He was a plain man, with no beauty to him, no shame either, and nothing particularly interesting in his features. A ghost, I would have thought, easily lost in a crowd, easily forgotten about. All the things I had once dreamed of being. I judged every inch of him, his fingertips touching the small teacup, the angle where he sat at the table, the stark blackness of his haori jacket, and the way the hems hung parallel on both sides of his chest. His eyes were upturned in the outer corners, his hair combed away from his face into a modest knot at the nape of his neck. There was not a streak of gray, not a blemish on his skin. In contrast, I leaned forward onto the table, braced on one elbow, my fingers curled into my palm, resting my chin atop it. I spun the teacup between my fingers, creating a sound of scraping against the table. His cup was full, mine was not, and the tea pot was poised in the middle of the table. I waited for the man to understand his place in my company, but I had come to realize his youth, and his disrespect.
I couldn't hide my disappointed as I slowly reached across the table for the pot, unfurling from my position to fill my own cup. With force, I placed the pot in the center of the table, letting my hand linger on the handle. "How did you come into such wealth?"
"My father is a samurai Daimyo."
Despite myself, I could feel the upturn of my lips into a smile that I felt more sinister than I had intended. I had intended not to smile at all. I could taste the mention of the samurai, and it was an unwelcome spice on my tongue. "How old are you?"
"Fifteen. It is my father's wealth. He sent the bid the moment the Maiko became available, because I had once mentioned that I enjoyed her dancing."
Such simplicity in his answers. "The Maiko's name is Sayaka." I swallowed what I felt boiling in me in that moment. "What do you think of her, then? What if you won the auction?"
"I assumed that was why you wanted to meet me." As I watched him, his expression changed. I could see his fingerprints flatten against the sides of the teacup. "My father speaks highly of you, Seishin, and says anyone trained under you is perfection."
I sat back from the table, dragging my palm with me across the smooth surface, looking down at him slightly. However my past had come to take me, I held the control of the more powerful demon. I wasn't afraid to claw my way out of Hellfire again, but I was afraid to face who I would become on the other side of it. "Who is your father?"
"Hidetomo."
Long ago, when my skin burned at the slightest touch of holy ground, in a Shinto temple in Edo, a samurai had shown me mercy. He had interrupted a purification ceremony where I had been meant to die, drowned in the running water of the river to cleanse the city of its greatest sin. Its greatest sin had been me. The samurai had been a valued patron, both in front of the stage I danced upon, and in the room where my soul's true colours were displayed. Under the darkness of night, he took from me, whatever he wanted, but as the paper lanterns shone, he replenished me. He thought my life had been worth something. His name was Hidetomo.
"By the look on your face, I would say you remember his name."
"What stories were you told of me?" The world around me became distant, as if it was all far away from me, and I was so small within in. Any fear that had caused the skin of my palms to begin to sweat had vanished, melted back into my bloodstream at the memory I had recalled.
"All of them." His answered continued in simplicity. "The moment I became interested in one of your Maiko, I was made to know exactly who you are."
"He was not a Daimyo then." I averted my gaze from the boy as if I could project my memories across the table for anyone to see. "I would like to see him again."
For the first time, he turned his head toward some space that I didn't occupy, the window of the tea house. "He was hoping you would say so." He lifted his hand intentionally, as if he was offering toward the window. "He's waiting outside."
"What is your name?"
"Hidetomo Ichiro." I curled my fingers into my palm, knocking lightly atop the table with my knuckles, and nodded to myself. Deliverance. Reservation.
I locked eyes with the samurai from the steps of the teahouse. He stood proudly, as a samurai would, his hands clasped in front of him, his feet planted in the earth apart from each other. His hair had grayed, set high atop his head in a knot that he was all too proud to let go of, though it no longer told anything of his rank. I wondered how long it had been that he served as Daimyo over samurai. It had been a mere few years since I had burned Edo to the ground, but he had aged poorly, giving the impression of a farmer rather than a wealthy man. When he took notice of me in his presence, he placed his palms against his sides and bowed deeply to me, unmoving, pouring his utmost respect for me into the earth.
"Don't bow to me, old man. I should be the one bowing to you."
He rose with a laugh, a strange sound. No one laughed in my proximity. "Then why don't you?" Without warning, his hands were atop my shoulders, and I was pressed against him in an embrace, his arms heavy and strong around my back. With hesitation, I returned the gesture, with shaking hands around him. How different it was to be held with a barrier between our skin, in such a genuine way that told me a story of relief rather than rapaciousness. "I didn't expect to see you alive. I'm glad. What a waste it would have been if you died."
"You must be the one person on earth who would say so."
"Hiroyuki Seishin. What a name."
I hadn't taken the time to contemplate over what inheriting the Okiya from Hiroyuki-san would mean for my name. It was as if I had been adopted, however, I had never been given a name before. Seishin had been given to me by the Okiya I was sold to, and my name given to me at birth, I had long since forgotten. I had been called a great many things as a child, but a name was never one of them. "I inherited an Okiya." It was needless to say. "And I married."
"I would have expected nothing less."
"You expected me to be dead. Anything I had to say would have been unexpected past that."
He seemed to study my face for a moment. "You always did have such a way with words."
"We were never as close as that." I turned away from his prying eyes. "Come. I think you and your son should meet Sayaka."