'That's him, by the statue of the kanōhi.' Akai was fast to point out the hijeon. Kiet wondered how he did it. They barely had climbed the last of the stone steps onto the terrace of the Spring Hall and were greeted with a throng of faces to search through besides.

The structure itself stretched at least fifty yards wide and thirty deep. Five doors opened into the Hall. Visitors queued for entry through the western-most access; so many of them, the line coiled like a snake around the terrace. The other doors remained clear, allowing ample vision into the temple. Its interior was partitioned by paper screen walls into countless smaller sections, each booth containing a different sculpture in honour of the patron deity of the earth and spring.

Gyoseong sat before Tennu herself. She was tall, lithe, with hair unfurled to the ground, out from which sprung a scatter of blossoms. Her uncovered breasts were worn with motherhood, her open palms crossed one wrist above the other in the sign for blessing. One by one celebrants approached—first to kneel before the Emperor, then to place three grains of rice into the deity's hands.

He noticed neither Kiet nor Akai when they entered through the centre door, nor did Kiet particularly desire Gyoseong's attention. His own interest was on the man Akai earlier had identified, far on the other side of the Hall.

'I'm surprised Gyoseong permits him to attend even this occasion.'

'It would do the Emperor more harm than good to keep Hijeon Yeungji away,' said his captain. 'The people would question the crown prince's absence.'

Even so, Gyoseong still kept the hijeon sheltered from the commonfolk. Soldiers stood at attention around his booth, nobody dared approach within an arm's length.

'Do you see Haruse anywhere?'

Akai shook his head. 'Maybe he's not well enough to come.'

'Good.' Kiet strode towards the statue of the nine-tailed fox. 'Then should we remain uninterrupted.'

Yeungji's guards were determined to prove otherwise. One of them stepped forwards upon their approach. 'A thousand apologies, but the hijeon is not to be disturbed.'

'Disturbed? You imply a Divine Gyok would find the company of an Ametjas to be a disturbance?'

'Ah—that is not—'

'I would hate to strain the close friendship between our two nations, were I to return to Surikhand without paying respects to its hijeon.'

What truly Kiet hated was to pull rank, but he would slap it across all their faces if it got the job done. The soldiers exchanged a glance. He used their hesitance to push through. This time none interfered.

Yeungji had his back turned, mumbling under his breath as he studied the statue that rose before them: nine feet of alabaster sculpted into a beautiful fox, nine tails curling above the paper screens surrounding them. He made no acknowledgement of Kiet, even though his footsteps were audible against the reclaimed terracotta floor.

Kiet stopped a sword's length from him.

It felt too intimate to interrupt.

Only part of Yeungji's face was visible, but it was enough to see his open-mouthed grin. There was a youth in him that belied his age. He was well into his fifth decade, but in contrast to Haruse who was a year his junior, carried none of the concerns a man his age should.

For a moment Kiet joined the hijeon in silence, admiring the craft that must have gone to sculpting the kanōhi. It sat on its haunches, staring down upon them through garnet eyes, fangs bared.

'It is an incredile work of art,' mused Kiet. 'Kitsuo, correct? Pertheist history was one of my weaker subjects.'

Yeungji shifted his weight.

'Tennu's Guardian of Sleep. That much I know. She watches over the Spring Mother when she descends into her Long Slumber.'

Still gave the hijeon no indication of having heard him.

Am I being ignored? Nothing baffled him more. There was no cruelty, no boredom, not even a trace of annoyance on Yeungji's face that would be otherwise present in a man intentionally snubbing another.

'The detail of her fur is astounding. It looks as soft as mohair, and the pattern ...' Kiet sighed, growing more uncomfortable by the second.

It was a lost cause, and he knew where he was unwelcome.

Well, he's not dead, at least. Only for whatever reason kept in the shadows. That was for now all he needed to know.

'I hope you enjoy the festivities, hijeon. Though I'd prefer the company of these statues, too, to be honest.'

