heard that the loyal retainer is able to leap from mountain to mountain in a single bound,” Mamoru said, falling into step beside me, just in my shadow. He’d taken to doing that lately, and I’d taken to accepting it. Once, I’d walked behind him; walking at his side should have been anathema to me.
It was part of the roles we played. If a wife walked before her husband in the streets, there would be such a fuss that the Emperor himself would have come to see the novelty.
“A single bound?” I asked. “He must have very long legs.”
“They also say he is so handsome that no one dares to look upon him,” Mamoru added, somewhat slyly. “The women say that, at least.”
“They talk far more of the prince’s beauty,” I said, though I felt my cheeks grow hot. He was teasing me, and I him, but we had not indulged in such behavior since we were children. It fit a bit stiffly—the same way an old glove might—but it fit nonetheless.
“They flatter him,” Mamoru said.
“They flatter that poor retainer,” I countered. “Who will never live up to such a standard. Jumping across mountains? If only he could.”
The last statement burned more hotly in my throat than I’d expected, and I was grateful it was so dark, so noisy, so crowded upon the street. The gossips were out in full force, along with the other eager theatregoers, travelers and merchants and locals alike, each hoping that some noble grace would touch them through the hand of the make-believe prince. Someone jostled against Mamoru’s shoulder and I caught him, drawing him gently aside.
“There is one among these numbers who used to believe he could do all that, and more,” Mamoru said, the hint of a smile ghosting over his lips. “A silly little boy with too much time for imagining things, though. You’d barely recognize him now.”
“He has grown quite a bit,” I agreed. “But his eyes are the same.”
“At least someone recognizes him,” Mamoru agreed.
We slipped into the inn through the side entrance, which faced another one of the small, simply made houses. In the main hall, one could hear the excited whispers of the audience as they were arriving, and it did seem strange that we should not be allowed to watch a performance in which—at least in the barest of ways—our own actions were represented.
Our things, minimal as they were, had been tossed in with the others’ trunks and boxes; on the second floor, in a series of connected rooms, all small and clean and cast into utter chaos by the arrival of the merry band. I saw Mamoru cast a longing glance toward one of the beds, over which a series of brightly colored scarves had been scattered, and I knew what he would miss the most: rice in the mornings and not having to comb twigs from his hair.
“We could always take a pillow,” I suggested, already knowing what his answer would be.
“That would be stealing,” he replied. “Unless we could pay for it.”
Which we couldn’t.
I dug through the very garments I’d helped to unload—the only way I could pay for anything; with my hands and my shoulders, both of which were aching—and found the last vestiges of what belonged to us.
“They did say they could use the horse,” Mamoru sighed. “Very fine, that creature. I do wonder…”
“We need him more right now than the diplomats,” I soothed, though I bowed my head for a brief moment in apology.
“Well,” came a third voice. “There you are. First sign of work and you run away: I see how it is.”
“Aiko,” Mamoru said, startling.
The question on both of our minds was whether or not she thought us common thieves—and how long she’d been standing there.
“We haven’t taken anything,” I began, holding up my hands.
“Of course you haven’t,” Aiko muttered. “Because you’re two noble idiots. If you did take something, it would serve you better than it did us. A blanket, maybe, or some money—yes, money. You need that to live out there.”
I cast an uncertain look to Mamoru, who seemed just as baffled as I was. “I don’t think I follow,” I tried again, inching closer to Mamoru. In case of what, I didn’t know. It was first nature to me now, not second. I didn’t trust the look in Aiko’s eyes—as though she knew something we didn’t.
“Cut the pretending,” she said. “Neither of you is any good at it.” My throat tightened around the pulse there, and