And all the food I’d miss: rabbit-shaped cookies filled with sweet red beans, skewers of rice cakes stuffed with fresh peaches or melon paste, sugar candies shaped into tigers and bears. How unfair it was that I had to stay inside and sew with Raikama!
Finally, when my stomach couldn’t take it any longer, I worked up the courage to ask: “Stepmother, the festival is beginning. May I go? Please?”
“You may leave when your embroidery is finished.”
I wouldn’t be finished for another month. “It’ll be over by then.”
“Do not sulk, Shiori. It is unbecoming.” My stepmother didn’t look up as her needle swam in and out of the cloth. “We had an agreement with your father.”
I crossed my arms, indignant. I wasn’t sulking. “Don’t you want to go?”
She turned and opened her sewing chest. Inside were hundreds of neatly wrapped balls of thread, yarn, and embroidery floss.
Raikama started putting away her threads. “I have never enjoyed such things. I attend only out of duty.”
Outside the window, drums pounded and laughter bounced. Smoke from the grills spiraled into the sky, children danced in their brightest clothes, and the first kites of the morning flitted high against the clouds.
How could anyone not enjoy such things?
I sat back in my corner, resigned to my fate. My brothers would bring me some of the best food, I was sure. But I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to the visiting cooks or watch them at work. The only dish I had mastered was my mother’s fish soup, but I expected to cook more—or at least supervise the kitchen—once I had to move to the North, region of the blandest cuisine.
I was so busy wishing I were at the festival that I didn’t hear my father enter the room. When I saw him, my heart skipped. “Father!”
“I have come to invite my consort to attend the festival with me,” he said, pretending not to notice me. “Is she ready?”
My stepmother stood, holding her embroidery chest. “Just a moment. Allow me to put this away.”
When she disappeared into the adjacent chamber, Father turned to me. His expression was stern, and I put on my best apologetic face, hoping he’d take pity on me.
It worked, though what he said surprised me: “Your stepmother says you’ve made good progress on the tapestry.”
“She does?”
“You think she does not like you,” Father said observantly. His eyes, near mirrors of my own, held my gaze.
He sighed when I said nothing.
“Your stepmother has suffered many hardships, and it pains her to speak of them. It would gladden me greatly to see you think well of her.”
“Yes, Father. I will do my best.”
“Good,” he replied. “Lord Bushian and his son will return in the autumn for Andahai’s wedding. You will present your apology to them then. Now go and enjoy the festival.”
My eyes lit up. “Really?”
“I’d hoped staying inside would calm your restless spirit, but I can see nothing will tame you.” He touched my cheek, tracing the dimple that appeared whenever I was happy. “You look more and more like your mother every day, Shiori.”
I disagreed. My face was too round, my nose too sharp, and my smile more impish than kind. I was no beauty, not like Mother.
Yet every time Father spoke of her, his eyes misted and I yearned to hear more. There rarely was more. With a quiet exhale, he drew back his hand and said, “Go.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. Like a bird that had finally been released from her cage, I flew out to find my brothers.
* * *
The Summer Festival was packed with hundreds of revelers by the time I arrived, but I found my brothers easily. They were lounging in the park, away from the manicured pavilions, the vermilion gates, and the white sand squares. The twins had crafted a brilliant turtle kite this year, and my other brothers were helping to paint the finishing touches.
The turtle’s four legs jutted out of its shell, which was a patchwork of scraps from old silk scarves and jackets. Against the clear blue of the afternoon, it would look like it was swimming in the imperial garden’s azure ponds.
I hurried to join them. Every year since we were children, we’d flown a family kite together during the Summer Festival. My brothers were all of marriageable age now, Andahai already engaged and the rest soon to be. It was our last time doing this together.
“You’ve outdone yourselves this year, Brothers,” I greeted.
“Shiori!” Wandei spared me a brief glance, a measuring string in his hands as he checked the kite’s final dimensions. “You made it. Just in time, too. Yotan was about to eat all the food we saved for you.”
“Only so it wouldn’t go to waste!” Yotan wiped the green paint from his hands. “You make me sound like a glutton.”
“Shiori’s the glutton. You’re just the one with the big belly.”
Yotan harrumphed. “It’s only these ears that are big. Same as yours.” He tugged at his twin’s—which, like his, did stick out a little more than everyone else’s.
I stifled a giggle. “Is there anything good left?”
Yotan waved at a tray of food they’d carried from the stalls. “All the best dishes are nearly gone.” He winked and leaned close, letting me in on the stash of glutinous rice cakes under his cloak. “Shh, don’t show the others. I had to bribe the vendor just to get this last plate.”
Winking back, I popped a rice cake into my mouth. My shoulders melted as my tongue savored the chewiness of the rice dough, the powdered sugar dusting my lips with just enough sweetness. Greedily, I reached for another before Yotan could hide the stash again.
“Save some for the rest of us!” Reiji complained.
“I just got here,” I said, snatching another cake. “You’ve had all day to enjoy the food.”
“Some of us have been working on the kite,” he replied testily. As usual, my third brother’s nostrils were flared with discontent. “Besides, there’s not much to enjoy. No monkeycakes stall, no grilled fishballs. Even the sugar artist isn’t as good as last year’s.”
“Let her eat,” said Benkai. “You always have something to complain about.”
While my brothers bickered and I feasted, my attention wandered past the magnolia trees to the lake—where I’d almost drowned. Where I’d seen the dragon.
Part of me itched to go and look for him.