I could hear him. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such friends.”
He truly didn’t. Perhaps my lord did not yet understand how deeply his kindness had been felt during the war. While his father and brother had fought valiantly to crush our opponents, Mamoru had organized camps for the refugees of cities too close to the mountains. He was beloved as Iseul was not—respected not only for his actions on the battlefield but also his compassion off it—and our new Emperor’s attack on his brother had merely brought that affection to the forefront.
He had even gone so far as to take the place of one of his men who had been wounded on the battlefield. He was a common soldier and nothing more, but to rest wounded without finding a man to take his place would have been a great blow to his honor. My lord Mamoru took up his mantle without hesitation—a fact I was later both displeased and awed to learn. The deception was not discovered until the next day, and it had since become a favorite tale of the playwrights.
The Ke-Han people were bound by tradition. But we were not so bound as to forget kindness, either.
“Plays are well enough,” Aiko went on, either ignoring him or simply at a loss for what to say. “They inspire the people well enough, let them dream a little about life as it ought to be rather than how it is. But dreaming isn’t enough sometimes.”
She rose to her feet, having made up her mind about something, and pressed the money pouch into my hand. The look on her face promised ill if I refused it.
“You can’t afford rice for your lady wife on dreams alone,” she said, and I thought I caught the hint of a smile on her face. “Take it, or I’ll start screaming that I’ve found the errant prince.”
Finally, finally, my lord rose to his feet. He took my arm to steady himself, and the expression on his face was one of wonderment and gratitude.
There was a time when I would not have been able to keep myself from kneeling. Indeed, I could not even so much as imagine a time when I would have been the one man left standing in a roomful of those on their knees. My father would have died of shame at even the prospect. It seemed that my lord was not the only one who’d grown since leaving the palace. I turned my face toward Mamoru when I might instead have bowed, and offered the gift to him.
“My… wife” I said carefully. “It is for you to decide.”
Mamoru reached his hand out, fingers hesitating at the last moment. He looked first to me, then Aiko, as though on the brink of some terribly important decision. Then, without warning, he sprang forward, catching her up in a tight embrace. Aiko made a startled sound, then returned the gesture, an awed smile upon her lips.
We both knew, if my lord did not, what an honor it was. And yet it was also a gesture of pure friendship—without hierarchy interfering.
“No one’s ever going to believe me,” she said, looking wistful when they parted. It was a strange expression to see on her face, when I was all too used to her practicality. But then even particularly practical stagehands, it seemed, could not hold strong when it came to my lord.
“Thank you,” said Mamoru sincerely.
For my part I bowed, much lower than was proper. When I lifted my head, Aiko was wiping at something on her face, though I hadn’t seen any tears there moments ago.
“Come on,” she said, marching over to one of the makeshift beds with a renewed purpose in her eyes. “Let me teach you nobles how to prepare for more than one night out in the woods.”
There was nothing for us to do but to accept her help, it seemed. She outfitted me with one of the heavy canvas bags used for toting smaller props. It was sturdy, and would keep out water so long as I didn’t do anything foolish like drop it in a river. That I was almost more grateful for than the money, since it would allow us to carry more food than we could fit into our mouths at one sitting.
“Good luck,” Aiko said as we were leaving. “Everyone’s watching the play, so if you leave through the back, no one will catch on.”
“What about the things we’ve taken?” Mamoru asked, the smallest