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Chapter Text

The door to the stagecoach gapes wide, welcoming Shirayuki in. It's been a while since she traveled so far, and she resigns herself to three long, long days of rattling boredom. In close quarters, too, she realizes, putting together the number of waiting travelers with the remaining space. The corners of her mouth threaten to smile, and she forces them still before she looks back. She'll be riding practically in Obi’s lap all the way to Gretna Green.

Assuming, that is, that he gets on. He's frozen at the door, his sharp features resembling nothing more than a treed fox. She knew he didn't like carriages, but this is beyond what she'd expected. She's just about to climb back out, give up and forfeit their place, but he takes a deep breath and with the air he regains his composure. His ascent up the steps and into the crowded quarters is, as always, a pleasure to watch.

The space is tight once everyone is inside, just as she'd anticipated, her hip tight against Obi’s and her shoulder overlapping his. He stretches his arm behind her, pulling her against his chest. It's not exactly proper, but it's comfortable, it suits the situation, and she can't find it in her to protest. He murmurs, “Is this all right?” And his voice is so close to her ear she can feel the breath. Who is she kidding, this is nowhere near proper. She nods, not ready to try to speak at that range.

Directly across from them sits a young woman with a baby tied on her chest. She grins as the stage pulls out of the coachyard, the turn compressing all the passengers. Obi's arm tightens around her to hold her steady, and the coachman’s whip cracks overhead as they pull out into the road.

Obi’s breath is still tight, and it isn't long before he starts in on his favorite way to distract himself: teasing her. He whispers stories about the other passengers: this woman is running away with her bath attendant, that man is a road surveyor assessing how much of the Great North Road needs to be torn up and rebuilt. Most of it, by the feel of the surface. Eventually he gets to the woman with the baby. “She's jealous of you, miss.”

“Whyever would she be?” She's not thinking hard, just enjoying the sound of his voice. To be fair, the beat of the horses’ hooves, the rocking of the coach, and his secretive murmurs have her at least half asleep.

He leans even closer. “Because you're running away with me.”

She's awake now, and the ribbons of her bonnet catch on him as she tries to turn her head. “Obi! That's not-” She can't finish it, not what she was going to say. “That's not fair.”

He sighs, warm on her cheek. “I know, I know. But there's just not enough of me to go around. That's just the way it is.”

Her answering giggle is edged with panic. She doesn't know how to deal when he's like this. He takes it as encouragement.

Chapter Text

Of course, when the stage-coach stops for the night, the posting-house is full. Anything else would make life far too easy, and this is the way everything on this trip has gone. Shirayuki snaps up the only room they have to offer, at a price her grandfather would have called extortion, then waits by the door for Obi. He takes the news with resignation. “It’s not like I haven’t slept under a carriage before, miss, it’ll be fine.”

“It is not fine. You sat in there all day without a complaint, you deserve a good night’s sleep.” He deserves the room. He’s sleeping in the room. That just leaves open the question of what Shirayuki can do for the night. She knows Obi too well to suggest the obvious choices.

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing I’d thrown you out of your room.”

As expected. That really leaves only one logical possibility. “You know, we are eloping.” Not really, but that is the story everyone here sees. It’s hardly even remarkable on this route. “What would be the harm of sharing?”

A shiver rattles through Obi. “Miss, that’s not a good idea-”

“Nobody will know and nobody will care.” A thread of guilt spirals through her mind at the little lies. Duke Wisteria would care that it happened. Zen would care if people knew. But they’d never know if nobody told them. “As long as you don’t plan to despoil me in my sleep, I think we can find an equitable way to pass the night.”

“But miss-” She gave him an opening, and his voice drops the way it always does when he flirts, but his face isn’t cooperating. Instead of twinkling eyes and curling lips, he’s serious. It’s like he doesn’t know what he wants to say.

“No ‘but miss,’” she orders, and it startles him like a blow. “Upstairs.”

He stares for one last breath of disagreement, silently registering his protest, then holds out his hand for the key.

Alone in a bedroom together, they have nothing to talk about. It’s a first for them, the silence, Obi awkward and Shirayuki at a loss. She wonders if their trunks are back at Wistal yet, Mrs. Zakura taking charge of them with confusion. She could have been in her own bed tonight. Alone. This seemed like a better idea before, before they were facing each other across an actual bed they'd have to share. But she's not afraid; he flirts but he doesn't mean it. They know where they stand.

She sets Yuzuri’s bag on the bed and pulls it open. The news broke too late to do more than throw together the bare necessities, but Yuzuri did her best. It isn’t much, soap and a hairbrush. A monograph on common crop pests of the Indies. Two toothbrushes.

She pulls one out and turns to Obi, to find him silently emptying his pockets onto the windowsill. A knife is no surprise. A smooth rock, a folded piece of paper, a stub of pencil, and a small envelope. This last he slips under the others, glancing over his shoulder, and his movement slows as he catches her looking. “It’s nothing,” he argues. She hasn’t said a word. “Suzu-” he starts, then shuts his mouth.

She looks back down at her hands, unwilling to pursue whatever has embarrassed Obi so. A tiny box from the depths of the bag is unlabeled, so she works the catch, and a piece of sponge with a string rolls out into her palm. Shirayuki freezes. Yuzuri is unbelievable. She thought she-

She can’t let Obi see this. She tries to roll it back into the box, but it bounces off the edge and she just barely catches it by the string. Another attempt, with fingers made clumsy by haste, and she drops the lid. She peeks at Obi, who’s watching her curiously. “Something wrong, miss?”

“No,” she chokes, “just going through what Yuzuri packed. She sent a toothbrush for you too.” She looks down at her hands just in time for the sponge to squirt out between her fingers again, rolling across the bedcover in plain view.

It’s too much to hope for Obi not to look. “Ah,” he says, carefully. “I take it Yuzuri thought she was being helpful?” She can't make herself reach for it as long as he's watching. Maybe if she keeps perfectly still, he’ll lose interest and she can hide it again when he turns around. She can barely feel her fingers anymore, her stomach flipping with nerves. A jerky nod is all she can muster in reply. Obi looks no less embarrassed, though, tipping his shoulders toward the windowsill stiffly. “Suzu thought much the same. Being helpful, I mean.”

She’s known about the brandy-soaked sponge option for some time, Dr. Garrack having explained it to her not long after she first came to Wistal. She’s cut sponges before, for an exhausted mother of ten hoping for a longer gap between children this time, but she’s only heard of French letters, never actually seen one. The envelope in the window beckons.

“Can I see it?” Obi’s eyes meet hers, stunned and disbelieving.

***

Getting on the carriage is even harder for Obi the second day, and nobody is in the mood for joking. Everything, everything has been uncomfortable since last night, since Shirayuki crossed a line she doesn’t know how to uncross, how to step back over and make things normal again. He’d turned away from her question, so disgusted he couldn’t even look at her. She didn’t know how to go on being friends with Obi after she’d been so inappropriate. If only there were a library for her to hide in, or at least something for her to do with her hands.

They’re both wrinkled today from sleeping in their clothes, and Shirayuki doesn’t know whether the soreness in her chest is from her stays or her heart.

The coach is less crowded today, but Obi looks compressed, pushed in and down by the walls and ceiling. His arm around her looks just as affectionate, his voice in her ear is just as close, but his speech is careful, a mere trickle where she’s accustomed to his streams and cascades of words. She doesn’t shrink away from his touch, but she quails inside at how he must be feeling, forced to pretend affection for someone so embarrassing. If only they were back at Wistal already.

Last night lasted about three years, Shirayuki jerking awake at Obi’s every tug on the sheets, every breath he took that was anything short of full deep sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his face in the moment she spoke, his abject shock covering up every other feeling. She’d always known she stepped beyond the boundaries of propriety when she was hot on the trail of a question. Two years in Lyrias fooled her into thinking that was all right.

Her head is lolling against his shoulder in a sort of twilight state, not asleep but not truly awake either, when a splintering jolt shocks her back into painful alertness. A shout from the driver, the call of a frightened horse, and one side of the carriage drops with a sickening crunch, slewing from side to side as it grates across the roadway. Obi drags Shirayuki into his lap as he braces his legs, and his arms are like iron crushing her against his chest. With a mighty kick, the seat tosses them and up and down lose all meaning. All they know is the blows of the carriage and other passengers as it rolls.

When everything stops, the only sound Shirayuki hears is the beating of Obi’s heart against her ear. He’s unnaturally still for just long enough to frighten her, make her afraid she’ll have to heave his weight off to find him injured, concussed, but then he groans and stirs, gently raising his body off of hers. Air fills her lungs as her entire chest expands, and she cranes her head back to see his face.

