in waves. If we could have had a moment alone, that I might have asked him frankly what the trouble was, I would have felt marginally better.
As things stood, though, I was unsure as to whether Kouje was simply having trouble adjusting to the way of life we’d taken up, as I was. At the palace, he would never have tolerated anyone speaking to me with such familiarity; the sudden change must have been a great strain on him.
I squeezed his arm where I’d patted it, trying to convey my meaning without words: that it was quite all right and that he needn’t worry so.
Kouje looked at me, and I could see his frustration quite plainly, mingled with the knowledge that this was what we had to accept. To be perfectly honest, I was surprised at the difficulty he was having in adapting. I’d always assumed that Kouje would undertake any task with the greatest of ease while I would be the one left struggling.
It had been so ever since I was young, after all, with Kouje set as the bar for everything I aspired to become.
Of course, there were many things I had to learn on my own since Kouje, for all his fine attributes, was not a prince, but he praised me in my learning of those other subjects too, even if he did not understand himself the particularities of poetry or calligraphy. In some ways, Kouje had been like a second brother to me, not as proud or as stern as Iseul, but one who would give me comfort when I’d done poorly, and encouragement when I’d done well. Such needs were only an indication of my weaker character, for Iseul had never required a brother to offer him anything—but then again, that was where the difference between us lay. I was a second son, born weaker than the first, and nothing could be done about it.
“My friend,” I murmured, softly enough that I didn’t think Inokichi or Jiang would hear me.
Kouje nodded, his eyes saying what he could no longer speak aloud: my lord.
It was an agreement, though I’d not asked anything specific of him, to try harder. I could tell by the troubled expression on his face that he, too, was concerned by his conduct. He would have to take better control of himself, rein himself in as he did our horse.
Some way from us, Jiang and Inokichi sat beneath a tree, playing a game with knucklebones. Rather, Inokichi was playing, and Jiang was looking bored, casting a glance toward the horses every now and again to see if they’d tired of drinking yet. I gazed at the stream with some longing myself, for all we’d bathed the day before. Had it only been a day ago? My clothes were coated in traveling dust, the hem of my robes stained with the damp of early mornings in the forest and hunting for rabbits. I could no longer recall what it felt like to be clean, even though I remembered the sharp cold of the water in the river and the slither of catfish around my ankles. How Kouje had laughed at me then, and rightfully so. I smiled to think of it, new memories that were not so sore as the old ones and were heartening to think back on.
Time had passed in a curious fashion since we’d left the palace, first so quickly and then impossibly slow, so that I was no longer certain of the day or time. By my calculation, though, it had been less than a week. Four days? I would be missing the summer festivals in the city, that much I knew—but had they already started without me?
“We should be moving on soon,” said Kouje aloud, for everyone’s benefit. Then he took the cloth from my forehead and patted it against my temples. I realized that he was as concerned about getting me out of the sun as he was with furthering us to our destination. Or perhaps he was feeling the effects of it as badly as I was and only thought to save himself a splintering headache.
It was very likely the former, but I tried now and then to pretend Kouje was also looking after himself.
Kichi stood up all at once, like a theatre puppet pulled to its feet. Jiang followed at a slower pace, looking less than amused at his friend’s antics. It was a kind of exasperation that was born of real affection, though, which made