Page 139 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
“Perhaps in the morning.” Showing her his pocket watch, he murmured, “He is asleep. And you should be, as well.”
“Will you stay with me?”
Juuyu hesitated. “I made a promise to Suuzu and planned to keep it tonight. But first … would you like to see the treasure you have been protecting?”
It had entirely slipped her mind, but she was eager to have her share in this secret. “Please?”
With quiet deliberation, Juuyu undid the fastenings on the long carrying case that she’d been keeping close. It was difficult to believe that he’d forgotten about the Junzi, even for a moment. The weapon’s import was staggering, and its loss would have been mortifying.
Fumiko made a soft noise as he eased the Bamboo Stave into the open. Her eyes shone with obvious delight, making it a pleasure to be able to present it to her on both palms.
As she turned toward the faint light of her few candles, he gently lofted a handful of crystals to increase the illumination. “This is one of four legendary pieces, each a work of art.”
“Is this stone? It’s cold.” She ran her fingertips along the length, which caught the light and sparkled, translucent as green water and flowing with power.
“Remnant crystal.” Juuyu quietly added, “This instrument is part of an ancient set named for the Junzi, the famed Four Gentlemen.”
“I know them—plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum.”
He wasn’t surprised. She was an artist, after all, and most of the coffee table books in the gathering area were art-related.
“This represents the bamboo of summertime?” she asked. And without waiting for an answer, she raised the long flute to her lips and blew experimentally.
The resulting notes rippled up Juuyu’s spine and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He swiftly deployed an additional barrier, not wanting the sound to travel.
“No?” she checked.
“Please,” he encouraged.
He’d found several instruments while sorting the contents of the extra room in the guesthouse—predominantly wind and string. There had also been an upright piano and an ancient set of taiko drums. Juuyu had assumed them to be cast-offs of her many children. Only now did a simpler truth resonate. Fumiko had pursued many interests over the years—art, music, and now … him.
The notes weren’t so much a song as a mood. Wistful and hopeful, both at once, they made him long to tune his voice to the flute’s. Why not?
“Keep playing,” he urged.
Stepping back, he shifted into truest form, fanned his wings in an overt display, and echoed her notes. She played on, and he spun off into harmony, though his voice was not at its best. She made him jittery and urgent and clumsy, but he sang anyhow. Sincere and unstinting. Eager to weave his life with hers—like a song, like a nest, like a lover.
Eventually, Fumiko lowered the instrument, though not her gaze. She approached him slowly, awe in her appraisal. He arched his neck and arranged his wings decoratively.
Her fingers grazed his crest and slid along the underside of his beak.
Using one wing, he pulled her against his breast. She laughed shyly, and with a trill, he returned to speaking form, his arms enfolding her.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“I am pleased you find me so.” Boldly winding his fingers into her hair, he said, “I did not know you could play.”
She hummed and said, “I’d forgotten, but what else could I do? The stone asked to sing.”
“Are you sure I cannot carry you?” Zuzu offered again. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“I can manage,” Akira assured.
“It would be faster,” she wheedled.
“I have my pride.” He stifled a yawn. “Just be sure to catch me if I happen to slip.”
“You are safe. And you are nearly there.”