His eyes are waiting for hers, tight with what has to be pain and suppressed panic. “Ow,” he whispers, and she wants to giggle with the understatement, with relief that they are alive. Something under her shoulder moves, pushing her up closer to Obi’s wincing face, and he sits up enough to viciously kick out the door. It slams against the side of the carriage, shuddering on its hinges, and he heaves himself through the hole with barely a fraction of his usual grace.

The carriage is upright, mostly, canted onto what must be a broken wheel or two. When Shirayuki manages to pick her way over the seats and the wreckage of people’s belongings to the door, Obi is down on his knees in the gravel, wiping his mouth. He looks back up at her, shoulders curled inward with illness and shame. She crouches beside him, shading his eyes. “Did you hit your head?” He shakes his head, and she sees no more than bruises and embarrassment in the way he moves. She understands, maybe not everything, but no way could someone clearly uncomfortable with tight spaces survive something like that unscathed. Her fingers brush the edges of his hair as she stands, turning back toward the carriage. Someone is crying, someone is groaning. They need her help.

The driver is the worst, crumpled on the roadside against a stone wall. Obi leads the horses to safety before he comes to kneel beside her. The man is unconscious, and beyond splinting his broken leg, she can’t do much more than stabilize him. It’s worrying her that he’s still not waking up, but the beat of hooves and wheels in the distance gives her hope. Someone’s coming, and they can get help.

Obi grabs for the driver’s gun. He doesn’t bother loading it, just strides to the center of the road and levels it at the oncoming carriage. The horses barrel on, the driver barely slowing past the wreckage of the stage, but Obi stands firm. “Halt,” he orders, and even the passengers huddled in the swale pause their motions at the command in his voice. The driver hauls on the traces, his horses swerving with confusion and nervousness as the carriage clatters to a halt.

Someday, when she can look Obi in the eye again, she’ll ask him if he even knows how to fire a gun. She’ll yell at him for his recklessness standing down a carriage and two. But in the meantime, all she can do is laugh. Kirito leans down from the driver’s perch. “Obi? What are you doing here?”

Kirito is the son of a doctor. He understands the importance of getting the injured to safety, and within minutes his passenger Miss May and her trunk join Shirayuki on the ground, replaced in Shidan’s stolen carriage by the most injured and most upset. Kirito rolls off into the distance, calling back promises to his ostensible bride-to-be. Obi stands guard over the remaining passengers and their trunks, the driver’s gun still tucked in his belt.

Miss May takes the whole incident as a great adventure. She beckons for Shirayuki to join her on the traveling trunk, and while Shirayuki’s skirts are already soiled several times over, she’s glad for the chance to talk with the girl. She’s made a good first impression, but Kirito clearly neglected an important detail in the running off to Scotland plan.

“Dare I ask how we got ahead of you? Shidan sent us off the moment he found Kirito’s note, but we expected to find you two sitting disappointed on the stoop of the blacksmith’s in Gretna, not just a day out from Lyrias.”

Miss May giggles. “Kirito’s a dear, but he’s no whipster. Not so great with directions, either. I don’t know how we got lost on the Great North Road, but he managed.”

“Oh dear.” That sounds about right, actually. On the rare occasions where Shidan allows him the carriage to take Ryuu somewhere, it always takes longer than walking and most of the time results in some expense. Shidan always pays, but even through his closed office door, everyone in the Lyrias pharmacy can hear when Kirito’s in trouble.

Bedside manner is a skill Shirayuki has had to learn, how to deliver bad news without making a patient lose hope. She employs every skill as she informs May that her irregular Scottish marriage was doomed from the start. Kirito won’t be sixteen, or legal to marry, for another six months.

There’s a moment of disbelief, as May whispers “Fifteen?” and Shirayuki’s stomach sinks. Who ever thought she could do this, she’s bungled yet another emotional moment - but then May dissolves into peals of laughter. She snorts when she’s really laughing from the belly, and it’s charming. Obi peeks around the corner of the stage to see what the disturbance is, and his gaze softens as he meets Shirayuki’s eyes. It will be well, and he’s glad to see it. He’s proud of her, his eyes say, and the flood of relief at the message makes her fingers tingle. Last night didn’t ruin them, it was just another weird moment in her long history of them. She can’t put into words how happy that makes her.

Kirito returns at the head of a procession of carts and authorities and tradesmen, and the horses, coach, and remaining passengers are disposed of. Shirayuki is relieved to hear the doctor has already seen to the driver, who returned to consciousness on the ride. Obi doesn’t let Kirito repeat what he had to say about the business, no matter how impressed he was with the language. May looks curious, and Kirito probably tells her anyway when they step away for a moment’s private conference. Shirayuki shouldn’t allow it, but it’s a bit late now for her to pretend she cares about chaperonage. She watches from a distance, though, as Kirito holds May’s hand and she caresses his cheek. She’s smiling through her disappointment. He’s angry, but resolved. They’ll get what they want, someday.

Shirayuki remembers feeling that resolve. Two years ago, when she left for Lyrias, she told Zen she would be steadfast, she was working hard so they could be together. He said he’d wait and keep convincing his brother. It felt like a certainty then, a golden promise. Now it just feels so long ago, a once-prized possession forgotten in a drawer. She doesn't know what to expect when she sees him again.

She’s so lost in thought she misses the negotiations for how they’re getting back to Lyrias, attention only returning to the present when Obi climbs up to the driver’s perch. Kirito looks relieved as he loads up May’s trunk and lifts his betrothed into the rear seat, jumping up beside her. Shirayuki eyes the filled carriage, not sure where she’s supposed to go. It’s not meant for four. She’s thinking she’s doomed to share the seat with the two lovebirds, uncomfortable as that would be, but Obi reaches down a hand and pulls her up to join him. Her hip presses against his on the perch and his hand lingers in hers just long enough for a reassuring squeeze. Then his fingers are occupied on the traces and whip, and hers are holding her bonnet in place, and they’re moving forward at last. On to Lyrias, and on to Clarines.

Chapter Text

Zen came to dinner on Thursdays. Rain or shine, he was at her door, shy smile on his face and flowers in his hand. He stretched his fingers after he touched her like he couldn’t believe his luck, and he praised her in flowery phrases that didn’t sound like him. He was educated, far better read than Shirayuki was, and she couldn’t help suspecting it was someone else’s poetry.

Being around him was so much easier before. Before Lyrias, she could drag him out into the garden, explain her tools and show him the tidy rows of sprouts. It was largely a wilderness now, after two years of neglect. She couldn’t help but wish he cared.

“-and he climbed out of the fountain and said ‘I think it’s gone.’” She told stories about people she’d known in Lyrias, because those made him happier than stories of plants or discoveries. Suzu’s misadventures were a particular favorite. “I’d never seen Shidan laugh so hard, and by the number of researchers just standing and staring, I don’t think anyone else had either.”

Zen dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief. “Obi didn’t tell me that part, that’s fantastic.” He sighed. “I wish I could get out of here and do something, it’s so boring.”

Shirayuki’s ears perked up. “If you’re looking for a project, I took some notes on advances in irrigation for land reclamation. I meant to give them to you as soon as I got back, they’d be good for Clarines-” She turned in her chair, digging through the pile of loose paper that Obi had complained so bitterly about carrying. There was so much she wanted to remember, she couldn’t control herself.

“I could pass it on to Izana, if you want.” That wasn’t what she was offering it for, but it would do. He cared more about her attention than her irrigation, she knew that, but she still jumped when his fingers brushed her outstretched arm. The half-finished bowl of soup tipped, spilling vegetables across the tablecloth and broth in her lap. She jumped, he jumped, and they stood facing each other across her tiny table with red faces. Zen locked his gaze somewhere above her ear, averting his eyes from where her best dress was now soaking wet. “I should go,” he stammered, backing toward the door. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just a spill.” She was no diamond of the ton, damping her dresses for attention, it was just a spot of broth. Unfortunately placed, for sure, and she’d be a time getting the stain out, but it certainly wasn’t the calamity he was making it out to be. She could be in a clean dress in five minutes, if that was it took to calm him down again, but he wouldn’t give her the chance to even offer.

“I’ll see you on Sunday.” His voice warmed as he bid her goodbye, already halfway out into the garden.

“See you-” The door closed. She stared after Zen a moment, then dropped back into her seat. She picked a piece of carrot off her dress and ate it, frowning. If Obi were here, surely he’d be able to interpret what just happened. All by herself, she was stumped.

By Sunday the stain had been dealt with and Obi was still gone. Zen took her arm and they walked in the churchyard after the service, out in the open in front of everyone. Surely not every eye was on them, but it was hard to attend to his chatter when she felt so exposed. He didn’t bring up Thursday, just talked about flowers and told her all about a new carriage he was having built. “It’ll have the best suspension I can buy, and room for four passengers.” He looked at her like she was something greater than just Shirayuki, runaway and herbalist and sometime research assistant. She didn’t understand what he saw, what he expected of her.

