don’t come with us. Go and get her.” Haruka was cautious by nature. Fearing the situation was beyond his control, he wanted the head butler there as a backup, a force of order in the chaos.

So, Ryo went to find Momozawa Ai, while Haruka and Shiraki rushed to the scene.

Before they had even arrived, Haruka could hear faint, piercing screams. His heart pounded in his chest. Could that be Suzune?

He quickened his pace, crossing a long, covered corridor and reaching the boundary between the building and an open courtyard. He saw Suzune standing there, unharmed, and let out a silent sigh of relief.

Then, Haruka looked into the courtyard. Kiyohime and Momozawa Sakuya were standing together, their expressions grim. Beside them, two large bodyguards were holding down a maid. Her mouth was bloody, and she was screaming in agony. On the ground were two small, blood-stained teeth.

In the distance, several other servants were watching, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity.

Suzune heard the footsteps and turned to see Haruka. She immediately bowed. “Young Master.”

Haruka looked at the miserable state of the maid and frowned, a cold knot forming in his stomach. “What is going on here?”

Suzune then recounted the whole story in a low, hurried voice.

It turned out that after being dismissed from the room by Lady Murasaki, Kiyohime had been in a foul, restless mood. She and Sakuya had rounded up two other maids for a game of hide-and-seek.

Kiyohime was hiding. Fearing Sakuya would find her, she had ducked under a raised corridor. From there, she heard footsteps and the low, conspiratorial sound of servants gossiping above her. “Have you heard?” one of them said.

Kiyohime looked up and saw two maids walking slowly across the wooden planks. Heard what? she wondered. Her curiosity piqued, she silently followed them from below, a shadow in the darkness.

“What gossip have you heard now?” the other maid asked, her voice eager.

The space under the corridor was dark and cramped, too low for an adult to stand upright. The first maid looked around, and seeing no one, she boldly said, “The Second Young Mistress might not be Lady Murasaki’s daughter!”

Kiyohime was so angry she almost laughed out loud. I’m not my mother’s daughter? She was about to jump out and teach the gossiping maid a lesson she would never forget, but she held back, a cold curiosity overriding her rage. She wanted to hear the rest.

The other maid was shocked and quickly covered her friend’s mouth. “How can you say such a thing?”

At least you have some sense, Kiyohime thought. But then she heard the second maid say, her voice muffled, “What’s there to be afraid of? We all talk about it in private.”

Kiyohime glared up at the dark planks, but all she could see were their black skirts and shoes, not their faces. You all talk about it? I’d like to see who ‘you all’ are!

“…If the Second Young Mistress isn’t Lady Murasaki’s daughter, then whose is she? Don’t spread baseless rumors.”

“That’s because the Young Master is obviously Lady Murasaki’s son. The Second Young Mistress is probably that man’s basta…” The maid lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper.

The other maid was stunned into silence. “Do you have any proof?”

“What proof do you need?” the first maid said, her voice full of smug certainty. “Just look at them. The Young Master is well-read, well-mannered, and handsome, just like the Lady. Those things are innate; you can’t fake them. Unlike the Second Young Mistress…” She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. All the servants knew about Kiyohime’s terrible, unpredictable temper.

The other maid hummed in vague, noncommittal agreement.

Kiyohime was both shocked and furious. I must be my mother’s daughter! But then she thought about how Lady Murasaki had treated her over the years, a cold, distant star, and how differently, how warmly, she had treated her and Haruka just a day before, and a tiny, poisonous seed of doubt was planted in her heart.

But she couldn’t possibly believe the malicious words of these two servants. She was sure they were just spreading vicious, ugly gossip.

She was glad she had caught them. Who knew what other lies they were spreading behind her back. She immediately crawled out from under the corridor, found a different route, and secretly noted the appearances of the two maids, committing them to memory.