Weakness 

Seeing that Fujiwara Kiyohime was unharmed, a wave of profound relief washed over Haruka, but then he realized that Lady Murasaki might not have made her move yet. The stone in his stomach, which had just settled, was lifted once more, heavy and cold. He immediately looked toward the head seat, only to see that Lady Murasaki’s eyes were also closed, her hand shielding her face as if she, too, couldn’t bear the sudden, harsh light.

An absurd, almost heretical thought crossed Haruka’s mind: So, Lady Murasaki is made of mortal flesh after all.

But the thought was fleeting. Even with her eyes closed, she was like a statue of the Holy Mother carved by a master artist, full of a solemn, majestic, untouchable beauty. Every aspect of her posture, imprinted on her very bones, was perfect.

She stood up, her eyes still closed, and turned her body mostly away from them, showing them her elegant back. “Momozawa,” she said, her voice quiet but carrying the weight of command, “you’re a little early.”

Haruka, wanting to cover for Momozawa, to protect her from whatever had transpired in this dark room, quickly cut in. “Mama, it was me. I forced Mrs. Butler to bring me here.”

“Is that so? Well, you’ve arrived just in time,” Lady Murasaki said, her voice still directed at the wall. “Haruka, come here.”

Haruka walked over quietly, afraid of disturbing the strange, peaceful, almost sleeping expression on her face.

He stepped up onto the small dais where she stood. He had not yet had his growth spurt, and she was more than a head taller than him. But she quickly “shrank,” leaning against him like a blade of green grass bent by a sudden, weary wind. Haruka could smell the faint, elegant fragrance of tea and something else, something uniquely her, as her soft body relied on him for support. He saw that her eyes were still closed; to an outsider, it would have looked as if they were whispering intimate secrets.

Suddenly, Lady Murasaki pointed a slender, graceful finger. “Momozawa, do you see that pile of broken porcelain?”

“I see it, my lady.”

“Clean it up for me later. I want you to do it yourself.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Momozawa Ai knew this was a warning, a punishment for letting Haruka through. But then she heard Lady Murasaki’s ghostly voice again. “When you are cleaning up the porcelain, remember to wear gloves. Do not touch it if you can help it. Be careful not to cut yourself.”

Kiyohime, who had sat up from the floor, thought, Mama is quite concerned about Ai-obasan, afraid she’ll cut her hand.

A cold sweat broke out on Momozawa Ai’s forehead. The lights above seemed to burn down on her. She stared at the floor, at the small, dark puddle of tea glistening around the four or five sharp pieces of broken porcelain, and with a heart full of terror, she said again, “Yes, my lady.”

“Kiyohime.”

When Lady Murasaki spoke her name, Haruka felt her body relax even further, pressing more of her weight against him, the soft, warm flesh beneath her dignified kimono a shocking reality against his chest.

“I’m here,” Kiyohime answered, obediently returning to her kneeling position.

Haruka heard Lady Murasaki murmuring by his ear, the words a broken, almost inaudible whisper, “Kiyohime… oh, Kiyohime…”

He couldn’t help but plead in a low voice, a protective instinct overriding all else, “Mama.”

It was this single word that seemed to break through to her, to pull her back from the edge of some private abyss. She let out a sigh of weary resignation and, as a small punishment for his interruption, gave Haruka’s earlobe a sharp, possessive pinch. Only then did she say to Kiyohime, her voice regaining its composure, “Kiyohime, I accidentally knocked over the tea. It will take some time to brew another pot. It seems we will have to start over.”

Kiyohime didn’t understand, but she felt as if a great, suffocating weight had been lifted from her heart. “I understand, Mama!” she said cheerfully.

Lady Murasaki held Haruka in her arms, her fingers gently, almost absently, rubbing his reddened earlobe. “Haruka,” she whispered, a secret just for him, “you must remember, never, ever show your weakness in front of others.”

Haruka was confused. Why was she suddenly saying this to him? He looked up and saw that she had opened her eyes, and the rims were faintly, unmistakably red.

He was shocked. Could it be… that Mama was crying? But why?

It was an unbelievable thought. He looked again, more closely. Perhaps it was just a few broken blood vessels in her eyes, a sign of fatigue, unnoticeable unless you were very, very close. And even then, one would just assume she hadn’t rested well. He hoped that was the case.

Haruka suddenly understood the meaning of her words. He reached his own arms around her, using his small body to shield her, not wanting the others to see this rare, potential moment of weakness.

Lady Murasaki’s reaction was cold, her voice showing no change, a perfect mask of control. “Haruka, I am the head of the house.”

“Yes, ma’am, you are…”

“Hm?” Hearing the formal, distant pronoun, she raised a delicate eyebrow.

“Mama, you are the head of the house,” Haruka quickly corrected himself.

“And you will be, one day,” Lady Murasaki said, stroking his head, her lips a breath away from his ear. “Whatever I give you, you must want it, take it.”

A tingling sensation went down his spine. “I understand, Mama,” he said, submitting completely.

“Good. That’s a good boy,” she said, her voice full of a doting, possessive affection. “Haruka, we too must start over.”

Kiyohime, completely unaware that a world of light and shadow had just passed between them in a few whispered sentences, was still thinking, Mama and brother are so close. Doesn’t she have any secrets to share with me?

Lady Murasaki did not roughly push him away. Instead, she said in a playful, teasing tone, “Haruka, how long are you going to hold me?”

Haruka, mortified, immediately let her go. She extended a pale, perfect foot, stepped down from the dais, and stood gracefully on the tatami. Now, she and Haruka were of equal height. Looking down, even the tall Momozawa Ai seemed small and insignificant, just a servant with her head bowed, occasionally glancing at the puddle of tea and broken porcelain.

“Ai,” Lady Murasaki said, “we have known each other for many years. In the end, we have more good memories than bad. Why don’t we forget the unpleasant ones and continue to move forward?”

Momozawa Ai knew at once what she meant. Lady Murasaki had guessed the secret Haruka had threatened her with and was offering a pardon, forgiving her for her time as a “spy.” She had once gathered information for the Old Mistress, lurking by Lady Murasaki’s side. Even though she had later been truly won over by Lady Murasaki, it had always been a thorn in her side. Now, it had been plucked out. “Thank you, my lady,” she said, her voice thick with a genuine, profound gratitude.

“Murakami,” Lady Murasaki called. “You come here as well.”

Suzune was surprised she was being called. She hurried to Lady Murasaki’s side.

Lady Murasaki pointed to the floor. “You will help the butler clean this up. And remember, be very careful not to get cut.”

“Yes, my lady.” Suzune was a gentle person, but she was not a fool. She knew Lady Murasaki was singling her out, subtly elevating her, and happily agreed.

A sense of crisis washed over Momozawa Ai. But she did not blame Lady Murasaki. She knew this was her own fault, the price of her past disloyalty. She bowed her head in submission.

“You two will stay here and clean the room before you leave.”

Haruka watched as Lady Murasaki turned and extended her hand to him. He instinctively took it, feeling the warmth of her fingers. He felt himself being pulled along, as if in a trance, down the steps. He heard her voice in his ear, “Haruka, don’t always resort to such little tricks. You must learn to tame servants like I do, do you understand?”

“Mama,” Haruka asked, his feelings a tangled, chaotic mess, “are you taming me, too?”

A look of genuine confusion crossed Lady Murasaki’s face. “Servants need to be tamed,” she said, as if explaining the simplest thing in the world. “I am teaching you.”