Sunday dinner was quiet. It wasn’t worth cooking just for herself, so she had cold meat on bread and missed the rowdy Sundays in Lyrias. She’d get used to this again, it had only been a month since she got back, but her routine felt flat without Yuzuri’s enthusiasm, Shidan’s wisdom, even Suzu’s ridiculousness. She hoped Kirito made it back to school and was behaving himself. She wondered if the students who had taken over her irrigation study were doing it right. It bothered her more than she’d like to admit that she might never know.

Monday was quiet too, without Obi's constant presence and pithy commentary. It was more than a week now since Duke Wisteria had dragged him off somewhere with minimal explanation. Even Obi didn’t say no when the duke wanted something. She threw herself into reclaiming her garden, and in pitched battle against the invading forces of roots and weeds, she didn’t feel so alone.

She was seated in the dirt, wiping her hands on her apron before getting up, when she realized she wasn’t. Obi stood just beyond the crumbling stone wall alongside the garden patch, watching her. He wasn’t perching on the wall, relaxed, or lounging against it with a playful smile. He just stood there, blank, like a scarecrow. “Obi? What’s wrong?”

He started, wrenching his face into an insincere smile as his gaze came to rest on her. “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”

“That’s not what the look on your face says.” He gave up the pretense, and what was left looked lost. She wanted to reassure him, but he had to explain the problem first. “Did Izana do something to you?”

He laughed, high and jagged and barely humor at all. “You could say that. He made me a gentleman!”

Shirayuki bounded to her feet at that, heedless of the dirt on her hands and skirt, and faced him across the wall. She hardly knew what to say to that, asking what or why or how seemed to question the truth, and Obi never lied to her. And yet this was nearly unimaginable. Obi watched her speechlessness, and his bitter humor softened into real amusement. “He took me to meet the Prince Regent, who was most impressed with the story of your kidnapping and rescue.” A dark look flitted across his face, but by now he knew that she wouldn’t allow him to claim his actions as a failure. She still hoped someday he’d actually believe it. He sat on the wall, curling one knee up in front of himself. “Then they talked, while I sat there like someone’s prize lapdog they’d just shown off to a potential breeder, and they decided I needed a reward.” Shirayuki beamed. That was lovely news, he deserved to be recognized for his heroism. “They asked me what I wanted on my coat of arms, then sat there giggling over sketches like a pair of children.”

“What did they decide?”

“I don’t even know,” he said, so soft she could barely hear him over the wind and the birds. “Because then they talked about money, in numbers that made everything I ever earned, everything I ever stole look like nothing. The duke took me to a bank, and I signed papers, and-” He swallowed, choking. “I have an income. I’m going to have forty pounds a year, all because-” He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she couldn’t keep her hands to herself, not when he looked so uncertain. She sat on the wall facing him and laid both of her hands over one of his, squeezing it for reassurance.

He sat still for just a moment, hand pressed into the stone and eyes closed, then sprang to his feet. “I can’t stay, I just wanted you to know I’m back, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He was out of sight around the bend in the lane before Shirayuki could get her feet over the wall to follow him.

Chapter Text

When Shirayuki received an invitation to pay a call on Kiki at Wistal on Tuesday, she arrived at the front stairs at the first acceptable moment. The morning sunshine was clear and bright, and the sprigged muslin she’d been so pleased with six months ago seemed sallow and cheap now, the blue ribbon trim a sad attempt to make it presentable. She was standing at a duke’s door to call on a marquess’ daughter, and this was by no means good enough. She hesitated at the bell, smoothing her bonnet ribbon with her fingers. It matched the dress, and that made her feel a little better. And Kiki asked to see her. She pulled the cord.

It wasn’t Zakura who opened the door, but Kiki herself, bonnet on, parasol in hand, and grin wide. Her walking dress cost more than Shirayuki would see in a year, but she didn’t even look down as she eased the door shut behind her and looped her arm through Shirayuki’s. “Come on,” she said, command implicit in her tone as she pulled Shirayuki on, out into the Wistal park.

Past the cultivated walks and scenic vistas Kiki dragged her, into the deeper woods. Oaks curved overhead, bluebells peeping through the underbrush in the spots of sunlight. It really was a beautiful day, and she might have guessed Kiki would choose the wildest of walks. She would have appreciated a slightly slower pace, Kiki’s stride being longer than hers, but she could manage. There was no need to complain. “Are we going somewhere in particular?” she asked at last, as Kiki peered through the shady woods like a hunting hound scenting for game.

“I know the river is along here somewhere,” Kiki murmured. “I just don’t want them to see us before we see them.” Her grin was no dog’s, though, teeth flashing with pure fox’s mischief. It only deepened as they heard a masculine shout from ahead, answered by giggles. If not for the timbre of the voice, likely Mitsuhide’s, she’d have thought it young boys at play.

Water glimmered through the trees at last, and Kiki held out a hand to slow their approach. “Zen was taking them fishing,” she explained at last. “I want to see how it’s going.”

Sure enough, fishing gear was piled by the bank, Shirayuki could see as they peered around the last shielding tree. But that was not what the men were doing. Obi and Zen crouched in water up past their knees, hands at the ready and eyes locked on each other. Zen shifted from foot to foot, poised like a cat at a mousehole. Obi could have been carved from ice. Mitsuhide perched on a dry rock, feet bare and trousers rolled up above his knees. “Go!” he shouted, dropping his arm in a chopping motion, and Zen and Obi circled each other.

Zen’s hair was plastered flat against his head and his shirt already thrown off, drying on the bank next to the discarded fishing rods. Sunlight sparkled off the water drops on his pale shoulders. Obi’s hair still stood in its stiff, unmanageable way, and the light off the river lit his dampened shirt with an angelic glow. It was wet to his armpits, clinging and swinging free of his skin as he circled, sleeves bunched up above his elbows. Suzu would sigh to see him in the shapeless breeches again, but in the water they lost all bagginess, outlining his form as if glued there-

This was so inappropriate. Shirayuki’s fingers tightened against the bark, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Zen, grinning, pushed a wave of water toward his opponent, soaking another section of Obi’s shirt, then grabbed for him while Obi was shaking water from his eye. “Cheater!” Obi roared gleefully, dipping under Zen’s reach and twisting like a snake, then surging forward to lock his arms around Zen’s waist.

“Foul play!” echoed Mitsuhide from his rock, dancing in place, far more delighted than appalled and making no motion to stop the match. Zen struggled, splashing, as Obi set his shoulder to and lifted. Every muscle stood out, thighs outlined in wet canvas and arms tensed against Zen’s back, and there was laughter in Obi’s face as he straightened and turned, displaying his prize for imaginary spectators along the riverbank. Even as Shirayuki realized she could have hidden, should have ducked, Obi’s eyes fixed on her, meeting her guilty and incredulous gaze.

He froze, voice choked off mid-taunt, and Zen’s gyrations threw him off balance. Zen squawked as Obi lost his grip and the two men splashed into the river in a pile of limbs.

Shirayuki ducked back behind the tree, heart pounding. He saw her watching, saw her spying. Curse her hair, for making her stand out. She could beat them back to the manor if she ran, pretend it wasn’t her, she was in the kitchen the whole time or better yet she was never at Wistal at all. She was sick in bed- But Kiki saw her turn, saw her lose her nerve, and hooked an iron hand around her elbow. Escape was impossible, the chance for flight lost. “Looks like time to make our entrance,” Kiki said, impossibly casual for someone facing so much underdressed man, and snapped her parasol open.

“What are you here to catch?” Kiki’s voice carried across the river as she strolled into the riverbank sunshine. “Because surely you’ve scared all the fish for miles around.” She nudged the pile of rods with her toe, the vengeful spirit of propriety descending upon the three troublemakers. Mitsuhide, mesmerized, missed the step down from his rock and splashed, face-first, into the river. Kiki’s delighted smirk was mastered, wrestled back into something more seemly, by the time he re-emerged. “I do believe, Shirayuki, that they are more likely to catch a cold than anything edible from this excursion.” For all that she addressed Shirayuki, her gaze never wavered.

Surely that was her cue, Kiki wanted her to say something, not just hide behind the parasol torn between an embarrassing pleasure in the moment and a profound wish that she’d never showed up today. Back down at the river, Zen was in much the same state, trying to hide behind Obi with his eyes the size of saucers, panicked gaze darting from the women on the bank to the shirt drying near their feet. Mitsuhide was trying to hide behind the rock now, his shirt billowing in the current and making it eminently clear that the shoulders of his jacket owed nothing to padding.