At that did Yeungji finally laugh, his voice surprisingly loud. He beamed at Kiet just as the maharaj was turning to leave. 'Like capillary waves.'

Kiet startled. 'Sorry?'

Yeungji shifted the weight back to his other foot. 'What ever for?'

'Ah, nothing—I meant—what are capillary waves?'

'The fur, of course. It is like our koi pond on a rainy day.'

Kiet frowned, looked the statue ear-to-paw. He failed to see the resemblance. 'You could say that.'

'Matter of fact, I just did.'

Kiet wondered if the figure of speech was not used in Common Kapuluan when he realised something. 'You're speaking in Srikh.'

'Oh.' He switched to their common tongue. 'I apologise. Is this better?'

'Not at all. I only did not realise at first. You're very fluent.'

'I am very good at patterns.'

Yeungji turned again to the statue, and Kiet was awash with sudden guilt. Strutting in there, forcing his presence on a man who clearly enjoyed his own solitude.

It reminded him of someone. A half-brother long ago; one who renounced his title and left the palace when Kiet barely even started speaking. Once in a blue moon would Alain return to visit Kathedra, if only to peruse their grand libraries. He would spend his days lost between the shelves, for hours marvelling at a single tome and its penmanship.

Kiet knew little about him, but in his youth often daydreamed of the same freedom, the same courage it took to choose life in obscurity rather than one of privilege.

Alain, too, preferred solitude, and just like Yeungji, still he entertained young Kiet's needling questions. He would tell him stories of his travels, the world beyond the Grand Palace, the people who lived their lives by the day. In hindsight, he was perhaps the largest influence on Kiet's own desire for adventure.

His visits were the highlight of Kiet's childhood. Alain would come at first once a year, then once every couple of summers, and then he seemed to have vanished entirely. The next they heard of him had been five years later, when passing merchants found a man dead in the woods.

Kiet sighed.

Reclusive or not, Yeungji seemed like he could offer little help. 'It was nice to finally meet you, Yeungji-himi. I will leave you now in peace.'

'Peace? Have we been in a quarrel?' Yeungji's face was unreadable. It was impossible to tell whether he was trying to ruffle his feathers. 'Is it my patterns? I tried to tone it down for this occasion. Haruse does not like them like I do. How about you, maharaj?'

'They can make for lovely decoration,' started Kiet, uncertain of the question, 'but it is something my sister has a better eye for. Are you close with your brother, himihwan?'

Again he shifted his weight, suddenly picking at his elbow with an intensity that worried Kiet. 'He would not let me wear the houndstooth yi-sang with the paisley robe. He says they are not nice on the eyes, but matter of fact, I wear them on my skin. I like the way the patterns feel when I touch them, but Haruse thinks I'm full of it, which is ridiculous. Patterns are not for eating, unless you count the bubbles on an appam.'

Kiet chuckled. 'Maybe you can cut a small piece and carry it in your pocket. Then Haruse-himi will not have to look at it, and you can still feel it as you please.'

Yeungji was silent for a long minute while he regarded him. 'But a pattern is only good when it remains whole.'

'A good point.' Kiet thought for a moment before pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket. He unfolded it for the hijeon to see. 'How about this? You can borrow it if you like—it's still clean. They call it tartan. It's a very popular pattern in Elingar.'

Yeungji's eyes danced between the fabric and the floor. Finally he took it and ran his fingers across the decidedly smooth fabric. 'Simple people like simple repetition.'

Kiet was so shocked, he burst into laughter. Yeungji jumped at the sound, but was soon laughing with him, so loud even Gyoseong across the hall would hear. 'So what do you like, Yeungji-himi?'

Yeungji's brows wrinkled. 'I like veal brain in thick curry sauce, but only in the afternoon. Iced tea with tapioca balls, but only if you put the balls in first. I like autumn more than spring, and Fukuhei more than Kamei. Kamei likes to poke, you see. It makes my skin blue. But Fukuhei is more like me.'

'He's like you? You mean a hijeon?'

