Page 33 of The Tainted and the Tamed
Almostbetter.
Well enough for one last festival, one more night of fun. The infection could claim her after that if it liked.
She walked arm and arm with Eri, grateful for the assistance, and doubly so that she hadn’t needed to ask for it. The momentum that walking together provided made their travel less tiring.
Still, Murasaki swayed a little as she reached the edge of the festival, suddenly reluctant to enter the throng. The tightness in her chest made her leery of the press of bodies. The heavy smoke from the outdoor grills made her feel anxious rather than hungry.
She touched the coin purse dangling from her wrist. If she didn’t eat much, she might be able to afford a rickshaw or cab back to the castle—if any could be had.
“Some warm food will do you good,” Eri said, squeezing her arm. Before Murasaki could protest, Eriko led her into a face full of charcoal smoke.
And Murasaki was…fine. Though her eyes and throat stung a little, and her chest ached a bit more, only the sparest urge to cough emerged. She managed to shove that down.
The combination of medicines had done wonders for her.
After enjoying some chicken skewers and odango, Murasaki and Eri squeezed into a spot along the parade route. Soon, Murasaki was too caught up in the chanting and singing to think of the rest, her awe renewed by each lantern that passed by on the backs of a dozen or more men.
The press of spectators around her lent the scene a sort of coziness, as if they stood in defiance of the coming winter and current chill. Marching drummers, carrying the same beat despite being separated by the towering floats, made the air itself feel alive.
Murasaki wiped a few tears from her eyes. She hadn’t expected this. Not only to feel this well after such a horrible night, but to experience this kind of joy again. She was surprised the Fusae autumn festival wasn’t more famous. Each of the floats, depicting scenes from religious texts or folk tales, was an elaborate marvel.
It felt good to be here—and good to feel alive. When was the last time she’d truly felt this way? Not since before her fiancé had passed.
Dashing another tear from the corner of her eye, Murasaki joined the chants, careful to take breaks to catch her breath. After a while, the process became more natural, her breathing a little easier. She had to pause for a weak cough only two or three times.
As the parade wound to a close, Eri suddenly gripped her arm. “There’s a rather handsome man coming this way—he’s looking at you!”
Murasaki turned her head slowly, her stomach sinking all the while. She knew it was him before her eyes ever parsed him from the crowd.
Chairman Asami, with his newly smooth, youthful face.
What did he want with her? And why was he out in public like this, still pretending to be a servant? As if anyone would believe it. He had such a liquid way of moving through the throng, as though he ought to have been a dancer.
Or an expert swordsman, she thought.If only you were as old as you were supposed to be, that would explain your easy grace.
She could see him as a warrior. He even looked like paintings of the old warrior lords. There was a strength to Chairman Asami—a robustness to his shoulders and chest that it warmed her cheeks to notice, and that suggested he might’ve been a fighter once.
She wished she could look away.
“Good evening, Ms. Mukai,” the chairman said, inclining his head toward her in the tight press of the crowd.
She returned his nod, her body going stiff.
“Do you—forgive me, you must know Gotoh Eriko,” Murasaki began the fumbling introduction, then halted. Eri had slipped away into a line for dumplings, not even offering her a backward glance.
If she had, it would’ve been a mischievous one.
Murasaki turned back to the chairman, at a loss for words. “She was just here a moment ago.”
“I know.” Despite the noise around them, his voice was low—almost soothing. Could he tell she was nervous?
“Forgive me for prying, but you look much better than when I just saw you,” the chairman said. “Is the medicine helping?”
“The combination of medicines, yes.” For some reason, she felt obligated to continue. “Dr. Setouchi truly is a wondrous physician. I never received care half as good in the city.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” A shadow flashed over his features, then a look of alarm. “Not that you didn’t receive good care before—that you are now—I mean—”
“I know,” she said, a smile sneaking out through the corner of her mouth.