Obi, on the other hand, feared no woman’s eyes. The river washed around his calves as he climbed out of the water, confident on the slippery rocks. “Miss Kiki, Miss.” He bowed with all the gravity of a royal drawing room, dripping shirt pulling tight against his back, and Shirayuki took refuge in her answering curtsey as she tried to find somewhere safe to rest her eyes. The line of the scar across Obi’s chest was far from safe, so much more improper glimpsed in a peek between fingers as he tied his collar than when she’d stood in a doctor’s stead to treat his shoulder. Someday she’d get him to open up about it, explain where it came from and how her father figured in the story. Someday when he had clothes on.

“Is it time for your rounds already?” Shirayuki jumped, looking up from Obi’s hands as his question shattered the silence of stunned swimmers and satisfied onlooker. Obi looked over his shoulder at Zen and Mitsuhide still cowering in the river under Kiki’s grin. “I’ll be ready to go as soon as I grab my boots.”

That wasn’t what Shirayuki was concerned about. “But you’re-”

“Fishing? I think that’s over for today.” He grabbed a coat from a treebranch and looped it over one arm, tucked boots under the other, then jogged the couple of steps to reach her side.

“Wet!” That brought out a new smirk, pleased that she’d noticed.

“Nothing some sunshine won’t fix.” His stride was easy at her side, despite the sodden squish of wool with every step. “I could wring out my shirt if you’d prefer.” He slanted a challenge at her.

“Drip dry,” she answered, and picked up the pace. Obi snickered as he followed.

----

He donned clothes as they walked and he dried, and with every added piece of fabric, every boot, she relaxed. He was the same Obi as always, no different for his bearing a coat of arms and a living. He chattered about inconsequential things, making her giggle as he pretended to be a scarecrow, then listened to her complaints about the aphids trying to invade her turnips. He made himself a distraction while she tried to take the measure of a dairy-maid with a lingering cough, winking to make the girl’s pulse jump every time Shirayuki tried to count. Exiled, he waited outside the door for her to dispense her remedies.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Obi reassured her out of the blue as they turned into Dr. Garrack’s lane. “Zen and his brother say I can stay at Clarines as long as I like.” His boots scuffed up dust that drifted into the hedgerow. “They both told me that separately. It just means I don’t get out of all the company dinners and tiresome card evenings anymore.” His arm nudged her shoulder and he leaned close to whisper. “Mitsuhide’s misery loves my company.” His breath was warm on her ear, conspiratorial as though Mitsuhide would jump out of the brush to contest the assertion.

“But enough about me,” he added, drifting back to a more appropriate distance. “I want to hear all about how Master’s courtship is proceeding. He must have done something embarrassing by now, but he won’t tell me anything and I haven’t been here to see it.”

She hesitated to reply, not sure what to start with, and he continued with a calculating eye. “You did take off rather fast back there.”

She hadn't realized that until just now. “I didn't say anything to him!” It was too late to go back, why couldn't Obi have asked her this an hour ago? She'd looked aside from Zen in their mutual embarrassment and forgotten to take her leave. “He was probably more comfortable with me gone anyway.” She'd even forgotten to wish Kiki a good day.

Obi's skeptical face mirrored her own feeling of untruth. She wanted that to be the reason, but honestly she'd barely seen anything past Obi. She hadn't intended to make her rounds for another hour, but he'd lured her off like some kind of classical siren and she'd gone willingly. Even now she couldn't regret it, comfortable in his good company again after he'd been gone so long.

“Wait, courtship?” His original question finally reached the forefront of her mind, wrapped in confusion.

“Of course, Miss! Wait, don’t tell me he didn’t say- You do know he wants to marry you, right?”

“Yes, someday, but-”

“Not someday, Miss. Soon. Did he walk with you after church?”

“Yes, but-”

“And he’s come over to eat with you more than once. Does it bother him that you don’t have a chaperone?” Her widening eyes were all the answer he needed. “He’s probably writing to your father, if he hasn’t already. It’s finally happening, Miss!” His voice was warm, but the tension in his smile didn’t match it.

“I would have thought he’d ask me.” Her answer sounded thin even to herself.

“I’m sure he will. It’s not an easy thing, asking someone to marry you, to share the rest of your lives and bear your children.” He was thoughtful, and surely it was a mistake watching him speak, seeing his eyes flick to her, the softness in his face when he saw her.

Everything would be so much easier if she could stop wanting him. Time and again, she’d thought the warmth in Obi’s eyes was more than just fondness, that maybe she inspired something in him like the way he made her feel. He admired her, he trusted her, but every time she thought there could be more, he just shut himself away.

She’d been burned enough times to expect it now, but not to make it stop hurting. If only he would just tell her why, so she could change his mind or make the hoping stop. This kind of dangling wasn’t fair to anyone.

And now this. She’d assumed she’d have more time to settle back into life at Wistal and understand what she wanted. Her apprenticeship with Garrack, someday succeeding her, all her dreams come true but alone? Give up everything she ever expected for a dear, sweet man who loved her? Or an uncertain future, holding out hope for a man who never said anything but she couldn’t stop thinking about. Obi offered nothing and asked nothing.

He had been waiting far too long for her to respond. “Sounds like something you’ve thought about.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, as good as a full-body flinch for anyone else. “Marriage isn’t for-” He paused, gathering calm back around himself, and Shirayuki frowned. He was going to try to hide something. “And give up my unfettered lifestyle? Perish the thought.”

She bit her tongue on the argument that he’d been in her sight nearly every waking hour for nearly the last two years. Not so unfettered, if you asked her.

“Shirayuki!” Zen’s shout was breathless behind them. “I’m so glad I caught you.” He nearly skidded on the gravel in his haste to catch up. His glance at Obi was brief, a mere acknowledgment of his presence, but he was all smiles for Shirayuki. His suit was more wrinkled than usual, his hair still clinging to itself in damp locks, but he’d clearly put some effort into cleaning up. When he held out his arm, she took it. They were courting, after all, or at least that’s what she’d been told. “I was hoping to walk you back to-”

The roof of Garrack’s house came into view over the next rise, thick and oily smoke rising reluctantly from the chimney. They’d be on the front step in two minutes, maybe three if they slowed even further. “Well, at least I got to see you, albeit briefly.”

She could hear Obi’s feet on the walk behind them, falling further and further behind. He must be all but walking backward to get away from them.

“Oh, I had good news!” Zen was undeterred in his enthusiasm. “Rona Shenazard was presented at court at last, up and walking and making quite a splash. Nobody expected Raj’s little sister to be half so charming.”

She could smile genuinely at that. Rona must be so ecstatic to have her first Season at last, to wear the dresses from the magazines piled around her sickbed, snap her fan just the way she practiced, and make her curtsey to the Queen. Shirayuki had never been presented herself, of course, but-

If she married Zen, son and brother of a duke, she would meet the Queen someday. Her. A country medic. She could imagine Rona in Court dress and silver and furs, making an elegant curtsey and conversing with duchesses and countesses. But her?

She couldn’t panic about this now, not right here. “She is one of a kind. I hope they keep her busy, though, or surely the mayhem will be in all the papers.”

Behind them, Obi snickered, and Zen twitched against her arm. “Surely she wouldn’t- Anyway, what I meant to say is she owes you a great debt.”

Shirayuki frowned, stopping at Garrack’s front step and turning to face Zen. His arm slipped out from under her hand. “No, she doesn’t. It’s not a matter of debt, it’s-” She didn’t know how to explain, not now, not like this.

Zen held up his hands, placating. “I just wanted you to know I’m proud of you. You did a good thing that nobody could have expected, and she’s doing well.” He relaxed his shoulders, clearly setting aside the topic of conversation. “Will I still see you Thursday night?”

She certainly could have expected it. She still thought about Rona often, wished that more could have been done sooner, that a true cure could be found instead of the condition simply managed. She still had hope. There was nothing owed. But she was too scattered to even try to make him see. “Yes. I’ll see you then.”

His sunrise smile was too hard to answer in kind with how hard her stomach was roiling. “Good. Until then.” He took a sharp step back to bow his farewell, and Shirayuki bobbed in response. Obi, finally catching up to Zen, just smiled. Informal and incorrect as usual, and the look on his face was far too knowing for comfort.

She paused once more with her hand on the door, listening as the two men walked away. She needed to figure out what she wanted. Nothing less would be fair.

Chapter Text

Kiki has to resort to subterfuge to get Mitsuhide alone. A berry-picking expedition, a fictitious bounty glimpsed in the distance, a sudden need for a manly arm to carry her pail, and all the sounds of the others fade into the distance behind them, the only sounds the soughing of the wind in the hedgerows and Mitsuhide’s footsteps a decorous pace behind her.

