True and False 

“‘The truth’?” A feeling of pure, unadulterated disgust, like a snake coiling in his gut, rose in Haruka. “After all that, you still have the audacity to call it the truth, Mrs. Butler?”

“‘The clamor of the masses can melt metal’,” Momozawa Ai said, bowing her head, her voice a placid, untroubled stream. “And as they say, ‘when the false is taken for true, the true becomes false.’ Young Master, the truth is not important.”

“The truth is not important? I don’t like being deceived.”

“No one wishes to deceive you, Young Master.”

“Fine,” Haruka said, his patience snapping. “Then tell me, is Fujiwara Kiyohime Lady Murasaki’s daughter or not?”

“The Lady is your mother, Young Master. It is unfilial to refer to her by her name.”

Haruka opened his mouth to argue, but the image of Lady Murasaki’s beautiful, imperious face filled his mind. He had no choice but to compromise, the concession tasting like ash in his mouth. “Is Kiyohime my mother’s daughter?”

“No,” Momozawa Ai answered quickly, the word a simple, clean cut.

“Then… then is she really…” Haruka’s voice trembled, the horrifying possibility solidifying into a near-certainty.

“Why must the Young Master ask what he already knows?” Momozawa Ai’s voice was gentle, almost pitying.

Haruka still wouldn’t give up. “And is the Lady really my mother?”

“The Lady is already your mother.” The answer was a masterpiece of evasion, a perfect, polished surface with nothing to hold onto. 

Haruka stared intently at Momozawa Ai. Sometimes, he truly wondered if she were a youkai wearing a painted skin, created for the sole purpose of seducing and confusing men. How else could one explain a face so perfect, yet so completely, utterly devoid of genuine emotion? “Then what does that make my other mother?”

“She is buried in the earth, Young Master,” Momozawa Ai said. “No matter how much the Lady despised her, she will not hold a grudge against the dead.”

“Will this mother… truly treat me like a son?” Haruka asked, his voice a desperate, pleading whisper.

Momozawa Ai’s voice softened, a practiced, soothing balm. “Of course she will.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Haruka burst out laughing, a sharp, broken sound.

For the first time, a look of genuine surprise crossed her perfect, doll-like face. She realized, with a flicker of professional annoyance, that she had misspoken. But she showed no sign of panic, instead asking calmly, “And how much of that statement does the Young Master believe?”

“It’s enough to give me a baseline. But now I am certain of one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“Fujiwara Kiyohime is definitely not my mother’s daughter.”

“Which mother?” Momozawa Ai would not be trapped by the same trick again.

“Fujiwara Kiyohime is not Lady Murasaki’s daughter,” Haruka said with a cold, hard conviction.

“The Young Master has guessed correctly.”

Momozawa Ai looked at Haruka calmly and saw a sudden, dawning horror on his face. His smile slowly stiffened, then vanished completely. “Just now,” he asked, his voice full of a new, terrible dread, “did you not tell Kiyohime that the Lady had something to discuss with her?”

“I did.” Momozawa Ai’s tone was as casual as if she were blowing away a speck of dust from her sleeve.

Before she had even finished speaking, Haruka had turned and bolted, his movements so fast that anyone would have been taken by surprise. Even Momozawa Ai was stunned for a moment. But she let him run for a few seconds before she moved, a blur of motion, catching up to him in an instant and seizing his arm.

He felt her slender, jade-like hand was heavier than the iron pliers from before, as if with a single, gentle tug, she could pull his arm from its socket like a loose tooth.

Why has Lady Murasaki summoned Kiyohime again? Haruka thought, his heart filled with a terrible, suffocating anxiety.

…

The maids led Kiyohime down a long, unfamiliar corridor. Shiraki and Ryo stopped at the boundary line of a silent, shadowed wing of the estate. “Second Young Mistress, the Lady is waiting for you in the room just ahead.”

“The Lady has given orders that we are not to go any further.”

“Then I will go myself,” Kiyohime said. As she walked forward, she glanced back at the maids, who stood with their heads bowed, their expressions hidden. This was a remote part of the estate, a place where even the sunlight rarely seemed to visit. She couldn’t understand why Lady Murasaki had asked her to come here.

What is she up to, being so mysterious? Kiyohime thought. She arrived at a paper-screen door and knocked. A voice from inside said, “Come in.”

Kiyohime recognized her mother’s voice. She casually slid the door open, the creaking sound sharp and jarring in the heavy quiet, as if startling a flock of non-existent crows. She slipped off her geta and padded inside.

The room was extremely dim, the shoji screens closed, the lights unlit. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust, to make out the regal figure of Lady Murasaki, sitting in the formal seiza position in the seat of honor. From a dark corner, she could faintly hear the soft, pleasant sound of tea being poured.

“Mother, why are you sitting in the dark?” Kiyohime asked, looking around, unable to find the light switch in the unfamiliar room.

“Sit.”

Kiyohime followed the sound of the voice and sat down opposite her mother. “Mama, what did you call me here for?”

“I wanted to make you a cup of tea.”

Making tea is an ‘important matter’? Kiyohime thought, a flicker of disappointment running through her.

“And before the tea is ready, there are many things I wish to discuss with you,” Lady Murasaki said. “Come to think of it, it has been a long time since we have sat together and had a proper chat.”

“Yes…” Kiyohime relaxed, listening to the pleasant, bubbling sound of tea being prepared nearby. Everything felt so peaceful, so normal.

“Just a normal chat, between a mother and her daughter,” Lady Murasaki said, her voice a soft, silken murmur in the darkness. “Kiyohime, I would like to know your opinion of certain people.”

“Go ahead and ask, Mama.”

“What do you think of Momozawa Ai?”

“Ai-obasan? Well, she’s very good to me. She has always taken care of me. Even though her face looks quite cold sometimes, I know she’s actually a very kind person.”

“Good.”

Even though she couldn’t see, Kiyohime had the feeling Lady Murasaki was nodding in the darkness. She heard her mother continue, “And what do you think of her daughter?”

“Sakuya is my best friend. We’re like sisters.”

Lady Murasaki’s voice was full of a strange, unreadable meaning. “Can one be friends with a servant?”

“Huh, why not, mama?”

“You are the master.”

“And as the master, can’t I decide who my friends are?”

Lady Murasaki hummed in acknowledgment. “Then what do you think of Yukishiro Haruka?”

“He…” Kiyohime became evasive, a blush creeping up her neck that was invisible in the gloom.

“Tell me.”

“I think he’s a good person, and very smart. It’s just that sometimes…”

“Sometimes what?”

“Sometimes I feel like he’s very tired, as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders,” Kiyohime said, thinking for a moment. “I feel he’s too smart. And may be that’s not a good thing.”

“Indeed. He thinks too much. It is his strength, and also his weakness. He requires more… training.” Lady Murasaki’s voice suddenly softened. “And Kiyohime… how do you see me?”

Though the room was dark, Kiyohime could feel her mother’s gaze locked onto her, a physical pressure. She felt a little embarrassed. “I… I…”

“What are you stammering for? Just say it.”

“I think Mama is amazing,” Kiyohime said in a small voice. “But… I’m also a little afraid of you…”

“‘Afraid’? That’s a good word. And? Continue.”

“I don’t know,” Kiyohime’s voice was even smaller now, a mere whisper.

“Why don’t you know?”

“Because… because you never want to spend time with me.”

“Spend time… spend time…”

Lady Murasaki murmured the words, her voice a strange, broken sound. And then Kiyohime heard a sharp crack—the sound of a porcelain teacup being shattered against the floor.