'Haruse says we do not have a hijeon, but I still have to sit up straight and stand up tall like a sugi tree.' Yeungji rubbed the tartan between his fingers. 'It makes sleeping very uncomfortable.'

'What about your theurgy, hijeon? Do you share the same with Fukuhei-himi?'

'My teachers tell me my theurgy is a mountain and Fukuhei is the island. That means I am Honju, and he is Honjeddo.'

'So the quake four weeks ago—was that you, or the real Honju?'

Yeungji shifted his weight several more times, wringing his hands wider and more frantic as he spoke, 'Haruse says a Divine Gyok protects the land, not destroy it, and I ... I am a Divine Gyok!'

'I meant no offence, himihwan. I apologise. I need not have even asked.'

'It is not Fukuhei's fault!' he yelled.

'Of course not.' Kiet glanced around the screens of their box. Curious faces were turned their way as visitors exited the building, but no sign of Gyoseong or any of his soldiers approaching.

'You cannot turn edō into juu!'

'Of course not.' Kiet could only repeat himself as he tried to calm the hijeon.

'What is an island without its water? What is an island without its trees?' Suddenly Yeungji stopped. His voice dropped as he turned to look at the statue once more. 'What do you get when you cut the tails from a kanōhi?'

It was Kiet's turn to shift his weight, unsettled. 'Ah ... just a regular fox?'

'Eaten!' Yeungji's laughter filled the room.

    
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'What was that about?'

'I'm ... not sure I'm sure.' Kiet looked over the railing, watched the waves splash against the cliff wall far below them. It was quiet this side of the Spring Hall. Only he and Akai stood upon the terrace. They had shaken off their escort upon the entrance of the Hall, and now Kiet wondered if they would have to scale down the cliffs to keep them off for the rest of the day.

'It's cold. Maybe we should go back inside.'

'But I might understand now why Gyoseong hides him.'

'Obviously. He's a simpleton.'

There was no judgment in Akai's voice, but still it stirred Kiet's irritation. He breathed the sea air, tasted salt on his lips. 'Why do you say that?'

'I didn't hear everything.' Already Akai started off defensively. 'But what I did hear never made any sense.'

'So it is you who fail to understand him, but he is the simpleton?' That sounded much harsher than he meant.

Akai was stunned to silence. 'He's strange, that's all.'

'Many also consider Sindhu's stuttering strange.' Khaisan would taunt him when they were boys. Kiet always stepped in to put his nephew in line, but had he done it to defend the man's dignity, or his own family's name for employing him? He, too, had been only a child at the time. 'He does many unusual things to overcome his impediment. Vocal exercises and such. Perhaps Yeungji-himi has the same.'

Akai looked away, shamed, as he should be. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just—the way he spoke—his intonation, his pauses ... I thought at first you were speaking to the fox-god masking as a human.'

'Does that intimidate you? I felt it, too, you know. But if you've met a lot of people, seen a lot places, these things become inconsequential.'

'Most don't have the privilege of your experiences, maharaj.'

'Which is precisely why Yeungji-himi can never be Emperor. At least that is what Gyoseong thinks. He has, effectively, no successor. He hides his brother to hide this fact from the people.'

'No successor? Fukuhei-himi is projected to rise another rank.'

'Fukuhei and Yeungji-himi are the same.' Kiet mulled over Yeungji's words.

You cannot turn edō into juu.

A chill ran up his spine that had nothing to do with the southern wind blasting against their faces. Suddenly he understood Yeungji's riddle. 'Gods. The runesmith—we must find Fukuhei.'

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↝ END CHAPTER SIXTEEN ↜

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☆ this chapter is dedicated to FlaminPhoenix. thanks for reading! ☆

Video: Mad Blood
Image: Original artists unknown

So maybe Kiet and Isla didn't meet in this update, but at least he finally met the elusive crown prince? And what is the runesmith up to this time?

Hello all and thanks for reading! Please don't forget to vote if you liked this chapter, and share your theories in the comments ;-)