Subtlety has done nothing to bring him up to scratch - time and again she’s caught the edges of a look in his eye that reassures her he’s far from indifferent to her, that the bubbling want in her chest has a match in his - so she’s about to resort to bald truth. She’d rather not admit how intimidated that makes her. Marquess Seiran’s daughter fears nothing short of royal displeasure.

Or so she tells herself. In truth she has many fears.

She’s not going to let them drive her.

“Mitsuhide,” she says, and he startles, stopping berries from the pail. She’s always called him Lowen before, always been scrupulously proper. The time for that is over.

“Oh no,” he says, dropping to his knees to scramble in the dirt, to pick them up.

Kiki huffs a breath. She needs his attention on her, not her ruse. She kneels facing him and stops his hand with her own. “I’m no Atalanta, to be distracted by fruit cast at my feet.”

Mitsuhide draws in a sharp breath, motionless as though her butterfly touch on his glove has nailed him in place. “You’ve- Of course you’ve read Ovid. I shouldn’t let things like that surprise me anymore. Is there anything you don’t do?”

It feels like the opening for her question, but she doesn’t know how to follow up. Mitsuhide gently pulls his hand from under hers, scooping up the last of the fallen berries. “You run, you drive, you hunt. You may call yourself no Atalanta, but it seems to me you’re her modern paragon.”

“I’m not waiting for someone to defeat me.” Every conversational grace she’s spent so many years perfecting deserts her. She wants his regard more than she’s ever wanted something from another person, enough to make her humble herself in front of him. “I just need someone to be on my side, to treat me as more than a decoration. To know me and not shy away from who I really am.”

Mitsuhide drops his eyes, shaking his head like he can’t be hearing this. “Miss Kiki, surely nobody-”

“Wrong.” She stands to her full height, looking down on him still kneeling in the dust. “To everyone but you and Zen I’m a tool, a means to an end. My hobbies are quaint, something to be put aside when I get a husband to put me in line. If they knew about Kit, I’d be deviant, maybe insane.”

That startles him into meeting her eyes, looking up at her in such an unusual position, and her heart pounds at the way he listens to her, actually listens. How can it be fair to have found all she ever wanted in one man and he be so difficult to convince? “Zen’s my friend, but you- I trust you, Mitsuhide. You know me, and -” A deep breath steadies her voice. “I thought we could be something more. Throw me apples, and I will pick them up. I want nobody but you.”

Mitsuhide’s body jerks, blood draining from his face, and Kiki’s first thought is that he’s been shot. She steps forward, searching for the wound even before she realizes it’s her words alone that have run him through. “I never-” His words are thick, but just for a moment his eyes betray him, give away that wanting that gives her hope. He blinks, and it’s hidden, but she can’t forget.

“Surely your father- And what would Zen do without- And Seiran-” He can’t even finish a single excuse before he’s on to the next. If it were for any lesser reason she’d enjoy his babbling, the sight of the unflappable Mitsuhide Lowen having lost all his composure, but as it is her heart is cowering within her. Her frontal assault is crumbling against him, and there’s no certainty she’ll ever have another chance.

Were she someone other than who she is, she would beg.

“My father will approve of you and probably even like you. You’ve taught Zen well; a quality valet would serve him adequately now.” No excuses, not for this. “And I can run Seiran, if it comes to that. I don’t think it would, we would be better together-”

But her words fall on deaf ears, the light of panic unmistakable in his eyes now. He stands and turns away, her bucket forgotten by his feet to draw ants. “Pardon me, Miss Kiki, I must return-”

It’s disappointing, to think she’s misjudged him so badly. For two heartbeats she feels the humiliation of rejection, for two steps he flees her presence, but then he stops.

“No,” he says, as if to himself, and when he turns back he’s resolved. He won’t say yes, she knows that now, but at least he won’t run. “I never thought to marry, Miss Kiki. Thank you for your kind regard, but you must see it’s not-” He swallows. “It’s not a possibility. If you will excuse me,” he adds, and bows, correct and tender and solid.

A gaping hole opens in Kiki’s chest when he turns away a second time, so sharp she searches the panels of her dress for bullet holes. She won’t ask again, she won’t humble herself any more than she’s already done, no matter how she wants to cry out, no matter how fierce the unshed tears itch at her eyes and how tight her throat closes on further entreaties.

He’s always treated her with respect. So respect is what she’ll give him in return.

She bends for her pail, thankful for the few more minutes of solitude her ruse can buy her. Maybe, when she gets back to Wistal, it’ll be time to hang up Kit’s shirtsleeves and breeches for good. And write to her father. Kiki’s done with secrets.

Chapter Text

It's just a local dance at Wistal, far from the formality of the New Year's ball, and when Zen is at last released from Izana’s clutches, receiving guests in the front hall, the party is already in full swing. Fans flutter along the wall where chaperones and wallflowers cluster, groups of young men in the opposite corner plot their conquests, and the best musicians play bright and loud.

Who he doesn’t see, at first, is Shirayuki. She arrived a while ago, arm in arm with her mentor Garrack, and Zen bowed over her hand with his warmest welcome of the night. It’s been so long since he’s danced with her, his very fingers ache with longing.

He’d love to lead off the dance with her, if he could find her. With that hair, she’s not usually that hard to find-

“Your brother says we’re to dance,” Kiki murmurs by his shoulder.

Zen frowns down at her, matching her look. He’d expected his brother would partner her himself, the host with the highest-status lady, leaving him free to pick his own partner. He scans the room, but there’s no sign of his brother’s sleek pale queue. “There’s a situation downstairs that needed his attention,” Kiki adds.

Zen just bets there was. The only situation is that Izana wants Zen to dance with Kiki in front of the entire county.

The musicians pause, and lines start to form for the first set. Heads start to turn toward Zen, impatient, and air puffs from his nose in irritation. It’s all the display of annoyance he allows himself, though, pasting an inviting smile on his lips as he raises a hand to lead Kiki to the head of the set. Kiki murmurs to the musicians with a nod, and just as the first notes trill, he catches a blur of red from the corner of his eye.

Shirayuki darts into the line, inserting herself at the bottom of the set. Obi arranges himself across from her with a grin, the hairstyle Izana’s own valet imposed on him already unraveling. It doesn’t take away from his popularity, judging from the minor scuffle breaking out over which couple would be next to them. He’s always been popular with the farmer’s daughters and the help, but every time he’s dressed up, the fascination spreads to the tradeswomen and gentry. Obi doesn’t even notice the fracas, beaming across at Shirayuki as she fires questions at him.

The lines aren’t long, and “the maid with a bosom of snow” moves the lead couple quickly down the set. In less than ten minutes, Zen’s facing Shirayuki across a circle, Obi’s hand in his left and Kiki’s in his right. She’s so close and he still can’t touch, not until this set is over and he can claim his place on her dance card.

Provided Izana hasn’t conveniently arranged to have it filled already. He promenades down the final triple with Kiki, the figure almost thoughtless at this point, and finally comes to a halt at the bottom of the set. Kiki’s not breathing hard, not yet, and Zen’s own breathlessness he attributes to the snugness of his cravat. Mitsuhide would settle for nothing less than the most perfectly starched and tied cravat, and surely it can’t be any other reason.

Just beyond them, near a potted plant, a woman he doesn’t know by name leans on the man next to her. Whether it’s her husband or some acquaintance Zen has no idea, but the particular timbre of her voice carries more than she probably realizes.

“- such a shame hair powder has gone out of fashion, that color’s indecent.” There’s only one person she could be talking about like that, and Zen grits his teeth. Kiki raises an eyebrow, curious, and he tips his chin slightly. The woman’s companion answers something inaudible, but it’s not enough for her. “Well, she’s no better than she should be, everyone knows that. All alone in that house, men visiting all the time without so much as a chaperone. Even Lord Zen! They say she’s some kind of lady doctor, but I say it’s immoral. I wonder that the Duke doesn’t throw her out.”

The figure reaches them again at last, drawing them back in to give the next lead couple their rest and sweeping them out of earshot. Kiki squeezes Zen’s hand as they circle. “You know better,” she says.

“I know, it’s just Obi.” He says it like it’s nothing, but he can’t dismiss it so glibly in his head. He cares for her, they’re inseparable, and whether Obi knows it or not, he’s up to his neck in Izana’s plans.

Another place change, another step back toward the head of the set, and he makes a resolution. If he keeps playing his brother’s game, if he doesn’t change the rules, he’s going to lose her. And he’s not going to give up that easily.

Chapter Text

Dawn after a ball always comes too soon, even for Duke Wisteria. He’s recovering with his tea and newspaper when his brother sulks into the morning-room. “To what do we owe the rainclouds? You were popular last night.” If men carried dance-cards, last night Zen’s would have been filled. He is far too polite to refuse a lady in want of a partner, and last night ladies in want were constantly crossing his path. How curious.

Izana refrains from smiling at the knowledge that Zen had only danced one set with his pharmacist. Shirayuki’s card had been just as full, despite her mediocre skills.

Zen pours himself a cup of tea, then scowls into it. “I heard people talking last night.”

“There were certainly plenty to hear.” A good turnout, a good social investment. And best of all, the Bergatts didn’t show.

“About Shirayuki,” Zen adds.

Finally, he’s heard. It took long enough. Izana hadn’t wanted to be the one to break it to his brother, but he’d been thinking he was going to have to. “You must admit, it was careless of her to be in such a compromising position, and on the road to Gretna Green, no less.”

Zen’s cup droops in his fingers, spilling hot tea across the carpet. “She what? That’s not-” He tries to set the cup down, misses the table, then scrambles for it as it rolls under his chair. “Tell me what you know,” he demands when he emerges.

Izana hums, folding his newspaper. Looks like he’s the bearer of ill tidings after all. “She was seen traveling on the Great North Road with a man, unchaperoned.”

“But that was just Obi, and they were bringing back her colleague’s runaway son-”

“If Obi is not a man, I have been greatly misinformed.” Izana punctuates the jab with another sip of tea.

Zen doesn’t shout, which is a distinct improvement. Izana may not want Shirayuki for a sister-in-law, but there’s no denying she’s been a maturing influence. But neither does he have anything to deny. “I mean he wouldn’t- do anything. To her. He knows I- We-”

“As you say.” If Zen hasn’t seen the way his newly uplifted friend looks at his paramour, Izana’s certainly not going to be the one to open his eyes. “But the fact remains they were seen together. Are you so certain that you know her heart?”

Chapter Text

The more people think they know, the more profoundly they get things wrong. Obi’s lived his life on that principle, made a living exploiting incorrect assumptions for years. He’s laughed his way out of towns just ahead of the law, laughed his way into identity after identity.

It’s not so funny now.

“I don’t know how to get ahead of this.” Zen paces the library, gloves cast aside and fingers buried in his hair.

Obi doesn’t point out he could have proposed to Shirayuki years ago if he’d been so sure, headed all this off ages ago. “It’s just words, people will forget.” As soon as a juicier piece of forbidden knowledge makes it into the public eye, all this will be a memory.

Zen pauses, and the look he turns on Obi is pain. “But Izana’s the one who told me. If it were just people complaining about her consorting with godless scientists down in Lyrias, if it were just a question of her being headstrong and not knowing her place, that could be dealt with. She wins people over, earns their trust her before they know what’s happening. I’m not worried about those rumors.”

His eyes settle on Obi with a steely edge to them, and in spite of himself Obi flinches. “But what can I say to her having been seen on the post road to Gretna Green arm in arm with a man?”

Obi has to wonder if Zen’s promise to let him stay is wearing thin, if this is going to be the knife that severs their relationship. “You don’t think I-” He can’t even finish the sentence. He would never hurt her, never limit her options. Not that he hasn’t lain in bed so many nights since remembering her steady breaths beside him or daydreamed ways he can make her blush like she did the moment she asked about the French letter. Not that he doesn’t cling to every moment of attention she gives him, every soft smile or excited gasp.

But he’d never betray his master, his friend, even for that. He keeps his desires under lock and key, and Shirayuki will never know.

“Oh no, I don’t think you did anything to her, I’m not worried about that.” Zen waves it off like it’s nothing, and Obi’s torn between relief and a vestigial offense that he’s become so harmless. Maybe if he had pushed just a little, maybe it would have given Zen some motivation to act. A little jealousy might have helped him out. “I just wish you could have let somebody else handle it, instead of exposing her to that kind of risk.”

Obi hunches his shoulders. “You try telling her no, when she’s got it in her head to fix something. Either I went with her or she was going after Kirito all by herself.”

Zen chuckles at that, steel all gone again. “Very true. And it’s not like you were sharing a room or anything.”

Obi’s heart misses a beat before he remembers this is Zen, not Izana. Izana would wield that sentence as a razor, slicing the truth to the bone. Zen’s just making a joke. There are so many reasons Obi’s loyalty belongs to just one man, no matter what Izana’s done for him as well.

“But it’s okay. It’s all in the past now, and once we’re married everyone will forget about all these little things.” Obi’s pretty sure Zen’s overlooking the fact that Shirayuki’s not going to change, there will always be wrongs to right, people in need of her help, and by marrying her Zen’s just adding to her resources. There are always going to be new “little things” to talk about.

But that’s not what Zen wants to hear, and Obi doesn’t know how to put it. So he tips back his brandy, letting the burn scour the worries from his throat.

Chapter Text

Shirayuki’s never noticed before how fidgety Zen can be. He sits in the Wisteria pew, nearly the full length of the church away from her, and yet she doesn’t hear a word of the vicar’s sermon. Ryuu’s father is no louder a speaker than the boy himself is, the conversational birds outside the window nearly drowning him out, but he could be as loud as Lord Mayor Makiri and Shirayuki still wouldn’t hear.

She’s prayed for guidance, shed tears behind her bonnet more than once, and every signpost in the road she walks is pointing to one thing. She needs to be honest with Zen.

So when he comes close after the service, hooking her gloved fingers with his own and pulling her aside into the cemetery for the modicum of privacy that offers, her heart vibrates with confusion. Perhaps he understands, he’s come to the same conclusion, and it will save them the embarrassment-

Fumbling with her fingers, he angles his body to face her. It’s not like him, this hesitation, and Shirayuki’s expectations for the discussion take a sharp turn. He’s sick. His mother’s sick. Izana demands her participation in a research expedition to the Indies and Zen has to tell her. His deep bow takes her by surprise.

“Please do me the honor of becoming my wife!” His voice echoes, frighteningly loud in her ears, although none of the other strolling couples pause to look.

The one thing she wasn’t prepared for, that she was expressly trying to avoid. “I-”

But Zen’s so manic it’s as though he doesn’t even hear. “Izana hasn’t given his blessing yet but he will, and we can move you out of the cottage as soon as the engagement’s announced. I found a good room for you at Wistal, it overlooks the west garden and I know you’ll love it.” His voice drops out on the last word before he sucks in a rough breath, and Shirayuki can feel the tremor in his fingers.

She tightens her hand around his, steadying him. “Your wife will be a fortunate woman, Zen.” His lips twitch in the first throes of a disbelieving smile, and she rushes the rest out before she can lose her nerve. “But I can’t be her. I can’t marry you.”

And she doubts herself, she does, as the answer rushes in on him and his pale face settles into an even deeper bloodlessness. But she’s practiced these words, a sufficient amount of truth to do the job, and she needs to get them out. “The life you live- I wouldn’t be able to help Garrack, could never go back to Lyrias.”

“We could go to Lyrias together…” His voice is a weak thing.

“Not the way I mean. I care about you, Zen, but I’m a better ally to you this way.” Tears are streaming down her cheeks now, but she makes the effort to keep her voice steady. Don’t show weakness, don’t show doubt. Make him believe her.

Together they wait, silent and still, Zen’s tears better-hidden than Shirayuki’s. She bites her tongue against the rest of the truth, the parts that will only make things worse. The parts that have been torturing her for longer than she wants to admit. It’s time-

It’s time to let go.

“Thank you,” she chokes, and turns away. The crowds of the congregation have largely moved on, only the most persistent gossips left gathered by the church door. One by one they fall silent as she passes, but Zen has nothing to fear from them anymore.

Chapter Text

Shirayuki slammed her door closed, leaning into it against the wind and muting its howl. To her numbed ears, her heavy breathing and the stream of water still pouring out of Obi’s overcoat were the only sounds. Her garden was safe; that was a relief. She couldn’t have managed it without him.

“I’ll build up the fire,” Obi volunteered, lurching into motion, his sopping clothes creaking with every movement. He rubbed his left eye with the heel of his hand, blinking in irritation, and Shirayuki could see the welt starting to rise along his face. Without a word, she peeled off her gloves, hung them over the peeling fire screen, and started picking through drawers in her medicine cabinet.

Obi was sitting in front of the hearth by the time she found the jar she was after, overcoat shed in a pool of water around him as he adjusted the wood. His worn white shirt had only a few dry spots, translucent against his skin all across the breadth of his back. Shirayuki knelt by his side.

“How’s your eye?” She’d been terrified for a second as the wind tore the cloth from her hands, slicing across his face with all the vicious acceleration of a whip. He’d recoiled, eye closing against the wind and rain, and his look of pained disbelief haunted her still.

“Wet.” He blinked at the droplets of water running from his hair, then shook like a dog. His hair stood in spikes, and Shirayuki hiccuped against the giggle bubbling up from her chest. Her own hair, fallen loose, guided a steady stream of water down her spine. Then Obi winced again and her merriment dissolved once more into worry.

“Let me see it.” She slid closer to the hearth, within close reach now. Resigned, he turned to face her.

With careful fingers, she touched his chin to turn him better into the light. He was pliant to her adjustments, the skin of his face smoother than she expected. He closed his eyes as she drew near, skin stretching smoothly over cheekbones she’d never seen the like of anywhere else. He was usually so animated, layering faces as his antics warranted, that to see him calm and waiting like this was mesmerizing. The urge to explore was irresistible. “Where does the pain start?” She ran a finger along the corner of his mouth, his lips tightening infinitesimally.

“Higher,” he murmured, barely moving. Her fingers dragged further, until he winced at a spot alongside his nose. She could see it now, a ghost of a mark just starting to form.

Her fingers seemed magnetized to his skin, a conscious effort required to lift her fingertips and reach for her ointment. A log shifted in the fireplace, sparks raining upward at the impact, and Obi’s eyelids fluttered. When she said nothing, he settled again, a slight smile on his patient face.

The medicine had stiffened in the chill of her house, so she worked a tiny scoop between her fingers. “My grandmother used to read to me on days like this,” she said, the silence suddenly too thick to breathe. “She'd let me put aside my lessons and my sewing and we'd just cuddle by the fire and read. I've hated working outside in the wind ever since.”

“Good thing you have me, then.” She started rubbing the camphor-scented ointment along his welt, and he bore it stoically. “I've always been fond of windy days.” She reached the corner of his eye, delicately tracing the edges of the bones, leaning in for a better view of her work. She swept her thumb across his cheekbone, so smooth, the punctuation on his infuriating grins and statue-like silences, and was struck by a wish to run her lip across it, to feel its smoothness with her own.

Her breath hitched, then puffed out in surprise, and she could feel the air against her lips where it was captured at his face, she was so close. They'd been close before, a timely catch, a powerful leap, but never had she felt this need to touch him. His hair brushed the edge of her fingers and she shifted her hand, work-reddened skin against his perpetual gold that neither winter nor illness faded.

Only an inch further, all it would take. She could hear his breaths by her ear, close in time with her own.

His jaw tensed under her fingers. “I don't know who I am.” There was a full stop at the end of the sentence, a danger sign Shirayuki couldn't miss. His tone was tight, his body poised, coiled for flight. She sat back, and he turned to face her, eyes still closed. “Everyone I've ever been is a lie.” She thought of the dandy highwayman, the rough bandit, the shirtless groom. All Obi, and what she'd always seen was someone with boundless talents.

Whatever he took her silence for, his mood lightened. “I was an oriental prince for a month,” he offered brightly, opening his eyes but looking into the corner of the room. “I had to grow my hair long and eat with sticks, but I got to go to all the best parties. I bowed to the Prince Regent once, and ate food you’d never believe, and wore silk robes.” His smile settled into something almost wistful. “Have you ever worn silk against your skin, miss? It's an experience.”

Shirayuki had nothing to say. She’d made him uncomfortable, and he talked to distract her. This was not the first time it had happened. It was, however, the first time she’d almost kissed him. He shrank under the waiting, and at last she had to look away.

“I’ve been a criminal all my life, been a robber, a fraud.” He paused for a breath. “A murderer. Don’t believe anything I tell you, miss. I’m just nobody.”

“Or maybe you have that reversed.” She met his eyes again; his were hurt and desperately trying not to be. “A man who can be anybody. That sounds very freeing to me.” She looked to the corner of her little cottage, seeing an inn in Tanbarun, a life she could have kept were she not who she was.

She'd mourned that and moved on. What mattered was what came next. She scraped the last of the ointment onto her apron, pried at the soaked knot, then added the apron to the fire screen near her gloves as she put away the remaining jar of ointment. Obi stared into the fire. Keeping her hands busy usually calmed her mind. She needed all the calm she could get.

“I don’t know how to be what you want me to be,” Obi whispered at last. His hands were clenched in fists too tight for her to unravel.

“You don’t have to be anyone for me. Just you.” The silence resumed, thick and oppressive.

“You need to get into some dry clothes. I’ll go so you can do that.” His coat streamed water droplets across the hearth as he swung it back across his shoulders.

“You could wait, get dry. I won’t look? Or tea?” Shirayuki protested, standing to match him. The fabric of her dress clung to her skin like spiderwebs.

Obi’s jaw was set, his face fixed on hers. “It’s not my place, miss.” He bowed, courtly beyond his custom or her consequence, and left.

Chapter Text

Any one of Kiki’s governesses would have had vapors on the spot at the sight of her now. She slouched deeply in the library chair, shoes kicked off and a thundering scowl on her face. She’d never dealt well with being thwarted, and now she’d met her match. No logic, no tears, and no amount of asking would convince Mitsuhide to offer for her.

“I did try,” Zen slurred. He hadn’t had any more sherry than Kiki, only a few glasses, but his tongue just wouldn’t get itself coordinated. It was all right that way, though. When he was focused on Kiki he could live with his own disappointment. His lonely prospects, his failure. Not dwelling on that at all, not tonight.

“I know, Zen, we both did.” Kiki held out her empty glass, and Zen cautiously poured her another finger. “He doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

“You’d be good for him.” He held up his glass and Kiki clinked hers against it.

The study door creaked, but Zen couldn’t find it in himself to turn and see who was interrupting their commiseration session. If it was Mitsuhide, he could go away already. Not welcome. If it was Obi, he could get his own glass.

“Aren’t you two a sight,” came his brother’s sardonic voice, and leather creaked as Zen and Kiki simultaneously slouched deeper in their chairs.

“Get a drink. If you’re going to be in here you have to be drunk too,” ordered Kiki. “Your Grace,” she tacked on belatedly, in the most matter-of-fact tone he’d ever heard used for the address.

“I’d be delighted.” Izana settled himself facing the two of them, a generous glass of something balanced carefully on the arm of the chair while he eyed his brother. Zen felt his look on his half-untied cravat, his rolled-up sleeves like a touch, and scowled. He wasn’t here to be judged, he and Kiki were here to wallow in their disappointment. Maybe he could go into a decline and Shirayuki would come take care of him. Maybe she’d feel bad for him and reconsider . . .

“I don't think I've ever seen so much disappointment in one room,” Izana remarked, eyes glittering with humor. Zen and Kiki snarled in unison. “Two of a kind, you are.” He paused, sipping his drink and picking up a book. He flipped through a couple of pages, and Zen didn't trust a moment of it. Duke Wisteria had no interest in tropical birds of the Indies, no matter how colorful the plates.

“You're thinking something, brother. Spit it out.” Zen’s voice didn't come out as acid as he wanted. Kiki looked on suspiciously, but Izana’s cheerful air just grew stronger.

“You know you could be done with all of this. You could choose that, the power is in your hands.” Kiki’s face didn’t twitch, but her shoulders turned toward Izana. She was listening.

“There’s no shame in a second choice. You're good friends. You've been living together for months, after all. You already know and like each other better than most husbands and wives do.” If he said it'd make their families happy, Zen would leave the room. He might fall down on the way, but he would get his feet in line and make it happen if he had to. But Izana knew better than that. “If they'd choose work over you, you could at least pick someone who appreciates you. Make them regret what they gave up.”

That was the first shadow of a smile he'd seen on Kiki’s face today, the smile that lurked when she just started to understand an opponent's weakness in fencing or chess Her eyes shifted, dragging from Zen’s stockinged toes to his rumpled hair. He flushed at the scrutiny.

Once Kiki had the measure of an opponent, she went for the kill. “He’ll do, I suppose.” At Zen’s look of betrayal, she shrugged. “You’ll keep Hisame off my back. Besides, we’ll have very pretty children.”

Something in the fuzzy recesses of Zen's brain wanted to protest that spite wasn't the right reason to marry, but he didn't have anything better to cling to. At least he’d have his best friend by his side. The first girl he'd ever kissed when they were thirteen and curious, the woman who out-drove, out-fought, and out-planned him on a daily basis. He thought the world of her, and maybe that would be enough. “Fine,” he said at last.

Chapter Text

The church was far from silent, packed to the windows with family, friends, and distant acquaintances. Zen was under no illusions that most of them weren’t just there to be able to say they saw Duke Wisteria’s brother wed Marquess Seiran’s daughter. Their engagement had taken Town by storm, coming in surprise and secret when they weren't even in residence. There'd been talk of them years before, but most people who knew them had abandoned the expectation a long time ago.

Zen’s skin crawled. Here they were, a spectacle, just what he hadn't wanted. All that time he'd dreamed of a quiet country wedding, but that hope was gone with his chosen bride. This circus was Izana’s choice. Zen and Kiki would deal well enough, but this . . . Neither of them wanted it.

There were encouraging faces among the greedy, though. A knot of school friends huddled together halfway back, nudging each other and stifling giggles like they were still thirteen. A dot of red in the back of the church was Shirayuki, wedged between Mrs. Zakura and Dr. Garrack. She was already wiping her eyes. He wanted to be angry at her, but all he had left on seeing her was a bone-deep ache like a bruise. As much as his brother had preached vengeance, he still didn’t want to see her cry.

Closer at hand, he only had to turn his head a few degrees to peek back at Mitsuhide. Izana had smirked when Zen asked for his companion to witness, but raised no objection. Mitsuhide had gone red and quiet, then crushed Zen in a nearly painful hug. He didn’t know for sure what was going on in the man’s head, but he hoped. How he’d hoped He’d planted the seeds, but there was no knowing if the harvest would ripen in time. He was counting on it.

The vicar was particularly in love with his own voice today. But patience was a virtue, and all, so Zen sweated and stood straight and let the words of the service wash over him like one of his least favorite history lectures. Only occasional phrases penetrated the fog of his inattention.

“First miracle that he wrought-” Izana was glowing with pleasure, there in the first pew. He thought he'd pulled off his miracle, and he was so smug, Zen couldn’t stand it.

“For the procreation of children-” His eyes met Kiki’s, and he could only imagine the hopeless resignation on his face must match hers. She was pretty, he knew that, but she was Kiki. In her cups she might joke about their offspring, but Zen knew what she wanted, and it wasn’t him.

“Both in prosperity and adversity-” There was a gentle shuffle behind Zen, and he bit his tongue in hope. Mitsuhide drew in a breath, and Zen held his as well, listening for any sign, any twitch from his companion. Kiki stared fixedly at Zen, refusing to look over his shoulder. Zen’s blood pounded in his ears.

“Therefore if any man can shew any just cause-” The shadow on the edge of Zen’s vision moved, and he could breathe. Two steps was all it took for Mitsuhide to pass him, drawn to his love like a fish on a hook but too courteous to shove Zen out of the way.

Kiki looked up, met Mitsuhide’s eyes at last, for probably the first time since he’d turned her down, and whatever she saw brought out the smile Zen hadn’t seen in just as long. Tears glittered on her lashes, never to be mentioned again at risk of life and limb, and Zen had to hold back his own tears and smiles. It wouldn’t do to be too enthusiastic, no matter how he wanted to cheer.

Mitsuhide knelt at Kiki’s feet. “Miss Seiran, please don’t do this. I’m sorry it took me so long, but please, please, if there’s any chance-”

Kiki would wait no longer, reaching down and drawing him back up to his feet. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

His straight back never faltered, but his whispered assent was so faint even the vicar couldn’t hear. Kiki darted one last glance at their audience, a sea of wide eyes and whispers. Her eyes lingered momentarily at her father alone in the front pew, a tall and patient bookend to Izana, then she slipped her hand into Mitsuhide’s and pulled him toward the door.

“Obi’s waiting with the carriage and your bags. Godspeed, both of you,” Zen murmured as they passed. Mitsuhide’s step hitched in surprise, but Kiki never slowed.

The church quiet lasted but a breath after the doors closed behind them, then all hell broke loose. The priest leaned forward and placed a hand on Zen’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

It was all he could do not to laugh. His problems would be just beginning, but at least Kiki and Mitsuhide would be happy. Marquess Seiran was dabbing at his eyes and getting to his feet, and Izana, lips in a tight line, was already halfway up the steps to the altar. Zen just needed to guard the door.

Chapter Text

To Yuzuri L-----
----- College, Lyrias

Zen’s wedding was this morning. Or, I should say, it almost was? I’m sure you’ll be seeing it in the papers soon enough, but his bride left him at the altar to run off with his companion. Both of his best friends, gone at once. I’m confused, because I knew this was what Kiki wanted at first and Mitsuhide had turned her down, but he sure looked enthusiastic enough as they ran out the back door of the chapel.

I stayed in my seat, stunned. People were streaming past me chattering about what had just happened, and Zen’s brother was so angry you could almost see his ponytail crackle, but Zen just looked over his shoulder and met my eye, and the look on his face-

I can’t help but feel that he blames me, that I could have prevented his heartache. If I’d understood sooner that he was courting me, if I’d said the right things to make him understand. . .

Maybe I could have avoided hurting him.

But I’m maudlin, probably because I have nobody to talk to. Everything’s awkward with Zen, Kiki is well on her way to Scotland, and Obi-

I haven’t seen him in a week.

Shirayuki L-----

***

Zen Wisteria
Wistal, -----ford

No matter how many times Kiki assures me that you approved all the plans and that you’re not angry, I can’t help feeling like apologies are necessary. While I can't say I regret my actions, I’m so sorry that your wedding was ruined, that all those terrible things have been printed in the papers-

And I have deserted my post. This letter must serve as my resignation, and I can only hope that we may still be friends when the furore has died down (and Kiki has been convinced to return from our honeymoon, because so far I have been unable to get her to set a return date).

Get yourself a valet, now. Don’t make me write your brother to remind him you need one. And no, you may not hire Obi for that purpose.

Mitsuhide Lowen

***

To Obi R-----
Wistal, ---ford

Do you know what Yuzuri has gone and done now? You will never guess, because it is the end of all things, the most insupportable choice she could have made. She’s abandoned her potato project. Six rows of potato plants all gone to seed, and after I fought tooth and nail to get her the greenhouse space. I am beyond betrayed. We are no longer on speaking terms.

Yuzuri tells me that Shirayuki is causing trouble in ---ford and you haven’t informed me of a word of it. So she won’t tell me anything either. Write back at once with all the gossip, I demand it.

I am languishing here, simply languishing without you. Come back to Lyrias and save me from Yuzuri and her antics. The others are nothing to me. You are my one and only true friend.

In fact, that puts me in mind to tell you, I’m strongly considering moving out of university housing and into the village. If you were to come join me, a household of two bachelors would be ever so much more jolly than just the one, and economical too. Three bachelors, if we count Thunderbolt as well, who would appreciate the removal from his current premises even more than I.

Do write and tell me when I can expect you.

The Hon. Suzu Maindale (see, I signed with full honors for you, so you have to come now.)

***

To Yuzuri L-----
----- College, Lyrias

I hope this letter finds you well and that all your potato plants are thriving just as you predicted in your last letter.

It’s been ten days now since Obi disappeared. I know he’s here somewhere, because I hear his name in passing. He’s spent time with Zen, talked with people around the village-

But he’s hiding from me. I know, it look me far too long to understand my own heart but at last I understand that I want Obi to stay in my life, I don’t want to picture a future without him in it- and I realize what that means.

Of course I tried to tell Obi that, and he wouldn’t let me say it. He ran out into the rain to keep from hearing it, pretended I’d never spoken at all. I didn’t think I was this repulsive to him. I’d hoped I was seeing some sign that he cared for me. But why would he disappear so thoroughly if he cared?

I was wrong and I’ve lost him and I just don’t know what to do now.

I miss Lyrias. I miss you. Please tell me your potatoes are well, because I need some inkling of good news in my life.

Shirayuki L-----

***

To The Honorable Suzu Maindale and so on and so forth
----- College, Lyrias

I will come.

She looked me in the eyes and told me things- I can’t be so close and not want her, can’t keep myself from reaching out to her when she asks me so clearly. It makes me forget what I am, and she won’t believe me when I explain it to her.

I can’t even face her without giving myself away.

So I will come be bachelors with you in Lyrias. Take the house, whatever, and this letter will precede me by no more than a day.

Obi

***

To Shirayuki L-----
Wistal

Please don’t fear that this letter will contain any harsh words - your choice is your own, and I respect you too much to ever ignore that fact.

I just wish there were something I could do to change your mind. Is it my flaws? I will mend them. My brother’s displeasure? I’ll defy it. To any who say there is a social divide, I will educate them. Your father was no less a gentleman than mine, a fact no loss of fortune can change. And if it’s a question of money, I would love nothing more than to spoil you but you are far too responsible to let me.

We could be perfect, if only you would change your mind. You would make me the happiest of men.

Lord Zen Wisteria

***

To Miss Shirayuki L-----
Wistal

Thank you for your kindness to me, and all the patience you’ve shown me all this time. I couldn’t leave without letting you know how much I’ve appreciated the time I have spent in your presence, and yet I must. By the time you see this letter I will be gone.

I will not be returning to Wistal. Make the world a better place, miss, the way you do every day, and be happy.

Obi